The words still burned like venom in his veins, an invisible pain to match the purple splotches already forming on his skin. Ryan closed his eyes and let his head fall back until it met the wall. He was exhausted. His arms ached, his knees felt stiff, and he was counting his heartbeats by the sharp throbbing in his head and right cheek.
He took a deep breath and held it, exhaling slowly on the fourth aching pulse under his eye, then breathed in again. If he kept his eyes closed for too long he’d begin seeing things he didn’t want to remember. But if he focused on the darkness behind his lids and took in a deep breath, he could just make out the smell of mint and stale tobacco smoke.
That was his Gram, mint oil on her wrists and cigarettes in her pocket. It had barely been a year and yet already getting harder to remember her. Ryan couldn’t remember the sound of her voice. He thought he could picture her smile, but was starting to doubt its accuracy. Only the smell of the house seemed to bring her back and he desperately needed her back.
The sound of paws scratching against hardwood lifted Ryan’s head from the wall quickly and with throbbing regret. It was a distinct, lopsided sound of three paws and a rubber sole running up stairs and down the hall.
“Hey, Tucker,” Ryan said as the Australian Sheppard rounded the corner into the room. He ran over to Ryan with intermittent hops as his hind leg moved awkwardly in its prosthetic. Tail wagging, his tongue found Ryan’s face with relentless enthusiasm.
“Alright, boy,” he said, chuckling despite himself, “where’s your Mama?”
The dog barked in reply.
“You’re gonna need to find a new hiding spot,” said a voice from the doorway. “I don’t think the new residents are going to let you sneak in here every time you decide to run away from home.”
Alex was leaning against the doorframe, curly hair piled high on the top of her head, wearing an oversized t-shirt that covered her shorts. She was referring to the bright, new “SOLD” sticker that had haphazardly been slapped across the sign out in the front yard.
Ryan looked around the room as Tucker laid down beside him, the metal braces on his bad leg grinding against the floor as he stretched it out. It was empty, the whole house was. Pops was to remain in the house after Gram died, in-home care and all living expenses managed by Ryan’s father. For whatever reason, the mortgage payments were never made. It was supposedly just a huge misunderstanding, but what difference did that make? Barely seven months after Gram was buried, the bank foreclosed on the house and Pops was moved to a nursing home.
It’s amazing how quickly an empty house begins to feel vacant. There was nothing left of Gram here, only the smell, and even that was fading.
“You never know, they might enjoy the company,” he joked, scratching Tucker’s hip along the edge of his prosthesis. The room was dark but Ryan still hid his grimace as the dog rested his head on a tender spot on his thigh. He couldn’t let Alex see him like this. “What are you doing here?”
Alex folded her arms across her chest, fixing him with a concerned stare. He didn’t need to see it to know. She often looked at him that way.
“Got a call from your mom. Wanted to know if I had heard from you.”
The floorboards groaned quietly as Alex crossed the room and sat on the floor beside him. Ryan kept his face turned away, focused on Tucker.
“Bad night?”
“Nah,” he said, throwing her a brief smile. “Just a typical Thursday night with the old man.”
“What did he say this time?”
You think I don’t see you sneaking around with that so-called friend of yours? I’m not an idiot, you sick pervert! If I ever see him around here you’ll both wish you were dead! I never should have let your mother have you, you unnatural piece of…
“Oh, you know, same old.”
“Your Gram never let him talk to you like that. She’d spit poison in his direction and offer you a cookie in the same puff of cigarette smoke.”
Ryan chuckled, the muscles in his cheek pulling painfully and cutting the sound short.
“Why doesn’t your mom say anything?”
He could still see the rage in his father’s eyes when Ryan stopped his hand from meeting his mother’s face. His grip crushed Ryan’s wrist, twisted his arm until the pain brought him to his knees. Ryan’s arms blocked most of the blows until his father finally found an opening and caught him in the face with the back of his hand.
Ryan’s entire body screamed with the memory of it, but the bruises were just a warning. It would be a couple of days before the swelling in his cheek went down enough to go out in public. It would be far longer before Ryan dared stand in his father’s way again.
His mom didn’t say anything for the same reason he never did. They were terrified.
Ryan took a deep breath again, looking for the smell of mint and tobacco smoke. Without thinking, he had walked out of his parents’ kitchen and kept walking until he found himself in front of the dark house with the FOR SALE sign in the yard. He wanted Gram’s comfort, needed her grit. But she wasn’t there.
His eyes began to burn so he squeezed them shut. He took another deep breath and held it, counting the throbbing reminders of his father’s knuckles.
Tucker shifted his weight, stretching up to lick the cut under Ryan’s eye.
“You’re a thousand times the man he’ll ever be,” Alex said, her hand closing gently around his, “because you have the courage to love.”
Ryan’s eyes blinked open as Alex rested her head on his shoulder. He squeezed her hand, turning slightly and pressing his lips to the top of her head. Closing his eyes again, he took a deep breath and let the tears fall.
The room hummed with electricity. White lights shined while the ventilation fan whirred overhead, and the low rumble of a generator came from behind a steel wall, devouring oil with an insatiable hunger.
Mrs. Green worked at the kitchen table, her rhythmic chopping of potatoes adding to the room’s melody. Behind her, the high-definition window showed the sun setting over a field, a white picket fence standing quaintly in the distance. It cast hues of orange on Mrs. Green’s back.
The family sat silently before her. Billy lay on the couch, a tablet propped against his knees and Max, the beagle, curled at his feet. Kat was on the floor, her small hands working a brush through her doll’s hair. Their father sat in his armchair frowning with concentration at his laptop.
The clock over the television chimed once…twice… Mr. Green glanced up over the rim of his glasses. It chimed a third and fourth time. He closed his laptop, putting it away. Two more chimes. On its final note, the television-wall flickered to life.
“Hellooo, Fairfield!” Two figures filled the screen, almost life-sized, and four sets of eyes met them with disinterest. “It’s 7:00, on Thursday, September fourth. I’m Christine Lang—“
“—I’m Ron Bell—”
“—and you’re watching Channel 9 News.”
The camera focused on Ron, his face set in the practiced calm of an anchorman. “Oregon’s Governor Pete Blanchard is in trouble with the President for claiming air quality as a healthcare issue and funneling federal money into the state’s Clean Air Initiative. The President was scheduled to meet with Blanchard today but has postponed the trip indefinitely due to wildfires ravishing the coast and the oppressive smoke covering the region.”
Max leapt from the couch and walked to the entranceway. He pawed at the wall, whining.
“Billy.” Mrs. Green nodded toward the dog, her eyes still on her work. She emptied a bottle of sauce over the meatloaf.
Billy rolled off the couch, eliciting a yelp from Kat when he almost stepped on her doll. Head bent over his tablet, he pressed a hand to the metal wall. A section slid away revealing a space lined with artificial grass. Max circled the patch and relieved himself before darting back into the sitting room.
“Climate change was a hottopic in last night’s debate,” Christine moved on, her visage replaced with footage of well-dressed men shouting at one another.
“I’m not a scientist, I can’t—,” one started.
“You shouldn’t need a degree to recognize that we are being overwhelmed by storms and temperature shifts that are destroying crops and completely altering agricultural patterns!”
“Climate change is natural,” the first man finished calmly. “Besides, with the increasing percentage of produce and livestock being manufactured any impact on organic agriculture is inconsequential.”
Mrs. Green opened a large drawer containing three bins. Do your part! was etched along the top. She rinsed the bottle and dropped it into the bin labeled plastic.
The sun sank lower on the window screen and Mr. Green switched on another light. The generator rumbled, its chimney coughing black smoke into the gray, wet night.
“A video of a young kangaroo in Melbourne, Australia has gone viral…” The sound of her children’s laughter turned Mrs. Green’s attention to see a small kangaroo hopping playfully in a white landscape. “Australia has experienced record-breaking temperatures and snowfall this winter, but this youngster doesn’t seem to mind.”
“Looks like someone forgot to tell Australia about global warming,” Ron quipped, chuckling at his own joke. Christine responded with a forced smile.
The potatoes were added to the roasting pan and transferred to the oven. Mrs. Green cleared the table of a bowl of Canadian oranges. There weren’t many left she noted and her eyes drifted to the status light shining over the entrance. It had been red for eight days now, which meant no deliveries. They had plenty of food, but she wanted something fresh.
“Clear skies are on the horizon, folks,” Ron continued. “Walter is the sixth category four hurricane to pommel the region this summer, but it’s moving along quickly so you Singer residents should be seeing green lights by tomorrow!”
A map of the east coast filled the screen, a spinning graphic hovering over Fairfield and a projected path jutting over the ocean. Another hurricane waited idly by the Caribbean.
The orange sunset flickered. So did the lights. Then for a long couple of seconds, the room went dark and completely, utterly silent. Only the status light remained, drenching the metal walls in red, spotlighting the words “Singer Industries, Quality Safe Rooms™” over the heavy door.
Muffled pounding came from outside, then the growling rumble of the generator as it resumed its electric melody. The television turned on with a pop and the end of a jingle. A happy family sat in a room identical to the Greens’ – “Singer Industries, Quality Safe Rooms and Underground Bunkers,” a voice sang. “A structure you can rely on no matter the weather!”
Any fears of a power outage vanished by the start of another commercial. A group of men stood before a beautiful mountain-scape wearing coveralls and covered in coal dust. The miners smiled at the Green family. “Kay-Singer Oil and Coal, only the best to power your home.”
“Thank you for joining us, Fairfield,” Ron beamed as the Greens gathered for dinner, “and have a beautiful night.”
The window screen turned violet as the sun finally sank below the horizon, but beyond the steel walls, there was no green field. The sky churned, black with storm clouds. The hurricane’s rain pounded the oversaturated earth. Its high winds tore at what remained of the house, peeling away each shingle, stripping aluminum siding off in sheets. The Greens’ house was in ruins, but their Singer Industries, Quality Safe Room stood stubborn and windowless in its midst. Blind to the devastation around it as a heavy cloud of smoke billowed from its chimney into the curtain of rain.
Keys clattered against hardwood with a clang and a whispered curse. Lana fumbled, holding her half-eaten energy bar between her teeth as she bent to retrieve the dropped keys. This was typical Lana; late and scrambling out the door, calculating how to make her twenty-minute commute in half the time.
She closed the townhouse door behind her, rummaging in her bag as she hurried down the stairs. The sudden force with which she was hit sent her spinning in a confused tangle of limbs and fluttering papers then, she was falling.
Gravel dug uncomfortably into exposed skin and Lana gasped, trying to regain her breath. Another body shifted on top of Lana, groaning in pain as it tried to untangle itself from her. She lifted her head and a pair of striking blue eyes stared back.
Lana’s heart stopped. She knew those eyes, though never this intimately.
It was Dreamy McJogger. Every morning he ran past her with his high cheekbones and perfect hair. His shirt clung to his body like a second skin, accentuating the muscles underneath. He was gorgeous and Lana often found herself fantasizing about them sharing a moment.
One morning, he would interrupt his run, stop her as they crossed paths, and confess his love in a dramatic display on the corner of 8th Street. There would be flower petals drifting on a breeze, catching in her hair.
It was a silly thought, a daydream that got her through the dull moments of the morning. Not once did she ever think that it would actually happen, but now…
Dreamy McJogger propped himself up on an elbow, his sapphire eyes staring deeply into her own. He opened his mouth and Lana counted her heartbeats. Maybe her daydreams weren’t so silly. Maybe this was it…
“What the hell, lady! Are you blind?”
Lana blinked, startled.
He picked himself up from the ground with a scowl.
“Watch where you’re goin’!” Then, shaking his head, he resumed his jog.
Lana remained sprawled on the sidewalk in stunned silence, her brain slowly processing what had just happened. She was vaguely aware of footsteps approaching, then another face appeared, and a hand was offered to her.
“Are you alright?” A man asked, helping her up.
“Yeah,” she said, bending to collect her things. “I’m fine.”
She was, of course, not fine. She was utterly mortified.
Her energy bar sat in a puddle of dirty water. Lana picked up her breakfast with two fingers like it was something disgusting, which now, it was…
The man stooped to help, reaching for her phone where it lay at his feet. “What an asshole, huh?”
Lana glanced up to see warm brown eyes and a sympathetic smile, but quickly looked away, too embarrassed to hold the man’s gaze. “Yeah,” she mumbled, heat rising in her cheeks.
He handed her the phone.
“Sorry about your breakfast…” He was smiling at her with concern. Lana kept her head down but she could hear it in his voice. “You’re sure you’re okay? It looked like you came down pretty hard.”
Lana readjusted her purse on her shoulder and looked down the block. Her eyes were starting to sting with tears which only soured her mood even more.
“Yes, I’m fine. Uh, thank you,” she sniffed, casting him another glance. “I appreciate your help.”
The man barely managed a “Don’t mention it!” before Lana hurried away, desperate to get as far from this place as possible and hoping the humiliation wouldn’t follow.
Lana slowed outside Bridals by Juliet, pulling a compact from her purse. She checked her reflection, quickly touching up the make-up under her eyes and trying to rearrange any loose strands of hair in the small mirror. She was late for work the moment she left her house; what was a few more minutes if it meant walking in looking at least slightly more composed?
Taking a deep breath, Lana closed the compact with a click and dropped it back in her bag before reaching for the door.
The other consultants were standing about the showroom, a few sitting together on the plush white couches and armchairs. Lana hurried past them, smiling to a few as she made her way to the back. A tall, slender woman with dark hair, cut sharply to her chin, was leaning against the counter in the break room, a cup of coffee in her hand.
“You’re late,” she said as Lana came up beside her and dropped her bag on a chair.
“Have I missed anything?”
“Yes.” Renée turned, taking a schedule from the counter, and holding it out to her friend. “Lucky for you, Pauline’s been with alterations all morning taking care of a rush order. So, I was in charge of the lineup.”
“Thank God,” Lana sighed, reaching for the schedule. The last thing she needed was Pauline on her case for being late.
“Lana!” Renée closed her hand around Lana’s wrist and turned her arm. Large scrapes ran down her arm. A dusting of dried blood and gravel still stuck to her elbow. “What happened?”
Brushing the gravel from her skin onto the clean white carpet, Lana let out a groan. “I need a drink…”
“Already?”
“It’s been quite a morning…”
The white fabric flowed through Lana’s fingers like water, shimmering as she let it fall gently to the floor.
“This looks beautiful on you,” she said, her fingers working the trail of buttons up the woman’s spine. The bride-to-be smiled; her face flushed with excitement. “Would you like to go out and show them?”
Lana followed close behind, carrying the long train to the showroom. A chorus of gasps and exclamations of awe rippled through the group awaiting them on the overstuffed sofa.
This was the dress. Lana knew it as soon as the woman saw herself in the mirror. Now, there were tears in her eyes and a wide smile on her face as her loved ones sang hers and the dress’ praises.
But Lana’s mind was already wandering, carrying her away to an old cathedral, the stained-glass casting rainbows on her gown as she made her way slowly down the aisle.
Or no! A tropical island, the warm sand between her toes, and a light sea breeze picking up the soft folds of white chiffon.
Or perhaps it would be something simple, an outdoor ceremony with a wildflower bouquet. She would look up wistfully from behind her blusher veil, making her way toward the tall, devastatingly handsome, faceless man awaiting her at the altar.
Lana struggled against the disheartened sigh that threatened to escape. There she was again, getting lost in a whirlwind romance with a man who would only ever exist in her daydreams. She was a hopeless romantic, Lana knew that, but recently, that seemed to be more trouble than it was worth.
Day after day she made sure her hair was done, her make-up perfect, always looking her best for some stranger she passed on the street who wouldn’t even look her way. Yet she had imagined a life with him, what his name was, where he worked, where he would take her on their first date.
And it wasn’t just Dreamy McJogger; it was the man in the three-piece suit she saw on the subway most Thursdays after yoga. It was the young flower shop owner around the corner, who had single-handedly turned Lana into a plant enthusiast after he complimented her daisy-printed skirt.
Who was she kidding? She wasn’t a hopeless romantic.
“I’m delusional…” she thought.
A celebratory cheer pulled Lana back to the showroom and she beamed at the woman standing beside her as she made her decision.
“Congratulations,” Lana said, helping her step down from the pedestal. “Let’s get you out of this gown and then we can put in your order.”
She loved working at Juliet’s, helping countless brides find the dress of their dreams, hearing about their fairytale romances, living out her fantasies vicariously through them. But some days, the forest of white and tears of joy only reminded her of how unlucky she was in love.
Jax needed to take time to “focus on his career”; Drew turned out to be a drug addict; and Ali swore that a long-distance relationship would work — but of course it would when he had another girl waiting for him when he got off the plane. An exhausting amount of first dates and only a handful of seconds. All beautiful faces with commitment issues.
She could fill volumes with her dating nightmares. Like the time her blind date turned out to be her sociology professor, whose class she had just that morning. Or the time she spent an afternoon in the ER after her date pissed off a swarm of bees during their picnic.
Advice was thrown at her from every direction, often unsolicited.
She shouldn’t try so hard. She needed to put in more effort. She wasn’t looking in the right places. Try this dating app. No, try this one! Don’t date online. Don’t be so picky! Don’t settle…
Lana watched as her last appointment left the boutique, still smiling and waving thanks to Lana over her shoulder.
How could it be this hard to find someone?
“You still need that drink?”
Lana turned to see Renée leaving the break room, her purse already on her shoulder.
“Dear God, yes!”
Her friend offered her a sympathetic smile. “Go get your things, I’ll wait outside.”
Lana hurried to the back, the promise of wine therapy already cooling the embarrassment that lingered with each thought of her morning.
“I told you he was probably a jerk.” Renée lowered her empty glass and poured another, topping off Lana’s as well. She made a face of disgust. “He was always checking his reflection in windows.”
Lana whimpered into her hands. Despite her wishful thinking, the Chardonnay was doing nothing to lift her spirits.
“I have never been more humiliated in my life,” Lana groaned, lifting her head. “And there were witnesses! Some guy saw the whole thing, helped me pick up my things…”
“Oh, well thank goodness, there’s at least one decent human being left in the world.” Renée sipped, her red lipstick staining the rim of the glass. Lana stared at it, lost in the rich color, dreaming of falling rose petals. She pouted.
The white noise of conversation drifted around them, mingling with street sounds of the city and the pedestrians that passed their table. Everyone going about their lives, enjoying their perfectly normal day with zero incident. Lana doubted any of them had made a fool of themself today.
The sympathetic smile returned to her friend’s face. She was getting too many of those today. “Don’t worry, doll,” Renée said, rubbing Lana’s arm. “Eventually you’ll look back on this and laugh. I promise.”
“I don’t want to laugh! I’m tired of my love life being a long-drawn-out joke. Every date I go on is just one more punchline…”
She raised the glass, tipping it back. The wine burned slightly as it went down her throat making her grimace. “I should just come to terms with the fact that I’m going to spend my years all alone.” She stared off at nothing, frowning. “Maybe I’ll get a cat.”
Renée chuckled, but took Lana’s hand and squeezed it comfortingly. “You’re not going to end up alone, I promise you. One day, a sweet, funny, respectful,” she nodded her head for emphasis, “very good-looking man is going to fall right into your life. And it might be smooth and effortless or clumsy and difficult, but it will be perfect. As long as you’re happy. Besides. You don’t even like cats.”
With a final squeeze, Renée let go of Lana’s hand and threw a few bills on the table. “I’m sorry, hon, but I have to head out. Dave and I are having dinner with my parents tonight.”
She stood and kissed the top of Lana’s head.
“Don’t get so lost in your head,” she said. “That’s a dangerous place to wander alone. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Lana watched her friend disappear among the other pedestrians and frowned. Dave was planning on proposing. Not tonight, but soon. He even showed Lana the ring.
Another friend soon-to-be happily married. Lana gulped her wine.
It was a beautiful day, though a bit warm for this hour, and the cafe’s outdoor seating was filling quickly. She should probably leave; give up the table she now occupied alone with her wine glass. She was sure a happy couple would love this view of the park…
Instead, she watched the people hurrying past her, the sidewalk bustling with energy.
A couple passed by, the man smiling at the woman on his arm looking utterly charmed. Lana took another long sip.
The wine was starting to taste bitter.
She rubbed her scraped arms and let out a defeated sigh. Love had clearly given up on her.
“Bad day?”
A man stood by her table, just on the other side of the iron rail that kept pedestrians out of the dining area. Lana squinted up at him against the sun. He was tall and well built, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up against the heat. His dark hair was brushed back revealing a pair of brown eyes that held a comforting warmth. Something about him seemed very familiar but Lana leaned cautiously away.
“I hoped it would get better after that tumble you took this morning.”
Sudden realization flooded Lana, coupled with a new wave of humiliation. Her horrified expression was met with a chuckle and the same sympathetic smile she had received from him earlier that day.
“Sorry, for bringing up any bad memories… The wine must be helping at least a little, though. Right?”
“Hardly…” she said, eyeing him skeptically. This man had witnessed her literal downfall that morning. It never crossed her mind that she might see him again, now he was like a walking reminder of her embarrassment.
“I’m realizing that we’ve never officially met,” the man continued, extending a hand to her. “I’m Kevin. Moved here a few months ago. You walk past my apartment every morning. We’re practically neighbors, just a few houses down.”
A new sense of familiarity dawned on her as she took the hand he offered and shook it. “Lana. You’re the house with the purple door.”
“That’s me. A bold choice, I know. All of these townhouses look the same, figured it would help me remember which ones mine.”
He smiled with a warmth that touched his eyes and Lana was surprised to feel her own lips turn up slightly in response. He had a small dimple on his right cheek.
“Sorry if I’m interrupting…” He gestured to the table but Lana waved away his apology.
“I was just about to leave. Are you walking home?”
“I am.” Kevin looked off in the direction of their street and the sun turned his eyes to rich honey.
“Mind if I walk with you?” Lana could have kicked herself for asking, but the words had tumbled out without much thought.
“Not at all,” he said.
The conversation was light as they walked, mostly sharing the basics of their lives. Kevin had moved from the Midwest, he worked in the accounting department of a large pharmaceutical company. Lana told him about Juliet’s and how she, very recently, is in the market for a cat. Then, somehow, Lana found herself sharing the countless other embarrassing situations she had experienced over the years which, in hindsight, made being knocked down by a man, pale in comparison. Kevin’s laughter warmed her as much as the evening sun, the dimple in his cheek appearing whenever he smiled at her. But when they reached her door he hesitated.
“I have something for you,” he said, almost cautiously.
Whatever the face was that Lana made, it pulled an embarrassed chuckle from Kevin’s lips.
“I keep a box of these in my desk at work,” he continued, reaching into his bag. “Figured I’d take one with me on the off chance I saw you. You know, to replace the one you lost this morning.”
He was holding an energy bar, the same kind she had lost in a puddle when Jerkface McJogger knocked her down. “Turns out we have similar taste.”
Lana smirked, taking the energy bar from his hand.
“Well, what do you know?” Then, she added a quiet, “Thank you.” Though she wasn’t sure if she was thanking him for this morning, or for right now.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked, the smallest hint of concern in his eyes. “That was a hard fall.”
His hands were deep in his pockets and there was a bashfulness in his expression that made Lana smile.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m very okay.”
He nodded. “I’ll see you soon?”
“I’d like that.”
With the promise of a future meeting, Kevin left with a satisfied smile.
Her elbows were scratched, her palms still burned, and she was pretty sure she had bruised her tailbone. But as Lana watched her neighbor climb the steps to his townhouse she began to realize, maybe it doesn’t have to hurt to fall for someone.
S. M. Nesheim 