Chapter Four

 

 

 

Matt stormed out to his truck in the parking lot. The trip down the stairs had done nothing to cool his outrage. What had happened to Claire? What happened to the girl he’d known?

He kicked the tire of his truck before opening the driver’s side door. He stood in front of it for a moment, then slammed it closed as hard as he could. A few deep breaths later, he opened the door again and climbed in. He took even more deep breaths as he started the engine.

The path he drove took him out to the shoreline. He parked at the foot of one of the massive dunes that formed a wall along the lake, protecting the town from wind and water spouts that would pop up with the summer storms. A hike up the dune was a physical struggle of sliding sand that Matt welcomed in his current mood. At the top, he pulled off the dress shoes he’d probably just ruined in his temper to escape somewhere solitary.

As he stood at the peak of the dune, Matt let the sounds of the water wash over him. Even in the dark, he could see the white crest of the small waves curling onto the sand. The sounds and smells of the beach had always brought him peace in the darkest moments of his life. He watched the slow drift of lights, showing the path of boats as they made their way over the black waters. He could hear commotion down the beach, near the private homes that were surely hosting parties on a gorgeous June night like this one. He buried his toes until he reached the cool sand below the surface, wrapping his arms around his knees as he sat to stare out at the horizon.

His thoughts raced, still trying to figure out the change in Claire. Looking different was to be expected—to a degree, of course. The woman he’d left in the hotel room had seemed like an entirely different person, though, and not like Claire at all.

The Claire he remembered had vowed to never cut her long blonde hair. The girl he’d grown up with had loved the outdoors, had climbed into his truck with an awkward sort of agility. She’d been kind and generous, not scathing and cynical like that woman. His Claire had smiled genuinely, not with practiced insincerity.

Matt’s anger melted away, surrounded by the quiet rush of waves and the subtle shift of the sand beneath him with each small adjustment of his position. The curiosity remained though, again making him wonder. What had happened to his Claire?

 

* * * *

 

Later in the evening—later than he was used to arriving home—Matt parked his truck outside the old downtown house. In the front window, he could see the flash of light that indicated his housemate was still awake.

He locked the front door behind him, waved a quick hello to Jeremy—who pounded his fingers into the buttons of a gaming controller in response—then Matt took the stairs two at a time, retreating to his bedroom. The routine followed—keys on the squat bookcase next to the door, shoes toed off and kicked into the closet, button-up shirt pulled off over his head and tossed toward the often-overflowing hamper—then Matt finished the circuit of the room by dropping into the stool at his drafting table. He pulled a set of pages from their storage tube, swept an invisible layer of dust from the table’s surface then smoothed out the blueprints.

He knew his memory of the old Parker place was fuzzy. He hadn’t been inside often, especially when he and Allison had been teenagers and her parents had been strictly ‘no boys allowed’. What he did remember was the outside. The house had been stately—a monument in the neighborhood—and Matt wanted desperately to bring that feeling back.

The blueprint in front of him would sit on the same footprint as the previous house. All the exterior would be the same, from the steep, gabled roof down to the decorative milled lattice work on the foundations. Inside, though, he knew he would make adjustments. A more modern kitchen, of course, and the bedrooms would be larger than those in most traditional Victorian homes. He worked on a few minor changes, feeling pleased that this portion of his dream project felt close to done. It would likely be years down the road before it became reality, but Matt was glad to devote all his minimal spare time to its completion.

Leaving his desk cluttered with plans and dreams, Matt stepped over to the bed that dominated the room. He picked up a braid of rope that had been haphazardly tossed there that morning. Flopping onto the comforter to stare at the ceiling, Matt couldn’t stop his thoughts from returning to Claire. Absently he unraveled the hemp bundle, running his fingers over the tightly wound cords. He crossed his ankle over his knee and stared at the ceiling as he lay on his back. The texture of the rope in his hand conjured a memory that never failed to make him smile.

They couldn’t have been any older than ten. Claire had been one of those girls who rode bikes into the woods with the boys, not a prissy sort who turned her nose up at the thought of dirt. She still injected a bit of girl into their pretending, being the schoolmistress who scolded the raiding bank robbers or the treacherous witch who cursed the knights, but she played as freely and wildly as the boys. This time, she was the evil queen in the tower, guarding her treasure from the noble bandits. When she was defeated, surrounded by the boys who drew cardboard wrapping paper tube swords, she cackled with glee.

“Why, I’ll simply turn into a crow and fly far away!” Before she could finish the spell, Matt had trapped her hands. The other kids had cheered him on as they wrestled in the dirt, but he emerged victorious, helped by his band of merry men. He stood smugly as Claire had fought against the rough twine, keeping her tied to the skinny birch tree.

“Matty!” she’d shrieked, “let me go right now!”

He had gotten closer, gloating with his victory. “Nope. Now you can never leave. You’ll stay here in my tower forever!”

Matt cringed, remembering how much it had hurt when she’d hauled off and kicked him. He’d been lucky she knocked out the loose tooth, not a permanent one.

Shaking his head, musing that women were never easy to understand, Matt continued practicing the speed of his single column tie. Around his leg twice, creating the loop, wrapping the bight over and under and around and through, the pattern was coming easier and easier the more he played with it. Satisfied with yet another project under way, Matt tossed the rope to the floor then turned off his light.