Aftermath (13 page)

Ben's Story

Chester’s frantic bark broke my concentration.

Coach Vieth had us running drills on the soccer field. Dribble, dribble, pass, pass, shoot. Next pair up. Repeat. Forty-seven minutes left in practice.

Mentally, I searched the airwaves, listening for Emma. I could pick out her voice a million miles away, even if it was just her thoughts and not a spoken word.

A second later, I found her on the shores of Lake Michigan, by the Victorian house she’d eventually live in with her aunt. Emma seemed focused on the water, wanting to feel it.

Damn it!

What was she doing?

I finished the run with a teammate and intentionally twisted my ankle. I dropped to the ground and clutched the lower portion of my left leg.

I grunted as if in pain when the coach and a few players reached me near the goal. Envisioning swelling, I watched as my ankle mimicked my thoughts.

“Looks bad,” Drew said.

Coach shook his head. “Better get that checked. Trainer’s inside. We gotta get you back and healthy. We gotta game in a few days.”

I nodded. “I’m sure I’ll be fine, Coach.” Drew helped me up and let me lean on him as we walked toward the building. After several feet, I lessened the limp-act and told him I could make it on my own. With him out of sight, I jogged to the back of the building and slipped into the nearest portal.

I had to see if Emma was really all right.

Emma's Story

Aunt Barb never left my side, or at least not for long.

After the incident at Lake Michigan, she had contractors add a gate and reinforce the set of stairs, but stopped short of fencing in the boulder patio. “It wouldn’t look right, aesthetically,” she said. “Besides, it’s not like we’ve got toddlers living here that could accidentally fall in.”

I agreed. After all, I knew what I was doing and I didn’t want to hurt myself.

Really.

By mid-week, the renovated Victorian house was looking more like a home. Our home, Aunt Barb reminded me. Painters finished coating neutral colors throughout the first floor, just in time for the delivery of new furniture. Decorators hung draperies, while technicians installed a security system.

Things were coming together quickly. It didn’t surprise me. Aunt Barb seemed to have a lot of connections. Every day, a crew was at the house doing something, which meant we were there, too.

I sat on the plastic tarp that covered my new ivory chair in what would be my bedroom. The walls were painted once, but needed a second coat the middle-aged man said when I walked in. “Paint’s almost dry.” It was a pale shade of aqua and complemented the comforter Dad and I picked out last year. Even though Aunt Barb said I could decorate my room however I wanted, I decided to keep the furniture and bedding I had back home.

My room had an oversized window and glass door leading to a long, narrow deck. From here, I could see over the lush trees that lined the bluff’s edge. The dark shades of blue water extended far off into the distance. It was a spectacular view. Nothing like the telephone pole I saw outside my bedroom in Highland Park.

When Chester nudged my hand, I realized he probably shouldn’t be in my room wagging his long tail on wet walls. “Chester, come on. Let’s go,” I said, and stood in attempt to coax him out, but he sat in the middle of the room on the painter’s drop cloth. “Come on!” I repeated.

Chester tilted his head and lifted his black ears. It was the pose he gave me when he wanted something. His fawn-colored forehead wrinkled as if deep in thought. Back home, I would yell, “treat” or “who’s here” to get him to move. He would jump, bark, run, and bark again, like a mad dog on a mission. It worked every time. Except, in a newly painted room, I didn’t think that was a good idea.

I surveyed the room to see what Chester could destroy if he suddenly got energetic. An empty pail sat alongside the opposite wall, with the painter’s tray and some remaining paint, nearby. There wasn’t enough stuff to do damage. Still, an oversized dog in a hyper state of mind could always do damage. I walked slowly to the doorway and turned toward him. He was watching me. “Want to go for a walk?” I asked in a low tone.

Chester barked and ran past me without knocking over the pail. He sprinted down the stairs, leaving only the echo of each woof behind. For a split second, I wondered if the workers downstairs would be afraid of him. Even a small English Mastiff running at full speed through the house would scare most people. Then I realized how Chester warmed up to the guys when they got here earlier. The heavyset man even called him a gentle giant.

It wasn’t that Chester wasn’t a nice dog. He was just cautious with strangers. At least that was what Dad said when Chester yelped at Matt every time he came to visit or picked me up.

“Call him protective, Emma,” Dad said, the last time Matt stopped by and Chester wouldn’t stop barking. Matt stood outside his car at the curb, while Chester stood near the front door. He didn’t growl at Matt, but he did stand tall with his ears back. It was his Don’t-Mess-With-Me face. When Matt took a step, Chester would speak. Chester was funny like that, although he was just a snuggler at heart.

“Aunt Barb?” I called when I got to the empty great room. I heard voices toward the back of the house and followed the sound. I found her with the contractor in the laundry room. “Excuse me, do you mind if I take Chester for a walk?” I asked when she looked up.

“Go right ahead. Are you okay? Did you want me to come with you?” she asked.

“No, I’m fine. Chester seems antsy, that’s all.”

“Okay. Have fun.” She smiled before turning her attention back to the man with the tape measure.

I walked the sidewalk toward North Pointe Park with Chester obediently on my left. The leather leash draped in my hands the way the dog trainer taught Dad and me when Chester was in puppy class. Even though he was a huge dog, he was well behaved. Well, most of the time. Funny, but he loved Melissa and Jenna, and most any other girlfriend I brought over. He just didn’t like Matt.

The park was small, too small to be called a park as far as I was concerned. It consisted of a wrought-iron bench and a set of stairs to a gazebo built into the bluff overlooking the lake. Chester and I descended to the roof-covered deck and stood at the railing. It was the same view I had from my new bedroom. A gentle breeze cooled my arms and brought a lake scent, different from Lake Bell. A subtle fish smell filled the air, as waves crashed against the rocky shore and small whitecaps formed and dissipated in the distance. It was welcoming, comforting.

It was the kind of place I could visit every day. I saw myself sitting on the bench in the gazebo. Watching or waiting. I belonged here.

When Chester barked, I jumped. This wasn’t my home, not yet at least.

“Okay, okay,” I whispered to him. “Let’s go,” I said as he led me back to the sidewalk. I promised Aunt Barb I wouldn’t venture near the water again, but as we headed down North Avenue toward the high school, I couldn’t get the calm feeling out of my head. I felt at peace staring at the lake.

Before I knew it, Chester and I were at a full sprint, ending at Westport High School’s campus. Chester directed which way to go. Even though it wasn’t like him to take the lead like that, I followed without question. When we reached the vacant soccer field, Chester lay down in the goal and I sat beside him. A soccer field was like my second home. The grass was thick, vibrant, and smelled freshly cut.

I was always content within the white painted lines of a soccer field. When I looked at the bleachers, I almost heard the cheers from parents and fans. Teammate’s calls filled my mind. Memories of games and practices, friends and opponents, flooded my thoughts, and I found myself wondering if I would ever play soccer here. Or, ever again, for that matter.

Girls’ high school soccer season didn’t start until March. I knew if I wanted to play for Westport, I’d have to play now, for a club team in the off-season. That was what I did back home. That was what my friends were doing right now. Everything back home was set. I had a coach, a team, and a position.

Here, I had nothing.

I let go of Chester’s leash and lay on my back beside him. A week ago, I would have never thought about quitting soccer. Now, it seemed like I had no choice. Then again, a week ago, I didn’t expect Dad would die, either.

I stared at the sky and watched the clouds merge and change shape. Mom and I would call out what they looked like when I was young—a ship, a butterfly, a dinosaur. I was just as content staring at them now, as I was back then.

Maybe I fell asleep, or was just lost in a daydream. Either way, when Chester barked and took off running, I realized where I was and that we were no longer alone. A flash of his fawn-colored fur sped away. Shit!

I snapped to attention and chased after him.

“Chester!” He sprinted toward someone coming through the open gate on the opposite end of the field. I called his name again, but it was of no use. He was ignoring me, charging toward a tall boy with dark brown hair and an athletic build. The boy dribbled a soccer ball toward the far goal and seemed oblivious to the impending approach of Chester.

“Stop!” I cried in warning, uncertain of what Chester would do to the boy when he reached him. My calls went unnoticed.

As I got closer, I realized Chester didn’t run after any ordinary boy. He ran toward the Prince Charming I saw at Lake Bell. Chester jumped on the prince, but he didn’t bark.

I was out of breath and at a loss for words by the time I reached them.

“Sorry,” I squeaked out between deep inhales. I hadn’t run that fast since coach had us doing sprints last season. Guess I needed to start working out more.

Prince Charming never looked up, but he said, “No problem.” He was kneeling and, with both hands, he was scratching Chester’s ears. Chester was in heaven, wagging his tail uncontrollably. It was as if they were long lost buddies.

“Hey, my dog likes you,” I managed to say. I didn’t know what was more embarrassing—my inability to control my dog or the fact that I was so out of shape. Either way, I probably looked ridiculous.

“Yeah, I see that,” he said.

“Ahhh… sorry…” I mumbled. “He’s not usually like that.”

There was an awkward moment of silence before he spoke. “He usually doesn’t like people? Or he usually doesn’t charge toward them?” I saw his smirk, though he still didn’t look up at me. He was focused on Chester, who was now licking him in the face.

I was too nervous to laugh. That was a pretty stupid thing for me to say. “Ah, both.”

“Really? Seems pretty nice to me,” he answered, still petting Chester. I couldn’t believe what an attention seeker my pup turned out to be.

I reached for Chester’s leash on the ground and inhaled deeply. “He’s usually more protective… More standoff-ish, I guess.” Chester proved me wrong. “Chester, stop.” I tried to sound firm and tugged on his leash. “Come here.”

“It’s okay,” Prince Charming said, standing up. He was suddenly looking directly at me.

My chest ached. His brown eyes were focused on mine.

“Maybe he just likes me,” he said and flashed me a grin.

My palms began to sweat, and I could feel my heart beating faster. He was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen. Say something! I lost my train of thought. “Yeah… I guess.”

I sounded stupid. I looked stupid. What was I even wearing?

“Well,” he said. Could the moment could be any more awkward?

“Yeah, sorry… again…. I’ll get him outa here.” I tugged on Chester’s leash, but he was firmly planted on his butt.

Prince Charming nodded. The silence was uncomfortable.

I wasn’t sure where I got the confidence, but I finally said, “My name’s Emma.”

“Nice to meet you, Emma. I’m Ben.” He smiled.

I felt a tingle in the pit of my stomach and found myself grinning in return.

Ben kicked the soccer ball up and caught it with one hand. “You play? Or just lounge in the goal?”

“Yeah… I mean, I play.”

“Nice,” he answered.

My cheeks burned, and I could tell I was turning red.

“Maybe I’ll see you around, then.” He turned to walk away.

Chester sat obediently by my side. “You were pretty friendly with him,” I said and chuckled. Prince Charming had a name.

Ben.

Ben's Story

I knew it.

I expected Molly to give me grief about my first meeting with Emma, but I didn’t expect her in my head seconds afterward.

You’re unbelievable, Benjamin. You could have been kinder to that poor girl.

Claire’s thoughts were softer.
She really likes you, Ben. It was obvious.

I ignored them both, as they carried on a conversation in my head.
He should sweep her off her feet,
I heard among other comments, like how they needed to correct the damage I’d done with my attitude.

The guys on my team weren’t much better. From the minute I joined them on the field for warm-ups, I was questioned about who she was. The girl with the huge dog, they called her.

“Her name’s Emma,” I finally said, juggling a soccer ball with my knees.

“She’s the new girl Lewis said was transferring from his school,” Drew added.

I wasn’t supposed to know that, so I shrugged.

“Hannah knows her. She’s got some sad story, doesn’t she, Justin?” Drew asked, kicking a soccer ball to him.

Justin jumped and caught the pass, then rolled it back. “Yeah, her parents died. She’s moving here, or maybe already has, I guess,” Justin told us. “I haven’t met her yet. That’s her over there?” he questioned, pointing toward Emma at the gate.

I nodded. “She didn’t tell me much. Just that her name’s Emma,” I answered.

“Well, don’t get interested, man. She’s got a boyfriend,” Drew said as the coach called us over.

Benjamin, are you ignoring us?
Molly’s stern voice pierced my thoughts.
Have you heard a word we said? We gave you some great ideas. What do you think?

I think you need to get out of my head.

Molly kept babbling, the coach had a few announcements—scrimmage tomorrow, meeting in the gym before practice on Friday—and more comments between the guys about the cute girl with the huge dog.

See, you’re going to have competition for her, Benjamin. If I were you, I’d ask her out before someone beats you to it.

Molly, stop. You know I only have a year here. Maybe I should just let her meet a human.

Commander E said a year or two. Don’t waste your time. You’ll end up—

I know, I know… I’ll end up regretting it,
I answered her thought.

Yes, you will.

The trouble was… I already did.