Expanded Universe, page 5
part #13 of The Last Picks Series
I got on my bike and rode home. The wind shook the leftover rain from the trees, and as I blinked drops out of my eyes, I asked myself again what I’d been thinking.
3
If you’ve never moved to a new town, been a murder suspect, and inherited a haunted mansion before, let me tell you: it’s not as glamorous as it sounds. Most people probably don’t think about the fact that, if a lot of the town still partially suspects you might have killed someone, they’re not inclined to be chatty. And that’s on top of the usual small-town reserve, the inclination to treat anybody who didn’t grow up there, who doesn’t have three generations of ancestors buried in the local cemetery, like a permanent outsider. And even though I had friends—good friends, actually, who had helped me when I needed it—the reality was that I was alone in a new place. And I was lonely.
So, I got up at an ungodly hour (the devil invented nine AM—I’m not willing to hear opinions to the contrary). And I got dressed. The day was clear but windy, and I had a feeling that jeans and a jacket were the right choice. And because I was feeling virtuous after that tremendous display of willpower, I stopped at Chipper to get myself a banana cream latte and a lemon poppyseed muffin. And a blueberry muffin. And these little granola bites that look dangerously healthy but are actually delicious. Because I needed to keep my strength up.
By the time I got to the state park, a small group of people—maybe ten—was already gathered in the parking lot. I recognized a few faces from around town, but I didn’t know anyone by name. I considered turning around and going back to Hemlock House and spending my day in the company of my muffins. And then I told myself no. I needed to socialize. I needed to see other people, real people. I needed to talk to people. Apparently. Which was definitely a surprise because if you’d asked Hugo, he would have sworn that I could have had a very successful career as a hermit.
I parked. I drank some banana cream latte. I ate a muffin and then, in a burst of desperation, I ate the other. I knew I was stalling, but I still had time. According to the local hiking group’s announcement, the hike wasn’t supposed to start until 9:30, which meant I still had time to turn around and—
The knock at the window made me jump.
Deputy Bobby leaned down, his face set somewhere between brooding and perfect. I had a momentary flash of the last time I’d seen him. He’d been actively—enthusiastically, vigorously, one might even say, like a champion—kissing West. My face heated.
He rapped on the glass again.
I buzzed down the window.
“We’re about to leave.”
“Hi, Deputy Bobby.”
He winced and rubbed one eye. “Get out of your car.”
“Funny coincidence, I’m not here for the hike—”
“Out.”
I got out of the car.
Deputy Bobby gave me a very cop-like assessment and said, “Did you eat two muffins?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Officer.”
He rubbed his eyes again. “All right. Here we go.”
I trudged over to the group, mostly because Deputy Bobby was careful to stay a step behind me in case I got any crazy ideas, like trying to make a run for it. The hikers numbered fifteen now, counting me and Deputy Bobby, and they were all friendly—men and women in middle age, who welcomed me with smiles and nods and the occasional handshake. Nobody screamed, “Murderer!” Nobody fainted. I realized, too late, I hadn’t paid attention to their names, and as we set off on the hike, I decided the only safe thing to do was hang back to walk alongside Deputy Bobby.
I’d been right about the day: clear skies, warming nicely, but with a wind ripping through the stands of spruce and fir that made me glad for the jacket. I was learning—slowly. The air smelled like moss and resin and damp soil. The massive sitka spruces creaked and rolled their branches. Ferns and bracken hissed in the breeze. It was too crisp and too bright and too beautiful not to feel awake and alive and happy. I figured the muffins and latte probably hadn’t hurt.
When I glanced over, though, Deputy Bobby was stifling a yawn.
“You look beat.”
“Thanks.”
“God, no, I just meant—are you okay?”
“I’m tired.”
“But you still came to the hike?”
“I like hiking.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I can tell.”
After a moment, he gave me a crooked look. I let a smile slip out.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I worked third watch, and I spent half of it dealing with angry messages and trying to explain why being too tired is a valid excuse not to go to a party.”
“Oh,” I said.
“West really wants to go.”
That part, I’d figured out myself.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll understand.”
Deputy Bobby made a strange noise; it took me a moment to recognize the little scoff as a kind of laugh.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.
“No. I want to hike. And I want to enjoy this hike. In silence. And then I want to go home and sleep so I can go to this stupid party.”
“I’m going to go home and stare at a horse,” I said. “Wanna trade?”
“Did you hear the part about silence?”
I grinned and gave him a thumbs-up.
We were starting uphill. Ahead of us, the occasional snatch of conversation drifted between hikers. The sound of the trees blended with the sound of the ocean. Then he looked over at me, and amusement crooked across his face again.
“What was that thing about a horse?” he said.
“I thought this was a silent hike.”
“Uh huh.” It was clear he hadn’t heard me. “So, you don’t have plans tonight?”
4
The party had been a mistake.
I could admit that now, as I struggled to stay afloat in the sea of bodies. And, when a pretty white lady who was mostly heels and hair stumbled into me, I could admit, too, that when it came to Deputy Bobby, I apparently had a hard time saying no. I helped the lady regain her footing. The crowd parted for a moment, and I darted toward an open spot against the wall. I was sheltered on one side by a table-and-lamp combination. On my other side, a young couple was making out vigorously. I tried to focus on the party.
As far as parties went, it was clearly a successful one. Deputy Bobby and West had picked me up from Hemlock House, and we’d driven south along the coast. The house was massive, with shake siding and lots of windows with turquoise trim. Inside, it mixed chrome and glass with driftwood and knotty pine, all stone and exposed timbers and leather. It was full of music and a mix of perfumes and the heat of bodies. Lots of people. Lots of stylish, trendy, hip people. There were guys with purple leopard-print shirts. There were ladies with bra tops and wide-legged trousers. There was one guy who was so cool he was wearing an earring and totally pulling it off. I’d worn a Final Fantasy IV T-shirt with my favorite hoodie. I zipped the hoodie up to cover the T-shirt.
“There you are!” West appeared out of nowhere. His cheeks were flushed. His flaxen hair was disheveled. His shirt was unbuttoned to the navel, exposing his flat, golden body, and his legs looked a mile long in those tiny shorts. He was so pretty it hurt to look at him. “You disappeared again. Come on.”
Before I could ask what he meant, he pulled me into the throng, and all I could do was stumble after him and try not to fall. West moved like he was in his element, swimming between clusters of partygoers, sliding around a grizzled guy carrying drinks. I managed to step on the grizzled guy’s foot, hip-check a woman, and stub my toe on a coffee table. I felt like a shipping container being towed by a dolphin.
In the kitchen, Deputy Bobby was talking to a guy who barely looked older than Keme. He had his dark hair in an expensive-looking crop, and he had just the right amount of scruff, and he wrinkled his nose when he laughed at whatever Deputy Bobby was saying. He was something like an eleven on the Richter scale, and in a truly impressive turn of events, I forgot how to breathe.
Deputy Bobby saw me and West first, and for a moment, his expression closed off. On anybody else, I would have called it anger, only this was Deputy Bobby, and Deputy Bobby was always earnestly, bluntly kind. Then West was pushing me toward the other guy, and I had to look away.
“Pike, this is Dash. Dash, this is Pike. Isn’t he the cutest?”
I wasn’t sure who the question was for, but Pike looked me up and down and gave me a big, tight-lipped smile. It made his nose wrinkle again.
“You guys have so much in common,” West said. “And Dash owns Hemlock House!”
“Well—” I tried.
“Oh my God, for real?” Pike’s excitement made him sound even younger. “That is so fire!”
“It’s kind of complicated—”
“Is it true it’s haunted?” Pike moved closer. His hip brushed mine, and he reached under his shirt to pull out a necklace. “I’m, like, so spiritual because I think it’s just so important, and, like, I just think that’s been so important for my personal journey, you know? And, like, it’s so hard for me to think about who I used to be—”
“In high school,” Deputy Bobby muttered, barely audible over the hub of the party. “Two years ago.”
West shot him a look.
“—because I feel like I’ve evolved so much. Are you spiritual?”
I managed a very solid, “Umm.”
“I know everybody says that they had a spiritual experience when they did ayahuasca, but when I did it, I really did, and that’s why I got this talisman, to anchor me to that transformation. Hold on, I’ve got to show you this. Oh my God, don’t look at this picture. I looked so gross when I was a kid.”
The haircut was different, and he was missing his scruff, but it was hard to tell much of a difference otherwise. I wondered if all cradle-robbers found the experience so disorienting. Maybe it was just because I was new to it.
Pike proceeded to show me a video. And then another. They were probably funny. I mean, Pike certainly laughed a lot. Or sometimes they were serious. Like one, with a pretty white girl talking about the time she’d done mushrooms, got Pike all choked up. I tried to keep up—emotionally, at least—as best I could. At some point, I realized Deputy Bobby and West had disappeared. Pike was still talking—now he was telling me about his dream of owning a sex-positive coffee shop, but not like the one he’d been to in Portland. Maybe, I thought, there’d be a gas leak. Maybe a sinkhole would open. Maybe I could throw myself into the sea.
When Pike needed another drink, I made my escape. I found a door and slipped outside. The evening was already starting to cool, and it smelled like dune grass and washed-up kelp and freshly split shakes. Waves rolled in and slapped the shore, swallowing the sounds of the party. The sense of openness, of room to stretch and move, let me breathe again. I’d been drawn tight like a rubber band, and now the strain was gone.
I sat on the rail of the deck, looking out at the ember of the sun and the arc of red water.
“You okay?” Deputy Bobby asked as he sat on the rail next to me.
“What? Oh. Yeah. Parties aren’t really my thing. Well, crowds aren’t really my thing. People in general, I guess.” I smiled out at the sinking sun. “The joys of social anxiety.”
Deputy Bobby was silent for a while. “You didn’t have to come.”
“What? Oh God, no. I’m sorry. Thank you for inviting me. I didn’t mean to sound like—I didn’t mean it that way.”
More of the silence, and the ocean breathing between us. “So,” Deputy Bobby finally said. “Why did you come?”
Maybe I was too off-balance from my recent age-gap encounter. Maybe I was too wrung out from the party. Maybe I was just dumb. Whatever the reason, I said, “Because you invited me.”
Deputy Bobby shifted on the rail. He was close enough that I could feel the heat of his body against the night’s chill pressing in. He smelled a little like laundry detergent. His hands were clutching the rail tightly.
“I’m sorry about Pike.” And then, “I told West not to do that.”
I laughed. “It’s okay. He seems really sweet, but he’s not my type.”
“The ayahuasca?”
That made me laugh again. “The age. Besides, I’m a mess. I have terrible judgment when it comes to men. When it comes to pretty much everything, actually, but men in particular. I’m not going to inflict that on anybody, much less on a twenty-year-old who got weepy when he told me he’d discovered the goddess inside him while he was tripping.”
The waves coming in. The shadows coming in. A pelican caught the last of the light, glowed golden, and then fell like a meteor.
“For the record,” Deputy Bobby said as he eased himself down from the rail, “I think Pike would be lucky to have you.” The rich, earthy bronze of his eyes caught me. He held out a hand to help me down. “Any guy would.”
5
When I woke up Sunday morning, I had made a decision. I didn’t need a social life—or rather, I didn’t need more of a social life than I already had. I had good friends. Indira was almost always around and happy to chat. Keme came over all the time to play video games. Fox dropped in regularly, nominally to work on their Secret Artistic Project that somehow involved Hemlock House, but mostly to shoot the breeze and pilfer Indira’s baked goods (no judgment—look who’s talking). And Millie was here almost as often as Keme, although the rest of us were too polite to point out the coincidence.
So, I didn’t need to make more friends. I didn’t need to go to bars or go to parties. And while I loved getting out in nature—in theory—I didn’t need to join a social club that met at an ungodly hour (9:30am on a Saturday!!!!) and that primarily included people who were in much better shape than I was, even though they were all more than twice my age. Maybe what I needed to do was spend some time alone. Getting to know myself. Becoming more comfortable with myself. Maybe the friend I’d always needed was me.
Maybe, I thought as I dragged myself out of bed, Pike had put something in my drink last night.
I showered. I found a pair of joggers and a Mega Man tee. I looked at the tallboy and the canopy bed and the mantel clock and that ginormous painting of a horse. And because the thought of becoming my own best friend was absolutely horrifying, I found a pair of shoes and went to do some retail therapy.
When I got back, Deputy Bobby was sitting on the terrace. He was in civvies—joggers and a plain but expensive-looking tee, which, to my eye, screamed West. Instead of parking in the coach house, I pulled the Jeep up to Hemlock House’s front door. Then I got out, opened the back, and started unloading the stuff I’d bought.
“Want a hand?” Deputy Bobby asked.
“I got it.” I offered a smile. “Thanks.”
He followed me inside, and I carried everything upstairs and into my room.
Leaning in the doorway, Deputy Bobby watched me fumble with the horse painting for a few seconds. Then he came across the room and said, “You take that side.”
So, I did. And together, we got the painting down.
“How is it so heavy?” Deputy Bobby asked.
“The frame is solid gold.”
“Really?”
“No, of course not.”
That made him grin. We leaned the horse painting against the wall, and Deputy Bobby helped me hang the new one. It had been one of my purchases in town—a lucky find at the farmer’s market. It was oil on canvas, and it was a forest scene. Where the trees ended, you could glimpse the ocean, and then a hint of a cute seaside town. Hastings Rock, of course.
“I know it’s not great art,” I said.
Deputy Bobby folded his arms and studied it.
“I know it doesn’t go with the rest of the furniture,” I said.
Downstairs, Indira was puttering around in the kitchen.
“I know Nathaniel Blackwood would be spinning in his grave if he knew how I felt about horse paintings.”
“I like it,” Deputy Bobby said. He glanced at me, and then back to the painting. “The horse was all wrong. This is right.”
Which was a very Deputy Bobby thing to say, I was starting to discover.
Because I had no idea how to respond to that, I finished unpacking my purchases. I’d bought a plant (a golden pothos) in a cute ceramic pot, and I set that near the window. I’d bought a stack of new books, and I displaced a porcelain cherub from the nightstand to make room for them. I put a fluffy (non-skid) rug in the bathroom. A big, bright pillow that clashed terribly with the damask wallpaper went on the bed. Because sometimes a guy just wanted to read in bed, you know?
“I’m getting rid of that stupid clock,” I said. “I’m getting a clock from Radio Shack.”
“I thought Radio Shack went out of business.”
“And I’m putting a giant TV there. And if you say anything about it, I’ll fight you.”
That big, goofy grin broke out again, and Deputy Bobby held his hands up in surrender.
“Okay,” I said. “Thoughts?”
He was silent as he looked around at the changes. Yes, they were small. They were, technically, insignificant. They’d felt like such a big deal, and now, as the heat of the moment faded, they felt silly, childish, like I was playing house.
“This is your home,” Deputy Bobby said quietly. “It should feel like your home.”
And just like that, I was about to cry.
“How big of a TV?” he asked.
That helped, because instead of crying, I could pretend to be mad as I said, “Don’t worry about it.”
With a small smile, he produced something from his pocket. It was a plain envelope, and he handed it to me.
“What’s this?”
“You have to open it.”
That was Deputy Bobby in a nutshell.
I opened the envelope and stared at a map and punch card, both of them labeled Chocolate Chase 101.
“What are these?”
“I realize you’re new in town, and you’re looking for things to do. And I also realize that maybe you don’t want to get dragged to bars or stuck at parties. So, this is a complimentary tour of artisan chocolates, chocolate-based desserts, and hot chocolate. You go to any of the places on the map, and you show them the punch card, and you get to try something.”
