11. Arden
Arden
This time when I wake in the bright, airy room I remember exactly where I am and what I’m doing here.
And for the first time since I arrived, I don’t feel the memory of how it happened hanging over me.
There’s no dark shadow hiding in the corner of the room, waiting to jump at me when I’m not looking.
It’s still there, of course; I can’t get rid of the memory that easily.
In fact, if I turn and look at it, all the feelings come rushing back; the fear and uncertainty, the horror of not knowing what’s going to happen to me.
The loss of control and the unique frustration that came with knowing I was truly helpless.
The hope I had for those first weeks, when I thought someone from my family would come save me.
The despair when I realized it wasn’t going to happen, and the realization that I was a fool to think they would. Because I’ve never been worth that much to my father in the first place.
I take it all in my hands and shove it back into the corner where it was living, then turn back to the world of light and air and laughter. Today is a new day, and I know exactly what I want to do.
I need clothes. And I want to see the town around me in its natural setting, rather than waiting for it to come to me. No, I don’t mean to stay. I have to find a way onto the train and get home again. But I need clothes to wear until I can make that happen.
And perhaps something to read on the train.
And though I don’t want to admit it to myself–don’t even want to look at it too closely–there’s a part of me that wants to go into town and imagine, just for a moment, what it would be like to become a part of it.
Half an hour later I’ve had a shower and moisturized my face, then chosen another random set of clothing out of Mars’ magical closet–this time a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a tank top–and made my way down the stairs.
I don’t know where the clothes in that closet came from, but I’m trying not to think about how they got here.
Or who they might have belonged to before Mars offered them to me.
I put that thought in the same corner as the fear and let it rot there as I head for the kitchen. The men have already come through and left for the garage, I assume, and the kitchen is empty but for the remains of someone’s coffee on the counter.
I look at it and smile, remembering a mug with an entirely different drink in it and the view of the rising sun from the porch.
Then I remember Orion walking away from me without so much as a thank you.
I’d gone out there expecting nothing, which was all he’d given me up to that point, and got instead a warm and funny man who picked up on my jokes and handed them back.
A man who had accepted my gift of hot chocolate and given me the gift of somehow seeing who I actually am.
And who then left me sitting there like none of it mattered.
My smile turns to a frown and I pass the cup of coffee and head for the fridge.
I don’t need much in the way of breakfast. Something portable and easy that I can take with me out into the sunlight.
A quick glance into the fridge, however, shows me that everything in there needs to be cooked.
Eggs, bacon, and a range of ingredients with unknown origins.
I don’t see anything that could mean breakfast.
I do see enough to think that the meals Mars made last night–some mix of vegetables, chicken and rice–is how he normally cooks. A one pot king, evidently.
I shake my head, slam the fridge, and walk toward the garage. Fine. I’ll get food in town.
Maybe stop by the bakery like Penny asked me to.
I pass through the hall to the garage, my mind ticking through my mission for the day.
I know I want to head back to New York and to my family, and to do that, I need to know what sort of resources Hawke’s Wood has.
Is there a train station here? A bus depot?
Does the bank allow wire transfers? I don’t have any money left, so if I’m going to get home I’ll need money from my father.
The thought brings a weight I don’t like, a memory of how unpleasant it is to ask him for money, and right after that comes the next unwelcome thought. Surely my kidnappers asked for a ransom. And just as surely, he refused.
Will he give me money if I call and ask for it?
Does he even want me back?
My steps stutter to a stop at this, which is too dark, too real, for me to shove away, and I stare into the darkness of the hallway for several moments.
He didn’t pay to get me back, I’m sure of it, and though I’ve never considered the implications of that before, now they’re all I can see.
He refused to bring me home. One of the most powerful men in the city, attached to the most powerful family, and he didn’t even bother trying to find me.
Because if he’d tried–if the Rossi family had tried–they would have succeeded. I know it.
And instead, I was transported into the mountains to Hawke’s Wood.
If I suddenly appear again, will he welcome me home with open arms?
I’ve known my father long enough to doubt it.
The door in front of me opens so quickly it nearly hits me, and I look up into the light, dazzled. Suddenly the glow dies and someone is standing there, blocking out the sun, and I shake my head, wondering if I’m seeing things.
But it’s just Mars.
And he’s looking at me like I appeared out of thin air. His eyes drop down my frame, taking in my bare legs and feet, and then travel back up. I squirm, unsure how to feel at the feelings rushing through me, and watch his eyes land on my face.
“Where are you going?”
“Into town.”
He grunts. “By yourself?”
What does he think, I’ve already got friends waiting in town for me? “Um, yes? I need clothes. And a book.”
His face grows dark. “No.”
What?
“I can’t get clothes? Or a book?”
“You’re not going by yourself.”
He yanks the door open again and turns, throwing the shop rag he was holding at Rookie. “Rooks, I’m taking an early lunch,” he snaps.
Rookie looks up as Mars drags me through the door and takes the time to give me a lopsided grin, then shoots a questioning look at Mars. “When’ll you be back?”
“Later,” Mars says sharply.
He stalks out of the garage into the sunlight and, when he realizes I haven’t gone with him, turns back to me. “Are you coming?”
“Oh!”
I jerk to life and rush after him, my mind spinning over the conversation we just had, the abrupt way he changed his plans, and the implications of him deciding to take time off to accompany me into town.
I shouldn’t be as pleased as I am.
I certainly shouldn’t be feeling warmth rushing through my body at the thought that he not only cares where I’m going, but also decided that he was going to come with me instead of working in the garage he treasures.
I know it means nothing. I’ve seen him interact with the townspeople enough to know he treats everyone like this.
If people have a problem, he fixes it and does his best to make it look as effortless as possible He doesn’t question anyone or make them feel guilty if they need help.
Just listens, nods, and then solves the problem.
And this is no different than that. He knows I need clothes and potentially food, and is making sure that happens. That’s all it is. It’s nothing special.
I’m not unique. I don’t hold any special influence with him. Just another person he’s trying to take care of. Another problem to solve.
And that’s the story I’m going to keep telling myself until I leave, because that’s the only way I’m going to keep myself safe from the emotions threatening to overwhelm me.
When we get to the end of the driveway, Mars turns left, and I look down the street like a kid at Disneyland, a grin stretching across my face.
Being in town properly is about 500 times better than looking at it from the window above, and my skin is buzzing with excitement before we even reach the shops.
Ahead of us, I see the cafe, the diner, the bakery, and the bookstore, and if I strain my eyes I think I can see a small boutique at the end of the block.
Clothes. Clothes and books and maybe something to drink at the diner in between. And in the meantime...
I stroll down the sidewalk, tagging two steps after Mars as I look around and soak it all in.
The buildings are just as colorful down here as I thought they were, and this close I can see that they’ve been hand painted, each of them featuring painted words and advertisements in its windows.
All of the doors are open, and they make me think of a row of houses where all the neighbors are best friends, each of them waiting for someone else to stop by and visit.
Gossip.
Ask to borrow a cup of sugar.
Three steps after that thought, a couple of dogs rush out of one of the stores and right toward Mars, barking and jumping at him like he’s the best friend they haven’t seen in years. He laughs and stoops down to pet them, crooning their names like lullabies.
“They missed you,” a man says, leaning against the frame of his shop.
I look up and see that it’s the bookstore, and glance quickly behind the man. I see shelf after shelf there, the covers jewel bright and glossy. Each shelf has a label for the genre, and I take a step toward the shelf.
It’s been months since I had a book to read, and I’ve felt the absence like an actual wound in my soul.
A hand reaches out and grabs me, though, and Mars pulls me back toward him. “I saw them yesterday, Bruce,” he says, his voice full of laughter. “They can’t have missed me that much.”
“They miss you the moment you leave, and you know it,” Bruce says, also laughing. “You’re the only one that feeds them bacon.”
Mars gasps like he’s just heard the most offensive thing possible. “Bacon? I would never.”
Bruce gives him a look that calls the bluff, and I can feel the laughter vibrating down Mars’ arm and into his hand.
“I plead the fifth,” he says solemnly. Then he tugs at my hand again. “Come on, Arden. The bakery.”