The Mason List (22 page)

“And
that’s my point.  You need a plan.  I’m not sure how you intend to keep this
little friendship going the way it is.”

“I
know.”  I felt sick hearing her words.  It would be a long night.

The next
morning, I received a bouquet of tulips.  Before I opened the card, I knew the
orange flowers came from Jess.  My heart beat frantic in my chest seeing his
handwriting.  We needed this summer apart if I was going to continue taking
from his parents.  

Beautiful
flowers for my beautiful girl.  Cheesy as hell, right?  But I know one day
you’ll let me say the real words to you. – Jess

Chapter 28

Today,
2:27 a.m.

My father
grips the steering wheel.  I sit in the passenger seat of his black Ford F150. 
We pass only one car on the way out of Arlis at this time of night.  I’m still
awake as the truck gets on the interstate.  I want to be asleep but then again,
I want to be awake.

My father
looks over in my direction for the hundredth time.  “You should try to sleep.”

“I’m not
tired,” I mutter the lie.  I’m exhausted in both my body and mind.  Absently, I
rub my fingers over the blue stars inked into my wrist.  As the truck whisks
down the highway, I seek comfort from the same stars shining through the
windows. 

“Did I
ever tell you about the first time I talked to your mother?”

“What?” 
I mutter. 

“Your
mother thought I was crazy,” he chuckles a little to himself.  “I saw her on
this little bench in the park where I took my lunch breaks.  She was beautiful,
Alex.  I’d never seen anyone like her.  She had this long, red hair.  It’s what
I noticed first, you know.  Made her stand out from all the other girls.”

“You
liked mom because of her hair?”  The knot in my stomach grew tighter.

“Yeah, I
did.  It had me all crazy.  She came to the park the same time I did every
day.  I watched her for weeks before I got up the nerve to talk to her.  And
you know what I did?  I told her I loved her.”

“The
first time you talked to her?”

“I did. 
Then I spent the next month trying to make her think I wasn’t insane.  But it
was true, you know.  I loved your mother the first time I ever saw her.  I
loved her even more the first time I ever talked to her.  The day we got
married, and the day you were born, it just got stronger.  I still love her
now, Alex.  It doesn’t just stop because someone is gone.  I want you to know
that.”

“What
about Caroline?”

“It’s
complicated, you know.  Your mother was the love of my life.  When you feel
that connected to another person, I think a part of you is just bound to them,
even when they’re gone.  And that’s ok.  It’s how you know the feelings you had
for them were real.  But what I feel for Caroline is strong and I do love her. 
I give her all of what is left.” 

“She’s ok
with it?”

“Alex…my
feelings for Caroline are more complicated than just a simple answer.  Maybe we
should save that part for another night.”  He reaches over and grabs my hand. 
“I was just trying to help you.”

“I
know.”  I swallow hard; my tongue feels like sandpaper.  “I stopped thinking
about it for a while at least but it’s hard…I don’t know what I’m supposed to
think.  Or what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

“Maybe
you should try praying for a miracle.”

“Don’t
start with that tonight.  I need facts and…and answers.”

“Sometimes
we don’t have concrete facts and answers.  Sometimes all we have is faith and
hope and you just have to trust it.”

“So I ask
for one of your
miracles
.  What if I don’t get the one I want?  What
then?  I get my hopes up only to have to experience this all over again.”

“You may
not know why but you just have to accept the fact you got the one that needed
to happen.”

“What
about deserve?” I yank my hand free of his tight grasp. 

“I don’t
understand.”

“Maybe I
did bad things.  Maybe I can’t ask for something because I’ll just get what I
deserve.”

“I don’t
think it really works that way.  Don’t give up hope, no matter how impossible
it feels.”

“You
believe in miracles.  I believe in retribution.”  Curling up against the
window, I start to shake.   I wasted so much time doing so many stupid things. 
I would do anything right now to get those days, months and even years back. 

My
shoulders shake as my body tries to hold back a sob.  I think about my
stupidity.  I think about how I would do things different if given the chance. 
My thoughts hurt too damn much.  The stars haunt me as I cry against the
window.

Chapter 29

When
I was nineteen…

A week
after finals, I drove El Chigger to the luxurious swamp of Louisiana.  My
destination was just over the border in the middle of no man’s land, about
fifty or so miles east of Beaumont.  I followed a long, dirt road that stopped
under a sign painted in red letters,
Camp Rochellas
.

Hesitating
on the brake, I studied the area just through the gravel driveway.  I was a
little nervous coming to this place alone.  Sprayberry had haunted my thoughts,
like a comfortable memory, the entire drive here.  Part of my soul yearned for
another summer on the ranch.  Caroline would give me a job in a heartbeat.  My
father would be thrilled.  Jess would be…

It’s
just a few months
,
I thought, letting my foot off the pedal.  It was time to move forward and meet
my new summer companions.  Unloading my bags from the trunk, I walked across
the worn grass path following the signs for the staff bunks.  The room held a
musty scent of old wood and moth balls.

A few
people smiled with a hello but talked amongst themselves.  I got the impression
this was not the first summer for most of the staff.  My teeth bit down on my
chapped bottom lip. 
It’s just a few months
, I reminded myself.  I came
to Rochellas to teach art.  Therefore, I would focus on the students.

I began
the first two-week rotation trapped in a room with children who preferred Play
Stations over painting.  The sweet and appreciative students proved to be few
and far between.  The majority of the kids bordered on obnoxious brats,
banished away by their parents for the summer.

On the
second day, while adjusting to the grueling hours of Rochellas, I met the first
person who bothered to have a conversation with me.  He didn’t have much
choice.  I literally crashed into him, knocking us to the mess hall floor in a
red explosion of marinara and noodles.

“Shi….” I
caught my words, trying to honor the counselor rules.  I looked into a set of
humorous brown eyes, resting under blond, scraggly hair.  “I’m so sorry.  It’s
my fault.”

“You have
noodles in your hair.”

“Shi….”
My face turned red as I swatted at pasta, hanging next to my ears.  This day
just grew increasingly better.  I had overslept this morning and missed
breakfast.  Now, my lunch was on the floor and I was covered in marinara.  My
afternoon class started in fifteen minutes.  Those little brats were brutal. 
Just a splatter of sauce would turn this group into an unruly, laughing riot
until their parents picked them up next Friday.

“Here,
let me help you.  I’m Dutch by the way.”  He held out a tan hand for me to
shake.  My eyes followed up his brown arm that led to a cut-off shirt sleeve.

“Alex.” I
clasped his fingers for a moment then let go to grab a napkin.

“Alex,
huh.” Dutch took the white paper from my hand and removed the sauce from my
right thigh.  He wiped in slow movements. “Those are some nice legs.  Way too
long and sexy to belong to some Alex.  You sure it’s not Lexie?”

“Are you
for real?” I blurted out laughing.

“How real
do you want me to be?” Dutch stood up, flashing a grin that probably worked on
most girls, or just life in general.  Grabbing my hand, he pulled me up from
the puddle of scattered food. “So what hellish activity did you get pegged with
this year?”

“Art.”

“That’s
intense, being cooped up with those rich brats in a room.  You should try
switching to the boats.  You’ll get the best tan of the summer.”

“I like
art.”

“We’ll
see if you do at the end of the first session.  I gotta run now.  I’m a
lifeguard.  Poolside, not lake.  See you around, Lexie.”

He
sauntered off barefoot from the mess hall.  I noticed his blond, surfer hair
had lighter streaks from the sun, or maybe he actually highlighted it.  Rolling
my eyes, I contemplated the only person who had bothered to notice my arrival
at camp.  He was pretty as in pretty hair, pretty skin, and pretty damn
self-assured.  A combination I assumed got the attention of most enamored
females, including me as I watched his ass disappear out the door.

That
evening, I arrived alone in the mess hall for dinner.  I heard a girl laughing
before I even approached the rusted door.  My stomach grumbled as I made a
beeline for the food.

“Lexie!”

I stacked
a small salad on my tray and something resembling meatloaf.  I grabbed a bowl
of macaroni and cheese.  My stomach grumbled, so I grabbed a second one.  

“Lexie!”

I turned
around, hearing the voice again.  At a table by the window, the blonde boy
named Dutch waved in my direction.  I walked over and hesitantly took the empty
seat next to two other staff.

“Hey, you
survived.  I was afraid the little shitters tied you up in that hellhole.”

“Oh,
um…no.”

“So
Lexie, this is Darcy and Brecken.” I tensed at his use of my new nickname
again.  I wanted to correct him but held my tongue in front of his friends.

“The hot
girl with the sexy name.” Darcy smiled and my face got red with her comment. 
She had full lips, accented with a tiny Cindy Crawford mole above the left
side.  “I’m just kiddin’.  Well, not really.  Isn’t that what you called her,
Dutch?”

“Don’t be
a bitch, Darcy.” Dutch glared in her direction.

She
flipped him off then looked at me.  “Don’t believe the crap Dutch says about
us.  This is my second year at Camp
Hell-as
.  Dutch and Brecken’s third.”
Her blond hair hung in damp waves around a cutoff yellow Rochellas t-shirt that
covered her swimsuit.  Looking closer, I realized it was her lacy, black bra
cups poking out from the ripped neck.

“Ain’t
she his new Hatchet House girl?” Brecken spoke up from his sleepy trance.  The
pupils of his eyes waved in and out above a full face of hair.

“What’s a
Hatchet House?”

“Ignore
my dumbass friend.”  Dutch elbowed Brecken.  “He’s a little um, preoccupied
right now.”

“She
wants to know about the Hatchet House, Dutch.  You should go ahead and tell
her.  It’s not like she won’t find out,” Darcy cackled again, in that obnoxious
voice.

“Shut
up.”  The cut of his brown eyes shut her down this time.  He turned his
attention back to me as I chewed another bite of meatloaf.  “So Lexie…you
should hang out tonight with us.  We’ve got this little tradition out on the
docks during the brats’ campfire night.  It’s an invitation-only party.  Really
laid back.”

Dutch
casually touched my shoulder as he talked.  His fingers slid down my arm,
ending with an accidental boob brush.  I couldn’t help but smile at the
innocence he tried to project from his brown eyes.

Dutch was
good at blatant flirting while shuffling it behind a slow, rugged smile, which
reminded me of a California beach version of James Franco.  Charisma and charm
are not just acquired; people like Dutch are just born with it.  So was another
person I knew.  I swallowed, blocking out the thought.

“So um,
who goes to the docks?” The question came as I scooted back into my own
personal space.  I wondered if this was an actual party or a private invite to
get me alone.

“Brecken,
Darcy, and few others.”

“I don’t
know.  I’m not much of a water person.”

“Oh, we
don’t get in the water.” Brecken perked up, his hazy smile buried beneath the
brown whiskers on his face. “You have to come, Lexie.  It’s what makes the
summer with those little shits bearable.”

“He’s
right, you know.”  Dutch leaned in a little closer, resting a hand on the side
of my chair.  I felt the slight brush of his fingers against my bare thigh. 
They lingered just below the frayed denim.  He smiled again and my stare
dropped to his lips.

“Ok…I’ll
come.”  I took his hand off my leg, but Dutch held onto my fingers.  His arched
eyebrows dared me to pull away. 
Charming bastard
, I almost laughed in
his face.

I knew of
guys like Dutch.  The type that left you saying,
what the hell just
happened?
The only difference; I never had one set his sights on me.  I was
an average tomboy, who was cursed with red hair and freckles.  I guess camp
made life an even playing field; everyone took a cold shower and wallowed
around in the same dirt.

Dutch let
go of my fingers and rested his hand on my inner thigh.  It happened so fast, I
wasn’t sure what to do.  Darcy jumped up from the table and came around in my
direction.  She slapped his hand away from my leg.

“Stop
touching her, you jackass.  Come on, let’s get ready for the party.” She stood
about five inches shorter than me.  Linking an arm through mine, she pulled my
taller body from the chair.  She gave me no choice except follow her out the
door. 

Darcy
pulled a pack of Virginia Slims from her shredded, ass-hugging shorts.  She
gestured in my direction but I gave a quick shake signaling
no. 
In the
night air, she blew out a cloud of smoke between us.  She flicked the ash, with
a half-interested gaze over my plain, gray t-shirt. 

“Do I
need to change for this party?” Not sure why I even threw out the question
since each suitcase had more of the same.

“Nah. 
It’s on the docks.  You're cute you know.  In that natural way.”

“Ok?”

“He likes
the cutesy, fresh ones.”

“Fresh?”

“Something
new to catch his attention.  Here's the deal, Lexie.  I don't wanna get mixed
up in whatever game he's runnin' with you.” Pulling in another drag, she blew a
ring of smoke, filling my lungs with more second-hand cancer.

“I can’t
tell if you like his bullshit or are just too naive to see it.  Either way,
Dutch is fun.  Pulls you in real nice with all his little complements and
smiles, makin’ you feel all hot and dazed.  Then bam!  Don't trust the
bastard.  Cute as a puppy then he sneaks up and bites your ass.  Literally.”

“Thanks,
I guess?”

“Should
see your face.” Her quips of laugher propelled white clouds from her nostrils.
“He's not actually going to put teeth marks on your butt.  Well…I don't know. 
I haven't seen him since last summer.  Who the hell knows what he's into these
days.”

Her
sharp-pitched cackles seemed out of place within the quiet camp grounds. 
Contemplating her warnings, I took the quips with a grain of salt.  Besides, I
had no intentions of having a torrid summer fling with
any
boy, let
alone Dutch.   My life was a complicated mess right now.

“So
what’s this Hatchet House?”

“Oh hell,
I might as well tell you.  It’s a lawn shed about half a mile or so in the
woods away from main grounds.  It’s full of equipment and shit they want to
keep away from the kids.  The staff uses it for quick, ass-grabbin’ sex.  Not
much privacy in the bunks, you know.  If you get asked up there, or I guess I
should say
when
that bastard charms your cotton panties off.  Better be
damn flexible so you don’t touch anythin’.  That place has more STDs than a
sorority bitch on spring break.”