“Someone like me?”
“A good person.”
“I’m sorry you haven’t come across many good people in your life, Damian.”
“It’s okay.”
“No.” She shook her head. “It’s not. But I understand. This whole situation is odd, so I get it.”
“It’s not just this situation,” I confessed. “I don’t do well.”
“With what?”
“Other humans.”
“Oh,” she said in understanding. “Well, people can be a bit overrated.”
“You love people.”
She laughed and shrugged. “For better or worse.”
The corner of my mouth twitched a little as I tried to pull my thoughts together. “I’ll do better, as I said with the vows. I’ll try to be better at not being the asshole that I am. I’m sorry I’m an asshole. I’m working on it. Just, please… Be patient with me.”
A softness found her brown eyes as she tilted her head to stare my way. Her mouth parted, and I traced the curves of her full, heart-shaped lips with my mind. It was amazingly easy for a human to set their stare on her and become fixated on her perfection. Stella looked like a piece of art that would be highlighted in the Louvre Museum.
Breathtaking.
Even when I was a dick toward her, a part of me noticed her remarkable existence. She didn’t know it, but sometimes it was hard simply being around her beauty.
“You’re not an asshole, Damian,” she whispered, her voice dripping with a kindness I wasn’t certain I deserved. “You just have asshole tendencies.”
I chuckled a little.
Her eyes lit up.
I stopped my laughter.
Her eyes dimmed.
“I wished that stayed longer,” she mentioned, speaking of my laughter.
I didn’t have enough nerve to tell her that I wished it had, too.
“I’ll let you get back to work, but please, Damian, truly,” she said as she walked away, “get a weekly massage. You’ll sleep better.”
“What makes you think I don’t sleep well?”
She smiled once, a very knowing smile, and then went on her way.
After she left the space, the room felt darker.
Perhaps she was right. Perhaps darkness did have a way of following me around.
11
Damian
* * *
I started my morning with a workout in the gym on the property. Lifting heavy shit and dropping it was one of my favorite pastimes. Some people went to therapy—others went to the gym. I was the latter.
After my workout, I usually showered and then went to prepare breakfast, but on my last set of deadlifts, the doorbell rang, making me grumble with annoyance. I headed to the foyer and opened the door to find an older woman standing there with huge photo albums in her hands. I knew her, well, I didn’t know her, but I’d seen her at the funeral and when she did the wedding ceremony. She lived in the guesthouse on the property.
She had a head full of gray hair and wore a flowy hippie-type dress with white platform sandals. Even with the inches on the shoes, she only stood about five-foot-six. She was a tiny woman, but her energy felt larger than most.
“Hi there.” She smiled. “Even though I married you to Stella, we haven’t officially met and held a conversation. I wanted to give you time to settle in. I’m Maple, Stella’s grandmother—by heart, not blood.”
“She’s not here,” I commented.
“I know, it’s Saturday. She’s in town taking an art class. Can I come in?” Maple asked. Kind of asked, I should say. Come to think of it, it wasn’t a question at all as she pushed her way through the door. “Did you just finish your workout?” she asked, making herself extremely comfortable in said house.
“I wasn’t quite done yet,” I lied.
“Does lying come easy to you?” she asked, moving toward the dining room. She set her basket down on the table as I followed her. She turned my way and placed her hands against her hips. “Or does it make you feel a bit dirty?”
I don’t feel much of anything.
“Yes.” She looked at me with such a genuine look of concern as if she could read my mind. “I can see that.”
“I’m sorry, do you need something or—”
“I brought you some photo albums of Kevin’s photography. I figured you might like to see it, seeing how you’re a photographer, too.”
How did she know that? I didn’t talk to anyone about my photography hobby. Maybe she’d seen my cameras lying around or saw me outside taking photographs at the coastline.
She smiled. “I’m just gifted at reading people, son. Don’t let me freak you out too much. I only believe in good magic.”
What was she talking about?
“Anyway, I’m also here about my Stella,” Maple said, though I was still stuck on the magic comment. Was she a witch? What in the hell…?
“Oh?” I asked, trying not to be freaked out by this odd woman.
“Now, my Stella, she is sensitive. You can tell her feelings simply by looking at her face, and she is one to speak on her feelings, too. She communicates them. She wants to make sure everyone in every situation is comfortable, even if it’s at the expense of her own comfort.”