Chapter Eighteen
“What do you think of Bryan?” Terence finished screwing the new strike plate into the shed’s doorjamb. He shut the door, and
the new doorknob latched perfectly.
“Seems like a cool dude.” Avila picked up the rock that used to prop open the door and tossed it on the ground.
Samantha’s daughter, Heather, was visiting Ebony today. The two of them were hanging out in the backyard, chatting and giggling.
Terence took the key from the lock and handed it to her. “He’s my friend, and he’s a great colleague too. He knows a lot about
me. I wouldn’t typically talk about myself to others, but he gives good advice and all. His opinion matters to me.” Terence
picked up the empty doorknob box and instruction sheet.
Was this her cue to probe and ask what they had been talking about? What were they discussing, especially as it related to
her? Perhaps, but she didn’t want to do all of that. She shrugged, still focused on the lawn.
Ms. Mable crossed the yard, carrying two glasses of sweet tea. “Anyone thirsty?”
They thanked her for the drinks, speaking loudly so she could hear.
“I remember the way you two were always stopping in for my sweet tea and just couldn’t help myself. Avila, the home looks
wonderful.”
“Thanks.” She stared at the house with fresh eyes. “It should get a good price.”
Ms. Mable wiped her hands on the tails of her bright floral shirt. “I wish you would reconsider and stay, dear.”
Terence looked at Avila as if to say, See, I’m not the only one who thinks so.
“It would be nice to have a child in the backyard again. Just like old times.” Ms. Mable touched the large silver pendant
on her necklace.
Avila took a sip of her sweet tea, letting the taste settle on her tongue. The sale of the house was an easier thing to deal
with than trying to reconsider life back here in Charleston. Avila had found out that her mother didn’t have any outstanding
debts upon her death, and so the sale of this home would be a financial blessing and not a burden. Avila had no other way
to pay for Ebony’s college, and she was going to give her daughter a better start in life than she herself had had. Ebony
wouldn’t work in a dead-end job if she didn’t have to do so. She could pursue a career in the arts.
Terence made conversation with Ms. Mable. When Avila finished the rest of her sweet tea, she handed over the glass and thanked
her neighbor.
“Well, I’m off to a ladies’ Bible study. See you kids later.”
Avila hadn’t been called a kid in years. Hearing that word again brought back nostalgia.
“The house looks very charming, Avila,” Samantha said when she arrived to take Heather and Ebony for a sleepover at her house. “When do you think it’ll be ready to list?”
“About a week, I think.” Avila glanced at Terence, but he looked away.
Ebony and Heather squeezed past Samantha and out the front door, loaded down with Ebony’s overnight bag and some drawing supplies.
“Ebony,” Avila called.
She stopped and looked back.
“I was thinking about taking the day off tomorrow, okay? We can go to Kiawah Island.”
“Cool.” Ebony headed down the porch steps.
“Have fun,” Avila called.
When they left, Avila decided it was time to tackle her mother’s room. She had shut the door on that first day, but now she
was feeling up to working on it. Coraline’s was the only room that had not needed a coat of paint. Now that Avila had sorted
through the rest of the house, it was the only room left.
She opened the door and flipped on the switch, bracing herself for the smell that reminded her of her mother. Holding her
breath like a child, she struggled to the window and opened it. The evening air was warm and still. When she turned, Terence
stood in the doorway watching her.
“You okay?”
When had she become so transparent? “I’m fine.” She brushed her hands together and looked around. Where should she start? Samantha had advised her to leave the furniture until the house sold, so the bedding needed to stay. Hopefully the house would sell furnished, and Avila wouldn’t have to worry about the contents.
In her mother’s room, only the drawers and the closet needed to be cleaned out. She looked at the white five-paneled closet
door, then turned away.
“Let’s start with the chest of drawers.” They could shove the clothes into bags and give them to charity. It would be done
and over before she knew it.
Avila pulled a plastic bag from its cardboard box and snapped it open. The first drawer contained socks. She shoved them into
the bag, suppressing the shudder that arose in her. Just touching her mother’s things made her feel sad. But she kept going.
Another drawer on the chest squeaked as Terence pulled it open. Avila opened the next drawer and grabbed a stack of clothes,
dumping them into the plastic bag. Something in the pile caught on her fingers. She lifted her hands and saw a delicate chain.
At the end was a locket—her mom’s.
Her father had given it to her mother one Christmas. It was always tucked inside her mom’s sweater, swinging on her neck as
she leaned over the garden, lying on her pillow first thing in the morning.
The oval locket’s gold plating was faded on the side. Her mom had worn it against her skin. On the front, tiny swirls were
etched into the brushed gold. When she was a young girl, Avila used to trace her fingers over the design on the locket.
Avila slid her nail into the groove around the locket edge and pried it open. On the left side was a picture of Avila at around the age of eight. It was not the photo Avila remembered. Her mom must have updated it at some point. Avila had never seen the photo before and didn’t remember the occasion on which it was taken.
On the right side of the locket, where her father’s photo used to be, a picture of her mom stared back at her. She didn’t
know why she expected her dad’s picture to be there still, but the fact that it wasn’t felt odd.
Her mom must have stopped wearing the locket at one point. Avila could tell by the way it was jammed in between clothes. Did
she stop wearing it after Avila hadn’t returned home? Did Avila’s absence disappoint her that much?
“What did you find?” Terence said, placing a garbage bag on the bed and looking over her shoulder.
Avila snapped the locket shut, opened the bag, and tossed it in. “Nothing,” she said. Just some things that I need to emotionally process. Her mouth felt like sandpaper, and she felt empty inside.
She hauled open the next drawer and shoved clothes into the bag as fast as she could. She wasn’t stopping to look at anything
else. She didn’t care anymore. It was all going out the door.
When she filled the bag, she grabbed another and continued. There were cards and junk in the bottoms of some of the drawers.
She gathered and tossed them without looking.
When they finished the chest of drawers, Terence carried the full bags out to the front room to give them more space to work
in the confined quarters of the bedroom. Avila slid the last empty drawer of the chest shut and moved onto the nightstand
on her mom’s side of the bed. With any luck, it would be empty.
Terence knelt on the other side of the bed and opened the nightstand on that side. “There’s a lot of junk in here. Do you wanna go through it?”
Avila opened the top drawer on her side. On the top of the pile was an old copy of a magazine with Nancy Reagan on the cover.
“Just pitch everything.”
She snatched a fresh plastic bag and started grabbing things. The magazine; an old romance novel, its pages yellowed by time;
and a jar of cold cream went in the bag, followed by a tealight and a lighter. She scooped up the rest of the contents, dumped
them in the bag, and shut the drawer.
“Avila?”
The second drawer was as full as the first. She reached in. “What?”
“I think you should see this.”
“Just pitch it.” Seeing the locket with her father’s picture removed was enough to make her feel a sadness inside. That locket
raised a lot of feelings, and Avila didn’t want to come across something else that would stir up emotions.
“It’s a letter.” Terence held up an envelope.
“It’s probably just something random. Not needed anymore.” She was tired of being pulled down memory lane. She refused to
go any farther.
“It’s from your dad, Avila.”
The wind left her lungs, and she stilled. “I can’t do this.” Her tone was weary, uncertain, worried. Why should she pore over
an old letter? It was probably one her mom had gotten from her father when they were dating.
“You don’t want to read it?”
Avila looked at him. Why couldn’t he just drop it? “No.”
He looked at the envelope.
A knot formed in her throat and remained there, stuck.
“Looking at the date on the letter, it appears as if he wrote it right before the time that he left.”
She trembled, shaken to the core. Avila stared at the letter but saw nothing. What could he have said in this letter?
“Your dad never told you why he left?” Terence asked.
“No,” she whispered.
He stood and held it out to her.
Avila shook her head. She didn’t want to read it. Not now.
Terence set it on top of the comforter. Her hand slipped as she opened the last drawer of the nightstand. She grabbed the
whole drawer and pulled it out, then upended it into the bag, banging the bottom so every scrap of paper fell in.
What had her father written before he left? Did he regret leaving? Did he ask to keep in touch with Avila? Did he want Avila
to live with him? The questions haunted her like a ghost. But she was too afraid to know the answers.
She heard the floor squeak and wondered when Terence had come to stand behind her. He squatted on the floor and leaned against
the side of the bed. “You’re upset.”
“I’m fine.” It was her mantra, and she saw no reason to ditch it now. She got the garbage bag in her hands and started to
rise to her feet.
Terence put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s talk.”
“I don’t wanna talk.” She wanted to leave, go outside, and breathe fresh air again.
“We need to clean out the closet,” she said. She stood, and his hand fell away.
Avila set a bag out of the way, then opened the closet door. Everything was neatly organized from top to bottom, but she couldn’t bring herself to do more, not after seeing that letter. Her energy left, drained away, as if someone pulled a plug on the ocean. And the smell! Musty. The stench penetrated her nostrils, filled her lungs, and leaked into every cell of her body.
She shut the door and spun on her heels. The living room passed in a blur; then she went to the screened-in back porch. She
leaned against the screen door and filled her lungs with the night air.
She heard Terence’s footsteps and closed her eyes. The wind whistled through the tree branches, swishing the leaves together.
Somewhere in the distance, a car’s tires squealed.
She pictured that letter on the bed, waiting to be read. Part of her wanted to burn it. Another part, the insecure young girl
with one hundred questions, begged to tear open the envelope and get her answers.
Terence’s hands settled on her shoulders, squeezing gently.
“I don’t want to talk,” she said, just to clarify.
He kneaded her shoulders. “I know.”
She relaxed a bit, letting him soothe her soul. She hadn’t known empathy until Terence. She remembered the day her dad had
left and the way Terence was there. He didn’t talk or make her talk. He was just there, holding her hand.
He was always there, comforting her in a way no one else ever had. She leaned against him, wanting to soak in his presence
for just a little while. She was tired of being independent. So tired. What would it hurt to lean on him for a while? To fully
surrender? If she couldn’t trust Terence, whom could she trust?
His arms came around her, wrapped around her middle, and his head rested on hers. His cologne filled her senses. She imagined being snuggled on a couch with a flannel blanket covering the both of them. Sheltered. Loved. Safe.
“You don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to be soft,” he whispered against her hair.
She knew it was true, but she had lost the ability somehow. She was tired.
He pressed a tender kiss to the top of her head, and she melted. If only she could have a life like this. If only she could
stay in Charleston forever and let Terence love her. Only when he held her did she realize what she was missing, and it was
him.
She clutched his arms, hoping he wouldn’t let her go. Her fingers intertwined with his.
He pulled her into him, holding her tightly. His flesh was warm against the chill of the night, his breath moist against her
temple.
“You deserve so much more, Avila. Life has so much more to give you.”
A knot inside her loosened. And something loving stole her heart and her breath. It was better than anything she had ever
felt before.
She turned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. His heart beat against her ear. He was warm and solid. Her hands
moved against the ripples of his strong back.
His arms cradled her head, the same way he had held her when he released her all those years ago. He had saved her then, like
he saved her from childhood bullies, like he was saving her now. Here he was, always giving her what she needed.
Avila leaned back and looked at him. She allowed herself to touch his jaw, feeling the rough stubble against the pads of her fingers. She explored the planes of his face, angles so familiar she saw them in her sleep.
The line of his upper lip was a sharp edge, and she let her fingers chill down to the fullness of his lower lip, then to the
tiny cleft in his chin.
Their eyes met. His palm held her chin, and her heart forgot to beat. He leaned down, and she arched toward him, feeling his
lips on hers. His lips touched her gently, no more than a whisper, testing the waters. But she felt it down to her toes. His
lips moved over hers again, slowly giving, not taking.
He was Terence, her trusted friend, but in that moment he was so much more. He was passionate. He was affectionate. He was
kind. She wanted it all, and she wouldn’t stop until she had it.
She leaned into him, her hand sliding around his back. Their kiss deepened, and her world was a kaleidoscope of color and
light. All of it was beautiful.
“Avila.”
She felt her name on his lips and relished it. But she didn’t want to talk. She wanted to feel. It had been so long since
she’d been able to.
He pulled back a bit, until only their noses touched. Their breath mingled in an intimate dance. His hands framed her face.
“Avila. I love you so much.” He kissed her again.
She let the words sink in and soothe her. Time stretched into an endless stream of seconds, which lengthened the distance
between them. Instead of settling in a deep sense of pleasure, his words begged for an answer. Did she love him?
Before she could explore the thought, her heart taunted her. She shouldn’t let herself love. People leave. Love only leads
to pain.
The words caught in her mind. Her lips moved mechanically against Terence’s.
Her stomach twisted; the pleasant sensations flowing through her battled with the bitter reality of life. When had love ever
worked out for her? What good was love when it ended in pain?
Panic bubbled up inside her until she thought she’d burst. She stepped backward, and her chest heaved.
Terence’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?”
Avila shook her head. This was wrong. The confusion on his face pricked at her, breaking her. She needed to be strong. She
needed to protect herself. No one else would protect her, including Terence.
“What, Avila?” He reached out his hand.
Avila stepped away. She couldn’t let him touch her again. She had almost lost her head, and she wasn’t sure if she could trust
herself. She needed to get away.
She remembered the letter lying on the bed and the locket her mom had left behind.
She wanted to go someplace far away. She opened the porch screen door. “I have to go,” she said. Her feet scrambled down the
steps and took her to her bike.
“Wait, Avila.”
She hopped on the bike, straddling the seat.
Terence took her arm. “It’s dark. I’ll leave; you stay here.”
“I have to go.” She didn’t know where, hadn’t thought that far ahead. Her foot fumbled.
“I can take you. It’s late.”
His presence, so reassuring and peaceful moments before, now felt heavy.
Avila took his hand and glared at him. “Let me go.” She steeled herself against the hurt in his eyes, and his hand fell away.
Her feet found the pedals, and she pushed off. The driveway pebbles popped out from under the tires. She turned out onto the
road, the moonlight guiding her path. The wind in her ears wasn’t enough to blow away her thoughts.
She needed to keep her distance. She couldn’t let anyone into her heart.
Now Terence knew how she felt. She didn’t have to say the words to speak the truth, loud and clear. How would she keep him
away until she left? She didn’t know if she had the strength.
Avila peddled hard, not allowing herself to coast, punishing herself over the pain in her thighs. She took the corner onto
the main road fast and headed toward town. Her lungs got fresh air. A sheen of sweat broke out onto her temples, but she kept
going, as if she could outrun her thoughts.
Terence’s words washed over her, but she pushed them away. Her father had claimed to love her too, but where was he when Avila
needed her?
The unease of an accumulation of sad memories and experiences and disappointments had become a mess of baggage. No telling
how she’d rescue herself from the wreckage.
Loving someone was the act of a fool, and she was done with that. Love was an illusion and so was that peace she dreamed of.
Terence would say peace was God-given, but she didn’t buy it. Not anymore. God would leave her like everyone else had, and
then where would she be?
The road turned to cobblestone, and she slowed her pace. The gears ticked as she coasted behind a Toyota. A breeze blew in from the ocean, cooling her skin. When she reached the diner, she pulled into the lot and parked her bike under a bright lamp.
An eighties tune floated out the door of the building, beckoning her. Someone laughed inside. She entered the space, stepping
through the crowd to a seat in the corner. She wasn’t in the mood to socialize. She was in the mood to forget.
A server came over, a young kid with a quick smile. “What will it be?” he asked over the chatter.
“I’ll have a cola.”
Just then, she remembered that she’d left her purse at home. Great.
The server approached with her soda and set it down on her table.
“Thanks.”
Avila looked for Shalimar and knew she had to ask a favor. She downed the drink, feeling the fizzy liquid all the way down
her throat, before she approached her. She smoothed her T-shirt and patted down her hair.
Shalimar’s face lit up when she saw Avila. “Hey, Avila. Good to see you.”
“You too,” she hollered over the chatter, taking a seat on the only empty stool. She leaned forward, and Shalimar came closer.
“Listen, I have a little problem. I left my money at home.”
“Ah. I see. You can have one drink on the house.”
Finally, something was going her way. She smiled her gratitude. “Thanks a lot.”
“Did you ever go to the audition?” Shalimar asked.
“I took my daughter there to audition. She’s much better at that sort of thing than me.”
“Ah. That’s too bad. I was hoping that you’d audition too. How’d your daughter do?”
“She did very well. We will find out if she has a callback tomorrow.”
“Good. Maybe one day, I’ll see you on the stage again.”
Avila gave a smile, not believing her comment. “Maybe.”
“You really shouldn’t put your talent to waste.”
Avila laughed, not sure why she found it funny. “Waste? The older you get, the more you have to think practically about things.
There’s not much money to be made in show business... but there is decent money to be made in working overtime at the ER.”
She giggled.
Shalimar looked at her curiously. “Excuse me?”
Avila tucked her hair behind her ears. “I work the front desk at an emergency room. I calm frantic people down from their
health emergencies and help them navigate the check-in process. I’m a pro at it. It pays the bills, and it gives my daughter
the freedom to pursue her talents. So, it’s a win-win.”
A look of empathy came across Shalimar’s face. “Perhaps.”
“Oh no. It’s not ‘perhaps.’ It’s definite.” She scanned the room. “If it weren’t for people like me, then people wouldn’t
get the medical care that they need.”
Shalimar studied her, as if she wanted to say something more. “You know, if you’re not into acting, there are some job openings
at the theater. I heard my dad say that he wants to hire an assistant stage manager. If you’re ever up for that sort of thing,
I could put in a good word for you. I’m sure if he remembered you from back in the day, you’d get hired immediately.”
“Are you serious?”
“Of course. Here’s my phone number.” She wrote it on a piece of paper and handed it to her. “Just let me know if you’re interested.”
An assistant stage manager. Would she really want to be an assistant stage manager? She’d have to uproot her entire life to
do something like that. Avila wasn’t ready. Avila headed back to her table.
Just then, the door to the diner swung open, and Terence walked in. Oh my goodness.
“Avila. I was looking all over for you.”
She gave a half-smile. “Hi.”
He headed over to the table where she was seated. “You okay?”
“Of course,” she said.
He handed over her purse. “You’re not if you don’t have your purse.”
“No worries,” Shalimar said, apparently listening to their conversation. “It’s on the house.”
Terence looked back and forth between them. He then reached in his wallet and pulled out his credit card. “I’ll cover the
bill.”
Shalimar took his card. “No problem. I’ll get this done.”
After she left, Terence focused his attention on her. “Why’d you leave?”
“I needed to think. We were...”
“We were what? Getting too close?” Terence asked.
“Maybe.” She reached over and touched his arm. Terence’s biceps were thick. “Definitely.”
Shalimar returned with the receipt and card, and Terence signed the bill.
“Let’s go. I’m going to take you home.” Terence led her around back, where he was parked. Avila followed him grudgingly, but there was no point in trying to leave again. Avila grabbed her bike. Terence finagled it into the back seat of his sedan, though it was a tight fit. As she headed to the passenger side, the heel of her shoe caught in the cobblestones, and she lost her balance. Terence caught her body against his. He was solid. His dark skin made his teeth look perfectly white. So handsome. No. This isn’t what she should be doing. This wasn’t good.
“You don’t have to kiss me again, Avila. You don’t have to do anything else with me, but I want you to be home and safe. Let
me take you home at least.”
She hesitated, but she knew that she could trust him. “Okay. You can take me home.”