The Locket

“Something smells wonderful,” I heard sweet Maggie call out before I saw her enter the kitchen. Maggie was really beautiful. Her auburn hair was swept up in a messy bun, framing her flawless skin. Her cheeks were pink from being outside in the early fall chill.

Oh, you’ve got it bad, girl.

Maybe it was my zeal after spending the day with Brent, but she looked radiant standing before me.

Placing two plates on the table, a colossal smile stretched my face. She noticed and smiled back at me adoringly.

Right Cassidy, if someone was designed for each of us, then why was Maggie still alone?

She asked how my day went and I filled her in, leaving out any part about Brent. She listened to me rattle on all through dinner. Finally acknowledged my selfish behavior, I asked about her day. She told me it was rather uneventful, and that she had taken a long walk along the river, picking some wild flowers to make a wreath for the fall.

My thoughts drifted while Maggie spoke, fixating on Brent, her voice a low hum in the background. She continued, while I mentally played out every interaction with Brent today searching for some understanding as to why I was feeling the need to drive to his house and be near him. Replaying the entire afternoon in slow motion, I convinced myself that Layken may have been right about him. Maybe he did like me, and I liked him, unequivocally.

No…No you don’t. You can’t get close to someone, Claire. Think about it. Could you really say goodbye to him?

Maggie’s was waving her hand in front of my face, attempting to bring me back to reality. “Earth to Claire,” she chimed, snapping her fingers now, her wrinkles creasing around her eyes.

I shook my head, feeling the flush in my cheeks. “Oh, sorry, Mags. What did you say?”

Maggie raised a disapproving brow. “Are you alright, dear? You seem distracted.”

I lied. “Sorry, I’m fine. I think I’m just a little tired, first day stress and all.”

“Well, okay,” she said, smiling her disbelief. “But if you need to talk, you know I’m always here.”

Picking up my plate, I stood up from the table and kissed her on the forehead. “Yes, I know. Thanks. I love you.”

One of the great things about Maggie was that she never pushed. She gently reminded me she was around, but never attempted to drag things out of me. Given the thoughts I was having just then, I was extremely grateful for that.

Cleaning up after dinner, I washed the dishes and put the left-overs in the fridge. When I finished, I headed upstairs to get ready for bed, hoping sleep would not elude me as my mind was racing about Brent. Our banter about the book I was reading had me reeling. He spoke so passionately about it. I wondered if there was a hidden meaning behind his analysis. Was he was trying to tell me something?

You are out of control. It’s just a book. Go to bed!

Undressing, I looked in the mirror noticing a bruise on my chest much darker than I expected from where Logan pushed me; not surprising with my fair complexion. Moving closer to the mirror, I got a better look at the markings on my skin and I thought I saw the faint impression of a handprint. I was all the more thankful Brent was there. Thinking about him defending my honor caused my skin to boil and my cheeks to blush, which was getting rather annoying. Prior to today, my father was the only boy to have me blushing, usually after he embarrassed me.

Spending a long time in the shower, the hot water beat down on me, soothing and relaxing away my stress. I got out and brushed my hair and teeth. Pulling on some grey sweatpants and an old t-shirt that belonged to my dad, it still smelled like him. I shook my head to keep myself from thinking too long about him so I wouldn’t cry.

Crawling under the covers, I sank into the pillow and began reading my book. It was one of my all-time favorite classic love stories. Thinking back to Brent’s comment about it being sad, I wondered what he really meant about forgoing what was designed as important. I shrugged, thinking Layken was right. Brent did seem so much older than he was. Brent continued to distract my reading while I compared myself with Lucy and her conflicted feelings for George. From the moment I laid eyes on him, he made me feel things – things I’ve never felt – things that I wasn’t sure I should feel.

You’re in big trouble, girl.

I laid there with a giant grin stretched across my face, reading the same paragraph again and again, attempting to retain what it said.

Finally giving up on reading, I got out of bed and went to the window to open it for some fresh air. Maggie was at the end of the driveway speaking to someone. She shifted and I felt my heart in my throat. She was talking to Brent. What is he doing here? I turned away from the window so he didn’t see me. A million thoughts ran through my brain. Was he here to see me, if so, what would I say to him?

When I returned to the window, I felt incredibly foolish. It wasn’t Brent but rather an older man with glasses. He was tall, towering over Maggie. He must be a neighbor, though I had met all of them and he didn’t look familiar. He appeared to be explaining something to Maggie and she responded in a scolding manner. The man didn’t seem fazed, gesturing to the house as though he was discussing its occupant. Immediately, I thought it must be Brent’s Dad. He was obviously here to make sure that Maggie’s odd niece steered clear of his son.

My chagrin grew. What was wrong with people in this town? My family was a little eccentric but totally harmless. In fact, they were very kind people that would never harm a fly. Yet, most everyone in this town acted as though we were some kind of infectious disease with no cure. People really were gullible, believing our house was haunted. All the ghost stories floating around about my family were just plain silly to me. But most of the people in this town actually believed them.

Anger continued its invasion on my thoughts. I headed down stairs, set on defending Maggie. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, Maggie was entering the front door. She looked up at me surprised.

With a warm smile she said, “Oh, hi honey. I thought you’d gone up to bed.”

“Who were you talking to?” I responded, holding back anger until she answered.

“That was Mr. Marshall, honey.” Registering the confusion on my face, she continued, “His son is Logan.”

Great! Even worse than Brent’s dad.