penance. a love story (The Böhme Series) (35 page)

We both continued to look at the cuff as I twirled it in my hands. I thought of my own family. My
dad was an ass, but we knew our history and I was thankful for the years I was able to spend with my grandparents before they died. I never knew my mother’s parents, but my father’s were always close with us throughout our younger years. “What happened to your mother after they died?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. She never told me. We didn’t talk much. Most of the time we spent together was me avoiding
her and any beatings.” He took my hand and held it to his chest. “I imagine whatever happened to her wasn’t good. She'd look at pictures of my grandparents and just cry for hours. Most of it was the wine causing her to tumble into that mess, but I guess the heartache was always there. The wine just encouraged it,” he said as I took his wrist and fastened the cuff back on and intertwined our fingers again laying them across his chest. We sat there for a few moments before he said something that I wasn’t expecting. “I never talk as I do when I'm with you Hannah and it scares the shit out of me.”

I lifted my chin and rested it on his shoulder so I could meet his eyes. I put my hand to the side of his face to draw his eyes toward mine. “You took the words out of my mouth, Wynn Hawthorne and I thank you for the honor of letting me get to know you
.” I mirrored his smile with one of my own. “I’m hungry as all hell, by the way.” I giggled.

He ran his hand over my arm before giving me a squeeze, he released my other hand and I hated the loss of contact. He
wore a proud grin on his face and I realized I must not have hidden my expression of loss. He turned his back, and I saw his shoulders lift in a hidden chuckle. “Well let’s get something to eat then before we head out,” he said as he lifted his arms and crossed them behind his shoulders to pull his shirt off him.

I liked that he was doing it that way instead of starting it from the bottom. I was never more nervous or embarrassed in my life. I’ve been naked in front of strangers while they examined every part of me in detail. They evaluated every arch and shadow, every curve and wrinkle. But
watching him take his shirt off left me embarrassed.

I had not
seen even a slight raise of his shirt in the times we hung out and the anticipation of seeing him without his shirt on undid me. I started to turn away, but seeing his back, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. He had a tattoo that covered his entire back.

It was an angelic, warrior, gargoyle, and it reminded me of the man who wore it. With a lowered head resting on his knees, the gargoyle held a sword in front of him. His vein covered wings were starting to wrap around him and below the image of the gargoyle were a group of ravens watching him and it looked as though they were waiting for the being to rise. Without thinking I reached out to touch him. I hesitated over his skin as I saw that the veins within the wings were scars that the ink had worked around and used in the design. I pulled my hand back as he started to turn his head over his shoulder to ask me something.

He gave me a shocked expression and I could tell he didn't realize how close I was. I pulled my lip in as he turned toward me, giving me an unobstructed view of him. “I’ve never seen you without a shirt.” I tried not to stare at him. I pulled my lip in as I looked at the other tattoos across his chest.
Hemingway
. Every quote and tattoo on him was inspiring. They set a wildness around him that contrasted with the words that they shared.

Noble savage
. That was Wynn. In his secluded lifestyle, he focused on his own thoughts and books that he read. He observed the world through the lens of his camera, but he was incredibly pure despite the circumstances of his childhood. Yes, noble savage, that is Wynn. I was proud of my realization and a satisfaction filled me as I thought of those perfect words to describe him. I looked at him with my smile and saw a proud smile form on his face. He caught me admiring him. He pulled a clean Muse tee shirt over his smile. “I have the same shirt,” I said.

He grabbed his hoodie and pulled it on, leaving it unzipped. He stepped toward me and I realized he hadn’t said a word in response to me. He just kept smiling and traced his finger over my nose, then kissed my forehead.

“I‘ll go get us something to eat. Go ahead and shower and I’ll be right back.” He grabbed his wallet from his backpack and then turned to leave.

“Wait
,” I said. I stepped toward him and wrapped my hands around his waist and rested my head on his shoulder for a hug. It was all I wanted in that moment and I swear the simple hugs from him, were the best sensations I had in my life. “Can you get me snack cakes for breakfast?” I asked with a smile as I rested my chin on his chest, looking up at him.

He laughed in response as he left the room. “I’ll be right back.”

After I climbed out of the shower and was brushing my hair, I heard Wynn return. I threw my jeans back on and grabbed the white tank top he packed. I walked out of the bathroom and found him laid back on the bed with his legs crossed and his head resting on his arms. He smiled as he took in my shirt and he lifted the bag of goodies at me. “You lucked out, they had some,” he said as he tossed the box to me. “And I got you a coffee.”

I looked toward him as I opened the box
. “What did you do without honey for yours?” I asked.

He l
aughed. “Oh, I had that covered,” he said as he showed me a jar of local honey and my breath caught. He lifted his eyebrow. “What?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s from my family’s farm, that’s all, and it shocked me
,” I said as I opened the box and began to eat.

He turned the jar toward him
. “Huh, I didn’t think about that. You did say your parents raised bees.”

“Yep, they have for years
.” I took the jar from him. “My great grandpa was the first to do it.” I handed the jar back and sat next to him on the bed. “My sister and I used to have fun dressing up and helping our dad with them. The suits and covering were huge on us, but it was still fun.”

“Well, the honey’s awesome,
” he said as he added more to his coffee.

“So, when are we heading out?” I asked as I took
the last bite of the cinnamon goodness Wynn bought me for breakfast.

“Now
.” He jumped from the bed and put his hand out for me to take. I wiped the crumbs from my hands and gave him my hand in return.

Twenty minutes later we were pulling into an old abandoned farm house. There was a porch with a swing that looked like no one had sat on it in decades. The grass was four feet high around the house and from the road it made it difficult to even see it. I wondered how Wynn even knew of this place. “Do you have a map of every abandoned house in the state or something?” I asked with a laugh.

“No
.” He smiled. “I just always keep my eye out for them, and I have to confess. I have this old photo and that might be the house in it,” he said as he pulled a photo out of his backpack. In the photo was a lovely house with a wraparound porch. There were three young people sitting on the front steps, a woman and two men. “I think two of them are my grandparents, but I’m not sure. But doesn’t that house look similar to the one in the photo?” he asked as he pointed to the house and I held the photo to line it up with the porch.

“You’re right. It very well could be the same house. How crazy would that be?” I asked.

I walked toward the house and stepped onto the porch, as Wynn changed lenses on his camera. The porch swing swayed in the wind and the peacefulness of the scene drew me nearer. I stood next to it and turned to see what the former owners watched as they sat in the swing. There was a little cottage off the side of the house that was in far better shape. “Did you see that?” I asked Wynn as I pointed toward the cottage. He looked where I was pointing and the color left his face.

“No, I didn’t notice that
.” He walked with hesitance toward it. 

I lifted my hand to his shoulder
. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I’ve seen this before,” h
e said in a whisper, without looking at me.

As soon as I saw the little adobe cottage with the windmill behind it, I knew without a doubt, this was the same place in the photo of my mother and my grandparents. The back of my mother’s photo said “Uncle J’s” and that was it. There was no date, just the three of them standing in front of this house. My grandparents were holding onto each other and looked with longing into each other’s eyes as my mother was standing between them. It was one of the few photos she owned of the three of them together and she wore a huge smile on her face in it.

“This the right place?” Hannah startled me as I forgot she was even there.

“Yes, it's the place. I have a photo of my mother and grandparents in front of that building.” I looked back at the main farm house. “With the photo there and the one in front of this, it has to be the same place.” I walked toward the little adobe cottage. I was hesitant to get nearer to it, but my body willed me toward the front door. The photo was in black and white and now seeing it in person, the door had been a deep red at one time, but the paint now peeled. The adobe cottage wasn’t in as rough shape as the main house and I wondered why.

I tried the handle, and it opened without resistance. When we stepped inside, both our breath caught. It was breathtaking, despite its lack of use. There was a thick dust layer around the main room of the cottage, but the whole building was still intact. It was a step back in time as I leaned to run my fingers across the tiled floor. Various colors of stone created a pattern unlike anything I have seen.

Without a word, Hannah knelt next to me and ran her fingers across the intricate stone design. She leaned forward on her hands and knees and reached for something under a table to the right of the entrance. She read it then handed it to me. It was just a simple piece of mail, but it meant more to me than I could imagine. The names on the envelope said Jacob and Evie Hawthorne. I looked at Hannah with stunned eyes. “I can’t believe it,” I said as I sat on my knees. “I mean, I thought, maybe this could be the same place, but to have validation is surreal.”

I stared at the envelope for a while, trying to form words. It was surreal being in front of the building I examined for so many years in the photo, but to have confirmation with this envelope was astounding. Hannah lifted her hand to my shoulder and leaned into me
. “Should we see the rest of your grandparents’ house?” she asked. I took in the smile on her face and light curiosity in her eyes and saw who she was before she started on her path of self punishment. She carried an adventurous spirit that I longed to see in its entirety. She carried wholesomeness with her now and the two mingling together could lift anyone out of darkness.

I kissed her forehead and nodded. Standing, I put my hand out to help her up and she jumped up with a joy in her step. We held hands as we walked toward the first door to the right of the main room. It was a bedroom that still had a bed frame, but no mattress. It was a solid wood frame built from logs. It was so massive the house could have been built around it.

There was a large armoire made with the same rustic logs and Hannah opened it and looked in to find it filled with items. There were several plastic clothing bags, and she unzipped one to find what was inside it. “Holy shit,” she said as she turned toward me. “Do you think this could be your grandmother’s?” she asked as she showed me the dresses.

“Could be, but the better question is—how is this still here and not ransacked?” I ran my hands across the clothing that was whole and undamaged. “Usually places have busted out windows and things thrown everywhere
.” I turned toward the rest of the room. “But this looks like it spent decades alone and never thought of or touched again.” I looked at the bed. “Well except for the mattress being gone.”

“How long ago did they die?”
she asked as she traced her fingers across a bright yellow dress.

“Well, my mom was fourteen or so when they died and she died when she was in her forties, so about twenty odd years ago
.” I leaned against one of the bed posts and watched as Hannah calculated the time frame.

Hannah put the dresses back, and then sat on a chest that was under the window. “What an
amazing discovery for you, Wynn,” she whispered as she looked toward the window. “I wonder who owns this place now.”

Hannah
was stunning as she sat in quiet contemplation, as the light shone from the window over her shoulder. I lifted my camera at my hip and pushed the trigger to take the photo. I liked taking photos without using the viewfinder, because it captured a surreal yet truthful representation from that angle. Hannah didn’t even notice, and that was perfect.

I put my hand toward her again and she took it without hesitation. “Let’s see what the other doors have in store for us, shall we?” I asked her as I bowed to her. She took my hand, and I put my arm around her as we left the room.

We opened the second door and a colorful light pattern danced its way across the floor, reminding me of an old church with stained glass windows. The stones on the floor in this room were flat, smooth and gray. In the middle of the room was an old claw foot bathtub seated on a pedestal that was facing a wall made from old colored bottles. Placed just right in the adobe wall, they made a swirled design.