Authors: Rachel Hanna
Did he think in the few short weeks he's been gone that so much would have changed that I wouldn't be with Kellan anymore?
OK, that was possible. Both that he thought that and that it could be true. Kellan's every bit as unpredictable as I am. More so. More moody.
Kellan gives his head a shake, sea water shining in the sunlight. Looks like it's a mental shake as well as physical, adjusting to what he's just seen: Me, coming home on Reed's arm.
"Kellan, you remember Reed," I say. No point phrasing it as a question. I glance from Kellan to Reed, judging if there's going to be a fight or just a verbal pissing contest. They both look ready to stalk around each other in the sand. But instead there's a moment's silence as they judge each other, then hands are stuck out and they're shaking, saying the same sort of things, sure, I remember, how've you been?
And into the stark silence after that, the sound of water birds and people talking, music coming from somewhere, an ice cream truck playing polkas. Reed gives a wholly false smile at Kellan and says to me, "So, you'll be fine. The rest of those meetings go like that, you have nothing to worry about." He leans down and I stretch my head up, cheek proffered, which I think is what he was aiming for anyway. He kisses my cheek, chaste enough from anyone's point of view, but even as he lets go of my arm Kellan has taken the other arm, and is drawing me into an embrace, a hello kiss on my lips.
Men.
I don't even get a chance to ask Reed what he came down to Charleston for. Couldn't really just have been for the meeting.
Could it?
* * *
"So how was your day?" I've learned since Bruce started pushing Kellan to jump right back into the swim of life, get a job, get moving, to ask casually.
How was your day?
Not,
Did you find a job?
So I ask as we walk up to the house together. Bruce's house (it will always be Bruce's house, not even "my parents' house" to me) is big and white, with decks where I like to sit in the mornings and watch the ocean. It's cool and surrounded by palmetto trees, shade and sun, white washed and welcoming. Mama Lita, as Kellan calls Carmelita, will be waiting for us inside, cool drinks or a light meal or whatever we want. It's more like living with your grandmother than with a maid.
"I'm thinking of enrolling in some courses," he says, mentioning the local community college. "What I learned on the inside? Not the best degree where I got it."
He sounds more bitter than he usually does. He lost 5 years of his life, went from 17 to nearly 23 in prison without his father visiting. Anyone else who might have visited he held at arm's length or refused to add to the visitor's list.
It's a strange idea that prisoners can choose who to allow to visit and who to keep out. Almost reverses the identities, who's a prisoner and who isn't.
It's not that different from what I was doing all those years. Holding everyone at bay, only allowing visiting privileges to the people who were the absolute closest to me. In the case of Bruce, I think he would have come to visit me in my self-imposed isolation if I'd given him a visitor's pass.
"Is that what you think you want to do?" I ask as we get to the sandy bottom stairs of the whitewashed cement stairs.
Kellan stops walking and puts both hands on my arms, just above my elbows. "I don't know what I want to do. I want to make a difference. I want to make up for what happened. I want to be happy, if that's possible." His eyes soften and he leans down and kisses me, his lips soft on mine, barely brushing. "You make me happy."
I'm not much of a career
, I think, but I don’t say it. I just wind my arms around his neck, leaning up into him, my grey tunic top dampening against his saltwater flecked torso. I rest my head against his chest and listen to his heart beating under my ear.
We finally break apart, moving up to the house again. "I'm going to take a shower," Kellan says, leaning his surf board against the fence at the top of the stairs where Bruce will see it and nag him about it. I haven't figured out yet if Kellan is just as unaware of these actions as he would have been at 17 or if he does it to irritate his father.
"So did you want to be totally alone for that shower?" I ask.
"Only if I don't have any other choice," he says, squeezing my hand as we step into the house together.
"You always have a choice," I tell him, thinking I probably mean far more than whether or not he's going to shower alone.
* * *
The bathroom off Kellan's bedroom is amazing. Huge, with heated towel bars, so very necessary in South Carolina, after all. Stone tile floor, marble countertops, double sink. An enormous mirror spans the sink area. The shower is the walk in kind, all dark stone tile but lit by a skylight above.
I follow him into the spray. If I could add one feature to the shower, it would be a dual showerhead. Since there isn't, I wrap around Kellan as if I'm cold.
The soap is slippery on my skin. His hands roam freely, bubble-covered, slick on my shoulders, my back, and around my front, pressing me back against him as he soaps my breasts and presses into me from behind. He's hard and straining against me.
Turning in his arms, my mouth reaches up for his. We press close enough to be one person.
For now, he's here with me. His eyes are half lidded, his mouth hotter than the water that covers us both. When we break apart, we're laughing and gasping in the spray. Catching our breath, we step out of the shower, roughly toweling each other dry.
But as we break apart to comb hair, swipe the mist from the mirrors, tend to post-shower things, he's gone again, his eyes open but his gaze distant. When we're both finished up, shiny with lotion, combed, mostly dry, he gives me a distracted kiss and goes to his room to dress, leaving me to dash through the hallway to my own room, hoping not to run into anybody halfway there.
I haven't had that much experience with relationships. After what happened in Seattle, I certainly wasn't dating there and by the time my mom and I moved to Charleston, I was deep into my guilt. So I'm unsure what to expect with a boyfriend of just a few weeks. Is this normal? His excitement in the shower that got me hot, slick and wanting, and then he goes and gets dressed? Or should we still be all over each other every minute we can be?
There's not really anyone I can ask. Everybody else learned this sort of thing in high school but I only had one boyfriend there, Billy Monroe, the football team's star quarterback, who took my virginity and then talked about it all over school, and actually that was more of a one night mistake.
It's not like Kellan and I have a normal relationship anyway. We were living together, so to speak, before we ever started dating. We were drawn to each other instantly, but some people would consider us step siblings. We're not siblings really– there's no degree of blood relation between us – but it's still an unusual relationship.
Did seeing me walking back from school with Reed bother Kellan? Because of Reed? He knows I chose him, not Reed. He knows Reed has moved to Boston. Was he bothered, being reminded I have that second chance without the 5 years prison to deal with in the working world? He was tried as an adult – this stays on his permanent record, as they say. Kellan doesn't get to walk away like I did.
In the end, there's nothing I can do about it right now. I have to get ready. Emmy's coming to pick me up in about an hour and we're going to a new club that just opened downtown.
Forcing Kellan back out of my mind, I get dressed, in lightweight shimmery white pants, a bright red tank top with lace inserts and a tiny white cardigan that I don't really need but I love how it looks over the red. Emerald earrings that glint through my red-blond hair. I'm putting on my makeup when someone knocks on my bedroom door.
"Mom?"
"Not even close, I hope," Emmy says, peeking around the door. "Are you decent?"
"Never."
"Good!" She bounds in and bounces on my bed, legs out in front of her like a happy toddler. Emmy's the first friend I made at Deaton U, on my first day when I was still prepared to fight off the advances of anyone who thought they wanted to get close to me.
I feel like I owe her a lot. She didn't give up on me when I tried to push her away. Plus she was my cameraman for the first of the forgiveness videos, going with me when we drove the five hours to Atlanta to film David Reynolds.
"So tell me about this club!" I have to finish my face and find shoes that look awesome and allow me to dance at the same time. …OK, just shoes that look awesome.
"Opened a couple weeks ago. Apparently very open, very loud, lot of dance floors, live sound." She shrugs. "It's a club." She's right. I'll see what it's like when we get there.
In the mirror I can see her considering her question. I'm pretty sure what it is.
"Kellan's really not coming with?"
I can't tell if there's something about Kellan that makes Emmy nervous or if she just feels insecure, like Kellan coming with us to something Emmy and I planned makes her the fifth wheel.
"He's really not coming with us." Didn't even mention it in the shower. Rushed off after. Something's really bothering him lately and I haven't been able to get to the bottom of it.
Not that I've had that much time to try. Between the station and classes and more of the same, and going places with Emmy, there hasn't been a lot of time to try and pin him down.
I need to, though. It may only be my first adult relationship, but I'm not willing to let it go without finding out what's going on.
"He's preoccupied recently," I tell Emmy, taking one last look in the mirror. I slide ID, credit cards and money into my back pockets. Not bothering with a purse tonight. Cell into my other back pocket.
Emmy doesn't know much about Kellan, which is strange, really, because Emmy pretty much asks what she wants to know. Where'd you go to school? How'd you end up moving here? How rich
is
your step dad? What happened to your real dad?
That one I only recently told her. That one's still hard.
I shake off the brooding thoughts that threaten. "Come on!"
Outside the long evening is still bright. Early September, it's still hot. Emmy's wearing a short denim skirt and heels, a fluttery red top with gold thread and dolman sleeves and more makeup than I've ever seen her wear. She looks adorable.
"You are going to love this place," she tells me as she backs wildly out of the driveway. I've ridden to Atlanta and back with Emmy driving; she's usually a bit more restrained.
"Are we going to live long enough for me to see it?" I finish snapping on my seatbelt and grab at the panic handle above the window.
"Relax," Emmy says. "I'm just in a good mood."
As we pull away from the house I get a good look across the beach. Emmy does, too.
"Isn't that Kellan?" She sounds a little doubtful. I can't tell if she's thinking we should stop and offer to take him with us or hoping I won't suggest it.
"Yeah," I just say quietly.
Emmy bites her lip, not accelerating away yet. "Should we – "
I interrupt her. "Kellan's on parole. He can't go anywhere there's alcohol."
"Oh." Her voice is tiny.
"No!" I tell her. "It was nice of you to offer." I'm never sure if Emmy likes Kellan. She thought he was totally hot when she first met him, but his history and our relationship has made her uncomfortable.