Once Bitten Twice Shy

Jack walked to the trash can and tossed the paper plate and his napkin. He stretched, looking at the pictures in magnet frames on her fridge. ‘Is this you?’

She couldn’t see what picture he was pointing too but she had a feeling. Her stomach sank and she took a deep breath. Going to stand next to him she studied the picture of her and Aaron on the beach right before he died. She really didn’t register it any more, it had been up there so long. The image only seemed to become visible to her on bad days, the hard days. ‘Yep, that’s me at the tender age of eighteen.’

He let out a low whistle and she blushed. ‘Haven’t changed much,’ he said. ‘In fact, I’d say you’ve gotten prettier.’

‘Liar,’ she said. She crossed her arms and tried to not let the sinking feeling overwhelm her. The inevitable was about to happen. She could feel it.

Again, Kendall’s words echoed back to her. Despite her refusal to take them to heart, her face felt cold, her heart too fast.

‘Not lying.’ His voice was softer than it had been and he was watching her in that certain unnameable way men had. ‘You’re pretty here,’ he said, pointing to the magnet. ‘You’re beautiful here,’ he said, levelling that finger at her briefly.

Her face went from cold to hot in an instant.

‘He died,’ she said before she could stop herself. ‘Aaron. That’s him with me in the picture. We were engaged, fresh out of high school, on a…’ She shook her head but forced herself to go on. Somehow confessing this to Jack felt important. ‘Pre-honeymoon is what he called it. And his wave runner…’ She swallowed hard and pushed on. ‘Exploded. It was clearly defective, he’d been drinking – we both had – and if I’d just played the don’t drink and drive, even water vehicles, card, he might still be alive.’

Jack’s eyes were wide, surprised, but also very concerned. He ran his hand down her arm and finally clasped her hand. August felt her pulse jump. ‘August, that’s…I’m so sorry. But you don’t blame yourself, do you? You can’t. There was no way you could have known.’

‘I had a weird feeling.’

He smiled but it was a small, controlled smile. ‘We all have weird feelings all the time. Very few of us act on them. Very few of us notice them.’

She took a deep breath and a step back, breaking their contact.

He let her go easily and shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘Is this why you’re so…’ He shrugged. ‘Self-sufficient, as you put it?’

‘Partly.’

He looked uncertain but finally spoke. ‘There’s more? Worse than that?’

‘Yes and no,’ she said. Then she laughed. It was a bitter sound and she flinched. ‘I’m eating up your day with my tales of woe. But this is part of why it’s so important to me that this art thing is just friends. Whether you understand or not – whether anyone does – it’s how it has to be. So…is that OK?’

He looked at her seriously and her heart gave a kick. She wanted more coffee or a nap or just to curl up in a ball and cry. ‘August, you don’t have to explain yourself to anyone. Ever. Especially not me. I’m just the lawn guy.’ He grinned at her. ‘Friends it is. Absolutely.’

She watched him walk out of the tiny kitchen, her emotions in such a tangle she didn’t know up from down.

I’m just the lawn guy…

‘No, you’re not,’ she said in the empty room. ‘You’re my first real temptation.’

‘You didn’t do anything,’ Carley said, fishing out a bite of lo mein.

She’d completely ignored August’s refusal of company and food and had showed up right at dinner time toting a nice box of Cab, takeout containers, and chocolate cookies from the local bakery.

‘Exactly. I should have stopped him,’ August muttered, nibbling a shrimp. She wasn’t very hungry but the smell of Chinese had tempted her into at least a few bites.

‘Because of a feeling? Honey, I do stuff against all my weird feelings all the time. Usually nothing happens. Sometimes it does. I know for a fact that you wouldn’t berate me for doing what you did. But you have no reason to keep crucifying yourself for something you couldn’t have controlled.’

August shrugged. She had no real response.

‘And don’t you think twelve years is long enough to torture yourself?’

Another shrug. A sip of wine. August was exhausted. Her arms were almost too heavy to move.

‘But I do find one part of this story interesting,’ Carley said. She bit into an egg roll and eyed August, those bright green eyes twinkling with what looked like mischief.

‘What?’ August practically sighed.

‘That you actually cared enough to even explain any of this stuff to this guy Jack. That, my friend, is a hurdle you haven’t cleared in ages. You usually feel no need to explain your hermitude.’

August chewed thoughtfully. ‘It seemed right.’

‘Which is heartening!’

‘Don’t get your hopes up, Carley. He’s a guy who I find handsome, I feel attracted to him, but that doesn’t change anything. I’m not ready.’

‘Six years is ages not to be ready. The last roll in the hay you had was with Brian and you cut him loose the moment he started giving you cow eyes.’

‘That was a bad idea anyway.’

‘What was?’ Carley asked. Her red lips were pressed together and she almost looked angry. August found it amusing that Carley often got angry with her on her own behalf. ‘Having a sexual outlet with a guy who was actually kind and cared about you as opposed to Kendall the abusive asshole?’

‘I have bad luck with men.’

‘No. You’re trying, constantly, to fit new men into an Aaron-shaped mould.’

August blinked, dangerously on the verge of tears.

Carley caught the look, sighed and grabbed her friend’s hand. ‘I’m sorry. That sounded very asshole-ish if I do say so myself. What I am trying, in my foot-in-mouth way, to say is this: Kendall was a fluke. A one-off. He’s not the first man in history to be abusive toward an already damaged soul. Brian loved you. Too much and you weren’t ready. You wanted sex, he wanted you. But this guy, this guy is coming along at a good time in your life. Maybe, just maybe, you should give him a shot. It’s been twelve years since Aaron, eleven since you gave Kendall the jerk a shot, and six since you cut Brian loose. You’re young.’

August laughed. Her second bitter laugh of the day.

‘You are,’ Carley said, squeezing her hand. ‘And those are some long years to be alone even with my stellar company.’

‘I can’t.’

‘How about you just think about it? He’s not Aaron, babe. No one ever will be. But he’s certainly not Kendall. Just from what you’re telling me, he’s not. And instead of looking for a safe fuck buddy like Brian…why not look for something real?’

August shook her head and took a sip of wine.

‘Just think about it.’

‘I have.’

‘Liar,’ Carley said. ‘Think about it for real. Think about maybe, just maybe giving him a chance.’

‘But Kendall…’ August knew it was wrong to take his haunting words to heart. That deep down all men were like him. But the fear was a very real thing. She knew it was irrational, but it didn’t change the panic she felt at offering to let a man she didn’t know slip into her life. And possibly into her bed.

‘What?’

‘Oh, the old adage, you know…once bitten, twice shy.’

Carley smiled. I also know the old adage ‘Everything you want is on the other side of fear.’

August stared at her.

‘What? Motivational day-of-the-month calendar, baby!’

August couldn’t help it. She laughed.

Chapter 4

August finally ushered Carley out when she’d had enough pep talk.

‘You think about what I said,’ her friend said at the door. Her eyes suddenly serious, her voice soft.

‘I will.’ August would have said anything to regain her solitude.

‘For real. Not just to get me to shut up,’ Carley said. She threw her arms around August and hugged her tight. ‘Because, baby, if there’s anyone out there who deserves some happiness – finally – it’s you. Just don’t blow me off, OK? Really consider giving this guy a shot.’

August hugged her back. Tight. Then shut the door behind her friend and locked up for the night. She hadn’t seen Kendall in ages, but just talking about him had put her anxiety about him in the forefront of her mind. She shut off all the lights, checked the back door, put away the leftovers Carley had insisted on leaving behind. Then she poured herself a glass of wine and wandered upstairs. Once in pyjamas, she turned on a bad serial-killer movie and crawled into bed.

She watched the end of the movie, starring one of her favourite 80s actors, and then, yawning, shut off her bedroom light.

Splotches of streetlight wound their way through her Venetian blinds and she found, annoyingly, that she couldn’t sleep. Instead, she studied the white Rorschach blotches on her darkened walls. When sleep still evaded her, August sighed, and did the only thing she could think of that almost always let her fall asleep.

She slipped a hand down into her pyjama pants and stroked herself softly. Too many years, she thought, feeling only her own touch. She considered herself, secretly, a born-again virgin. She had once joked to Carley that she’d been rehymenated. Carley hadn’t found it nearly as amusing as August had. She’d been horrified and had launched into a two-week campaign for August to find a lover. Since then August had left those weirdly humorous thoughts unexpressed.

Her touch was gentle at first on her clit. In the beginning, she pictured, in her mind’s eye, Aaron. She always defaulted to picturing Aaron. Occasionally, she’d superimpose men she found attractive on TV. Sometimes she’d picture a random man she’d seen on the rare instances she went out. But tonight she found, parting her outer lips, stroking slowly over her clitoris, that Jack’s face kept popping into her mind. Jack on his knees, Jack holding her thighs as he licked her, Jack pushing his thick, nicked-up fingers deep inside her. Stroking her to orgasm.

‘You’re screwed,’ she whispered in the dark, thrusting two fingers inside herself, mimicking her mental images. She arched her hips, fingers thrusting, other hand stroking. She was getting close and she both welcomed it and wanted to shun it.

Release was often too much emotionally. It was a reminder that she was alone. And not just alone, she was lonely.

She bit her lip and let her hands take care of what needed to be taken care of. In her mind she saw him, Jack of the small creases around his brown eyes and the unruly dark hair, flipping her so she was beneath him. Kissing down her belly, lapping at her sex, before finally – so slowly that she thought she’d expire from the waiting – moving between her thighs and entering her.

She imagined that first thrust. The first time in six years she felt a man drive inside her. The first moment of being filled and taken.

She came, a half sob, half laugh flying off her lips. Outside a horn blared, a dog barked and she heard rain begin to hit the metal awning. She lay there, shuddering lightly, until the final contraction worked through her. Then she rolled to her side, shut her eyes and waited to sleep. She was just thinking that sleep would never come, now that she’d let this man into the protected territory of her mind, when she finally drifted off.

She woke early again, hearing the ominous, gruff tone of Kendall in her ears. A dream, she was sure. She knew it was her worry, her fear, the blind panic she experienced whenever she considered dating a man. It was all in her head, she knew, but still the message was unnerving. Making her feel as if he was there in the room.

Be careful, you know I’m right. Deep down we’re all the same. And you’ll wear on him the way you wore on me. And then he’ll have no choice but to put you in your place…

Saturday morning often meant one thing for August. The market. Sure, she was a homebody that many would call a borderline shut-in, but it wasn’t really that bad. She simply preferred the company of herself, her latest project and the good vibes of her tiny cottage.

That didn’t mean she never got stir crazy. An echoing warning from her dream was just the kind of thing that provoked the restlessness, so she decided she’d go out, shop for food and a few other things.

Skinny jeans, old beat-up brown boots, oversized cardigan and her outrageously untamed hair up in a knot made August as ready as she was going to be. She made a pot of coffee, filled her travel mug and put a cup of granola in a Ziploc bag for the drive up.

The thought, strange and unbidden, popped into her mind to call Jack and see if he wanted to go to the market with her. After all, it was mid-October and the farmers’ market rarely went into November, never past the first week, at least. She only had the option of going for two or three more weeks.

‘No Jack,’ she muttered, walking through the house to ensure everything was off, locked and safe. ‘Not even Carley. You don’t need her cheerleader chatter in your head. Rah-rah Jack! Rah-rah take a chance! You need to think.’ August pulled her coat on, grabbed her bag and her keys. ‘And you need to get a cat or a dog, or even a hamster, for Christ’s sake, so you don’t sound so bonkers talking to yourself.’

She locked the front door behind her and headed toward the Jeep. The Walking Stick tree sat there gnarled and gorgeous. Crouched low on the ground like some ancient thing that couldn’t bear to right itself any more.

Like something from Tolkien …

Again, that simple remark provoked something in her that made her smile. But just because Jack knew of Tolkien didn’t mean shit. Everyone knew who Tolkien was thanks to the wonder of epically long movies that, despite being amazing, she always dozed off during because of their length. Knowing Tolkien didn’t mean nearly as much now as it had when she was in middle and high school.

‘Shut up,’ she told her own spinning brain. She climbed into the Jeep, waved to her neighbour collecting the paper, and drove off toward Nottingham for the farmers’ market. Some time out in the sun around clusters of people appraising honey and bread and vegetables was just what she needed to shake off the weirdness of the last few days.

The market wasn’t nearly as crowded as the week before. The chilly temperature of October tended to keep the less than diehard open-air market buyers at bay. August parked the Jeep, grabbed her cloth bags and made a beeline for her first stop: the rustic bread stand.

‘August!’ Mr McAllister was a ruddy older man with white hair, sparkling blue eyes and a booming voice.

‘Hi, Mac,’ she said. He’d insisted on their second meeting she call him Mac, his old Navy nickname.

‘Here for my hearty white bread? Or possibly Beatrice’s honey-wheat-raisin loaf?’

Beatrice, upon hearing her name, wandered out from behind their restored antique Chevy pickup truck. ‘Mine, of course,’ she said, winking at her husband. ‘Who wants your boring old white bread when you can have a spectacular mélange of flavours in your mouth?’

Mac playfully elbowed his wife and winked at August. ‘Settle this bread war, August,’ he said.

She laughed, her soul lifting at being out in the sun, as meagre as it was today, and joking with the couple she always looked forward to seeing. ‘Actually, I’d like one of each. And a loaf of that Amish cinnamon bread I bought last time if you have any.’

Beatrice held up an only slightly gnarled finger. ‘One left. And it’s in the cab of the truck. I was just about to put it out on the table.’

‘But we’ll put it right in your bag instead,’ Mac said. ‘Coffee, August?’

She shouldn’t, she’d already had her super-strong concoction for the day, but when he poured a small paper cup of their superb coffee – offered free to customers – she unprotestingly let him doctor it to her liking and hand it over. ‘Thanks. Cold today.’

He nodded. ‘Yep, you can feel those cold November winds working their way into the mix already. Just a few more weeks and it’ll be too cold for an old geezer like me to stand out here and hock bread.’

‘Still setting up at the downtown indoor market when it turns cold?’

He grinned at her. She smiled back. Mac reminded her of a leprechaun for some reason. It almost always kept her on the verge of giggling. ‘You know it. So you come down there and stock up on bread through spring. We’ll miss you if you don’t come.’

Beatrice reappeared with the Amish loaf and began to gather August’s other requests. She pulled a small cellophane bag from a pile and tucked it into August’s market bag along with the bread. ‘That’s just a treat from me. Sugar cookies. My grandmother’s recipe. You look like you can afford a cookie or four.’

August felt herself blush. Her work hours and her obsession with her current projects often left her forgetting to eat except once, maybe twice a day. Her jeans were a bit loose and her face a little gaunt, she’d realised this morning. A cookie or four would be welcome.

‘Thanks, Bea.’

‘No problem. Now you stand here and drink that coffee and tell us about what you’re working on now.’

August obliged, sipping her coffee, explaining the iris paintings and even showing them some pictures on her phone. Then she went into the fairytale canvases and somehow found herself mentioning Jack and the Walking Stick tree.

‘You’re blushing,’ Bea said, leaning close.

‘What?’

‘When you mentioned his name.’

August took a deep breath and forced herself to say, in an airy voice, ‘Jack? Oh, no. Nothing like that. He’s just the guy fixing the giant pit in my front yard.’

‘Hmm,’ Bea said. Then she smiled. ‘Pity.’

August said her goodbyes and gathered her bag. She hurried off to find the farm stand that sold the best raw honey and always had wonderful big zucchinis. She put a hand to her face, feeling the heat there. She had been blushing after all.

She was deciding between cloverleaf and lavender honey when she saw him. His hair jet-black in the sun, his eyes gleaming bright as he squinted at heirloom tomatoes. Her heart rabbit kicked and her stomach dropped. August heard herself let out a low moan and the honey man noticed because he looked up.

Kendall.

August felt her lips go numb. Her number one signal that her body was under extreme anxiety. Her fingers started to shake and then the man glanced her way. Not Kendall. His doppelgänger perhaps. But not him.

Air whooshed into her lungs but the damage was done. Her body, despite the false alarm, was on red alert. All she wanted to be then was home. Home, painting, sipping a cup of tea and listening to The Dead Weather on her iPod.

August took a deep breath, handed the man fifteen dollars for the honey and took her change.

‘You OK, Miss?’ he asked. He was younger than Mac, but just as weathered. His truck read Hollow Farms so she knew that like Mac he was a farmer.

‘Fine. Just…tired. I thought –’ She smiled suddenly, waved him away and said, ‘Fine. Have a good day.’

She turned quickly, eager to get back to her car and home. The magical quality of the market had worn off. She’d skip the vegetables and wouldn’t run into the stationery store for blank cards the way she’d intended. She just wanted to get home.

August promptly ran right into a small blonde woman whose cider proceeded to spill over and soak them both.

‘I am so, so sorry –’ She started, looking into deep-brown eyes that somehow reminded her of Jack’s. ‘I’m so clumsy. Sorry – can I –’

She was cut off in mid-sentence when a familiar face appeared behind the woman and said with great concern, ‘August? Are you OK?’

Jack.

The man was Jack.

Chapter 5

‘You know, I’d have a hard time forgiving cider on my favourite shirt if it weren’t for the fact that you made that amazing stationery,’ Kelly Murphy said. She had rich brown eyes like her brother but her hair was a shade lighter.

‘Stop busting her chops, Kel,’ Jack said, setting a decaf caramel latte in front of August.

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘And it’s fine. I feel like such a klutz.’

‘You looked spooked,’ Jack said, pulling up a chair next to her. He took a sip of his Chai tea and the spicy scent of it hit August fully. For some reason it made her crave pumpkin pie. She didn’t acknowledge his statement.

‘I was only joking,’ Kelly said, laying a hand atop August’s. ‘You know that, right?’

‘I know. I know. I do feel horrible, though.’

‘Don’t. I’d have spilled this on myself anyway,’ Kelly said, hoisting a double mocha concoction.

‘It’s true,’ Jack said. ‘We’ve become convinced she has a hole in her chin.’

Kelly shot her brother the bird and August couldn’t help but laugh.

‘Glad you joined us for coffee. Do you shop at Toby’s?’

Toby’s was the stationery store located on the shopping strip that housed the open air market. It had been on her list of things to do today. ‘I do. I get all my blank paper and sets there. I know the manager and since I buy in bulk he gives me a discount.’

‘Nice,’ Kelly said. ‘I wanted to head in and get some beads. I make bad jewellery when the mood hits me. Come with us.’

August hesitated. It was the concerned look on Jack’s handsome face that made her nervous. She could see him wondering what was up and the fact that she liked him being concerned about her was unsettling. The only person allowed to be concerned about her – besides her parents, who currently resided in North Carolina – was Carley.

Her heart sped up as he studied her, his face set in grim determination as he tried to figure her out. She was forced to look away.

‘Oh, I can’t intrude on your day.’ She said it to Kelly, still avoiding Jack’s gaze.

‘Please. You’ll save me from listening to talk about you. You’re here so he won’t embarrass himself,’ Kelly said.

‘Kelly –’ Jack growled.

‘What? I’m only speaking the truth.’

He talked about her? August wrapped her hands around her paper coffee cup to keep them from trembling. He talked about her, and the fact that he did so set off what felt like bright white fireworks in her stomach. And lower.

‘You’ll embarrass her.’

‘More like you,’ Kelly countered. She touched August’s hand again. ‘But seriously, it’s not every day I get to meet an honest-to-God artist. I’ve had delusions of grandeur about being an artist for years. Let me follow you like a stalker in the art store. You’ll make my week.’

August’s face went hot again but she really liked Kelly. And despite the yammering, negative part of her brain that wouldn’t shut up, she enjoyed being around the two of them. Their energy.

She couldn’t help but hear, in her mind’s ear, Carley egging her on. She knew damn well what her friend would say. ‘What have you got to lose, August? Your loneliness? Your hermitude? Your fear?’

‘OK,’ she said, before she even knew she was going to say it.

When Jack’s face lit up and he smiled at her, she felt those fireworks spread up into her chest and her heart gave what could only be a joyous little kick. Either that or she was going to stroke out from fear.

‘So you like white, black and red?’ Kelly said, following August patiently through the store.

‘I do. They pop the best. Sometimes, if they have a deep purple or a vibrant blue. But I am…boring, I guess.’

‘Oh, my stationery is anything but boring,’ Kelly said ‘The pack Jack gave me, I mean. It’s your stationery but now…that pack is mine.’ She winked and August laughed.

Jack had wandered off into the woodworking section and it was just the two women. August had a million questions she wanted to ask Kelly about what she’d said about her brother, but the questions didn’t seem to want to come out of her mouth. She got lucky, though, because Jack’s sister was nothing if not talkative.

‘What I said is true, you know,’ she said, picking up a packet of pale-pink stationery and then putting it back.