“I still don’t know why or how our relationship changed but I’m not sorry it did. I loved you and wanted you to love me back. Now that you do, I’m fucking thrilled.”
“I’m happy also, Brent,” I confessed. I wasn’t sorry either, afraid maybe, but not sorry. I knew he had felt something when we met, and his coldness had confused me. But, how did I miss how tortured he was feeling?
“Yeah well, I think it sucks,” Reese shouted, showing off that maturity I loved so much. “So, if you love birds are done, we should get going,” he suggested, shifting back against the seat, placing the buds back in his ears. He turned his music up so loud that we could hear it through the headphones. He stared out of the window, his jaw was tight, and his lips pressed flat. I knew he was angry, and I wanted to say something to make it right, but words didn’t seem sufficient. I turned back in my seat watching the trees pass as Brent pulled back onto the road.
The roads were bumpy and needed to be repaired. They only lasted a year or two out here with the winters. Brent’s warmth was all round me. His scent dominated each inhale of breath, powder and spice. After several minutes of silence, Brent took my hand in his and whispered, “I love you.”
Why was I not shouting it back to him? Instead, I pursed my lips and slinked into my seat? I felt that way about him and I wanted to say it. What happened if we had to part? Or worse, what happened if I said it and accepted I might have to feel the hurt of losing him someday? I had only ever said those words to my parents and they left me. That gut wrenching pain was something I never wanted to endure again in this life time.
“Don’t, Claire,” Brent interrupted with a bitter tone knowing exactly where my thoughts were going. His expression saddened. He kept his eyes on the road and reached across the seat using his finger to relax my pursed lips.
I gulped. “Don’t what?” I asked innocently, begging my voice not to break.
He narrowed his eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh, annoyed that he had to explain. “I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. You’re stuck with me.”
He was right. It was impossible. Denying the words wouldn’t change my feelings and definitely wouldn’t change how it would destroy me to be apart from him.
“I love you too,” I whispered through half a breath, leaving behind any moments of doubt.
“I know,” Brent teased.
I wasn’t sure if I dozed off in Maine or Vermont but I woke to the sound of Brent and Reese talking. I kept my eyes closed so they would continue.
“I know it’s not your fault,” Reese offered. “Maybe it’s mine. You know that girl, Brooke, at school?”
Brent responded. “Yeah, I know her. Claire says she likes you.”
Reese hesitated. “Yeah well, after school that day, the day you found Claire, I should have been there, but I wasn’t, because I was with her.”
“Oh well, that doesn’t mean anything,” Brent assured him.
“I’m not finished,” Reese continued. “I took her home and she invited me to come in. She kissed me and I didn’t stop her. I wanted her to. I knew I shouldn’t have and it was wrong but I kissed her back. I really messed up, right? I didn’t even realize I was capable of thinking about a girl other than Claire that way, and it surprised the heck out of me when I did. After I left, and I told her I didn’t like her that way. I felt really bad about it, and she was so upset. I’m such an ass.” His voice cracked with guilt.
“You’re not an ass, Reese,” I said softy without turning to look at him. “You’re just a boy,” I joked.
Brent proceeded. “I’m with Claire on this one. I don’t think all of this was because you kissed some girl you shouldn’t have. Things changed before that, even for me, in subtle ways, and for Claire. We just need to find out why.”
I smiled, thinking that Brent was always the voice of reason.
Reese relaxed. “Right, hopefully Maggie can tell us how to reach an Agent. That would be a start,” he added.
We drove in silence for several miles, all of us deep in thought, trying to piece together an explanation.
“Turn right here,” Reese yelled. None of us had been paying attention to the GPS and nearly passed the entrance to Reese’s house.
The house was at the end of a ridiculously long driveway on top of a hill. It was a beautiful, contemporary log cabin, the kind of home you always saw in magazines – usually for one of those win your dream home give-a-ways. A giant tire hung from a tree above the lake and Reese told us how they launched themselves into the lake from it when they vacationed here. When I exited the car, I heard a boat in the distance. It felt really good to stretch. Birds were singing and squirrels were gathering acorns. It was mid-day and the sun was glaring out from behind a fluffy white cloud, reflecting on the surface of the lake. A flock of geese flew overhead, honking, scattering across the pristine blue sky.
“Maggie,” I called out, in case she was outside, but no one replied. Other than the expected sounds of nature, the woods were quiet.
As the boys and I approached the house, we spotted the front door was opened slightly.
“That’s odd,” Reese said, trying to contain any worry in his voice.
Panic clung to every inch of my skin. Fear weighed me down like I was trapped. The boys went inside, both telling me to wait outside, their request meaningless because I was firmly grounded by trepidation. Unconfirmed worry continued to control me and I wanted
to scream.
The pain that crashed into me was excruciating and I dropped to the ground hugging my knees to my body. Maggie’s struggle and hurt penetrated my brain, one picture at a time. She was screaming for help, yelling at someone.