Fearsome (5 page)

Dylan laughs. “It wasn’t good enough?”

Oh, it was good enough. Good and steamy. “My life is in New York. I don’t want to make things complicated here while I’m visiting.”

“We’ll see about that,” Dylan says as he holds the front door open for me.

Six

As the house fills up with people, I can hear the cheerfully raucous voices carrying up to the third floor where I am unpacking in my old bedroom with the faded yellow wallpaper. I hang a couple of blouses and a summer dress in the empty closet that smells like cedar. Then I put my jeans, T-shirts, and underwear in a creaky, stiff dresser that I don’t recall being in this room.

“You know, you could stay in Ginnie’s old room.” Dylan enters my bedroom with my art portfolio case that I left downstairs. “It’s bigger and has a nice view of the front yard. Plus, she renovated the master bathroom and put in one of those spa tubs.”

“No, I want to stay in my old room.”

“You forgot this.” Dylan puts the portfolio on the bed.

“I think I’ll take that down to Ginnie’s studio. I brought my art supplies.”

“Yeah, I heard you’re a painter, too.”

I nod and turn back to the dresser. “Dylan, was this here when I was a kid?” I ask, pointing to the dresser.

“No, I think that used to be in another bedroom. When you stayed here there was a giant basket full of toys against this wall and a little rocking chair. Those are in the basement.”

“Could you push the dresser to the right for me?” I ask, studying the wall to the left of the dresser.

Dylan doesn’t question my request; he simply lifts the left side of the dresser as if it weighs nothing and gently pushes it aside. I drop to my knees and look at the red crayon scrawled on the wall.
Jess.

“
Hey, would you look at that,” Dylan says, crouching down next to me. He grins. “I told ya you were smart. You were marking your territory, even at five.”

Our faces are inches apart. I smile, happy that these memories are bringing back a flood of good emotions.

“You know, I’m harnessing the strength of one hundred soldiers right now, doing everything in my weakening will power not to kiss you.” His warm breath caresses my face.

“It’s very admirable.” I stand up before my body tries to betray me by kissing him first.

“Okay, I guess that’s enough temptation. How about we set up your studio?” Dylan suggests.

Eventually, Dylan and I make it back downstairs to join the others who have come to visit. After dinner, the dining room is covered in dirty dishes, empty wine goblets and remnants of the fried chicken, mashed potatoes and various salads Bonnie made for our impromptu dinner meeting. I sit between Lauren and Dylan and across from Archie and Imogene. Lois and Eleanor, Aunt Virginia’s dearest friends, sit at either end of the table. They are both in their sixties, and very striking and pretty, showing off every well-earned wrinkle along with fashionably styled hair that doesn’t hide their silver and gray. They look very fit in their bright linen tunics and the yoga pants they say they prefer to wear.

“Keeping up your physical health at our age is full-time work, so we do yoga and Pilates five days a week. Might as well keep the pants on,” Lois says to me in an exasperated tone. “Sometimes I get so sick and tired of bending over and having to look at someone else’s rear end in front of me. Honestly. Not to mention all these new-age people and their phony ‘namaste’ greetings. Between the expensive classes, retreats and the clothing lines, this yoga business is really a racket. It would be nice to take it beyond the pants, if you know what I mean.”

“We’re opening our own studio in Hera soon so we don’t have to keep driving to Woodstock for classes,” Eleanor adds. “Oh! I just thought of a name for our studio, Lois. Beyond The Pants!”

Lois and I both laugh. Imogene and Lauren give each other shrugs. They are used to this type of banter among people who are more like family than friends. I’m not. My parents are both uptight prudes who found their soul mate by seeking out the only other person in the tri-state area that was born without a sense of humor. My family doesn’t hang out and laugh. We argue and debate. Rather, my mother and father argue and debate with me, their only child; the kid who is supposed to live up to all of their expectations.

After several hot and heavy stolen kisses from Dylan earlier and the laid back sassiness of these women, young and old, I am very comfortable in their company.

I’m not a big drinker since I’m not of the legal drinking age, so the half glass of wine I drank is making me tired as well as unbearably aware of my proximity to Dylan and his muscular leg, which he has conveniently positioned against mine. It does not go unnoticed by the others when he rests his arm across the back of my chair as if we are a couple at a dinner soiree.

Archie briefly glances at Dylan with a raised eyebrow. “I think we’ve had time to get to know Jessica. It’s probably time we talk about how she got here,” he announces.

The letter from Aunt Ginny is still sealed in the ivory envelope. It is now damp from my sweaty hands having clutched it in my lap all through dinner. I rest the letter on the empty place setting before me as Imogene voluntarily walks around the table collecting dirty dishes.

“Ah, would you like to read that alone?” Archie asks me.

“I’m not sure.” I look around the room at everyone.

“If it helps any, Ginnie was not the kind of person that liked to surprise people. She was always very direct. I don’t think there will be anything unusual in the letter. It’s more like a goodbye message,” Dylan says.

Archie clears his throat and Dylan glances at him.

“I mean, it’s probably a ‘Hello, Jessica’ letter, ‘Welcome to Hera’,” Dylan redirects. His thoughtful attempt to ease whatever sad blows I’m expecting is touching. I’m becoming alarmed at how easy I’m falling for this cute guy because falling for such males is not in my genetic make-up. I come from hard-driven people with an unforgiving view towards the sentimental.

“I’ll read it now. You were all her family, so it seems appropriate that you hear it, too.”

A loud crash, a banging door and something heavy falling to the floor comes from the front entryway and disrupts our silence.

“Sweet Jesus!” Lois exclaims.

“Shit.” Dylan stands abruptly and his chair falls back and clatters to the floor.

We all scurry to the front door to see Carson standing there with a drill box at his feet.

“No wonder you didn’t answer your phone. You’re already here,” he speaks angrily to Dylan.

“Carson, what are you doing?” Archie asks. It sounds like he’s trying to be as soothing as possible to calm Carson down.

“Dylan and I have been working on the library at night. You know I have a day job,” Carson hisses to everyone, but then he looks at me. “So you’re staying here?”

“We didn’t say we were working tonight. Besides, Jess is staying here, so we have to change our hours back to days. She’s not going to be able to sleep through the drilling and pounding,” Dylan says before I can answer Carson’s question.

“Carson, do you ever stop working? Honestly, you need some Zen,” Lois tells him while Eleanor and Lauren nod in agreement.

“Huh?” Carson grunts.

Other than the same tall muscular physique from hard labor and an inherent handsomeness, Carson doesn’t really resemble Dylan. His serious blue eyes against his dark hair, sculpted cheekbones and strong chin are nothing like Dylan’s cute baby face charm.

“So,” Carson directs to me. “Are you here to marry me?”

There’s an audible gasp from Lauren.

“Say what?” Imogene asks in a laughing tone.

“What?” I whisper.

“Ignore him, Jess,” Dylan says. “He always has something cynical up his sleeve.”

“Maybe you forgot, little brother, but this woman said I’d be her husband. Let me see, I think her exact words were
‘Carson Blackard, you can be quite a nasty boy when you want, but someday if you’re nice, I’ll marry you’.
”

Everyone, but me, Dylan and Carson, is howling with laughter.

“I remember when you said that, Jessica,” Lois says. “It was when you discovered Carson had eaten all of your homemade cookies and he blamed it on Dylan. We were having dinner outside and you made this announcement to him and stormed back into the house. You were so cute. We had such a good laugh watching you scold Carson and then declare he’d be your husband.”

“I don’t remember that,” Dylan says, shaking his head.

“You were a bossy little piece of work,” Carson says to me, although he doesn’t smile as you’d expect when people are sharing humorous stories.

His eyes quickly take me in from head to toe. He looks like he’s glaring, but I catch his roaming observation even if the others don’t. He’s checking me out and I get the impression that he’s not thrilled to see me. Maybe he sees me as problem—an obstacle in their daily life—and a distraction for Dylan who is supposed to be working with him. Or maybe he liked Aunt Virginia’s home without me in it because I’m a reminder of a time that was painful. Perhaps Dylan saw me as a godsend, the friend he needed, and Carson saw me as a new responsibility, the bratty kid he had to babysit.

“Sorry, but I don’t remember that at all. Which is a good thing, I suppose,” I say. “And by the way, the wedding is off.”

Dylan and the others laugh and I’m pretty sure I see a tiny smirk break Carson’s clenched jaw.

“Sorry to hear that, Jess.” He picks up his drill box.

Hearing my name on his lips gives me a moment of surprise. The emotion coursing through me is pure elation. He used my proper name and not
Babycakes
, the nickname that has come back to haunt my images of this house. He sees me as a woman now and not the annoying five-year-old who apparently bossed everyone around.

“I’m going to drop this off in the library before I go.” Carson takes the drill box up a few steps and then pauses to look back at me. “Babycakes, let me know when I can get back in here to work, okay?” My spirits sink again.
Babycakes.
I hold no special regard for that name, especially when it’s said in a snide voice.

“Right, Babycakes, the little spitfire of that exciting summer,” Archie nods. “I had forgotten that nickname.”

“Babyyyyycaaaaakes,” Lauren and Imogene croon in unison. “How sweet.”

“There will be no Babycakes while I’m here,” I retort. “Understood?” I hear Carson laughing from upstairs.

“I prefer Jess anyway,” Dylan consoles.

After the incident with Carson, we take our coffee and pies onto the porch, which is filled with citronella candles in clear glasses lining the railing and positioned on tables. They give off a dreamy, yellow glow as they keep the bugs away. The porch is very wide with two wicker couches, a coffee table, several wicker chairs with end tables on one end and then a big rope hammock that takes up the other end.

I sit next to Lauren on one of the loveseats and lean forward towards the coffee table so I can read Aunt Virginia’s letter by the light of one of the candles. Everyone stops chattering and focuses on me. I start tearing open the letter as gently as possible when I hear the front door creak open and close. I look up to see Carson fold his thick arms and lean against the doorframe. Our eyes meet and then I look down again at my letter. I begin to read out loud:

“Dear Jessica,

It is with a very heavy heart that I write this letter. Had I been a braver woman, I would have ignored foolish family protocol and contacted you years ago. I hope being in my home, which is now yours, reminds you of me as well as the people that loved you and missed you terribly for all these wasted years. I was a fool for not staying in your life. I let your parents’ anger and judgment dictate and, for that, I am sorry. Sometimes we broads screw up. Let that be a lesson.”

I pause as Lois and Eleanor laugh.

“Onto more interesting things. You were a lively, precocious girl who brightened my home, my life and those around you. I saw the spark of your talents and intelligence and watched them ignite into powerful flames. I wasn’t with you in person, but I watched you from afar. Your extraordinary gifts in academics made me so proud when you graduated college at an age when most are beginning. Your expressions in painting are dazzling. Whatever you do in life, never, never stop painting.

It must be a shock to hear from me. I would understand if you are hurt and angry over the conflict between your parents and me. Let me say again how sorry I am for that. Years ago, your mother and I were very close until I made the mistake of trying to come between her and your father. Your mother was similar to you in academics and art, however, with no slight intended to Michelle, she was a watered down version of you. Nonetheless, she was my only family at the time and I felt marrying your father would be the death of her independence. I will no longer belabor that issue. It’s in the past. Now I want to make sure I leave you with a sense of family and belonging for I know you have led quite a solitary path through your young years.

Hera became my home over thirty years ago when I was at a down point in my life. No husband and children of my own, I was thrilled when you and your mother came to spend that one summer with me. Unfortunately, the period that brought you and I closer together, drove your mother and me farther apart. Your parents demanded I not see you while they also created the ridiculous scenario of my death or non-existence, yet in a sense, I never left your side.

Right now, everything I love and hold dear is in Hera, including you. I hope the house inspires you and gives you space to create your beautiful pieces. And I hope you find comfort and joy among my friends. They remember the little Jessie who took charge of this house one bright, happy summer. If you need any help with my estate or personal items, please know that Archie, Eleanor and Lois are there for you, as are all of my friends. Please don’t be afraid to ask Carson for help, he can fix anything
.”