STAIN (My Soul To Wake Book 1) (2 page)

The rest of what I’ve got going on looks decent enough. A pair of light-wash skinny jeans, a white V-neck t-shirt with a thin purple gauze scarf and a pair of dark brown leather strappy sandals.

I’m sure Court would pick this apart and start to foam at the mouth if I let her be my personal stylist, but she’ll have to learn to get over it.

This is as good as it gets
, I tell myself as I nod one last time to the mirrored image of my half-asleep reflection.

I pull the door closed behind me and lock the deadbolt. I nod to Mr. Alderson, the middle-aged man from the second floor as he leaves for work dressed in his suit. He and I aren’t usually on the same schedule, so I don’t get to see him often.

His thinning hair and weathered skin show their wear. I know he commutes to work and is one of the first people to leave the lobby every morning.

“Hiya there, Leah! Kind of early for you this morning, hmm? Early shift?” He’s more than cordial. I’m surprised he remembers my name. I recall his calling me Lisa on more than one occasion.

I smile warmly to the man as we match strides through the aging lobby.

“Hi, Mr. Alderson. No… I’m going away with some friends for a girls’ trip.”

He notices my small suitcase and shows an expression of understanding as the information comes together. Once we reach the heavy front doors of the building, having passed the wall of metal mailboxes, he takes pity on me as I struggle to pull the stiff-wheeled luggage, and holds the large wooden-framed entranceway open for me.

The girls have pulled the navy blue convertible up front and center, waiting for me to join them. I can see Nina sitting in the front passenger seat checking her watch, probably making a mental tally of how many minutes my sluggishness has cost our estimated time of arrival in Salem.

“Well, have a safe trip,” Mr. Alderson calls out as he shifts the worn, weathered briefcase in his hands, letting the weight of the door swing shut behind us. He quickens his pace to the parking lot.

Courtney has left the trunk open for my suitcase to join theirs. She’s already added my other carry-on to the pile and I have to maneuver the bags around to ensure that mine will fit. Courtney is applying a thick layer of lip gloss in the rearview mirror and sees my lack of enthusiasm for the seating arrangement.

“First come, first serve, sweetheart. You’re rocking the back seat this time.” She smacks her lips together after her words to evenly spread her gloss.

Nina exits the car in order to lift her seat forward so I can crawl into the cramped back seat. If this is based on promptness, then my butt will be parked in the back of Court’s Infiniti every time. Especially if always-on-time Nina is my competition.

Once I’m semi-settled and moved over to behind Court’s own seat, Nina pushes her seat back and pulls out her trusty iPad to bring up our carefully laid-out travel plans.

Courtney turns the ignition and slowly pulls us out into the building traffic of early morning rush hour. We haven’t been able to pick up much speed yet, but it won’t be long before we hit the main highway from Abingdon.

Nina takes an old-fashioned styled handkerchief from her handbag and uses it to cover her hair, tying it under her chin like a 1960’s style woman out for a Sunday drive. All she needs now is a pair of white gloves and she’ll be as en vogue as Jackie O. Maybe some cat-eye sunglasses, too.

I shift to bring my knees up, snuggling into the leather of the bench seat. Let them keep the front seat. At least I’ll be able to stretch out and catch some of the sleep that they helped to interrupt this morning.

I gently place one and then the second ear bud in, swipe my finger across the screen of my phone, selecting something that I know will help lull me into a calmed daydream if not actual sleep.

I pull the well worn brim of my ancient Baltimore Orioles cap down over my eyes, cross my arms over my chest to add a little extra warmth to the early morning chill, and let the soft purr of the engine work its magic.

CHAPTER TWO

“I think she’s still out cold. Maybe we should just let her sleep and wake her up for the next stop instead?” I hear one voice ask out to the other.

Leather creaks as the body seated in front of me shifts. “I don’t know. She hasn’t had breakfast yet. She gets
cranky
when she’s hungry. I don’t want to deal with a cranky Leah when she wakes up.”

I try my best to stifle my laugh. Listening to those two debate whether or not to try to wake me up for the last four minutes has been too much fun to ruin by spoiling it and revealing myself. 

Nina exhales her uncertainty. “We could pull the car up and then hit the brakes hard enough to jerk us. That’s got to do the trick. Then neither one of us will be the bad guy.”

“Or… you could just bring me back a large coffee and a Danish and call it a day.” I join their conversation, offering a viable solution.

Once again the leather creaks loudly as they move in unison, turning to face the back seat where I’m still sprawled out.

“How much coffee are you going to drink, Leah? You’ve already finished the thermos.”

I lift the brim of my hat to answer Court. “I’ve never actually kept count. Make mine a double and we’ll start a tally.”

I sit up, stretching my cramped arms up high, reaching for the clear blue sky above. “I’m gonna run to the ladies room. I’ll meet you guys back here in ten minutes.”

Courtney and Nina begin to collect their purses for the impending purchases. I lift myself up on my arms, sliding out of the backseat and over the side of the car so I don’t have to wait for Court to move her seat. Those extra couple of seconds are seconds that I don’t have the luxury of wasting right now.

I had finished off an entire thermos of coffee, after all. The powder room is calling to me, and according to Nina’s strict travel plans, we won’t be stopping again for another hour and a half.

The rest area is crawling with weary drivers stretching their legs, refueling their cars, and children suffering from cabin fever running around, taking advantage of the few minutes they have to let their energy out before being stuck in the family-friendly SUV again.

The restrooms are centrally located in the main building, with large bright blue signage. The weather report had forecasted that the next handful of days are going to be beautiful. I’m not surprised that so many people are taking advantage of the gorgeous extended weekend to hit the road, but I pray the crowded parking lot isn’t an indication of long lines inside.

I pick up the pace just in case.

To my delight, I’m in and out in no time and have several minutes left before I’m due back at the car. Near the front exit to the parking lot is a small tourist shop. The wall of brightly-colored gossip magazines beckons to me, and the tempting promise of d-list celebrity secrets revealed is too much for one reality TV junkie like myself to pass up.

I wait until the older woman perusing the rack has finished her inspection before I step front and center to make my selection. I never indulge in magazines like these at home, but I consider them a rare treat. It’s a lucky day indeed when one of the customers at the coffee shop that my parents own, and I manage, leaves their magazine behind after reading through it. I have a huge stack of them collected in my office.

I select three of the most recent glossy periodicals from the limited display before me, and vow to add them to my collection at home. The presentation of bagged candy and junk food near the register feeds into my addiction for making impulse purchases. Damn those clever marketing people. I pick up a pack of peanut M&M’s and a Baby Ruth bar.

I’ve already made peace with the inevitable three pounds I’ll gain on this trip. But, honestly, I had earmarked most of those calories for alcohol. I had read that downtown Salem has some crazy good craft breweries. I eye the packages in my hand as the cashier calls to me, mentally wrestling with my choices. I place my items on the small counter area for the cashier to tally. I give into my sweet tooth and grab another pack of the M&M’s just as the employee finishes scanning my things.

“Taking a road trip, hon?” the middle-aged woman standing opposite the counter asks me as she bags my purchases.

The lingering cigarette smoke emanating from her clothing threatens to choke me as I answer politely. “Salem, Massachusetts. Girls’ weekend thing.”

The woman who reminds me slightly of Peg Bundy from that show I used to watch as a kid seems interested in my destination. She perks up at the mention of the place.

“Ah! I’ve got a few travel books here and I think that’s one of them. Hold on, darlin’, let me see if I’ve still got it.” She bends down to rummage through the unseen shelf hidden from my view below the countertop.

I check my watch. If I’m not back to the car soon, Nina’s gonna flip her lid and I have no doubt she’ll threaten to cancel our next coffee stop.

“Got it!” The woman returns, triumphantly with a small white spiral-bound book in hand.

I don’t have the heart to refuse her offer after she’s just gone to all that trouble to find the travel companion. I have a feeling I’m holding up the line of other travelers looking to get back on the road as soon as possible, so I smile to her and nod my acceptance of her suggested add-on.

With the new book, my total comes to seventeen dollars. I gladly hand over a twenty dollar bill from my pocket and accept my change from the rough-palmed, long, painted-nailed woman and thank her for her help.

“No problem, hon. You have a safe trip and don’t go gettin’ all spell crazy up there. We see a lot of weirdoes headin’ that way.”

I smile.

Right….

If Peg Bundy tells me to watch out for the weirdoes then I’m going to watch out for the weirdoes.

~*~

I carefully pick out the blue M&M’s from my palm, using my pointer finger to navigate through the small pile of colored candy. Once I have the four pieces of chocolate covered peanuts separated from their companions, I toss them into my mouth.

“According to this,” Nina studies the small booklet in hand, “there’s a candlelight midnight ghost tour. We
have
to do that!”

I crunch on my mouthful of sugared confection.

“No,” I reply to her suggestion, moving quickly to finish my food. “You guys promised. No cheesy, corny, touristy stuff.”

“Oh come on, Leah. We have plenty of time to do all the stuff you wanted to do. Let’s do some of the
fun
stuff, too,” she pleads.

This whole trip was her idea. She and Courtney had concocted the getaway themselves and then approached me. I’m not one for heavily-commercialized tourist attractions, but it was a case of the right delivery at the right time.

I was beyond stressed-out at work, having had to change over some staff and arrange for new equipment to be delivered and installed. Mom and dad rely on me to handle the daily operations of our family’s coffee shop,
The Coffee Bean.
I don’t usually get to take much time off and the girls swooped in just in time to prey on my moment of weakness.

The trip was sold as a historical getaway. We were going to visit one of the oldest candy shops in the country, the restored marina, and the Peabody-Essex Museum, where they have an actual ancestral Chinese house on display. Not to mention the craft beers and Boston Hot Dog Company. What goes better with craft beer than authentic Boston wieners?

Nowhere in the sales pitch were we supposed to go on spooky ghost tours.

“You two have fun. I’ll check out some of the old historical houses while you’re both trying to find Casper.”

I now work on separating the brown M&M’s.

Call it neurotic, but I can’t mix the colors. Never could. The candies are starting to warm and border on melting in my heated hand. I’m running out of time. Less talking, more eating.

Courtney glances over at the passenger seat, and Nina’s book. Well, actually, I guess it’s my book, but I don’t think Peg Bundy would mind my sharing.

“See if there are any listings for psychics in there. Jen Mahoney told me there were some great psychics in town. She had a reading last summer when her boyfriend took her on a romantic trip,” she tells her co-pilot.

I nearly choke on my brown M&M’s.

“Oh really? Well, did the psychic tell her that her boyfriend was a cheating douchebag? Because I could have saved her the fifty bucks and told her that myself. That creep practically tried to molest me at his Labor Day barbecue. Still took her months to wise up and kick him to the curb, though.”

Court glances in her rearview mirror, eyeing me as I munch on my junk food breakfast. “I’m serious, Leah. They were bonafide gypsy’s. Three generations of psychics.”

Next up, orange. I exhale my disappointment at the lone orange candy within my palm. Oh well, I pop it in my mouth anyway.

“They can’t tell me anything I don’t already know. I’m destined to be a slave to all things caffeine related and be the queen of first dates. I don’t need to pay someone fifty bucks to tell me that.”

Court moves her eyes back to the road before us.

“Leah,
you
practically begged your parents to let you run that coffee shop after graduation. And, as for the first dates, you have no one to blame for that but yourself. I know for a fact that almost every single one of them asks for a second and you dodge them. And I know before you ditched Paul that he was actually planning on having you meet his parents.”

I feel the need to defend myself against my friend’s half-serious accusations. “Maybe I’d accept a second date if any of them were- I don’t know…
worth it
, I guess. And Paul would introduce a hooker to his parents if she’d agree. As for the coffee shop, I never said I wasn’t happy there. I just wish mom and dad would actually let me
change
things. Until then, I’m a glorified barista.”

“All the more reason to see what a psychic has to say. I’ll bet she’ll tell you what a whiz you’ll be at franchising the place. And as for the guys… maybe she’ll tell you how to meet a guy who’s
worth
it.”

I throw a handful of yellow candies toward my throat.

“If it will get you off my back about it then I’ll gladly throw away fifty dollars. But if she starts telling me about how colorful my aura is, I’m outta there.”

~*~

As we move further and further north, visible changes begin to take place. The houses take on a uniformed historical appearance, each colored in hues only seen in old New England.

The royal blues and canary yellows are rich and vibrant yet, at the same time, muted and subdued. The architecture has an air of Quaker nobility to it, and I find myself studying each of the homes in passing.

The well-manicured residential streets are lined with ancient trees, filled with hearty leaves and blossoming buds. The season hasn’t yet reached the overly-warm temperatures that precede summer, so all of the greenery looks vibrant, young, and full of life.

Although our hometown is close to the water and I’m used to the humid consistency that follows it, I somehow feel a different weight to the air around me now. I can smell the salt water of the eastern seaboard and feel the thick breeze as it passes, knowing that it’s carried in by the gentle waves nearby. Waves that have traveled long and far, carrying the invisible gifts from far away lands. I can’t place my finger on exactly how this air is different, I just sit back, close my eyes and breath it in, feeling as if I’m nourishing my lungs, my body with some level of oxygenated sky that it’s been lacking.

I feel the early afternoon sun bathe my skin with its light and soak it in, as if willing my pores to open further to drink in the rich glow. I feel those same rays heat my body with their warmth, and I lazily reach my fingertips to pull at the light gauzy neck scarf to bare more of my skin. I’m urged to somehow free every bit of flesh available, to absorb as much of this penetrating brightness as possible.

I need it, need to collect it, in some way deep down as if I’ll be able to access it again when I need to feel the peace it allows me. A calmness washes over me like lapping water, almost in sync with the gentle currents pushing the water ashore. 

My heart begins to pace itself, matching the movements of the imaginary tide. They become joined, each as much of the other as they are of themselves. I can feel the blood coursing through my body from each beat of my heart, thinning almost, matching the sea water that flows so easily with each swell of the Atlantic.

The washing sounds of the waves are interrupted by the cawing of seagulls and land birds swirling. I can feel the swishing air among their feathered wings, giving flight to their fancy. The essence of their nature calls to one another as they dip low in the sky and soar high into the wispy clouds.

I feel the wind on my face now, as if I’m gliding alongside them, basking in the blinding rays of sun that light my way. I am weightless, supported only by the passing air above, beneath, and around me, as I push on faster and faster.

The rippled water below is glittered with jeweled flecks of light, dancing and sparkling, alive with movement. Their riches sing to me, and I need only to hear them. I bring myself closer, almost touching, as if to join their chorus.