Chapter 2 #2
“More than. With a telescopic lens. Not even Stonewell and his repeated threats scared him off, so I let him have his interview. He sat at the table while I stood right here. I never turned around. He was layered up with NDA’s after, except for a list of things he could say or print.
He didn’t like that, but he was giddy at the fact that I obviously wasn’t going to speak to any other publications. ”
“Hmm. Well, you might not live in a castle, and you might be well spoken, but—”
“Reclusive people can be well spoken,” I say, cutting her off.
“I agree, but normally, doesn’t it follow that they wouldn’t want to be?”
“I suppose. The one thing that follows is that I am rich. Aren’t they all, in those stories?”
“Generally, to afford a castle or a crumbling manor, you’d have to have had the money to buy it at some point,” she says.
I don’t know anything about this woman, but she’s got a wry, dry sense of humor that would manifest itself well in every part of her life.
People probably flock to her naturally, not because she’s pretty, but because she practically radiates kindness.
It’s the rarest and most beautiful thing in all the world.
They’re attracted to her heart and her ability to make herself vulnerable and connect with just about anyone over anything.
She’s the kind of person who has the ability to make the world magical with just a single smile.
I’m just guessing here. And I’m probably going too far. That’s what happens when I spend most of my days working out, staring at the lake, watching the birds, losing myself in a book or a good album, cooking alone, and beyond that, generally being quite bored.
“At least your parents don’t throw you grand balls to try and find you a wife. Parties aren’t really my thing,” she says.
I pick up the thread of that. “I’d have to arrive masked if they did, but people like a little mystique.”
“Aren’t rich people notoriously weird?” she mutters.
“Some.”
“If they’re artsy?”
That’s a good word to describe her. “Even if they’re not.”
“Why do you call them prospective wives if you aren’t actually planning on marrying anyone?”
“What makes you think that?” I ask.
“The rather aggressive amounts of paperwork that speak to the contrary,” she states dryly. “And the fact that you’ve alluded to that exact sentiment more than once since I got here. Plus, the also aggressive lawyer dude. He’s a bit much.”
“He’s alright.”
“He considers you a friend. I can tell. I guess it’s kind of admirable to act like an enraged goose on behalf of someone else if that someone else inspires the right kind of loyalty.”
I let out a surprised bark of laughter for the second time, and it bounces off the timber walls.
Laughter isn’t something I’ve forgotten how to do.
Adam, the bastard, would do anything to keep me from losing myself.
Plus, he’s constantly walking around here trying to motivate me and telling me things like, the only time you are ever truly lost is the time you fall down and refuse to get up again.
That’s the shit that never fails to get me going.
Motivational bullshit. He knows it. It’s like he’s rolled up the damn poster and turned it into a megaphone to blast into my brain.
He still constantly goes around telling me that, just because he enjoys me flipping him off so much.
“I’ve heard Stonewell being called many things, but never a goose.”
“Geese are scary. They didn’t earn their cobra chicken nickname for nothing. Do you get a lot of geese here?”
The floors are stone in the kitchen, but they’re hardwood in here, the halls, and the bedrooms. Her shoes scuff across the floor when she takes a step, like she’s not used to walking in platforms that are seven inches high.
Then again, can anyone walk in those things?
“Yes.” They come seasonally, sometimes swimming right up to the house with their brand-new babies. It’s a special joy, watching them grow. “And others.”
The birds out here are a huge comfort. Losing half your face, your career, your life…
it can teach you many things. Usually, those lessons involve rage and bitterness, which I’ve cycled through many times, questions like, Why me, and other denials, but there are also moments of light.
Little epiphanies. It’s not all doom and gloom, depression, and self-loathing.
There are times when I’m absolutely happy and beyond grateful to still be alive.
“I bet. You probably get treated to some amazing shows. Do you have bird feeders? Do you do the binoculars thing? Bird cameras?”
“A little of everything.” I know every bird that lives here year-round and all those that come and go with the seasons. I know their colors, their habits, their songs, and their calls.
“What’s your favorite?” she asks.
“The crows.”
“Really? You’re one of those people.”
“I’m afraid to ask what category I’m being lumped in.”
She laughs. It’s a gorgeous sound, as I knew it would be. It’s like summer strawberries in the sun. Her eyes are bright blue, and they’re so bright and unnatural that she has to be wearing contacts. They stand out against her makeup.
“A crow enthusiast.”
I quirk a brow. “You say it like there’s something wrong with it.”
“No. Sorry. I actually think it’s really cool. Crows are super smart and so unique. I read they can hold a grudge for like ten years, and they’ll bring gifts to the people who like them. I think it takes a special kind of person to appreciate them.”
“Seventeen years, actually,” I correct her.
“What?” she gasps. “Seventeen years? Holy cawquamole, I shouldn’t piss them off then.”
There’s plenty of scar tissue along my lower lip that extends to the side of my mouth and down my chin, and I have a bad habit of worrying it with my teeth. I do it to stop myself from laughing. “Birding isn’t something I would have enjoyed… before.”
“Do you get bored?”
“Bored isn’t the right word.” Actually, it is the right word.
“Are you going to show me your face?” she asks.
She switches topics so easily and fluidly that it turns all the tension I’m very much trying to pretend isn’t a thing into a laugh or cry moment. I want to laugh, but oddly enough, my eyes also sting.
It’s so weird to go from not wanting to have to endure this evening to suddenly not wanting it to end.
“I am. Do you want to sit down?”
“I’m okay standing,” she replies.
“If you hate it, I could always eat with a bag on my head so you don’t lose your appetite.”
“Oh my god, come on now!” she implores, legitimately upset. “I know we’ve been kind of joking around and it’s been all dry humor because that’s the less awkward road, but if you say something like that again, I’m going to be truly sad for both of us.”
“If I can’t make fun of myself, I’d be in a real sorry state. I’m just lucky I have the option.”
“To hide here?”
“Basically. I never had to subject myself to being called a freak show or stared at. I’ve never had to know that I made children cry.”
She clutches her hands in front of her dress, her bat sleeves swaying, her black nail polish glinting.
“People are unbelievably cruel, but they can be nice too. I don’t want that to be me.
The cruelness, I mean.” She inhales and exhales so loudly that it sounds like the window just blew open.
“If my face does something terrible because I’m a little bit shocked when you show me, I’m so sorry. I don’t mean it.”
“You’re oddly kind,” I say softly.
“At least it’s not just odd.”
“I don’t find there to be anything wrong with odd.”
“Are you… going to turn around now?”
It’s now or never. I think I’ve given her about as much preparation as I can. She’s been a pleasant surprise, a one-off so far. I’ve built this up beyond build-up. There’s only one thing left to do.
I pivot around in the world’s slowest slow motion. I leave the side of my face for last, cranking my head in an owlish motion that’s probably freaky in itself. I swear, for trying to have the lowest impact, I’m a full-on shitshow horror movie.
Her eyes are naturally large, but as soon as she gets a look at my face, they shoot open wider.
Her full lips part, pink where the black lipstick has worn away.
Without preamble, she falls over to the side, toppling right off those crazy high platforms, and starts flopping on the floor like a freshly landed fish.
Shit. I’ve never scared anyone into having a fucking seizure before.
I rush to her, my hands hovering anxiously. I’m on the verge of screaming for Adam because he knows CPR and other vital, relevant information, when she cranks up like a corpse rising out of her coffin—sorry, it’s totally the makeup—and winks at me.
The tremors hit me like they’re contagious, and they’ve transferred over. I was crouched down, but now, I fall flat on my ass, and she scrambles over to me. We’ve totally changed positions. She’s horrified, but it has nothing to do with my face.
“Shit. I’m so sorry. You’re shaking. I thought that would be a good joke, but I can see how it was in the worst taste.” She swallows hard while I do the same, trying to get my shit together.
We’re pretty much two worried, wide-eyed, panting, gulping messes until she finally gathers herself enough to give me a sheepish smile.
“You know what’s not in bad taste? Hopefully dinner. Should we eat?” She asked.