Chloe (15 page)

“Amen,” Kathleen concludes. Chloe waits to see if there is
more to be done. After all, she did not hear the word grace used even once.
“Help yourselves,” Kathleen grants.

James takes his food in proper serving proportions. Kathleen
does the same. Chloe, on the other hand, piles the food on her plate until it
is practically overflowing. She eats with the fork only, setting upon the meal
with gusto and the appetite of a starving soldier.

“Tastes great!” she exclaims. She does not notice James and
Kathleen staring at her and then staring at each other.

“Thank you,” Kathleen says. They eat in silence for the
first few moments, the alternate clicking of forks serving in place of
conversation. Kathleen is the first to broach a subject Chloe hoped to avoid.
Then again, the woman is a pastor. “Haven’t seen you in church since the day
you made your commitment.”

“Mom,” James chides in a whispery murmur.

“It’s ok,” Chloe reassures him. She shrugs sheepishly. “Not
quite used to being noticed. It’s nice.” To Kathleen, “I’ve been focused on
writing and Sundays are great for inspiration,” she explains. Somehow she
doubts the excuse will suffice.

Kathleen considers over a polite mouthful of chicken. “James
is always praying for you.” Chloe blinks. She recalls what she said to her
mother the night before.

“Mom,” James says, more sternly.

“Just making conversation,” Kathleen shields. She has lost
track of the times Chloe has declined or failed to show up for one of their
dinners. Now that the girl is finally here, it is high time they all get to
know one another. She gestures to her son with her fork, hoping to spark his
nerve. “You’re just sitting there, as if you have nothing to say to this
awesome young lady.” Chloe blushes, pushing a cucumber around her plate. James,
doing much the same thing with his rice, wants to stick his head in some sand
somewhere.

“He’s not very good at making conversation,” Chloe says.

Kathleen is not sure about that. More than likely, Chloe is
not good at holding up her end. James is easy to talk to. Chloe seems quite
laconic. Strange. Distracted. But she may as well humor her. It relieves the
tension. “IKR?” Kathleen concurs, using text speak.

Chloe smiles, turning to playfully roll her eyes at James.
“OMG.”

James’ expression goes flat. Deadpan, “I should probably
excuse myself from this table.”

“Sorry,” Kathleen chuckles, dabbing at her lips with her
napkin. “I’m going to go check on the cake.”

“I love cake,” Chloe says excitedly. Her eyes dart down to
her large meal, which she has put an impressive dent in. “But I have nowhere to
put it.”

“Then you can take it home,” Kathleen suggests. She will not
take no for an answer. She and James just cannot finish another cake by
themselves. She exits the room.

“Your mom is cool,” Chloe tells James, unable to hide her
smile. Kathleen is practically Cleopatra’s polar opposite. She seems like a
great mother and a very well put together woman. She could probably teach her
mother a thing or two about parenting and about life in general, especially how
to cook a decent meal. This is the most delicious thing she has ever tasted.
Chloe never knew food could bring people together this way. She grew up eating
in front of the television or in her room.

James nods appreciatively for her approval. His face lights
up as if a thought occurs to him. He sets his fork down. “Got something for
you.” James picks up a manual from off the ground under his seat. “It’s a 2012
Writers Market.” He offers it to her.

Chloe takes it with a wistful grin. “Oh, yeah. Almost bought
one’a these in the books to—” She stops. Her brows knit together. She stares at
the cover, reflecting on a certain memory that she has yet to put to rest.
There is something strange about it: stories that do not match up. Chloe is
lost in thought for a moment.

“I have the books,” she whispers, picturing the stack on her
bed. “So… I must have been to the bookstore… right?” She glances up at James,
as though he has an answer. The sight of him is soothing, but his expression is
not. James looks on from his chair, clearly not following her train of thought.
Chloe shakes her head. “Don’t know if it was a dream or not. Anyway. Thank
you.” She brandishes the book with a little wave of her hand.

“What are you talking about?” he wants to know.

Chloe shrugs, as his guess is as good as hers. “Not sure.
Think I’m losing touch with reality.” James reaches out and touches her hand. Chloe
pulls her hand away, using the silent excuse that she wants to hold the book
with both hands, as though it is a safety blanket. “If I don’t know when I’m
dreaming, how will I know when I’m awake?”

James eyes her warily before he suggests, “Maybe you’ve been
writing too much.” He uses a cautious tone. He always uses that tone when he is
afraid of making her mad.

Chloe jumps at the chance to change the subject. It has been
awhile, though she cannot recall precisely how long, since she arrived at
James’ house with her teetering stack of material. “Have you read any?”

James grins. “Read them all. Why do you think I got you this
book? It’s time for you to approach publishers.”

Chloe looks at the book in her hands. Then, she hugs it to
her chest. “You really think so?”

“You’re an awesome writer. The world needs to know your
name, and they will.”

Suddenly, there is a loud crash coming from the kitchen.
James and Chloe quickly push their chairs back and move towards the sound.
James is the first to round the corner of the scene.

The dishwasher is open. The cake is sitting on an oven mitt,
cooling on the stovetop. There is a small stack of glass dessert plates beside
it. Kathleen is picking up glass shards from off the tiled kitchen floor.
Apparently one of the plates did not make it onto the stack. James kneels and
begins to help her. Chloe is worried that they will cut their hands.

Kathleen, who appears to be shaken, answers the question
that everyone is thinking. “Thought I saw a man standing outside the window.”

Chloe hurries to the window, leaning over the sink so her
eyes can scrutinize the yard through the glass and the reflection of the
kitchen behind her. Patrick is her first thought. Patrick is always her first
thought when something bizarre happens. If Kathleen, a pastor, can see him,
that is saying something, right? She looks out in all directions, but does not
see anyone. James looks up at her. Chloe looks back at him and shakes her head.
Even though she cannot see anyone, an expression of concern lingers on her
face.

Taking the hint, James rises from the floor and strides to
the counter, and removes a knife from the kitchen drawer.

“I’ll go check it out,” he tells them, crossing the kitchen.

“Be careful, sweetie,” his mother advises, seeming reluctant
to let him go.

James leaves. Chloe kneels and helps Kathleen with the
shards of glass still hazarding the floor. She dumps a few pieces into the
waste basket. She uses a handheld brush and dust pan to collect the rest.
Meanwhile, Kathleen is staring at Chloe. Chloe notices, but pretends not to as
she dumps the pieces into the trash and runs the bristles over the pan.

“They say eyes are windows into a person’s soul,” Kathleen
says cryptically. “You know what I see in your eyes Chloe? Fear. Confusion. Pain.”

Chloe kicks herself. She must have let her hope and dread
that the man Kathleen saw was Patrick find a way onto her face. That is the
last thing she wants to discuss with a pastor, let alone James’ mother. What
would she think? Her father is dead. James knows that. Chloe struggles with
what to say. “Read a book once,” Chloe mumbles. “It was a very crappy book, but
it had the most awesome cover.”

Kathleen gets the reference. She shakes her head. “Not
judging you Chloe.” Her eyes track over Chloe’s face. “James told me you have
some…” She chooses her words carefully. “unexplained issues. Unresolved pain.
That you’ve been… seeing things.”

Chloe sits back on the balls of her feet, struck that James
would break her confidence like that. “James told you that?”

Kathleen nods. As though it should be obvious, “He talks
about you all the time.”

Chloe averts her eyes. She hooks her hair behind her ear and
brings the rest over her shoulder. “And I’m flattered, but some things are
personal.”

“I’m sorry,” Kathleen remits. She smoothes out the apron
covering her Sunday dress and shakes her head, pursing her lips. “I shouldn’t
have told you that.”

Chloe wholly agrees. “But you did,” she reminds her gently.
“I’m gonna go.” She finds her feet. She hesitates in mid-step. “Thank you for
dinner,” she adds as an afterthought. It does not occur to Chloe that she has
said
thank you
more times this evening than she has in a year. Kathleen
watches her go. This dinner did not go at all according to plan.

Then again, when it comes to Chloe, little does.

Chloe strides out of the front door as James rounds the
corner of the garage, still clutching the kitchen knife. “Think the coast is
clear—” James begins, clearly under the assumption that Chloe came out to check
on things. But Chloe breezes past him and heads up the road. James blinks. His
shoulder slump.

“
Mooom!
” he calls in exasperation, inclined to
believe she is the culprit. He runs into the house.

•

James lies awake in his bedroom, staring up at the ceiling
and trying to find patterns in the textured paint. A few minutes ago, he
managed to clear off a sliver of his bed and create a new pile of clutter on
the floor, enough to lay down if he does not stray from this plank-like
position. He needs and wants to be alone. The living room, where his famous
couch is, is public space. He desires privacy.

The feel of the mattress is a balm to the tension in his
back. He was extremely nervous when Chloe actually showed up. For a few moments,
he actually started wondering if he would be able to eat at all, which is very
uncharacteristic of him. James eats a lot and he is not ashamed to admit it.

James recounts the dinner with Chloe and his mother,
favoring the time before everything turned disastrous and Chloe stormed out of
the house, breezing past him without a word. Without a single word! He should
never have left her and his mother alone.

Chloe left the Writer’s Market book he got for her on the
dining room table, making James question whether or not she really appreciates
him for the gift. Chloe has never been one to say thank you, let alone mean it.
But still.

Perhaps he should trek over to her place and drop it off. It
would give him an excuse to see her again. Maybe she would even let him
apologize, especially after coming all that way just to return it to her. No…
No, not tonight.

James purses his lips, wiggling his toes under his socks. He
wonders how he was supposed to keep something like Chloe’s freaky secret to
himself. Seeing things, namely experiencing delusions vivid enough to be
presumed real and conversing with one’s dead father, is a pretty big deal.
People see therapists and doctors for serious things like that!

It frightens him. Chloe Taylor frightens him in a lot of
ways, to be honest. As much as it might turn other guys on, he is hardly
inclined to be head over heels for a psychopath…

He needed to tell someone and as a pastor his mother seemed
like the ideal candidate. It was cathartic at the time and eased his worries
tremendously when his mother suggested and reinforce his theory that it could
stem from Chloe being a writer.

He still kicks himself though. He should have known his
mother would find a way to bring it up and blab. Life with Chloe is
unpredictable. He can never tell when something is about to go wrong.

Strangely enough, in hindsight, it is usually when things
are going remarkably well.

•

The beach is quiet today, albeit the cries of the gulls and
the break of the waves on the shore. The air is thick with the salty spray of
the sea. She can see fishing boats and sail barges in the distance. A bell
rings faraway, whether from the lighthouse or a lighted buoy. Chloe sits alone
in the sand, watching the sun go down. James comes up behind her, carrying the
Writers Market that she left at his house and a bundle of roses. He sits beside
her. She is not quite happy to see him.

“How’d you find me?” she asks him after a moment, glowering
into the distance as she hugs her knees. He can hear the disapproval in her
voice.

James swallows dryly and shrugs. He does not want to scare
her off. “Just had to look in all the places I thought you would be. This was
my last stop.” He is pretty proud of himself for finding her. When Chloe does
not want to be found, she is great at hiding.

“I wanted to be alone,” she mutters in a dangerously low
tone.

“Just wanted to talk to you a sec…”

“Sure.” She waits for a count of one. “Time’s up. Please
go.”

James levels her with a determined frown. “I’m not going
anywhere.”

Chloe shrugs stubbornly and shifts to stand up. “Fine. Then
I’ll go.”

Chloe tries to rise, but James scrambles to his feet and
holds her back by the arm. Chloe glares at him. “Please,” he insists. “I’m
trying to apologize.” Chloe relaxes, but her face is frozen in a scornful
frown. She tugs her arm out of his grasp. “Mom is from a broken home,” he
supplies. “Her own marriage ended badly. Only good thing that came from it…
according to her… was me.” Chloe blinks. James swallows thickly. He hates
talking about this. “I understand your life better than you know. Dad was very
abusive.” James has vivid, disturbing memories of it.

•

It is late afternoon. Theirs is a small house with cramped
rooms, which does not provide very many places to hide. The three of them are
in the living room. James’ dad, who has just arrived home from the job he
cannot stand, is raving about James leaving his toys all over the place and how
upset he is for tripping over one of them. Kathleen stands in the way of the
man reaching their son, assuring him that she will make sure the toys are put
away—that he is too small to always remember to do it himself.