Chapter Two

I had never expected to see Blake ever again after that night. He was one of those cool guys and I wasn't really anything in particular at all.

On the night following the party my mother was having her own banquette or dinner or something of the sort, she usually had some fancy name for it. It was for one of her community groups she was in. Which meant about a hundred or so people would be in our house. Which meant our house had to be perfectly clean and catered. Which of course meant my sister and I knew nothing about it.

Christina was in our room curling her hair while yelling out to our mother down the hall. "You can't just pull this crap on us Mom; you have to at least give us warning."

My mom was standing in the hall dusting and straightening our family photos. The maid, of course, had already dusted them, but apparently they weren't perfect enough. She always liked showing off how much we'd grown up to her friends. "Oh I'm just sure I told you girls about this the other night at dinner."

"No, you didn't!" Christina yelled.

My mother was particularly good at forgetting to mention things like these two us until the caterers arrived and we asked. And she was always convinced she'd told us days and days ago at least once. She never did.

"She's right," I said, putting my two cents in, "you didn't tell us."

"I was just so sure I had," my mother said, coming into the doorway of our room, a distressed frown on her face. Sadly, she really did believe she'd told us, hence why she never felt like she should, since she thought she already had.

"Nope," Christina snapped. She kind of liked these dinners or whatever my mother called them now days, which meant having only two hours to get ready was a problem. There were usually at least a couple of good looking young businessmen that showed up that would shower her with attention. Christina was a lot like our mother in that she liked getting dolled up and told how pretty she was. I'd just as soon close my door and pretend like none of it was going on, but that was definitely not allowed.

I pulled on a knee length black skirt that looked nice and sophisticated and conservative—what these sorts of events called for. Then I changed my shirt into a white tank and pulled on a white long-sleeved eyelet blouse. It was nice, but plain. I wasn't one to wear bright lime green flowy shirts with tight skirts like Christina. I'm not sure how she made her boobs look so much bigger than mine, since they were exactly the same size, but somehow her breasts looked like they were exploding from her shirt. It wasn't terribly slutty because it was a classy shirt, but it would still get a disapproving look from our mother.

Something hit the back of my shoulder and I turned away from the mirror I'd been fluffing my hair in. On the floor was a pair of nylons. "Wear those," Christina said, not even looking at me. "You're too pasty white."

"I hate these," I said as I picked them up and wrinkled my nose at them. I really did hate nylons. I hated how high up on your waist they went and then how they liked to constantly fall down in the crotch.

"Tough shit, wear them or learn to lay in the sun."

The banquette was a big hit of course and all the food was perfect despite my mother's frantic worries about whether the shrimp was fresh enough and whether we had enough wine. People started arriving around seven and by nine everyone was fed and milling around our house, making small talk and sipping wine. It was around then that I had found myself a nice corner by the back door where no one would ask me how it felt to be only one year away from being high school graduate or which colleges I'd applied to. Christina and I were of course going to the local private college.

I was sipping my own little glass of wine that I'd grabbed from the kitchen. Really, I needed about ten of these to deal with the people who kept asking me the same questions over and over and over again. Not to mention my nylons were horribly uncomfortable and itching my legs. They did make my legs look a lot better, but I wasn't sure if it was worth it.

As I was gently trying to itch my ankle without causing a run over in my corner of the hall by the back door, I heard a weird tap tap sound. I looked up and around me. My initial thought was someone had managed to get themselves stuck in the closet or something. Then a heard it again and looked towards the door. Clearly, some drunken idiot had gotten himself locked out. I rolled my eyes, super excited to have to deal with it.

I pulled open the door and put my hand on my hip, expecting to see some poor lost guest. My stomach lurched though when I saw Blake, leaning casually against the door frame. He wore a nice black collared shirt and a pair of dark colored jeans. He had that careless look about him as a grin spread across his face. His hair was messy and wild, like he'd driven here with the windows down.

"Well, that was convenient." He said, smiling at me.

"What was convenient? What are you doing here?" I demanded, glancing behind me. In a way I was kinda disturbed that he was here. How did he know where I lived?

"That you're standing right there, I didn't particularly want to come in looking for you. You ready to get out of here?"

"What?" I demanded, shocked. "How do you even know where I live?"

He rolled his eyes like I should already know the answer to that. "How many twins do you think there are in this town? I heard about your mom's party, thought I'd come rescue you." He straightened up and brushed off the shoulder that had been leaning against the house.

I was still speechless. He'd come here for me? Really? He'd bothered to ask around for me? I looked back over my shoulder at the sounds of happy old party-goers.

"You coming?" he asked, drawing my attention back to him and his crazy smile. He held out his hand to me, like he already knew I was coming. And I guess I did too. Because, for the first time in my life, I acted without thinking and put my hand in his. The door swung shut behind me, closing out the sounds of my familiar life as Blake lead me towards the front of the house and towards a world I'd never known before. Towards a million new feelings, sensations, and actions. I blinked away the thoughts of danger, of how I didn't even know this person. Something about the way he walked, the casual movement of his shoulders as he glanced over his it at me… something about him took my breath away and I wanted to see and know his world and him.

...

I stopped for gas just as the sun was beginning to rise up over the horizon. It made the sky glow a feint pink. I took the sunglasses off the passenger seat and slid them on before getting out, careful not to bump my eyebrow, which had become terribly tender over the course of the night. I also tried to ignore the deep, painful ache in my back. I was sure it was probably black and blue, but I tried not to think about it. I set the pump to start and went to the little convenience store that was only open by ten minutes. The guy inside looked at me like I was crazy to be out this early, and I suppose I was.

I looked down at the little wrinkled piece of scrap paper I'd been holding in my fist for the last few hours. "Do you know where Sansom is? The town, I mean," I added. It hurt my lip to speak. I tried not to open my mouth very wide in hopes of keeping it from reopening.

"Sansom?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at me, the same look I'd gotten when I walked in. It made me start to worry what I'd gotten myself into. "Keep going east, third exit. About 100 miles from here."

Three exits for a hundred miles? I could hardly believe it.

When I limped back out my gas had finished pumping, so I climbed back into the car and set off again. I hit the glovebox open and dug around in it's jumble of papers and random things I'd collected to find my cigarettes and lighter. My nerves were starting to make my hands shake again, so I thought I'd try to stop it early. Blake had taught me the habit.

...

That fateful night Blake lead me away from my parents house and to his old 1969 black mustang was the first of a whole new aspect of my life. He went to the passenger's side and opened the door for me. I only hesitated a moment before sliding into the smooth leather seat. It was cold through my nylons, but felt good that warm late summer night. Blake closed the door after me and went around to his side, slipping in effortlessly and with a sort of grace that both intrigued and intimidated me. Because really, he was so much cooler than me in every aspect.

His keyring was a jumbled mass of different shaped keys and a bunch of little trinkets. One was a skull, another just a braided piece of twine. With a chink he shoved one of the keys into the ignition and turned it. His car roared alive and vibrated like nothing I'd ever felt before. It was ridiculously arousing and I tried to not look as breathless as I felt.

He turned to look at me and smiled like he knew. "You ready for this?"

"For what?" I asked.

"Me."

At the time was wasn't really sure what he meant, but I smiled like I did and nodded. He laughed at me like he could see through my act, and I'm sure he could.

That night was the first time I'd ever seen people using drugs. We drove out to some guy's house where there was clearly a party going on. When we reached it, Blake pulled in the driveway, his car half hanging out in the street, but he didn't seem to care. Then he turned to me and looked me up and down. It was then that I noticed I was dressed for a nice dinner, not for hanging out. I was dressed like a 26 year old professional.

He started unbuttoning his shirt, "I only wore this stupid thing in case I had to go in looking for you, thought I'd at least try to look somewhat undercover."

I was flattered, incredibly flattered. He was willing to dress up and come in to find me? I looked down at myself, feeling incredibly over dressed as he tore off his shirt revealing a charcoal colored wife beater, clearly his shirt of choice. He tossed the collared shirt into the back of his car and turned his gaze on me. "You can come in with me if you want. I'm just dropping some shit off, so you can wait in the car too if you want, I don't really care."

"I…" I wasn't sure what to say. I felt uncomfortable about going to a party dressed like I was.

"Take those off," he said, pointing at my nylons, making my decision for me.

I looked at him, surprised and not sure what to do. Just take them off? He was just looking at me, waiting for me to act, so I tugged them down, slipped off my shoes, and pulled them off.

He rested his elbow on the steering wheel and watched me, like this was a show or something.

"Don't watch me like that," I said, wrinkling my forehead at him as I started to unbutton my blouse. He just smiled and didn't make a budge to look away. I took off the blouse to reveal just my little white tank and then folded up the bottom of my skirt so it wasn't so conservatively long. I tossed the blouse into the back of his car with his shirt and looked at him, raising my eyebrows at him for approval. He just opened his car door and stepped out as he fished into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes as he walked towards my side of the car.

I felt like maybe he was going to open my door for me, but I felt weird just waiting so I opened it myself and slipped my shoes back on. When I looked up he had his hand extended to me. I put my hand in his and he pulled me from the car, bumping the door closed behind me with his knee.

"These guys are a little rough around the edges," he said, his words slurring a little bit from the cigarette in his mouth that he was trying to light with a lighter that didn't seem to want to work. He shook it a couple times and tried again and finally a flame jumped up to the butt of the cigarette and he took a long drag before offering it to me. I shook my goody goody head and he put it back in the corner of his mouth without a word.

I wasn't sure what rough around the edges meant but it made me feel kind of nervous. Nervousness, to tack that on to everything else I was feeling just then. My hands and arms tingled with adrenaline. I'd never just left my house like that. That was something Christina did, not me. And here I was, doing… whatever we were doing. I didn't know what to think, or say, or do, or feel. When we got to the front door, Blake didn't even knock before opening it. He held out his arm to me and I stepped inside. He followed closely behind me and let his arm rest around my shoulders, casually—like he'd done it a million times before. It made my pulse quicken a little and I tried not to think of what it meant, or if it even meant something.

Inside there were people sitting on couches and leaning against walls. People everywhere, red plastic cups in their hands containing what I could only assume was some form of alcohol. There was loud pounding music and a cloud of smoke that smelled kind of like a skunk. I knew enough to know it was probably marijuana. It made my nose tickle. I pretended like I'd seen people smoking around me a million times though and tried not to look as awkward as I felt while I stood at Blake's side. He slid his hand down from around my shoulders to the small of my back and guided me around a couch and towards a hallway at the back of the room. Down it we walked, dodging people who greeted Blake. Blake just nodded to them, like they didn't matter, like we had more important things to do. We stopped at a door and Blake pounded on it a few times with his fist. I glanced behind us at the people I could see back in the living room. Most of them were looking at us and talking amongst themselves or laughing. Again, I felt ridiculously out of place, like I didn't belong. I wondered if they were laughing at me. I'm sure I looked ridiculous here in my nice good-girl clothes. But Blake's arm around my shoulders was comforting. He belonged.

The door opened and a guy stood before us with tousled hair and bloodshot eyes. "Blake!" he said, a big smile spreading across his face. He clapped Blake on the shoulder, but Blake looked like he normally did: in a good mood, but not particularly excited or impressed by the world around him.

"What up Pete."

"Dude, we've been waiting for you!" Pete said, waving for us to come into the room as he pushed the door open wider. I looked past him to see a couple girls sitting on a bed in mini skirts with big boobs precariously held in by tiny shirts.

"Hey Blake," one called, her voice sexy and kind of hoarse, probably from smoking weed. The room reeked of it. I could see her black bra through her tiny white tee. I thought it was kind of slutty, but I'm sure she thought I looked like a prude.

Blake pulled me into the room as his hand snaked around my waist. I looked up at him, I wasn't sure what was going on but he just took a long drag off his cigarette and watched the greasy looking guy Pete. Finally he removed the cig from his mouth and held it between his forefingers. "Hey Janine," he said to the girl, hardly giving her a glance as he watched Pete with fixed eyes. Pete was digging through a pair of pants hung over a chair. From one of the pockets he pulled out a couple bills, I couldn't tell what they were until he brought them over to Blake and handed them to him. There were about four or five twenties. Blake spread them with his thumb, cigarette still in hand, before shoving them into his back pocket. Then he stuck his cig back into his mouth reached into his front pocket and pulled a bag of what I could only assume was weed. I'd never actually seen it before. I just stared at the little green clumps of plant material. It was already too far away from me to really see it with any detail.

"Who's your friend?" Janine asked and her friend shot her a look like she shouldn't have asked.

"I'm Kris," I said, trying to be less pathetically intimidated than I was. I hoped my voice made me sound strong and not as out of place as I felt.

Blakes arm gave me a little squeeze. "You want a hit, baby?" he asked, looking at me. I didn't know for sure what he was asking, but I assumed he meant of weed. One of the other girls on the bed was puffing on a glass pipe. I was flattered though that he called me baby, it made me feel important. More important than the girls sitting on the bed. And more important than Janine, who clearly wanted his attention, but instead he was giving it to me. I wasn't sure what that meant either... but then again, I wasn't really sure of anything that night.

"Nah, I'm good," I said, trying to be chill and calm like none of this bothered me at all.

Blake adjusted the cigarette in his mouth and then glanced down at me, like he could sense how uncomfortable I was. He touched my cheek with his hand and pushed my hair out of my face. I just stared up into his bright, light grey eyes that were fixed on mine. They took my breath away and I wanted to forget that everyone in the room was staring at us. "Let's get out of here."

"Sure," I said, wanting nothing more. His hand found mine as he turned back to the people in the room.

"Alright Pete, I'm out."

"You're not going to stay?" Janine asked, her face pouty. It was then that I realized the girls weren't just staring at me like I was a stranger, they were actually very hostile gazes. I felt conceited for thinking it, but I was pretty sure that they were jealous.

Blake just sent her a look, and it wasn't particularly nice. "I've got better things to do tonight." I felt like it was said directly to her and that it was kind of mean, but then again, I didn't know what kind of history they had. I didn't know anything about Blake.

And with that we left, Blake leading me through crowds of people who parted quickly for him. Everyone seemed to have this air of respect for Blake, almost like they were kind of afraid of him, but he seemed more than welcome at the same time.

We went back outside into the fresh air and I took a deep breath of it. Blake led me to my side of the car again and opened the door for me again. And I felt… so… special. Those girls were so pretty and crazy and probably so much more fun than me, but they were jealous of me. I was the girl in his car, who's hand he held. I'd never been in that position before. Sure I'd dated people, but they were the quiet nerdy type, and it was never serious. Maybe a month or two of casual dates. Maybe some kissing, but I was never really that interested. It wasn't like this.

Blake was… so incredibly different from anyone I'd ever met before. He felt wild and dangerous. Things were starting to fit together in my head. The respect he'd gotten at the frat party, from football players and now from a bunch of potheads. There was something about him, about the way he held himself and walked. He was intimidating and commanding, but still so calm and casual, like he would be comfortable in any situation. It was so incredibly… fascinating to me.

"So what do you want to do?" he asked me, starting up his car. It purred at me, further making my stomach turn with sexual tension. His car was ridiculously sexy, smelling of him and leather and cigarettes. He backed out of the driveway and started down the street, his arm resting casually on the steering wheel, his other hand on the shift.

I had no idea even what there was to do. I tried to think of something, but finally just settled on trying to be clever, "I don't know, you're the one who wanted to see me." I didn't want to suggest anything stupid. He and I were clearly not on the same level.

He smiled. "Well, this other buddy of mine is having a party, we could go chill there. It's more legit than Pete's."

"Okay," I said.

He looked over at me and reached out to my face again and brushed my hair back to rest his hand on my shoulder. He rubbed it gently. "Relax, it'll be fun. I'll take you home whenever you want."

I hadn't thought about going home and I didn't really want to think about if my mother had noticed I was gone yet or what she'd do if she did. I didn't want to think about anything. I just wanted to be there in that moment.

...

I was just lighting my second cigarette by the time I took an unceremonious exit off the highway and, after a few miles, entered Sansom, OR. As I drove into the town, directly to my left was a sign saying "Welcome to Sansom" and past that was a small, two pump gas station. I was driving on what was clearly the main street of a very tiny town. On the right was what appeared to be a community center/police and fire station with a small parking lot in front of it. One police car sat in the lot. I wondered if that was the only one they had. I couldn't imagine a small town like this needing more than one cop.

Slowly I putted on, flicking the ash of my cigarette out over the edge of the door and consciously ignoring the dark bruise that was growing around my wrist.

To my left again I looked and saw a grocery store then a dirt road leading up over a hill. I wondered what was beyond it. There was an Inn at my right, its title reading "Sansom Inn, Café, and Lounge". How original. It was a huge building, built out of logs like an old cabin. Bright green grass grew along the road, just before the sidewalk, inviting me to lay down in it and just sleep there. It was starting to get hot already, at only 9 in the morning and I thought lying in the early sunshine would feel good, but I didn't lay in the sun anymore, I didn't wear bikinis anymore. It was a big Inn and I wondered why a little town like this had an Inn this size.

Past that was another crossroad, both directions leading to a few houses, separated by about four acres each. The next road—after a few more buildings, a grocery store, an auto parts store, a little book store, a few more little stores who's names I'd missed and the rest houses—was the same as the previous one, showing signs of a few houses widely separated by lush green grass speckled yellow with dandelions.

The road I was driving on was gray brick and a full two lanes wide, it's unevenness rattled my spine unpleasantly. Here and there a car was parked on the side of the road and two little old ladies walked out of the local grocery store and down the sidewalk. Further on was a store titled "Sansom Animal Feed" and across the street from that a small antiques store. Finally the road ended in a giant turnaround with a huge arena with bleachers surrounding it and everything, a few yards away from the very end. A small road led off to it and a couple boys sat up on the bleachers smoking.

I turned my truck around in that turnaround and drove back towards the way I came, reminding myself to check street signs. I held the little piece of paper in my hand against the wheel and looked down at it again. 2400 Walnut Street, it read. It was actually a pretty cute little town. Trees were growing from a patch of soil in the sidewalks about every eight feet. They were tall and green and very pretty. Each shop was well kept up and had these cute little touches to it. Like the feed store had three stuffed animals in the window; a cow, a horse, and a little chicken. And the Inn's sign had a little bull sleeping with Z's coming out of his mouth.

I found Walnut Street two intersections back, just before the Inn and turned up it, hoping I'd picked the right direction. I climbed up a hill for quite awhile and each of the roads leading off of it were dirt and had an address number, rather than a street sign. 1020 Walnut Street, 1300 Walnut Street, 1600 and 1640 Walnut Street, and then there weren't any for a long time. Until, finally, as I squinted through the angular morning sun, I saw it. 2400.

I turned slowly onto it, dust billowing up and, of course, into my topless car. Lining the narrow dirt road was a long fence on both sides. I took a long drag from the cigarette, my heart suddenly starting to pound. I was here. I couldn't believe I was here. As I drove, gradually a shape in the distance started to take form. A couple buildings, and a large turnaround. In the far distance to my right I could see a number of horses grazing in a pasture. Horses. I couldn't believe he had horses and no one had told me. My mother had never once mentioned horses. But maybe he didn't even live here anymore. I didn't know how old that address was.

I pulled up into the turn around and parked my car awkwardly in front of what looked most like a house and least like a barn in comparrison to the other buildings. I looked around, trying to ignore the searing throb in my head from my black eye that was growing worse in the glare of the early morning sun. Finally, flinching from the pain in my side and back, I climbed out of the car. Every inch of my body ached in a way that was far worse than anything I'd ever felt before. My body ached. My heart ached. I ached.

After taking a deep, painful breath, I walked up to the front door, internally crossing my fingers that someone was home. I pushed at my sunglasses and pulled the brim of my baseball cap down a little more, hoping to hide what I knew was there. I knocked loudly and then took a step back to wait, listening intently for any sound of life.

Nothing.

I knocked again.

Nothing still.

"Hey!" a voice called out behind me and I whipped around. "Who the hell are you?" an angry voice from a man, who was marching towards me, ripping off his gloves as he approached. He wore a dark brown cowboy hat with smears of light colored dust on the brim. "Jesus, could you have stirred up anymore dust? Fucking ridiculous," he was saying, his steps broad and slightly awkard.

"I'm looking for Mark Stone," I called out weakly, taking a strong draw off my cigarette for support.

And then he stopped suddenly, fifteen feet or so away from me. His face was tanned and lined with years of hard work. He was squinting at me, which made the lines around his eyes wisely deep. He looked suspicious suddenly and slowly lifted the hat off his head. "Yeah, and who's looking?" He tapped the hat against his jeaned thigh to loose some of the dust off of it and then put it back on, adjusting it to just the right placement.

I hesitated and then, in a momentary feeling of defiance against this snappy rude man, I said, "his daughter, Kristen. Who are you?"

His gloves slipped from his fingers and hit the dirt, sending up a dramatic little poof of dust. "Kristen?" he asked, and his voice was sharply hoarse and for the first time I realized who he must be. And suddenly I didn't know what to do. I hadn't thought this far ahead. It had been a long shot, one of those fantasies that seemed infinitely better than the present situation. But maybe this had been a terrible mistake. Maybe he'd never wanted to be in my life and still didn't.

He took a slow step towards me, and then a few more, his eyes even more narrowed than before. He had light brown hair that looked like it had been lightened even more by the sun and skin which was almost as dark. And a face that reminded me of Christina's frown while she worked on her math homework.

My throat suddenly felt tight, suddenly aching almost as bad as my eye. And I couldn't speak, what could I possibly say. His eyes were searching me, maybe for a murmur of confirmation, maybe for proof to himself. But I was sickly aware of what I must look like, my windswept and touseled hair. My swollen lip, with its split and likely a similar amount of bruising around the area, wasn't hidden by my sunglass or cap and I was wearing a sweater, but I'd pushed the sleeves up past my elbows earlier that morning. I glanced down at the wrist that held my cigarette, it was even worse than I'd expected. I could almost see the individual finger marks.

"Do," he began and then hesitated, "do you want to come inside?" He gestured towards the door I was standing next to.

"Sure," I said, rolling the end of the cigarette between my fingers so the burning ash dropped out over the edge of the railing into the dirt. Then I stuffed what was left into my pocket to throw away later and stepped back onto the side porch so he could reach the door. He climbed the steps slowly, purposefully. He pulled off his hat again, his eyes on me. This close I could see them travel, pausing at my wrist, my shoulder, my face, and then he turned to the door and pushed it open. I followed him inside.

It smelled warm and musty and it was dim. The first room was a living room that opened into a kitchen furthest from me. The furniture seemed old, used. But the couch looked comfortable in a way that a couch could only look after being used for years. It was the kind of stuff my mother hated. She hated old, she hated when things looked used. She liked clean, tidy, untouched. And I think I liked it simply because it wasn't any of those things.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked, awkwardly walking into the kitchen and opening the fridge to look inside, like he didn't know how to not stare at me. I couldn't blame him.

"No thanks," I said. Honestly I wasn't sure what I wanted or I'd even expected. It had just seemed so infinitely better than where I'd been. "Look," I said, "maybe this is stupid. I should just go, I don't know why I came." I turned to walk away, feeling stupid, vulnerable, sick.

"No, Kristen," he called out, I heard the fridge swish shut. When I turned around he looked at a loss for words. "Are you okay?" he finally asked.

I hadn't expected that. I didn't know how to answer. No, no I wasn't okay. Nothing was okay. Everything was really, really wrong. "I," I began, "I guess... I was just wondering if I could stay for a few days." And never go back, ever again.

He looked taken aback. I wondered if he'd expected me to ask for money. The silence spread between us, until, finally, he said, "yes, of course."