Begin Again: A Charlotte Bloom Short Story

Begin Again

Amanda Richardson

Published by Amanda Richardson

© Copyright 2015 Amanda Richardson.

Cover Design by Amanda Richardson

Cover Photography obtained legally via:

http://www.123rf.com/profile_captblack76

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

January 2008

I watched helplessly from the side of the road as paramedics tried to wrench the passenger door open. Both cars sat eerily silent now, crumpled into themselves, smoking. I looked down at my legs, my arms, my stomach – I was fine. Well, fine by relative terms – perhaps I was fine physically – but things were nowhere near OK by any means. I paced back and forth, waiting for the verdict. There were six paramedics in all, and suddenly I heard the sound of metal grinding against metal. The passenger door of our family SUV was pulled away, and my father’s limp body was dragged out. They placed him on a stretcher.

They checked his pulse.
Nothing.

They performed CPR.
Nothing.

All I could see was the blood. There was
so much
blood. I ran towards the ambulance but one of the paramedics stopped me with his bloody arm. They hoisted my father’s body into the back, urgently. My ragged breathing came out in white puffs before me. I shivered. I’d left my jacket in the car – the same car that now barely resembled anything other than crushed metal.

As the ambulance doors closed, I met the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He looked at me and slowly shook his head back and forth.
No.
That silent gesture told me everything I needed to know. My father was dead.

And it was entirely my fault.

June 2014

I woke up early, before the sun had even risen. I slowly got out of bed, stretching my sore arms above my head. I walked to the bathroom, turning on my coffee maker as I went. After showering, I quickly ate breakfast and got dressed, throwing on an old pair of jeans, a flannel shirt, and my work boots. I knew it was early, but I needed to get out and clear my head. I grabbed a book.
Les Misérables
. I tucked the aging paperback into my back pocket, grabbed my wallet and keys, and left my room with a hot mug of black coffee still in my hand. I walked down the silent hallway. The place was empty. As I approached the front door, I noticed Henry sitting on the porch.

“How’s it going, mate?” I asked, plopping down next to him. I looked out into the wilderness opposite the bed and breakfast.

“Long night. Same old. Nothing exciting ever happens around here. Why’re you up so damn early?” He peered at me as I sipped my coffee.

“Aye, couldn’t sleep. Same old.” I gave him a small shrug. Insomnia was kind of my forte now. “How’s Mary?”

“Great.” He looked away. “She gets a little lonely, I think. You need to get yourself a woman to keep her company.”

“It’s not a matter of getting a woman. I can get any woman I want,” I said confidently, smiling. “I just haven’t found the right one.”

“What about… what was her name? Gina? You seemed to like her.”

“Gemma. Nah. She was fun, but not dating material.” We sat in silence for a few minutes. I heaved myself up. “I should get going. I have to get the horses ready for the long ride tomorrow. See you around.” I patted Henry’s shoulder as I headed off to the stables, which were just off to the right of the massive house.

Parc-Le-Bouveret, the bed and breakfast in Wales where I worked as the horse groom, had seven horses. Working with animals was easy. I didn’t have to deal with people day in and day out. Animals had compassion. They weren’t riddled with greed, corrupted with hatred, or ruined by grief. They just
loved
, unconditionally. I think that’s why I’d stayed here for so long. I made pretty good money and I had free room and board. It was relatively close to my hometown, which was just outside of Belfast, so I visited my mum whenever I got the chance.

I walked along the stalls, saying good morning to all of the horses. It was a full-time job – caring for seven horses, and being the only point of reference within twenty miles. My days were filled with mindless chores like brushing manes, picking hooves, fitting saddles, cleaning stalls, scooping manure, checking that they all had fresh water and food… the list went on and on. Then I had to ride each horse to keep them in shape. Luckily, I had a routine down, and I could usually finish everything within five hours if I didn’t have any guided rides that day.

After I finished caring for the horses, I took Nigel out of his stall. He neighed at me happily, nudging his nose on my arm. He loved our daily rides just as much as I did. I hopped up on to him, bareback, and kicked off. As we rode along the main road, I heard the cars whoosh past me. I made sure to stay on the shoulder – I was pretty reckless, sure, but I wasn’t stupid just for the sake of being stupid. Road safety had become a top priority for me.

We trotted down the trail to the beach. It had turned into a warm, sunny day. I tugged on Nigel’s mane gently to let him know that we’d arrived. Reading had always been an escape for me. I’d grown up in a large house – my parents had been in politics – and my father had built a library for my mum that contained thousands of books. My brother, Stephen, and I loved books to this very day, which was probably a result of growing up with such a wide array of books at our disposal.

I tied Nigel to a tree, took my boots off, and walked down to the beach. I pulled
Les Misérables
out of my pocket. It wasn’t the happiest of books. But I happened to prefer darker material. Real life couldn’t always be summed up in a happily ever after. Usually, you were sent to prison, wounded in battle, or you died from disease. Lowering your expectations meant that nothing could harm you emotionally.

I read for a few hours before heading back to Parc-Le-Bouveret. Dinner would be served at seven, and it was almost six. I was never late to dinner. Helen and George, the owners of the Parc, had taken me under their wings eight years ago, so I wanted to respect them by doing my job well and showing up for nightly dinners on time. When I got back, I put Nigel into his stall and went straight to my room to shower. It might’ve been an outdated custom, but I always tried to look nice for dinner.

I threw on a clean white sweater and dark jeans. I quickly glanced in the mirror before heading down. My beard had grown out significantly over the last few days, and I fancied my hair low maintenance, so that usually meant it was messy beyond control. I looked a lot like my late father: tall, muscular, olive skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. I ran my hand through my hair once. It was no use. It had a mind of its own.

Helen and George were in the dining room. They were sitting together and laughing. I sat down between Henry and Katie. The three of us always sat together. Katie was the cook and housecleaner, and she was cute – just not my type. I’d known her for years, and she was like a sister to me now. Besides, I’d never been that attracted to British women. I liked American women. And I’d had a fling with a French woman at university. That’d been fun. A few guests joined us shortly thereafter, and the wine began to flow freely.

This was how it played out most nights. Helen, George, Henry, Katie, sometimes Mary, and I would sit on one end, and the guests would sit on the other end. We weren’t separated, per se, but over the years, we’d all come to notice that though most guests were friendly, they didn’t want to sit and chat with strangers at dinner. Just as Helen announced that she would be serving the main course, I heard the dining room door creak open.

A beautiful, redheaded woman entered shyly, quickly taking a seat on the other side of the table. She was alone. Her smile was the cutest damn thing I’d ever seen.

"I’m sorry I’m late. I fell asleep." Her voice was light and airy. She had big, hazel eyes. I heard someone giggle and she brought her hands up to her face to disguise her red cheeks. I couldn’t stop staring.

"No worries, dear. We know you had a long trip from Los Angeles. I made a little extra for you, just in case, so I hope you’re fine with Welsh rarebit, which is like our version of grilled cheese…” Helen continued talking, but I looked down at my wine glass, distracted.

Los Angeles. She wasn’t wearing a wedding band. I looked up again. She met my eyes and smiled. Holy.
Fuck.
I was sure I’d never seen a more beautiful woman in my entire life. I quickly looked down, shaking my head at myself. Why was I acting like such an idiot all of a sudden? We’d had our fair share of single, beautiful American women at the Parc. Why her? She was nothing special.

I heard Tommy and George strike up a conversation with her – the woman whose name I still did not know. I tried to focus solely on eating.

"Everyone, this is Charlotte. She joins us from Los Angeles." George said this loudly, and I watched her reaction while I ate. Again, her eyes met mine, and I looked away. George started introducing people, starting with the guests. Finally, he got to me.

"Near the end of the table, we have the maid and cook, Katie, the night manager, Henry, and the groom, Alec." George gestured to me, and I saw her eyes light up with interest.

"The groom?"

"I tend to the horses,” I answered gruffly.

"Oh. Got it." She smiled at me again. Fuck. If she kept doing that…

I purposely ate my dinner slowly. People began to trickle out. I wanted to be alone with Charlotte. I couldn’t explain my reasoning. The wine was messing with my head.

"Are you from the area?" she asked, politely. Why was she so interested in me?

"No." I wished she would just leave. She was insanely distracting.

"Oh. Where are you from?" Her doe eyes met mine, and I looked away. I really did not want to be talking to her – I didn’t trust myself not to say something stupid. My sudden attraction to her had made me uneasy and had caught me off guard.

"Northern Ireland," I answered.

My short answer seemed to appease her, because she got up to leave. I felt two things instantly: relief, and regret.

"Well, I’m heading up. Good night," she said, slowly.
Get out
, I wanted to yell at her. I couldn’t control my muddled thoughts, let alone my actions. All I wanted to do was to take her back to my room and fuck her. If she didn’t leave soon, I just might.

"Helen mentioned briefly that you do horse trekking?"

"Yep."

"Where can I sign up?"

"With Helen." I hadn’t meant it to sound rude, but it came off as that. I couldn’t contain myself any longer. If she didn’t leave soon, I would have to.

"Great." She paused. "OK, night."

She turned around and walked away. I watched her ass move in her tight pants.
Damn.
And with that, she was gone.

***

I spent the next week trying to avoid Charlotte as much as I could. Except for a couple of times when I’d run into her while I was riding or at dinner, I’d been pretty successful. Today was different though. Today, I was taking a group of people horseback riding – and Charlotte was one of those people.

I had no idea how long she was planning on staying. A part of me hoped she would be moving on soon, so that my life could go back to normal, but an even bigger part of me wanted her to stay. I couldn’t explain it. She felt special, somehow. Different. Exquisite. It didn’t hurt that she was absolutely fucking gorgeous. Every time I’d run into her over the last week, she looked so fresh and clean; effortless. And she didn’t even know it.

I was helping Lucy, one of the guests, up onto her horse when I saw Charlotte come down to the stables adorned in green willies and an oversized parka two sizes too big for her. Oddly, that sight sent a shiver down my spine, and I felt my pants get a little tighter. After I was done helping Lucy up, I approached Charlotte. She had her back to me.

"Did you get a helmet?" I’d startled her. She jumped and almost slipped in the mud. I grabbed her, smiling, holding her up by her lower back. I had to contain the growl that inevitably wanted to escape my lips at the physical contact.

Without saying anything, I fitted the helmet to her head. She was short, probably a good foot shorter than me, and she was certainly fit. She hid her body beneath plain clothes, but I could tell from her tight jeans that she had the perfect body – curvy in all the right places. After I was done, I gestured to her horse, Bo. He was the oldest horse we had. I presumed she’d never ridden a horse before, and I wanted her to be comfortable.

"Do you need help up?"

"Yes, please,” she said shyly, smiling.
God fucking dammit.
I would do anything for this woman. She turned around, and the tightness in my jeans got even tighter as I gripped her small waist, hoisting her up into the saddle. Nothing was hotter than a woman on a horse. Perhaps I was biased. I gave her brief instructions on how to ride a horse. I wasn’t too worried though. Bo would follow me, and he wasn’t going anywhere. He’d only spooked a handful of times, and that was years ago.

I hopped onto my horse and we all moved forward, walking slowly. I saw Charlotte looking more and more uncomfortable as the seconds ticked by.

"Just follow Bo’s rhythm with your hips, Charlotte," I said casually, pushing the dirty thoughts out of my head.

I heard Charlotte strike up a conversation with Ted and Lucy, and I kept moving forward, trying not to look back too much. I just focused on the driveway, and then the road. Soon, we were on the trail heading down to the beach. I looked back as we got to the shore, and Charlotte was looking out into the distance. She looked pained – and not just from the riding. Something was on her mind.

Before I said something I might regret, I swatted Nigel’s thigh, and we were off at a gallop. I didn’t look back to see if Charlotte was OK. She would be fine. Bo was old and steady. He wouldn’t even gallop for me anymore. Besides, why did I care so much? She was just some random guest. She wasn’t anything special. She was hot. That was all.

All of a sudden, I heard Charlotte scream, and it sent chills through my entire body. I quickly turned Nigel around. Horrified, I realized Bo had been spooked. He was galloping along the shore now, and Charlotte was holding on for dear life. I felt my heart speed up. I swatted Nigel to run faster. I had to get to her.
Now.

Bo was running around in the ocean now. Although he seemed to be calming down, Charlotte was half-off the saddle, a look of terror splayed across her face. I’d be lying if I said that look made me sick to my stomach. I needed to save her. I should’ve protected her. This was all my fault.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I yelled loudly, hoping it would calm Bo down instantly. It did. But not before he reared one last time, sending Charlotte into the ocean. Before I realized what I was doing, I’d sprung off of Nigel. I ran into the water just as Charlotte reemerged, looking like a drowned rat. I ran through the water as fast as I could.