Remembering home, p.3
Remembering Home, page 3
Angel’s shoulders trembled with her quiet laughter. “You’re like my own personal guard dog.”
“That’s part of the job description.” Chelsea collected Angel’s left hand in both of hers. “Are you okay, hon?”
Angel fixed her eyes on the glass of water in front of her, reaching out to take a few gulps. As she lowered the glass, the water rippled from her tremors. She used her other hand to steady the drink before placing it back down. The adrenaline hit was going to fade soon and when it did, she’d better be near a soft horizontal surface.
The room vibrated with the low hum of conversation and laughter. Her father’s family and friends celebrating a glorious life cut short. The vaporous dance of perfume and food odors continued, making her nauseous. Her skin was even more alabaster than normal. Her mind was reeling from recent events. She needed to retreat.
“No, not really. I’m going to lie down. Would you give my apologies?”
“Sure thing, hun. Take all the time you need.” They stood and embraced. Angel grabbed her glass, and headed for the grand staircase. The smooth, wooden balustrade comforted and anchored her.
Coming home from the hospital and walking into the empty house for the first time after her daddy had died was eerie. She was the one who had to make all the decisions now. She was responsible for everything that happened under this roof. Her uncles and aunts were great, more than great, but they wouldn’t be here during the dark, lonely hours. She had no parent to fall back on, no wise brain to pick, no strong shoulder to lean on. She was it. Full stop. Angel felt painfully adrift. Her thoughts returned to Aiden, wishing he could be here to carry some of the burden of grief.
She wanted to squash the flicker of hope she felt at seeing him again. Her life was great. She was happy. He would leave and things would return to normal. She huffed and shook her head as she stood in the doorway of her room. Music was blaring from a room two doors down. Normal. Uh huh. What’s that again?
Unfinished Business
“There ye are,” Harvey bellowed. The Irish brothers crowded around the large dining table, holding their packed plates. “Come and grab a plate. Have some casserole, ye look too skinny.” Harvey poked Aiden in the side. He jerked in response. “Just as I suspected. I can feel yer bones. Too much trekkin’ around snapping pictures.”
Rubbing his sore ribs, Aiden’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “How did you know I was a photographer?”
“Oh, Hank kept an eye on ye from afar. Got scrapbooks filled with clippings of yer photos from magazines and the like. Fancy stuff. Ye got talent, lad.” Harry joined in on the conversation while grabbing a second, maybe third, helping of Buffalo wings.
His mouth parted and the guilt intensified. He wanted to yell at his younger self to be stronger and fight against the control of his parents. Why didn’t he fight for those he loved? There was no excusing his abandonment once he had found his own way. The loneliness wrapping around his heart was his own doing and he despised himself for it.
“Not to worry, lad. He loved ye like a son. He knew ye had to find yer own way out from yer parents’ rule.”
Aiden squeezed his eyes shut and flared his nostrils, dragging in as much air as possible through his tightening throat.
Harvey draped his arm around Aiden’s shoulders and squeezed. “Breathe, lad. What’s important is that y’are here now. If ye ask me, he was the one that guided ye back. It’s grand altogether.” Harvey looked left and right over his shoulders. “Where’s Tim?”
“Right here,” Mr. Saunders replied, approaching from the kitchen directly behind.
“Tim! Got some of the good stuff I see.” Harvey bobbed his head at the glass of whiskey in Mr. Saunders’ hand, his arm pulling on Aiden’s neck.
“Aiden here is gonna need a place to stay. Ye mind him bunkin’ at yers?” Harvey turned back to Aiden. “They’re turnin’ the old Thompson place into a bed and breakfast of sorts, but it’s takin’ a lifetime to get it done. Plagued by problems.” Aiden jiggled as Harvey shook his head. “Ye could stay with me, but the rooms are all taken. I won’t be the one to kick a young woman out of her room.” Harry snorted before sucking the meat off another chicken bone. “Unless ye want to sleep on the sofa? Thought ye might need the space for yer chat with the lass.”
“How did you—?”
Harvey barked out a laugh. “Logic, lad. Logic. There’s unfinished business there. Got to be sorted.” He gave him a whack on the back and took his arm away, much to Aiden’s relief. Harvey’s arm was like a tree trunk. He pushed his shoulders back, attempting to reverse the strain.
Tim Saunders held out a key for him. “You remember the side doorway?”
Aiden nodded, taking the key. “Thank you, and Mr. Saunders? I owe you an extremely late apology for—”
“Don’t worry about it, son. It’s all in the past. I’ll be chargin’ you rent this time, and you need to call me Tim or I’ll feel old.” The man’s smile made him look like a mischievous elf.
He didn’t deserve the kindness and acceptance he was receiving from these men. He wasn’t fool enough to think Angel would be as accommodating.
He stayed another couple of hours, talking to Harvey and Harry’s wives and their five redheaded daughters. A hum began in his chest and spread through his blood. A feeling he hadn’t had since he was a kid. Belonging. Love.
Family.
His father had ripped it all away deliberately, out of jealousy and a misguided attempt at parenting. The Murphy family were bad news, in his parents’ eyes. They saw his infatuation with Angel and couldn’t accept it. He was broken for a long time.
Aiden thought he was over it. He realized now he had only hidden his pain. Buried it under a huge workload, and a feigned aversion to settling down. For the first time in fifteen years, he could feel what had been missing and he knew what he needed. He wasn’t so confident that he’d get it.
_____
Loose bits of bitumen crunched under his shoes in the alleyway beside Saunders’ Hardware Store. It was a two-story brick building, built in the fifties. His photographer’s eye could see the beauty in its rustic façade. He unlocked the scarred wooden door to the apartment above. It opened to a narrow stairway leading straight up, smelling musty from the damp air and disuse. He switched the light on. The pop and flash of the globe blowing cut through the air. He grabbed his cell, using the flashlight app to light his way.
Another door at the top marked the entry to the apartment. The hinges groaned as he pushed it open into the studio style apartment. To his left, windows lined the front wall, all covered with heavy blinds, letting in the barest hint of twilight around the edges. After placing his bags on the floor, he moved through the apartment towards the windows, lighting a narrow path with his phone.
Once all the blinds were raised, stirring up great puffs of dust, he slid open the creaky old windows for some much needed air. With shafts of dying light blanketing the room, a flood of memories struck him. The most exquisite and painful memories of his life. He had spent his last night in Alabama, in this room, as a fifteen-year-old runaway.
The back of the apartment housed a small kitchen in the corner to the right of the entry. In the far corner stood an enclosed bathroom with barely enough room for one person to stand. Behind that back wall was Mr. Saunders’ storeroom. Aiden remembered trying to be quiet on his night as a stowaway, when he heard Tim rummaging around for supplies.
The orange foldout sofa sat in the living area, with its back to the entrance. At least Tim had bought a flat screen since he was here last. It looked displaced in time against the brown exposed brick wall. The small dining table to the left of the entry had a view overlooking the street. Everything was either brown or orange in a shout out to the seventies.
It was old, but it was comfortable. He’d stayed in worse accommodations in some of the more remote locations he’d worked in.
Aiden made sure to turn the fridge on and load up the supplies he’d bought on the way. His stomach had exhausted its load of southern food from the wake, and was now calling out for a refill. The thought of sitting down to eat by himself didn’t appeal. It just amplified his loneliness.
The last time he was in this room, Angel was with him. Now she was missing. She’d been lost to him since that time, and he’d tried to block out the feeling. Aiden looked around the room, remembering everything she’d said, everything they’d done the last time they saw each other. How bliss had morphed into torment. The way she’d screamed out his name, and sobbed as his father yanked him down the stairs. His body shuddered, thinking it was all going to happen again.
He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to go back to where she was. Tomorrow was too goddamn far away. As he ate, he made the decision to call Angel before going to sleep, wanting to hear her voice and make certain she’d meet with him. The anticipation of seeing her again was equal parts nerve-wracking and thrilling.
She’d gone through hell today. He’d have to wait. He knew how to be patient when it counted.
_____
No answer. No answer last night, no answer this morning. Sweat beaded on Aiden’s skin as he hiked through the thick greenery clinging to the river’s edge, the branches scratching on his exposed arms and legs. The camera bag on his back held some serious glass, though he’d left most of it back at the apartment. He was doing what he always did to escape from himself and his thoughts, but today it wasn’t working. Maybe he wasn’t as patient as he thought. Waiting for the perfect shot was easy, compared to waiting for the perfect woman. With both hands cradling the camera strapped around his neck, he managed to snap one last shot of a Chipping Sparrow with its rusty red cap, before packing up and heading back.
One of the first pictures he’d taken had been of a sparrow in Hank’s yard. It was a total fluke of perfect timing. He’d received a hearty slap on the back after he’d showed it to Hank. The memory buzzed his heart with warmth and pain. Aiden swallowed past a lump in his throat. That man had given him his two greatest loves, and he’d never forget it. He wanted to honor him somehow. Maybe Harvey was right. Maybe Hank had guided him back to where he belonged. A second chance to make things right.
He pushed his feet faster, feeling an inexplicable urgency. Every step closer to town, closer to Angel, brought him more peace than anything else could. Now that he’d seen her, he was desperate to see her again. Des-per-ate. He admitted it. If he knew she felt the same, he’d be the happiest man alive.
Manic Monday had taken over sedate Sunday in the center of town. People buzzed in and out of businesses, running their errands. Aiden held his breath as an old clunker sputtered past, leaving a trail of exhaust fumes behind. A bunch of teens rode by on bikes and scooters, narrowly missing him, their raucous conversation unimpeded by their exertions.
He glanced across the street, his eyes drawn to the sway of dark tresses as a woman exited a coffee shop. She walked in the opposite direction, the material of her skirt swishing in time with her hair. He didn’t need to see her face to know who she was.
With a cursory glance at the traffic, he sprinted to the other side. “Angel!” He watched her slim legs falter, her body turning while twisting on the balls of her feet. She held a tray with four cups of coffee, green eyes wide with alarm as she took in the sight of him. Stopping a few feet away, aware that he was sweaty, he gave her a wary smile. “Hi.”
“Aiden—h-how are you?” Her gaze drifted over his face, down to his chest and arms, before snapping back to his eyes.
“Okay. More importantly, how are you?” He adjusted the weight of his pack, leaving his thumbs hooked under the straps on each side of his chest. Her eyes drifted down again. “Angel?”
“Hmm?” She tilted her face back up, eyebrows raised.
His lips curved in triumph. He’d rattled her. He tipped his chin to the tray she was holding. “Afternoon coffee run?”
Her hair fell forward as she dropped her face to have a look for herself. “Um, yeah. I’d better get them to the guys before they get cold.”
She twisted her body around, leaving him with an apologetic smile. His stomach dropped, fresh sweat breaking out on his brow for a completely new reason.
He fell into step beside her, not giving her the chance to get away. “Where are you off to?”
“The auto shop. I run the office there now.” Her shoulders had hunched, her words coming out harried. His stomach dropped even further. His second chance was off to a bad start. He didn’t want to chase her away. Harassing her wasn’t the way to win her back.
Aiden stopped walking, dropping his arms to his sides. The distance between them stretched a few more feet before she checked behind her. Uncertainty bordering on panic colored her expression. She was going to chew her lips to bits if she continued like that. He painted a wide smile on his face, aiming to reassure her. “I’ll see you later then?”
She took two more steps, her lips making a popping sound as she set them free. “Mm hmm. Later, Aiden.” He wanted to suck her red, swollen lips into his mouth to see if she still tasted the same. She’d disappeared around a corner before that thought had a chance to finish.
Aiden wandered back to sit on a bench. He needed a plan of ... not attack, but persuasion, maybe. Hunger pains from different origins disturbed his stomach and his senses. He sat on the bench ignoring his stomach, willing his body to calm down, and praying for the patience that he left behind in the hotel room with the shattered mirror.
Shower Steam
Angel crept up the staircase noticing the door at the top was ajar. She heard the low hum of the television, the flicker of its light bouncing off the stairwell walls.
After the encounter in the street, she’d gone home exhausted. Her afternoon nap had been fitful, a result of her inner turmoil at the impending discussion with Aiden. She had woken up with a headache, and the knowledge that if he went wandering around the town, talking to the townsfolk, he’d probably get a shock. After taking some painkillers, showering, and throwing her hair in a messy bun, she arrived at Saunders’.
This couldn’t wait until tomorrow. She needed to be the one to tell him. In private. Now, with her trembling hand stretched out to open the creaky door, she questioned her wisdom.
Stepping over the threshold, a strip of light from under the bathroom door caught on the shag pile, the sound of water pelting tiles muted behind the barrier.
He’d made up the sofa bed. Feeling less than comfortable about sharing that space with him during the difficult conversation to come, she opted for the hard dining chair instead. At least she could stare through the television. A few stray baked beans and a half-eaten piece of toast decorated a plate left abandoned on the table, along with an empty beer bottle. The smell actually stirred her appetite. Maybe the nap had done her good after all. More likely, it was the prospect of getting this long overdue discussion done with.
The last time she saw Aiden before he left, was in this room. Their last moment together. The beginning and the end. Sanity and despair.
Her eyes dropped to bore through the back of the sofa. Memories danced through her vision. Their awkward teenage limbs tangled. Desperate sweaty palms racing over heated, innocent flesh. She was sixteen, and so in love with Aiden. That day, they’d come home from school to find a moving truck almost fully loaded with the contents of his house. They had sprinted to her place, both of them pitching a conniption fit. His parents were moving him away. No warning, no time to prepare or say goodbye. They’d made the rash decision to escape together, jumping on their bikes, and riding into town. After stashing the bikes behind a dumpster in the alley, between the drug store and the butcher, Angel had distracted Mr. Saunders while Aiden snuck behind the counter to steal the keys to the top floor.
They thought they could bunker down for the night and figure out a plan of escape. She knew deep down it was their last night together. Mr. Thomas is a formidable, intelligent man. He’d find them. No doubt. Aiden, ever the dreamer, thought they had a chance. She didn’t want him to leave without being with him at least one time.
Hearing the steady stream of water from the shower, her mind conjured images of a grown up Aiden, wet—and soapy. She cursed her wayward thoughts. She needed to stay on task.
Night had fallen. The air was cooler and smelled of rain. The clicking of crickets was audible through the open windows. She wandered towards the front, peeking down at the main street. The blinking of lightning bugs, and a few tired old streetlights were the only source of light outside. Thanks to heavy cloud cover. Not a soul was about. Just her… and Aiden.
Angel made sure to shut the blinds on the front windows, and switch on the light in the kitchen before returning to the table. The blinds billowed in and out with every breath of breeze, making a sucking sound as the stale air escaped. The same way they had that night, when her life was shattered, her future changed by an unforeseen twist.
The sound of the shower cut off. Her palms started to sweat. Angel wiped them on her jeans, and crossed her arms. She had on her lucky T-shirt. Aiden had bought it for her when they went to a Tim McGraw concert. It was too big back then, now she filled it so it stretched across her breasts.
The bathroom door cracked open. She inhaled sharply. Oh my. Aiden stepped out surrounded by steam, a towel wrapped around his waist. He had rubbed the towel through his hair leaving it sticking out in all directions. A few stray rivulets of water traced the contours of his body, catching on a patch of chest hair and running down his firm stomach. She watched every single drop. Praise Jesus.
He froze upon seeing her. “Sorry,” she whispered. “You left the door unlocked. Tim wouldn’t be happy with you.”
He blinked, owl eyed. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought we could talk tonight, but I can see you’re ... getting ready for bed. You must be tired. I’ll—”
“No I’m not. Not tired, I mean. Glad you’re here.” His voice was scratchy. He attempted a smile, but it fell short when his eyes dropped to her T-shirt.
