His Reverie (4 page)

Dear Diary,

(June 23
rd
, 10:17 p.m.) I met a boy today. Well, I shouldn’t call him a boy since he was tall and broad and had a man’s body. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. I didn’t mean to look. It felt wrong to look and I should probably say some extra prayers tonight but…

I looked. A lot. And he was all muscle and skin, covered in little droplets of water that ran down his bare chest. I scared him. He was drinking out of the hose in front of the stables, his sun-kissed hair kind of stuck up all over his head like he’d run his hands through it a lot and his jeans riding low on his hips. All I saw at first was the muscles of his back and the width of his shoulders before I said something to him. I can’t even remember what I said.

Okay I’m lying. I totally remember what I said. I asked if he was thirsty.

He literally jumped when I spoke, the water from the hose going everywhere. He didn’t know I was standing there. He turned to face me and it was like I swallowed my tongue. I couldn't speak. He was just so…beautiful.

Can a boy be beautiful? I never thought so before. I mean, I’ve seen handsome men but I try not to pay attention because Daddy says vanity is a sin. And he’s right. Focusing too much on your looks, worrying about brand names and stuff…it all gets you in trouble. I’m not allowed to wear makeup. I’m not allowed to wear cute bras or panties or low-cut shirts or too-short skirts, dresses, shorts. I’m modest. I have to be.

I have an image to uphold. And I don’t want to disappoint my parents.

But the boy…Nicholas…he stared at me like he thought I was beautiful too. I tried to flirt with him. I have never flirted with a boy in my life so I didn’t know what I was doing, not really. The things I said, my voice, all of it changed. I sounded like a different person. I acted different too.

I liked it. So did he. I think.

He teased me and called me Daydream. I’m usually so self-conscious of my stupid name. I hate it. He didn’t seem to mind though. Oh, he stumbled over it and I could tell he thought it was a little odd but then he made me feel special.

Boys don’t really talk to me and I can never work up the nerve to talk to them. I go to an all-girls’ school and never get a chance to talk to boys anyway so I have zero experience. I wish I did talk to them more so I could’ve sounded confident. I wanted to say more but then Evan called me and Nicholas seemed to get a little panicked. Like we were about to get caught or something. He took off so fast but I know it wasn’t because he didn’t like me. He just didn’t want us to be seen together since he works for Daddy.

So he’s my little secret. Nicholas. I’m going to the stables to see him again soon. Or maybe…he’ll be around the pool or on the yard or something. He might work with Michael and that would be perfect because I always see Michael every summer. He ignores me though. He always has which is fine with me. I usually don’t want to be noticed.

I liked it when Nicholas noticed me. When he called me Daydream. That was sweet. He seemed sweet. And he wore no shirt.

I kind of can’t get over the fact that I stood there talking to a guy like no big deal and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Can your fingers itch? Because mine felt like they wanted to reach out and touch him. Just…stroke my hands and fingers all over his firm, naked skin…

It’s nice, having a secret. I’ve never really had one before beyond intangible ones. Bad thoughts or secret desires. Desires are bad. It means we want something we’re not supposed to have. Daddy says that all the time. I try to keep my thoughts as pure and clean as possible. I swear Daddy can read my mind. It’s best to keep it blank…or full of God.

Right now though, locked away in my room, my thoughts are anything but blank. They are full of the boy I met today. The boy I talked to. The boy who talked to me.

I can’t help but wonder what Nicholas’ lips feel like. They were full and looked soft. I’ve never been kissed and I want to be so bad. I read a lot. Scandalous romance books Daddy would flip out over if he ever found out. I watch as many romantic movies as Daddy approves of because I want that. A special love, a boy who will want me and love me above all else, who will do anything for me. Do anything to have me…

Reverie: a daydream.

June 27th

I’
ve worked at Hale House for four days. I’ve cleaned out stalls, I’ve mowed the back lawn—which felt like a billion acres but whatever—I’ve moved rocks from one pile to another, I’ve weeded the garden, I’ve cleaned out the pool house, I blew up all the toys with an air compressor for the pool party they were having yesterday afternoon for a bunch of screaming brats and I trimmed all the bushes in the rose garden. My arms are now covered in scratches from the thorns and my entire body aches in a way I don’t think I’ve ever experienced. Not even in jail. Not even when I was on the football team my freshman year in high school, which feels like another lifetime.

But the one thing I haven’t done at Hale House is seen my little daydream. Not one glimpse, not a mention of her name, nothing. I’ve seen Harold Hale. I’ve even spoken to him though I have no idea how to address the guy. Reverend Hale? Minister Hale? Preacher Man Hale?

I just call him sir. I figure that’s gotta work best.

I’m starting to wonder if I imagined her. Reverie. Fitting right? Considering the meaning of her name. I don’t wanna ask Michael about her because next thing I know, he’s giving me grief. And that guy loves to dish out the grief, trust me. I’ve learned that quick.

So I keep my mouth shut and my head down for the most part. Only occasionally looking up in the hopes I see Rev.

Reverie.

She’s still not a Rev to me. The nickname feels edgy, tough and it doesn’t fit her. She looked like some sort of fairy princess when I first saw her. The sunlight in her hair, shining through the skirt of her dress and highlighting those endless legs…she was gorgeous. She comes to me in my dreams. Pretty and smiling and laughing. I haven’t dreamed about anything in weeks. Months. My mind is…void. After I lost Mom, I felt like I had nothing. Thought nothing. No emotions. No family. No friends.

I have a job. That’s it. A place to sleep at night and a car to drive. Mom’s old car. I don’t have anything else. I don’t need anything else. That’s what I believed.

Until I met her and suddenly, she’s all I can think about.

“Get to movin’, Fairfield,” Michael says, nudging the center of my back and nearly sending me sprawling. I save myself from falling and send him a dirty look over my shoulder, making him laugh.

“What are we in for today?” I ask as we start walking toward the giant barn that’s behind the equally giant garage. It’s not really a barn, though I guess it was one once and that’s what everyone still calls it. The Hales converted it into a cavernous room where they can entertain people. Like a reception hall or something, with a full kitchen built right in the center. I’ve seen these sorts of things like the VFW hall in town but never on someone’s property.

“They have a ton of Fourth of July stuff they want taken out of storage,” Michael says as he pushes open one of the double doors to the barn. I follow him inside, my gaze snagging on all the art lining the walls. I never noticed it before, but then the last time I came in here, I ran into the kitchen to pick up some extra silverware for Mrs. Hale and then left, too focused on grabbing what I needed versus lingering around checking the place out.

Every single painting is of God, an angel, or Jesus, or some other biblical looking character. They look really old fashioned and I stop and study one of them. It’s of a scary looking Jesus hanging on the cross with a crown of thorns around his head, blood dripping down his face. His eyes are looking upward, thick nails through each of his palms and I can’t help but stare, horror running through me.

Freaking creepy. I thought religion was supposed to give you hope and purpose, not scare the crap out of you.

“Come on dude, help me out over here. We have to carry out all this patriotic crap,” Michael calls.

I find him standing in front of a closet full of clear plastic storage bins on the shelves, every bin stuffed with red, white and blue decorations. We each brought a hand truck with us so I go to the closet and start grabbing boxes, handing them to Michael so he can stack them and we can wheel them out of here.

“So I’m guessing they throw a huge party for the Fourth?” I ask, trying to make conversation. Not that it’s hard to talk to Michael. The guy always has something to say.

Plus, I’m trying to find out information about the Hales. Specifically, Reverie.

“Massive,” Michael says. “Family, friends, their parishioners, and lots of little kids running around and always falling into the pool. My first summer working here, a kid almost drowned. They’ve hired special lifeguards just for the day ever since.”

“Crazy.” I shake my head and lean on the tall stack of boxes I was supposed to take out. “Lots of hot girls show up or what?”

Michael burst out laughing. “Are you kidding? No way. Hale’s a man of God, remember? Not a bikini in sight unfortunately. Everyone’s good and covered up. You’ll appreciate that, bro. Most of the people who attend these parties are around the Hales’ age. You don’t want to see those women in bikinis.” He mock shivers.

“But the Hales have kids,” I point out. “Don’t the kids have friends?”

“Not really. The Hale kids are pretty sheltered. They don’t mingle much around here in the summer so they don’t have many local friends that I know of. No one really knows them, though I’ve heard the boy has come out of his shell and been seen driving around town lately.” Michael pulls out the last patriotic-filled box and shuts the closet door before he turns to face me. “The daughter goes to a private girls’ school and every time I see her she’s either riding her horse or reading a book. And Evan just graduated so I’m guessing he’s off to college in the fall. I don’t know. I don’t pay them much attention.”

I don’t say anything else. If I start asking more questions, Michael will suspect I’m fishing for info and he’d be guessing right. I don’t want him to know I’m curious. And I especially don’t want him to know I’ve talked to Reverie.

That’s my secret. One I don’t want to share with anyone.

“We’ll take the boxes over to the main house,” Michael says as we exit the barn. “Mrs. Hale will want to go through it all and pick out what she wants to use. She does this every year. And then she’ll run into town and buy more crap. It’s the same routine each summer.”

I remain silent, letting Michael chatter on. The guy has a mouth that won’t stop once he gets going but I don’t mind. Listening to him helps pass the time.