Under the Orange Moon (8 page)

He couldn’t watch her get closer to Michael Olerson. That was asking too much of him. He thought of himself as strong, but not
that
strong. There was never competition before. He never had to watch her hold hands with anyone, flirt with anyone or, for God’s sake, talk about constellations and tea with anyone!

His head spun with these thoughts and he quieted them instantly when he knew he was getting nowhere. He thought about staying away from Dylan. Last night was close enough. If she had kissed him or done anything inviting, he couldn’t have stopped himself like last time. He knew this. If it weren’t for his mother’s guilt trips, he would hop on the next plane to
Massachusetts and never come back just to avoid it all.

Ben flipped and sighed loudly into his pillow. He knew he just needed to sleep it off.

“Benjamin?” Ruth’s knock on the door woke him, but he still said nothing back.

She opened the door and sighed loudly. “It smells like a bar in here.”

Ben sat up and stared at her tired face. He looked around sarcastically. “It’s a good thing I don’t see one. I could use a shot.”

Ruth stared at him through squinted eyes. “Your father sent these.” She held out a white piece of paper. The longer blue paper at the bottom was a dead giveaway what they were. Ben stared at them and said nothing.

“Did you know?” she asked through a lump in her throat. “You could have warned me.”

“Mom, please. I didn’t.”

“Divorce papers? It’s Christmas.” She squeezed at the papers and crumbled them between her fingers. “You didn’t know?”

“How could I?” Ben turned and put his feet to the floor. He held out his hand, and asked, “May I see them?”

Ruth handed the papers to Ben. She leaned against his door and cried into her hands. She sobbed loudly and even let out a muffled scream into her open palms. She tried to catch her breath dramatically. It was an Oscar winning performance.

Ben never could tell the difference between a genuine cry and an attention-getting tantrum. Nevertheless, neither one made him feel sorry for her. Was this for his benefit? Was this so he would call his father and convince him to change his mind? Either way, how could she use him this way?

He scanned over the papers. His father cited irreconcilable differences.
Coward
, Ben thought. He wished there was a box for “fell out of love,” “never loved her,” or, more appropriately, “selfish bastard.” That would tell the truth.

“Mom,” Ben began carefully, “don’t you want this to be over?”

Ruth caught her breath and stared. “Why now, Benjamin?”  She shook her head in a fit of rage. “After all these years of separation, why now?”

“It’s like you’ve been divorced all this time anyway. You haven’t even seen him, Mom.” Ben wasn’t sure why he even tried. She wouldn’t see it this way. “This means closure.”

“Closure?” Ruth’s face flashed with anger. “Oh, I should have known you would agree with him. You’re just like him!” she screamed.

Ben sat back and sighed. He allowed her to go off; he would be her villain. The real monster was somewhere else, off living his life with his new girlfriend that was most likely half his age, while Ben sat and cleaned up his father’s mess, his forgotten wife.

An hour later, Ben ran from his mother’s. She took her pills that are supposed to calm her down but seem to put her into more of a zombie state than anything. He would gladly take that over her screaming, crying and blaming. He would be her punching bag forever and he knew this. He was his father’s son and she would remind him of that every day.

Ben sprinted through the foothills and trails that ran behind his old neighborhood. He had no destination, wherever his feet took him. He was used to the treadmill at his gym now and, as he ran, he found it quite sad how deprived he was of beauty back at school. He never enjoyed the outdoors, the fresh air and scenery. His busy life consisted of school, the gym, the library and his apartment, all indoor facilities.

He could feel his heart hammering, his pulse racing and the sweat forming. He couldn’t remember the last time he ran like this. It was almost painful, but in a good sort of way. He ran off the anger, the frustrations and, most of all, the guilt.

Dylan opened her paint box and ran her fingers along the faded wood. She chose her colors carefully as she scanned each jar, just hoping inspiration would travel through her. She loved this spot and all its privacy. It was peaceful, quiet and, most of all, free from her family.

She pulled her brush and dabbed it against a color, a deep red she mixed only the day before. She loved to play with colors, blending and combining until she found a shade of her own. Her mother’s garage was filled with unused colors. She couldn’t bring herself to ever throw away her past failed concoctions, only because she figured she may need them one day.

She began her work with a brushstroke and then a line, long and soft. Then another stroke and more lines. More color would come soon enough. Her trance began and she was thoughtfully brushing, curving and lining. She dabbed into the midnight blue; she brushed, stroked
and blended. She moved the hair from her face and stayed completely focused on her vision, her dream. Now black, now gray. She felt what she was creating. She
was
what she was creating.

She stretched her folded arms above her head and let her eyelids close. The sun beamed down and blanketed her face, warming her lips and cheeks. It was the memory of her vision that she blended together with a longing inside her; allowing it to escape onto her canvas made it somewhat true now. Her vision was as real as it ever would be. She opened her eyes and gave one last touch of black, completing her moment. She stepped back. Paint smeared over her forehead, cheeks and even her hair. With her number two brush in her mouth, she sighed into the breeze and loved her newest creation.

Footsteps grew closer behind her. She could hear them, a heavy breath added to each quick stride. She turned and stared over the trails that lead to her. She waited for the person to turn through the rocks, shrubs and small cacti that blocked her view. As he appeared, he blurred with an array of colors that she recognized instantly.

“Ben?” Dylan called, as he raced by her. “What are you doing?”

Ben slowed until his feet froze in place and he bent forward to catch his breath. He almost seemed annoyed that she stopped him. He stood, hunched over with his back moving up and down as he inhaled and exhaled slowly.

“Are you okay?” Dylan asked, concerned.

“I’m fine,” he lied. She could tell that, of course. “What are you doing up here?”

“Painting.” Dylan dropped her paintbrush on accident. She was a bumbling fool.

He knew this was her favorite spot to paint and it frustrated her that he pretended he didn’t. Of all the hills in Phoenix, this seemed to be the one that the tourists avoided. It was remote and peaceful. Ben knew this place as he knew her.

Ben pulled his wet shirt from his body and lifted his arms above his head. “That felt good,” he said as he breathed heavily. He stretched his muscular arms out above him and stared out over the scenery.

Dylan’s eyes widened and moved anywhere she could find that wasn’t Ben. She hated how absurd she felt around him. Why couldn’t she just act normal? Because he was too beautiful for words and now this handsome man, the man she dreaded even looking at, was sweating and shirtless as he panted heavily in the sun.
Ugh
.

Ben looked around and then stopped when he saw the painting she had just finished. “Who’s that supposed to be?” he asked, still breathless.

Dylan glanced over at her newest design and felt her face blush over to a color she herself couldn’t match in a jar. She never intended for him to see the picture of a night’s sky filled with stars, centered with a naked man and woman intertwined in a sitting position, their lips barely touching.

“No-no one,” she began to stammer. She gave herself a moment as she closed her eyes and drew in a long breath. Her face was still bashful and a smirk grazed her mouth. “Why does it have to be anyone?”

“It doesn’t.” Ben let out a small chuckle as he looked away and raised his arms above his head once again. His face relaxed in the rays and he sighed heavily.

“Help me carry this stuff back down to my car,” Dylan demanded, still trying not to look at him. “It took me two trips to get it up here.”

Ben groaned loudly and grabbed her bucket and easel. “Good thing I came up here for you.”

“Don’t be a jerk,” she said.

The two walked back down the long trail that lead to a dusty car lot below. Dylan chewed on her lip, wondering if he was going to say anything about the things he said in her bed the night before. She almost admired his ability to dismiss it the following day. He would never acknowledge it until they were back in the world that only they existed in and
poof
he was hers again. She only wished she had his talents.

He set her things down and stared at her painfully. His mind was in an obvious race inside his head and he seemed almost overwhelmed at the activity he held in there. He looked so badly as if he could have blurted something out at any moment just to release the words he couldn’t decipher so that maybe someone else could make sense of them for a change. He wouldn’t dare, Dylan knew. He was a locked vault of emotion.

“Is it your mom?” Dylan asked against her better judgment. “Did something happen?”

“Dylan, don’t do this like we’re friends.” He stopped his mouth too late and realized it with a long sigh. “It’s nothing.”

“We’re not friends, Ben?” Her heart ached. Why did he want to hurt her all the time? She made it too easy for him. He knew she would always forgive him, she would always come back for more, and she would most definitely accept him without an apology.

Ben’s face hardened. “No.”

“Then what are we?” She felt the stinging in her eyes and silently scolded herself for even allowing her eyes to water in front of him.

Ben stared at her and exhaled loudly. He seemed to think hard about what he wanted to say. It was almost as if he were arguing with himself inside, a battle his big mouth would win, no doubt. “You’re my best friend’s sister, Weed. That’s it.”

“And at night?” She wasn’t sure why she pushed for these cold answers. She knew nothing nice would come from him. “In my bed?”

Ben shook his head and shrugged carelessly. “I get lonely when I’m drunk.”

Dylan nodded and turned her back on him. She wanted to punch him but she decided he would probably enjoy that more, like foreplay. She headed for her car, leaving Ben and all her belongings, including her painting, at the bottom of the trail.

Michael Olerson couldn’t have pulled his car up at a better time. Dylan watched his eyes scan from her to Ben until he stopped the engine and climbed out. He looked uneasy until their expressions must have given away the fact that he was hardly interrupting a happy moment.

Dylan heard Ben swear behind her and that pleased her very much. She wasn’t proud of what she was about to do, but she wanted Ben to suffer and she would do that at any cost.

“Hey,” Michael said, handing her a bouquet of flowers. “I, uh, was just driving around and saw your car.”

“With a bouquet of flowers?” Ben called from behind them. “Convenient.”

Michael ignored Ben, something he did well. He smiled at Dylan, and asked, “How would you like to go out to dinner with me tonight?”

“I have to work tonight, remember?” Dylan pursed her lips.

“I know your boss, remember?” Michael said with an adorable smile. Dylan couldn’t tell if she thought that only because she was angry with Ben, or because it was true. It didn’t matter. The point was, she actually thought his smile was adorable in that moment.

Dylan turned and stared at Ben. He was still watching, not smiling, and it even looked as though he was shaking his head. She knew he would never bring her flowers. She was positive he would never ask her on a date.

She looked back at Michael. “Like a date?”

Michael blushed and looked down. “Yeah, like a date.”

Dylan thought long, but not too long. It pleased her very much to know that Ben was witness to this. “I’d love to,” she answered a bit too girlishly, she noticed.

She heard Ben swear again and then, through the corner of her eye, she watched him storm back up the trail. He was going to have a temper tantrum, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Michael glanced at Ben’s back as he disappeared, and shook his head. “Asshole,” he said with a smirk. He looked back at Dylan. “I’ll pick you up around six?”

Dylan nodded, knowing she was a terrible person. “Perfect.”

The phone only rang twice, giving Ben little time to rethink his decision to even make the call. When his father answered, his heart sank. He never stood up to this man. He never voiced his opinions, his reasons, and he would be damned before he voiced his feelings to anyone.

“Benjamin?” Warren McKenna answered as if he were angry. He never held back on the fact that Ben was the last person he felt the need to speak to.

“Dad, hello.” Ben could feel the lump rising.

“What is it, son?” Warren was an impatient man. He hadn’t spoken to his son in weeks, but he still managed to make it sound like it had only been five minutes, like Ben called him too much. The truth was Ben was never the one to initiate any contact with his father. He would happily accept a life of emails.