Page 55 of The Tomorrows After You
Nicolette retreated to her room when we got back, the clacking of her keyboard and the faint sound of her voice created a rhythmic din. It sounded like she was leaving a message for her parents.
My anxietyhadgrowntighter and tighter with each passing second on the ride home.
I pictured the wounded look on her face when I told her I didn’t know what came over me and an overwhelming urge to hear the sound of her laugh punched me in the chest. I approached her door, the curtain pulled back an inch.
I shouldn’t interrupt.
If she had wanted to talk to me, she would have. I retreated to my bedroom. She didn’t want to hear my excuses and, really, what had changed? She was still only here for a few weeks and my life was already mapped out for me and it included marrying the pastor’s right-hand woman.
Although, the more I thought about Katie, the more irritated I grew. I should confront her about her plans for me but I didn’t want to open that conversation yet. If what Nicolette had told me was wrong, I would look like an asshole for assuming Katie wanted to be with me. If Nicolette had been telling the truth, then I would have to have the awkwardconversation of trying to let her down gently. If I was being honest, I was a little nervous about the possible repercussions.
After a month or two of hershowingup with dinner at least twice a week, Irealizedshewasn’tgoingaway. And Ihadbeenokay with it back then. But despite my best effort, I struggled to feel anything deeper for her. Shewasattractiveand kind and, for whatever reason, shewantedto spend time with me.
So, I told myself to give it time. Maybe it was justme.Maybe my time incarcerated deadened me inside. But after the kiss with Nicolette it became painfully obvious, I wasanythingbut dead inside. I didn’t know what Katie’s hair smelled like. Was she odorless or had I just never noticed?
Then I remembered the way Nicolette had smelled like lilacs and when she was close to me, I could detect some kind of sweet berry at the base of her neck. Her lips had tasted like salt and Twizzlers and I remembered the way she’d smiled against my mouth. I had opened my eyes to look at her in that moment and been awestruck by how beautiful she was and howblissfulshe appeared. Her face typically carried the weight of concern but she was relaxed, carefree.
I recalled the way she pressed against me after feeling how hard I was, which was impossible to hide. I hadn’twantedto hide it. I wanted her to know how badly I wanted her. I wanted her to see what she did to me, how my body came alive in her presence.
Before Iknewwhatwashappening, my handhadslippedunderneath the waistband of my boxers. Istrokedmyself to the memory of her mouth and the possibilities of where that kiss couldhavegone. After I came to the fantasy of her beneath me, a deep melancholysettledthrough me,realizingI might never feel this for anyone else, no matter how long Iwasgivento try.
The following week, the town was in full Field Days mode. Everyone’s windows were polished. The signs were cleaned, the streets swept, andthe dead light bulbs replaced. I knew because I’d been asked to replace them all.
“You did such a great job with the library landscaping, the town councilaskedif you could do the town square. You know, the little park with the benches and the bushes?”Mr. Meaneysaidthrough the phone.“It’s apaidgig, kid, so don’t screw it up. They only ask that you wait until after the shopshavemostlyclosedso that the noise doesn’t disturb customers.”
I almost snorted. Yes, of course, it was thelawnmowerthey were worried about making people nervous. I assured him I’d be there prompt and quick under the cover of night.
“Oh, and bring one of those little metal,spinningstatue things. Thatlookedgood at the library. Where’d you find that?”
“Just a local artist at the Farmer’s Market,”Isaid.
“Well, stock up, the libraryhasgottena lot of questions about where people could find something similar.”
A grumpy feeling bloomed in me, knowing I couldn’t tell them it was my work. That my art would suffer because it was aligned with my name. I wanted to create something I could be proud of. I wanted to put something out into the world that would help people see me as more than just a monster, just a killer. I had been working on a grand piece to display at the Field Days Art Showcase and had planned on entering it anonymously.
But lately, I was tired of feeling anonymous.
20
Nicolette
Ihad butterflies in my stomach the day before the Godot Family Field Days and I didn’t know why. I had only volunteered to piss off Katie and prove I wasn’t just some self-centered outsider. But somewhere along the line, doing a good job with this stupid carnival began to mean something to me.
Ihaddone my due diligence on the class action lawsuit. Itwasstillwrappedup in courts and after a quick trip to the Center to talk to Miriam, sheconfirmedthat everyoneaffectedwasalready aware and theywereall on the list of award recipients if the lawsuit everclosed. It would be years, but it would be something.
It wasn’t just the radon that did the damage. The building company had cut a lot of corners. The reason they were so profitable in the beginning was because they never paid for supplies . They repurposed old building materials that contained lead paint, asbestos, you name it. The radon just accelerated the problems.
There was still the mystery of Chimera but I hadn’t heard back from Dr. Moore’s DEA colleague so I was running out of leads.
Beyond that, Ihada hard time finding a reason to stay in Godot after these Field Days. For a fleeting moment, IconsideredMelody’s original assignment. Ihadsomeadditional information thatcouldyield enough of a personality profile for the Beyond Bizarre episode. But none of itresonatedwell, and Iberatedmyself for entertaining it.
So, here I was, a bruised heart, a broken ego, and no story to bewritten.
Itwasbest for me to stop Riot’s apology because when Pastor Blackwellhadmentionedthe class action, my storywasdead in the water and therewasno reasonleftto stay in this town. I would leave after the Field Dayswereover. And I didn’t need to open my heart up to any morehurt. The auto garagehadsaidmy car would be ready by Monday and once thatwassettled, I would be able to go.
As resolute as Iwas, each time Iremindedmyself of that, the hole in my chestgotwider.
Before I left for the final walk-through of the Field Days, I stopped at the main house to grab a bottle of water. I spotted a newspaper on the kitchen island. It was a copy of last week’s Huntington Herald. It was folded open to the article I’d written. I had forgotten about it after I’d submitted it. There was a sticky note next to my name.
