Chapter 15
REFRESHMENTS
For a long while, we just stare at each other, out of breath and in awe with what has just transpired, and outside nonetheless.
He hovers above me with one hand on each side of my head.
Eyes locked, he pushes the hair sticking to my forehead away and slowly lays a kiss there.
The moment of softness in complete contradiction to what we were just doing. I want him to do it again.
Ry pulls me up into him and drops me down off the truck and onto the grass beneath.
My legs feel like a Jello mold I once saw my mother attempt to make when I was young.
Ry holds one of my arms slightly to steady me.
I smile up at him, still coming down from the high, and he returns it with a smirk.
“I’ll go get us some refreshments,” I say as I adjust my shirt back over myself, finding the neckline completely stretched and misshapen.
This one will probably find its way to the dump.
Ry nods with a smug look on his face, and I grab my sweats that seem to have found themselves under his red truck.
Walking back to the house, I glance back in his direction as he stands buckling up his belt, all while his eyes bore holes into me. How completely turned around my life has become. An estate and now this. Whatever this may be.
Maybe it’s not a bad thing. I have a hard time comprehending it being anything but bad. I’ve grown to be a true pessimist through and through. That view needs to be changed, because after what just occurred, I feel anything but.
I notice two things when I get in the house. One is the heavy feeling of doom that hangs in the air, making it feel even harder to breathe inside these walls. The mirror off to the side wall, enchanting me with its looming darkness, seems to have tripled in scale.
And second, the basement door is open. Again. The door that just may be the death of me. This time I don’t close it, but run past quickly to get to the kitchen. Maybe ignoring it will magically make it close on its own, since it has done such a great job of doing the opposite.
The steel refrigerator commands the kitchen, and I head its way. The water from the tap is not the best, so I’ve been living off the homemade iced tea that I keep in the fridge. I’m thankful the cupboards were stocked with this Southern staple.
I’m about to head back out when I turn and see Ry standing behind me in the kitchen.
Staring at me as if he can’t believe I’m real.
I know that look because it’s the same way I find myself feeling about him.
But while my eyes hold all excitement and curiosity, his hold a quiet uneasiness, and a dark knowing that I can’t seem to look away from.
I should take that as a warning, especially as I notice how his tattoos have deepened against his already deep skin and those two indents on his forehead have become more pronounced. Unsettling, but his beauty seems even more magnified by it all.
“I put some of the wood by your fireplace.” He interrupts my thoughts. “The part of the oak that fell was dead. It should be dry enough to burn tonight,” his words coming out silky and warm. “Do you know how to start a fire?”
“No, actually. Perhaps you can show me?” I try to say smoothly, but it comes out rushed and jagged. The implications are very clear, and he quirks a smile at that. Reading the tone behind our words tells me our business with each other is far from finished.
“You won’t want one until late tonight, and I can help you with that. That is, if you are OK with my coming over later?” Realizing that maybe we aren’t talking about an actual fire after all, I blush and nod. Gently taking my face with his fingertips, he tips my head back by the chin.
“Good,” he says, hovering his lips over mine. He then softly runs his tongue over my bottom lip. My heartbeat picks up as he presses his full lips into mine, stealing my breath. Ry pulls back to find my eyes. It’s an unnerving way I feel when we are like this. So at ease, and yet so wildly not.
“I need to head home,” he breaks the silence. “I’ll be over later after I clean up.” Automatically my mind goes to him showering. He smirks and heads to the front door, knowing my thoughts all too well. It is then that I remember the door to the basement was open.
“Hey, did you by chance come in and open the basement door for any reason?” I ask. His eyes dilate with a visible rage that he reigns back in quickly.
“No, I didn’t,” he says in a clipped tone. “And I’d advise you to stay away from it. Your uncle mentioned health hazards down there when he got his estate looked at years ago.”
“Oh, OK.” I look at him quizzically, wondering why that sounded almost like a lie, and what would cause so much strained emotion if the basement is just a health hazard as he says. He says no more of the subject, taking my submission for just that.
I’m drawn back outside to look at the work done on the old oak tree, Ry leaving with the promise to return later tonight. The sad tree looks rather defeated with a large limb missing.
I put my hand on its bark, feeling a need to feel its roughness under my fingers. I don’t get the same feelings from this oak as I do from the hickory. A growing smell evokes something in me I know I can place; soft night blooms muddled with a sense of loneliness that I can’t equate to being mine.
I sit with the sadness until it becomes me.
Full of sorrow, and grief, and longing. I drop my hand from its surface.
I too feel like this old oak. There is something missing that I can’t put my finger on.
A truth that needs to be known. I shake it off, putting distance between me and the tree, thinking maybe my uncle was actually mad after all. I know I’m starting to feel that way.
I stroll past the cherry tree, countless cypress trees and the beautiful magnolia that stands guard of the house.
Looking at the tree conjures up my friend, and I realize I should call Lollie to tell her about recent events.
Mostly, I tell Lollie everything about my sexual endeavors.
However, there is something so all-encompassing about this past one that makes me think I need to keep it to myself.
Regardless if I tell Lollie or not, I long to hear her cheerful voice.
My steps echo against the floor on my way to reach for the receiver.
I am stopped by a slight breeze. The basement door still stands open as I remember I didn’t have the nerve to close it earlier.
It seems open wider than before, challenging me.
I hesitantly walk toward it and look down the steps. It doesn’t look like anything remarkable, but every hair on my body stands on end, and nervous goosebumps litter my arms. This feeling is starting to be a common occurrence, and at this spot in particular.
Could there be something for me to discover in the darkness of the stairwell? And do I want to find out? My gut says no, so I listen. But still I stare. And when I look down upon the third step, there it is. A purple thistle flower placed perfectly in its center as if it were just for me.
Chills crawl through me as I slam the door and place a large chair in front of it. My heart, pumping blood furiously through me. I am so irked that I forget about calling Lollie and all but run upstairs, praying that a bath will calm my nerves.
I pace back and forth as the water fills the tub. How could a flower have ended up there? Could Carya have brought it in? But she hasn’t been outside.
When the steaming water reaches over half, I eventually slide in, letting the warmth of the bubbly liquid ease my worries.
I submerge myself in the water, going under into its tranquil depths.
I’m greeted by stillness surrounding me completely, doing its job of muting any intrusive thoughts.
Relaxation washes over me, and with that mellow, I think of the events that occurred this morning.
My face warms when the thought of Ry pops into my mind.
His body and aura, a clear attraction I cannot comprehend.
Not only that, but I am no stranger to free love in this day and age.
And even if Ry is not feeling the same things that I am, I will live and hope my heart can retain some sort of neutrality.
But could I ever feel this way about someone else? Is this just infatuation being felt by a na?ve young woman only just now opening herself to these types of notions? I’m certain it’s more.
I step out of the tub and reach for a towel.
Prickles of cold shivers fall over my whole body, causing me to snatch the towel of the old brass hook.
I wrap it to cover my front, looking around in alarm.
I cannot shake the sense of unsteadiness that still floods me.
A nagging sensation of being watched sits at my back. I know I am alone, but I am wrong.
At the window, a lone crow sits perched on the branch closest to the bathroom. That sensation gets stronger as I look the bird in the eye. An eye that sparkles with a moonlit glow. Could this be the same bird that interrupted us under the hickory?
It flies off, and I can’t help but laugh to myself in the nervous silence. Real nice Jade…afraid of a bird. And it is then—I feel utterly pathetic after that.