Chapter 8 #2
We stand there, not speaking, but staring at each other with an equal amount of curiosity.
Then he clears his throat and once again turns to leave as the silence points to the end of our meeting.
But I don’t want him to leave. Something snags in my chest like an invisible branch that wants to reach out to him.
As standoffish as he is, all I can think about is hoping he will stay longer.
“Uh…” I stammer, trying to think of an excuse to keep him near just a few minutes longer.
“Would you mind helping me with some boxes?” I blurt out just as his hand goes to the door handle.
He stutters in his movements, releasing a breath, as if he were waiting to be asked not to go. At least, that is what I pray.
“What kind of boxes?” He looks at me and cocks his head to the side. A curious look that teases toward something else.
“Oh, just some old boxes from the attic. There are a lot of them. And to be honest, I’m not a fan of spiders or their webs, and all the spiders of Louisiana seem to have taken residence up there.” I grin coyly up at him.
His face relaxes as he takes in my comment and lets a lighthearted chuckle past his lips. He then sweeps his hand absentmindedly through his hair, letting down whatever reserve he had—a relaxed version, so different from what he was when I first met him at the door.
It’s not butterflies—more like moths, fluttering low and heavy with the dark feelings he stirs in me. There are moments when you know someone may affect you more than you like. And although I don’t know it, this is one of them.
“I can help with the junk…and the spiders.” He continues interrupting my thoughts with a playful half-grin.
“Junk?” I ask. Everything I saw piled in the cardboard boxes looked like undiscovered treasure. But then again, I own an antique store, which most people may see as someone else’s discarded trash.
“Yeah, junk.” His voice unapologetic, “I was here just before your uncle passed to look over his assets and saw the boxes full of odds and ends. That’s why I recommend an estate sale of sorts.
Well, that was before you decided to keep this hellhole.
” His frank remark causes me to let a chuckle pass, and he looks at me with inquiring eyes.
I can see we view this place through very different eyes.
“OK. Right this way, Dorian Gray,” I say. The jab being too good to pass up.
The stairs leading up to the attic are all sorts of unsafe. The worn-down middles show not just their age, but also the frequency of use. I take the steps one by one with Ry behind me, breathing in the mix of dust, creaking boards, and a heavy dose of forewarning.
As I make it up to the middle of the steps, I glance behind me.
My hair doing its best job of hiding my focus as I aim my gaze his way.
His presence behind me pulls at something deep and physical, as if gravity has shifted beneath us.
The corner of his mouth lifts slightly. He is actually smiling. I find I am roused by his amusement.
“Please do tell—is something funny?” I question and smile myself. It’s nothing I can help, for I have never seen a smile so entrancing.
“Nothing. This just reminds me of something. A bit of déjà vu,” he states while staring up at me. A smidge of heat passing between us.
Turning around with more questions than answers, I once again face the attic ahead.
But before I can ask my next question, I take the last step up, meeting sticky strands of silk.
I gasp as they cling to my face and stumble backward, grasping onto the closest object to keep from falling back, which happens to be Ry’s arm.
Almost immediately, I find two hands placed firmly around my waist, cinching around my bare skin as my traitorous shirt rides up under his hands, skin-to-skin contact catching me off guard and sparking a memory.
Upon his touch, I see tangled limbs and melding skin.
A woman’s hand—no my hand, wearing a jade ring and trailing her fingers along forearms marked like the bark of a hickory tree.
My chest all the way to my cheeks must turn some form of crimson, at least that’s what it feels like.
A girl bursting into flames from one small graze from this man.
I quickly jump out of the firm hands branded with that same bark that seem way too familiar to my skin and scramble up to the attic floor.
“Sorry about that, there…therewasaspiderweb,” jumbling all the words together. When Ry doesn’t respond, I glance over and am met with those two sea foam eyes looking fierce towards me, his fingers wrapped into tight balls.
Did he feel it too? Or am I imagining all of this? My thoughts are silly and illogical. I pull myself away from his intense inspection and point toward the boxes.
“Well, here they are, like I said. I can grab the smaller ones, and you can start with the two big ones.” My voice directs in a breathy manner. I’m debating whether it might be best to play mute, the way my words betray what stirs inside me.
Ry clears his throat and goes for the first giant box, but takes more than a couple of seconds before he moves his eyes away from me. That wasn’t real, right? Shaking off the feeling, I keep my head down and start with the work we set out to do.
When we have put all the boxes toward the bottom of the stairs on the second floor, I finally get a look at the attic layout. Apart from the spiderwebs, it is quite cozy. There are built-in shelves along the entirety of the attic, and a small round window towards the back.
Rain from the outside pelts the window as if pleading for my attention. I gaze out at the property. Although blurry from the ever-pounding of raindrops against the glass, the variety of trees seems to be in full view as if perfectly laid out on a map.
The largest tree off to the right by the edge of a wooded area is the hickory.
I can see only its giant trunk through the storm, but I decide that will be my next visit.
Mostly out of curiosity, and part because my heart feels as if it has an invisible string attached to that tree.
Something on the other end tugging me there with all its might.
However, there is another presence I feel all too clearly, and that is the sense of Ry at my back.
“That seems to be all of them,” he says, taking a hesitant step towards me. I can feel his warm breath heat the back of my neck, and a glance behind my shoulder tells me he is closer than I think. He could be closer still, and I wouldn’t mind. We stand there looking out the small window.
“Do you know the history of this property?” I ask as I look over to him, hoping he won’t be staring at me the way he was earlier. Not that I found it uncomfortable. To be honest, it felt quite the opposite.
I would guess most girls would think the same thing looking at him. His megawatt smile that has only made one appearance so far, and his stormy eyes that move like a rogue wave through me.
So much so that my stomach drops to the soles of feet, threatening to stay there until I pick it up and hand it right over to the man. What use of it he would have, I do not know, but I’m starting to think every part of me should be left at his disposal.
“I know little about it, but I know your uncle went out of his way to take excellent care of this property. Toward the end of his life, he spent most of his time walking the property and talking to the trees,” he pauses.
“And well…that caused some talk around town. The town folk didn’t see him much, but they saw enough that they said he had lost touch with reality.
” He stops, bending down to get a better view of the window, but leaving his mouth mere inches from my ear.
“But having met him a few times, I don’t believe that to be true.
I think he just really loved this land.”
“How sad,” I whisper, touching the tops of my fingers to my lips in thought.
“Is it though?” Ry surprises me with his response.
“To be so content with the earth that you don’t feel the need to be affected by outside opinions.
To know that nature has its own story to tell, and to be the one to listen as opposed to changing it?
” I blush and immediately feel regret over my choice of words. So, Ry is deep. Who knew?
“I mean to say, how lonely. How lonely to feel you only have the trees to talk to.” I try to clarify. Ry glances sideways at me, and then looks back out the window before he says,
“Oh, I don’t think he was alone at all.”