Chapter 6
There’s a chill in the air now that the sun has set. I make it as far as the steps and then stop, sit to take off my heels. My foot is purple, the swelling bad as ever. Even if I wanted to dance, I don’t think I could.
I linger on the steps, suddenly hesitant to venture out to the cabin alone.
I attempt to reason with myself. If the Eyeball Man was out there, if he was real, if my dream was real, he’d have shown himself by now.
The night has diverged, my déjà vu vanished.
My brain must have glitched. Everything is fine. Everything is fine. Everything is
“Hey.”
I jump out of my skin.
“Whoa, whoa. It’s just me.” Danny. He emerges from the shadow of the reception hall.
“Sneaking up on me?”
“Not intentionally,” he says. “What are you doing out here?”
“Needed some air.” I almost leave it there, but I sense the opportunity for a temporary reprieve from my angst. A fun distraction. “I’m sorry. That’s a lie. I recently backslid into a smoking habit. I left my cigarettes at my cabin. I’m headed there now.”
“On that foot?”
“I’m managing.”
“You want an escort?”
“If you’re offering.”
“I’m offering,” he says, grinning. “I’m offering.”
I consider putting my heels back on but fuck it. I reach up and Danny pulls me to stand. He wraps his arm around me, and we start down the path.
“Nice night,” he says. “Look at all the stars.”
I tilt my head back. It’s incredible. The sky is this rich midnight blue streaked with the brightest stars I’ve ever seen—their gleam ethereal. This is the kind of view that makes you understand the invention of gods. That makes you cower at the majesty of nature. “Beautiful.”
“We should just stay out here for the rest of the night.” He slips his flask out of his pocket, unscrews the cap, and takes a swig. He offers it to me.
I accept it. It’s heavier than I remember. “Did you refill this?”
“Made friends with the bartender.”
“I bet you make friends pretty easily, don’t you?”
“Aren’t we friends?” Him and that grin. Those dimples.
“I don’t know. Are we?” I take a sip of whiskey and give him back the flask. We approach the cabins. I hope I have my key. I open my bag and search inside.
“What’s…” he trails off.
I look up. “What? What’s what?”
“Nothing,” he says, taking another swig before screwing the cap back on.
“What’s nothing?” My tone is way too intense. I sound crazy.
He does his signature awkward laugh, rubs his jaw. “Your paranoia is making me paranoid.”
“I’m sorry. I…I’ve been on edge all day. Did you see something?”
“Nah,” he says. “I didn’t see anything.”
“All right. Cool.” I don’t believe him. I want to ask a million follow-ups, but I hold back, afraid to reveal that I am fucking crazy. I find the key card in my bag and climb the steps to the cabin. Danny follows. He takes a seat on the porch swing.
“You’re not coming in?” I ask him, pressing the card to the sensor. The lock whirs.
“Do you want me to come in?”
Fuck it. “Yes. I thought that was obvious.”
He swings—back and forth, back and forth—grin slowly spreading across his face.
“Well?”
He nods, lets his feet drag to stop the swing. He stands and walks toward me, pushes me inside and pins me against the wall, my face in his hands.
“Can I?” he asks.
“Please.”
He kisses me—and I recognize his lips. I know them because this isn’t our first kiss, even though it is.
He’s so familiar to me. His measured aggression.
The way his fingertips press into my waist, the precise pressure of his grip, where his hands will travel next.
All the steps to this dance I’ve done before.
I perform the choreography. I press my hips against him, slide my hands inside his suit jacket, run my thumbs along the space just above his belt with the promise of crossing that line.
This chemistry with Danny—maybe it’s cosmic. Maybe it defies logic. Maybe he feels so familiar because there’s something really special here between us.
His touch is a lightning strike. He reaches down, searching for the hem of my dress, and I let him find it. I let him flirt with my inner thighs.
I unbuckle his belt.
I lead him into my room and close the door behind us. I let everything else fall out of my head and give in to what feels good.
Give in to the romantic in me who I’d thought was dead.
—
We didn’t fully undress. My underwear is around here somewhere, along with my shoes, his pants, his boxers, the condom wrapper. His whiskey breath is sticky on my neck, our heads crowded on the same pillow, my sheets kicked to the floor.
I want to get up and go to the bathroom.
I want to check my reflection—nervous that my makeup is smeared, that my hair is beyond saving.
When I return to the reception it’ll be obvious what I’ve been up to.
Not Danny. He can saunter back in with his perpetually disheveled hair, suit jacket draped casually over his shoulder, and no one will be the wiser.
I will have to answer for my sins. He won’t.
“That was something,” he says, kissing along my collarbone.
It was hot but it wasn’t exactly romantic, not in execution. It wasn’t bad but it wasn’t cosmic.
My expectations were too high. What was I hoping for? Multiple orgasms? A deep soul connection? World peace? It was first-time sex in a twin bed. The first first time I’ve had since Ravi. It’s been almost nine years since I’ve been with someone new.
I kiss his forehead, ruffle his hair. “We should head back to the wedding. Our cake will get stale if it sits out for too long.”
“I don’t need dessert,” he says, tracing my lips with his fingers. “I have you.”
“I’m not that sweet,” I tell him, sliding out of bed.
“Wouldn’t be so sure. Hey. Come back.”
I hunt for my underwear. I forgot how much I hate this postcoital dance—staggering around looking for your clothes, vulnerable and self-conscious and sweaty.
I find them in a knot in the corner near the window. I pick up my panties and clumsily step back into them. A gap appears between the burlap curtains as they ripple over an air vent. I see out onto the porch and to the path. In the quiet dark there’s the flick of a black feather.
The gap flutters shut. I reach out for the curtains, pull them back just a little, just a sliver for me to peek through. There’s a crow on the porch, on the banister. It’s enormous.
“What’s up?” Danny asks, buttoning his fly.
“There’s a bird. A crow. Look.”
He comes over to the window. “Whoa. Big guy.”
“It’s weird, right?”
“I’m starting to think birds are dinosaurs.”
I laugh. “Yeah? Cool theory.”
He grabs my hips, spins me around, and throws me on the bed. He climbs on top of me and chomps my neck. It’s cute. It’s stifling. It’s playful. It’s fun. It’s good.
“I don’t want to leave this room,” he says.
Is this how it feels to be wanted? I can’t remember. I kiss him. He kisses me back. Open mouth. Tongue.
I pull away. “We really should get going. For Steph and Jace.”
He groans and rolls off me. “Girl Scout.”
I hold up three fingers. Scout’s honor. “You love it.”
He bites his lip.
“There’s always tomorrow,” I say. “Tomorrow night. Sunday morning.”
“I’m a live-in-the-present type.”
“I don’t know. I think you’re a secret romantic. I think you’re already plotting to whisk me off to Tokyo and take me to your favorite sushi spot.”
He props himself up on his elbows, pulls his mouth wide and flat. It’s not a face I’ve seen him make before.
Why did I just say that? Fuuuck me.
“Ah. I do love Tokyo. That does sound like a good time. But…” He takes a breath, does his awkward laugh. “I’m good for a good time. I’m not good for anything long-term. Anything serious. I’m all over the place. I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
Of all the horrors I’ve endured lately—asleep or awake—this might be the most brutal. I’d take a knife between the eyes again over this.
How did I not see this coming? What a humiliating misjudgment.
“All right.” I nibble on the inside of my cheek, bite down hard and draw blood. A small violence to placate the feral rage.
I shouldn’t be mad at him—he didn’t lead me on, didn’t make me any promises. He never even brought up Tokyo. I did. Because I thought he did. Because in my head, we’d already trauma bonded. Because in my head—in my profound state of delusion—we were fated.
I shouldn’t be mad at him because the sex wasn’t mind-blowing, because our chemistry didn’t immediately translate horizontally. I shouldn’t be mad at him for being good-looking and charming and rich and reckless and not exactly who I need him to be.
But I am mad.
“Sorry. I’m sorry,” he says, standing. “Shit. Don’t be mad.”
And wouldn’t you know, now I’m even madder!
Because what if I didn’t want anything serious, either? He assumed. He wasn’t wrong, I wanted him to solve all my problems and liberate me of my breakup guilt and take me away to a new and better life. But still.
“I’m not mad.” I go into my suitcase for my pair of backup flats because who fucking cares. “I’m heartbroken beyond belief but I think I’ll make it.”
“I can’t tell if you’re kidding.”
“I admire your ego. The sheer size of it.” I put on my flats, scoop my bag off the floor, and open the door. “You coming? Just be careful. Not sure your head will fit through.”
“Okay, okay,” he says, laughing. “I get it. I’m an asshole.”
“You said it, not me.” I hold the door for him, and he follows me into the living room. “That was harsh. I’m sorry. It’s cool. It’s fine. We’re adults. I’d rather you be up-front.”
“Let me,” he says, reaching for the cabin door. He opens it, gestures for me to go through. What. A. Gentleman.
“Maybe up-front before we, you know…” I step out to find there are now two giant crows on the banister.
“You’re right. I should have said something sooner. I just thought it was a casual vibe. Wedding hookup.” He closes the door behind him, turns around, and sees the birds. “Whoa.”
There’s another one. A third. Down on the path. “All right. It’s not just me? This is ominous, yeah?”
“Ah, yeah. Spooky.” He laughs it off. “Did you know a group of crows is called a murder?”
“I’m not sure these are crows.” Seeing them up close, taking in the size of them, I’m pretty sure they’re ravens. “What’s a group of ravens called?”
“An unkindness.”
“Yeah, why not? Are all flocks of birds given such miserable names? What the fuck?”
“Nah. A group of flamingos is a flamboyance.”
“How do you know so much about birds?”
“I don’t,” he says. “I just have a great memory for useless facts.”
“Do you happen to know if ravens are hostile?” They’re staring at us with their beady black eyes, their dark feathers iridescent in the moonlight. Their beaks are long and broad and curve to a sharp tip. They’re majestic, intimidating creatures.
It’s the same gnawing feeling, the one I’ve had all day. That I had in my dream. Something isn’t right. It’s off. Like the first sniff of sour milk. I know.
“I would think only during nesting season. In the spring,” he says, taking my hand. “Walk behind me.”
I stay close to him as we head down the porch steps, walk on the grass parallel to the path, keeping a safe distance from the birds. Only…there are more birds. Ravens. They’re everywhere. Perched on the cabins. On the roofs, the banisters, the front porches, the steps.
“Um…”
All at once, the ravens begin to caw.
“Danny?” I squeeze his hand.
“Do you see that? Willa. Willa, look.” He angles me away from the cabins toward the field. In the distance, down by the shore of the lake, stands a tall figure dressed in all black.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
He doesn’t wear a mask. Not that I can tell. No balaclava with a duct tape zipper mouth, fake eyeballs. Nope. None of that.
He wears a black top hat with a feather sticking out, tipped down so the brim hides his face.
A black full-length wool overcoat with a high collar.
Black slacks. Black dress shoes. A black shirt layered underneath a black vest. A badly frayed black scarf.
There’s a glint of silver across his waist from what’s maybe a watch chain.
He’s surrounded by fog. It twists around him in thick tendrils.
The birds caw louder and louder and louder and louder.
The man looks up.
I can’t see his face from here, but I can see that his eyes are glowing red.
“What is that?” Danny asks, fear cracking his voice. “Who is that?”
“It’s…it’s not…it’s not even the same guy!” I laugh in spite of myself, in spite of the obvious danger. The horror. “It’s a different fucking guy!”