Othello Station (13 page)

“Under one condition,” I say.

“Does there have to be a catch?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t we just hang out? With no conditions?”

“You let me buy you dinner tonight.”

“Grant…”

“Like a real, hot meal. And you accept it and enjoy it, period. No bitching.”

Her arms cross. “Fine. But no dessert.”

“What’s wrong with dessert?” Chicks love dessert.

“Unless they have red velvet cake. Then I’ll make an allowance.”

That strange sensation prickles again, alerting me to the smile that’s forming on my face. “Fair enough.”

Mira grins brightly. “That’s three! Oh my God. Be careful—don’t smile too hard. You might just shatter glass. Or make a baby cry. You might throw everything off and completely alter the universe as we know it.” I try like hell to kill the smirk dead, I really do. But as I seem to do a lot lately, I fail and toss a pillow at Mira in pure, rebellious fashion. She deflects it, then trots into the bathroom to get ready.

We both change and wash up, then proceed to spend most of the day café and bakery hopping. Mira snaps pictures of the storefronts, while I wander inside each shop and buy something. We get weird looks as we argue outside on the sidewalk over what I buy. A routine is born. I insist whatever delectable treat I bring her is a sample. That it wasn’t paid for, no way, no how. That I wouldn’t dare go against her wishes. She calls my bluff, but I shove the treat at her face anyway. She nibbles, I watch. She pouts in defeat, then smirks when she realizes just how damn good the treat tastes. I wipe the powdered sugar, crumbs, or sauce off her cheeks, then feel my chest swell with victory. Or pride. Or both.

Rinse, repeat.

By the time five-o-clock rolls around, we’re stuffed and unable to eat another bite. Mira’s camera is full with pictures, and her notebook is packed with descriptive notes for each place we visited. No doubt, with details like these, hotel customers will believe that every member of the front desk staff knows each restaurant personally, inside and out. Mira has single-handedly helped turn her team into experts on the local culinary scene.

“Next time we’ll do dinner joints. Oh, and brunch places. I’ve been wanting to check those out for a while now. We get a lot of requests for those.” She holds her stomach and her face pales a bit. “Okay. I can’t talk about food anymore. I’m going to be sick. No way are you taking me to dinner now. It’d be a huge waste.”

“Then let’s kill some time. You wanna catch a ferry and get out of the city for a bit? We could wander around Bainbridge Island.”

“Nah,” she answers quickly. “I hate Bainbridge.”

“Why’s that?”

She grows quiet and puckers her lips, swishing them to the side, averting her gaze. “Just do.”

“It’s a great island. I bike and hike over there all the time. Great trails, good food. Close enough to the city without being in the city…my sales pitch isn’t working, is it?” I study her displeased expression.

“Nope. Sorry.”

“Okay, look.” I step in front of her. “We’re friends who kiss, right? And other things.”  Her cheeks turn pink. I bend down to kiss her softly. “Friends let friends in and all that. So, I’d like some details, please. I’d like to know. Tell me what’s so bad about Bainbridge. Enlighten me.”

“This goes both ways, you know.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Give and take.”

“Give and take.” I lift a hand, offering a cordial shake. We’re making an agreement here. I know what I’m sacrificing. Some of my secrets. Some of myself. Parts of me I have no desire to share with anyone else. I can barely acknowledge them in private. But if this is going to be the game, and Mira is the prize, then I’m willing to play.

“If I tell you this one thing, you have to tell me something. Deal?” She accepts my handshake and we both nod, holding each other’s gazes.

“Deal. Shoot.”

“My ex lives on Bainbridge.”

My forehead wrinkles. “That’s it?”

“I can’t go over there without driving by his place. I’m not a creepy stalker, I swear. I just…” She freezes up and begins to stutter. I hold her eyes, patiently and attentively, letting her know I’m with her. I’m not going anywhere. No matter what she’s about to say, she’s not going to scare me off. Because I’d put ten grand on the likelihood that my baggage is ten times more fucked up than hers. By the end of this conversation, she’ll be the one thinking about running on me.

“Go ahead,” I say, coaxing her onward. “You can say it.”

“Have you ever seen that movie with Jonny Depp –
Secret Window
? A Stephen King story, I think.”

“
Hmmm
. Maybe?”

“Well in his character’s case, he is sort of a creepy stalker. But that’s not the point.”

“You’re not really helping your case, here.” I playfully nudge her nose with mine.

“Be nice.”

“Go on, I’m listening.”

“Well, there’s this scene where he’s parked at his old house, watching his ex-wife go on with her life, and he says something like,
‘This is not my beautiful house, this is not my beautiful wife anymore.’
But it’s not just the pain talking. It’s almost as if he’s trying to help himself move on, like he’s giving himself a mental push. By forcing himself watch her live her life without him, he’s forced to face his own reality. He has to move on, too.”

“Is that what you do, when you drive by your ex’s place? Give yourself a mental push?”

“Yeah. It motivates me. Reminds me that despite the shitty way it all ended, I actually have an opportunity for something better. He did me a favor when he decided he didn’t want me anymore. But every now and then, I doubt everything. I back track. I wonder if I did everything I could. I think about whether or not I did the right thing, walking away. That’s when I go to Bainbridge and drive by his house.”

Something crumbles in me, listening to her talk about her ex. The pain evident in her eyes slices into me. I can tell it’s still raw—whatever rejection she’s talking about. No wonder she’s so hell bent against others doing things for her. She feels abandoned. Cast aside. No wonder no one is reliable in her world. The question sits on my tongue, teasing me. I have to ask. “What exactly do you mean when you say he decided he didn’t want you anymore?”

Her head lowers and her eyes find the floor.

“Mira.” I rest my fingers beneath her chin and tilt her head up. “No judgement here.”

A small, shaky breath rattles from her lips as she hesitates. “He chose the other woman.”

“He was cheating on you?”

“No. I was the reason he was cheating. He chose his wife.”

There’s no disguising the surprise on my face. I cannot deny the fact that I’m taken back by this piece of information. But as I stare down at her, a potent anger unfurls inside of me, casting shadow over the disbelief. “He did this,” I say, voice low and stern. “He pursued you. He chose this. Didn’t he?”

Mira shakes her head, and tears form on the tops of her cheeks, where just minutes ago, a smile was spread. “I let him pursue me. I let it carry on. I’m just as much at blame.”

“No. I don’t believe that.”

“Well, you should. You’re only seeing what you want to see, Grant.”

“Did he tell you he was married? Did you know when you met him?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Like hell, it matters.”

“I didn’t know. Not until after. It was too late. What matters is the fact that I let it go on.”

The thick anger that’s slowly unfolding mixes with disgust. It coats my throat. My limbs are antsy. My heart is pounding. “Well, that settles it.”

Mira’s eyes pop wide. “Wait—please, don’t go. I didn’t want to tell you. I tried to warn you—”

“I’m not going anywhere, Mira. We’re going somewhere, as in you and me. Right now.” I turn and grab us some fresh clothes, tossing a dress and a bra at her while I begin to change. She stands there watching me. She hasn’t moved.

“What? I don’t understand.”

“We’re going to Bainbridge. Whether you like it or not. But we’re making a pit stop at the store, first. Come on, get ready.” I nod to the clothing in her hands and zip up my pants. She’s still baffled, but she begins to move. What I’m about to do is dumb. Adolescent stupidity at its best. But it’s going to be worth it, and when it’s all said and done, Mira won’t look at this douchebag’s house with sadness anymore.

From now on, she’s going to look on with anger.

That’s always what kills what’s left of the sadness, burns the final remnants to nothing but ash. It’s what helps us move on. I just have to get her in touch with that inner monster. Once it’s released from its cage, she can be free. She can look at that house and smile.

With any luck, she can smile for the both of us.

The crisp, late afternoon breeze whips at our cheeks as we step off the boat. We bundle our rain jackets tighter across our bodies and lift the hoods, then stroll up the road until we hit the Town and Country store. Mira waits patiently—albeit nervously—on the sidewalk while I run inside. When I come out, I find her biting her nails. She’s an anxious wreck. A part of me feels badly for dragging her here. But the other part, the one that wants to help her bury this thing, is bigger. Much bigger. The plastic bag hangs in my hand, the large carton an impatient tease weighing down the plastic.

“Are those…eggs?” Mira scrunches her nose, peeking inside the grocery bag.

“Where’s the bastard’s house?”

“Um…up the road. Off Madison.”

“Okay, then. Lead the way.”

“You can’t be serious.” Her eyes slowly close and she exhales. “This is such a mistake.”

“Don’t overthink this, Mira. Just start walking.”

“Just start walking, he says,” she mumbles, repeating my words as if they’re annoying little pests. We pass the art museum and begin the stroll down the main drag. Bainbridge is an eclectic mix of hippies, ex-hippies, outdoor enthusiasts, computer nerds, and wealthy retirees. This is not a cheap island, which vaguely leads me to wonder what this ex of hers does for a living. He’s probably a doctor or some type of techie. Maybe he’s one of the rich yuppies who make the commute on the ferry each day to the city, donned in a fancy suit and tie.

Whatever. I don’t really give a damn. All I care about right now is this carton of eggs in my hands and Mira’s face when she casts the first throw.

She reluctantly leads me into a quaint neighborhood on the left, where perfectly manicured bushes line the driveways and old, white picket fences frame the yards. When we reach the house, she stops, looking straight to the driveway for any sign of a car. There is none.

I stop and stare with her, taking it all in, attempting to paint a mental picture of what this man must be like and what he must do to sustain this charmed life. The place is cozy, alright, like some idyllic stone cottage in the English countryside somewhere. Like many of the homes on the island, it has a modern edge, and is neighbored by starkly different residences—one a log cabin style abode, the other a retro piece of artwork that was probably some aspiring architect’s college project. There are a lot of those on the island, too. Architects. Maybe that’s what this ex of hers does for a living.

“Okay,” I reach into the bag and grab the carton. “Let’s get this thing started.”

“What if someone sees us? Isn’t this technically a crime or something?”

“No one will see us.”

“What if they call the cops?”

“Then we run.”

“Running from the police is not my idea of a date. Not on my bucket list, either.”

“Well, this isn’t a date. Think of it as an exercise.” I pluck two eggs from the carton and roll them around in my hands. I’m loving this, and we haven’t even started yet.

“An exercise? Grant, we should just go. Come on, I’ll let you take me for dessert somewhere or something. We’re here, we might as well enjoy our time on the island.”

“I agree. You’re going to enjoy this. Take a damn egg.” I grab her hand and place a large white egg in her palm, nodding to the house. She steps timidly behind a tree and I join her, willing to let her deliberate in the shadows for a moment more. But not much longer. She’s not leaving this island until she empties this carton of eggs. I might not be able to have freedom from my own demons, but Mira has an opportunity—right here, right now.

Who knew egging someone’s home could be so epic?

“This is crazy!” She squeezes her eyes shut and shuffles from left to right, her arm bent as she holds out the egg like it’s going to bite her.

“Crazy is good. Just start throwing. Aim for the windows and the door. Each one you chuck, think of all the ways he hurt you. Think of what you’re not missing by being without him. Think of how much better—how much braver you are because of his absence. Remind yourself that the end of this was the best thing to ever happen to you.”

“How do I know that? How do
you
know that?”

“Because I’ve seen you at the front desk of your hotel. I saw you watching that band. I see you, now. You’re alive. There’s a light in you. Don’t you feel it?”

Her eyes slowly peel open and settle on me like stone. A beat passes. “Yeah. I do.”

“So why let any of this hold you back anymore? Why let this home,” I wave at it, grinding my jaw, “which is nothing but a stone fortress that houses a man who doesn’t deserve a second more of your time, keep you from this island? Why let it keep you from anything? Don’t give it anymore power, Mira. Tell it to fuck off.”

“I want to,” she whispers, her bottom lip trembling as her eyes turn glassy.

I step closer, unable to look away. My eyes burn with fervor as hers burn with tears. “Take back the reins.”

My words, the fire in my gaze, and the gnawing desire buried deep inside her own chest send her snapping forward, away from the tree, away from the shadows, and out into the street. Her arm flies back with determination, and she chucks the first egg. The pitch is sharp and swift, and it smacks the front window with a heavy crack. She spins around and hauls ass for the carton, digging more eggs out. I hand her the one I’ve been holding, watching in shock as the monster in her—the one I taunted, the one I wanted to see—takes over.

She silently stalks forward and chucks another, then another, each pitch harder, with more bite in the swing. The monster consumes her more and more with each throw. Each time she turns up empty, she returns and yanks more eggs from the hefty carton. Good thing I bought the two-dozen pack. I’m beginning to wonder if I should’ve gone for the forty-eight, now that I see her fury unleashed. I entertain the idea of joining her for a second, but as quickly as the eggs are disappearing, the last thing I want is to steal her thunder. Or lightning. Or however the fuck the saying goes.

I’m beyond absorbed, watching Mira work out her demons like a true elementary school student, but I keep a vigilant eye on our surroundings to make sure no one witnesses the carnage. Mira manages to get another fistful of egg throws in before a shiny, silver Mercedes appears from around the corner, at the end of the road.

“Shit,” Mira catches a glimpse of the car and runs toward me, tossing what’s left of the eggs into the plastic bag. “That’s him.” She yanks my sleeve and darts in the other direction, carving the path for a sloppy escape through a neighbor’s garden. Dogs bark and leaves rustle around our feet as we trample roses, cutting through the garden to the back yard. I’m expecting Mira to sound panicked, to see the worry on her face. But as she glances over her shoulder to make sure I’m on her tail, she’s smiling and laughing, with a spark in her eyes that’s downright sexy. She’s having a grand old time, and I’m suddenly damn proud of myself.

“Keep going!” I shove her forward, steadying her balance by planting my hands on her hips, and she bursts into another fit of giggles as she leads me out of the back yard and onto another street. A few seconds pass and she slows, working to catch her breath.

“We’re safe,” she pants, leaning on her knees for a moment. “That was perfect. Kinda wish I could’ve seen his face, though.”

I come to a halt next to her, lifting the plastic bag in the air. “Well, we have enough left over for breakfast tomorrow,” I say, voice winded. “You’re a cheap date. We should do this more often.”

“You said this wasn’t a date.” She smacks the bag with her knuckles. “And when did I say I’m having breakfast with you tomorrow?”

“I’m telling you. Right now. You are.”

“Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you? We haven’t even had dinner yet.”

“You want dinner now?” I straighten up, rolling my shoulder out.

“Maybe.”

“You really just want red velvet cake, don’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Come on, then. Let’s go see what we can find, before the stores close up for the night.” I mosey up to her and extend an arm, inviting her to link mine with hers. She accepts and we begin our mission to find the perfect slice of red velvet cake. The sun has set, the cold has turned bitter, and my perfect day with Mira is almost over.

***

The smell of coffee awakens my senses. I roll over and search for her, my white dove. I’m met with nothing but a heap of blankets. I pull myself up, still unable to open my eyes. The coffee’s aroma teases me, calling me from bed. I rise up like the Frankenstein monster I am and shuffle blindly into Mira’s kitchen. It’s only then, when I hear her voice, that my eyes crack open.

“Well, good morning,” she giggles, glancing over her shoulder. She’s frying something on the stove, lifting a brow at me as I come up behind her. I latch onto her like a stuffed animal, dropping my forehead to the back of her shoulder. “You look like a fussy child. Did someone forget to take their happy pill?”

“I’m very happy,” I grumble against her skin, kissing, then nibbling on her shoulder. My hands slide down to her hips and I press my erection against her ass. “Come back to bed.”

“I’m making breakfast.”

“Breakfast after.”

“Grant, I’m still torn up from last night. Have you seen this?” She pulls her hair to the side, revealing her shoulders and the five bite marks I left on her throughout the night. They’re beginning to bruise. We didn’t sleep much. “You’re a barbarian!”

“You loved every second of it,” I mumble, placing a kiss on each mark. My eyes drop down her body. I cannot keep from touching her. A baggy grey sweater hangs loosely over her frame, revealing the perfect portion of creamy, silky skin. Her back and shoulders are exposed, as is the top of her chest, and her bare legs are begging for me to grope every inch of them.

“
Ugh
. You’re so in love with yourself.” She jabs me and rolls her eyes. “I’m not getting back in that bed with you until I’ve had breakfast. I’m starving. Here.” She juts her chin at the coffee pot. “Pour us some and I’ll get the plates.”

“Fine,” I pout, like the grown man I am, and mosey over to collect the coffee pot. I pour us both a cup, leaving mine black. Mira loads hers up with cream and then hands me a plate. I’m surprised to find wheat toast and eggs over easy. “I’m shocked. More than just carrots and kale in the fridge, ay?”

“I know. I went all out at the grocery store this morning. You were passed out cold.”

“Must have been my tough workout last night.”

Mira leans against the counter and brings a plate of her own to her chest, picking at her eggs. We stand there quietly, enjoying our breakfast. “So, I was thinking.”

“About?”

“How it’s your turn.”

“My turn for what?”

“Your turn to tell me something.”

I hold up my fork. “Nope, not yet.”

“What? How do you figure that?”

“Because you never finished telling me about your history with the asshole on Bainbridge.”

“There’s nothing more to tell.”

“If you want to hear some of my baggage, then you have to finish telling me yours. A deal is a deal.”

Mira reaches behind her to pick up her coffee. “What else do you want to know?”

“How did you meet that winner, anyway?”

“Oh, you know how the story goes,” she drawls, taking a little sip of caffeine. “Sad, lonely, new girl in town wanders into the first neighborhood pub she sees and falls for the first guy to throw her a compliment.”

“A moment of weakness?”

“An
epic
moment of weakness,” she corrects me, setting the coffee back down to return to her plate.

“We’re all entitled to them once in a while. We can’t get things right all the time.” Acid churns in my stomach, telling me to eat my own words. I swallow hard, forcing down a bite of toast.

“Yeah, well.”

“Why were you sad and lonely in the first place? When you first moved to town, I mean.”

“I was just…lost. I left everything I knew in Portland. I had to, or it would’ve killed me.” She shovels another bite of eggs into her mouth and lets them sit there. She’s having trouble getting food down now, too. Maybe this isn’t the best conversation to be having over breakfast. Still, I wait. I’m intrigued. I want to know what brought this dove to town and into my arms. I want to know everything.

I set my plate on the counter. The sourness in my stomach is winning out.

“Leaving Portland was supposed to be a positive thing,” she continues, after forcing the eggs down. “And it was, at first. Until I got involved with him. Right away, he wanted to buy me things, wanted to spoil me—and I let him. He set me up in an apartment on the island. Said he hated the thought of me being in the city. He wanted me close by, so he could see me whenever he wanted. I’d never experienced that kind of luxury in my life. It was overwhelming.” Her head lowers as she shakes it in disgust. Disappointment washes her face. “It didn’t take long for me to realize how stupid I’d been.”

“He kept you like a pet.”

She sets her plate down, too, sighing heavily. “I really don’t want to talk about this. It’s over. That’s all you need to know. Okay?”