Page 20 of Letting Go

His "I don’t like teasing," is uttered as he dramatically scooches down, arms limp at his sides.

"Hey Cory, man, I'm sorry. My bad, I forgot."

He lays there for a moment and then I stick my hand out. Finn's pretty good at getting him re-routed.

But Cory's not taking the bait. "It's okay," he says suddenly, rejecting my hand, but he sits back up.

"I think I want some of Aunt Chloe's Chocolate Malted Milk ice-cream." Laurel unfurls herself from the loveseat and holds the front screen door open. Cory looks at me and then runs in under his mother's arm.

Without wagging a finger at me, Finn just says. "No teasing. He doesn’t get it."

"I know, I know. I forgot."

Chloe yawns. "I have to get to bed early tonight guys so no movie for me."

Monday is movie night in the summer. Finn sets up the laptop and a projector against the side of The Inn's old smokehouse that's flat granite. Guests can sit on blankets or bring chairs and a few locals show up too. For someone who wanted to be invisible when he first landed here, he has become a community member. Claire showed him how to live again. I'm not much into stories, written or on film, though now I'd give anything to sit next to Chloe and put my arm around her and watch a movie.

Laurel flicks on the porch light from inside and suddenly everyone's face is lit by the string of antique bulbs that line the porch. The first thing I notice is Chloe's face. She looks beat. There are rings under her eyes and it's clear she's been crying. Then I noticed Claire is kneading a tissue in her hands and her face is flushed as well. Even Devon looks a little fragile. What the hell happened here?

Finn stretches, rising with an easy grace. "I'm setting up the movie. Out of Africa." He glances at me. "Why don’t you debrief me while we set up?"

"I had a farm in Africa," begins Chloe, and Devon finishes with, "at the foot of the Ngong Hills."

I realize it's probably the opening line.

With Chloe inside, Laurel and Cory carrying a small pint of homemade ice-cream and walking back to the apartment they shared with Devon, I thought it was safe to start asking questions.

"What did I step into?"

"I'm not sure," says Finn quietly. "Cory and I were feeding Salty and took a walk on the beach." He raises an eyebrow. "Claire told me to give them some space so I did. By the time we got back, it was mostly over." He wrestles with the outdoor extension cord and people start to wander over, settling on the grass.

"Ten minutes folks," he says smiling broadly. "Nine thirty sharp we'll start. Bug spray is on the deck. Just stay clear of the computer projector."

Lowering his voice, he grips my shoulder. "It had to do with Chloe and what happened to her. It can’t be pretty."

I lay in my bed unable to sleep. The irony is my room shares a wall with Chloe's, and is linked by a connecting door. That happened ages ago when the quarry ran out and the place first converted to an inn. Tony Russo, their father, put the door in, though it’s now behind a dresser. The only hint it's still there, is the door frame and knob that keep the dresser from lying flush against the wall. Claire said the room used to be for large families. I have the kids' room, slightly smaller, with two twin beds I shoved together when Finn offered me the space. The two rooms flank the east end of the house and are long and narrow, with a shared bath at the end of the hall.

I heard her trudging up the stairs, around eleven, even though she claimed to be tired. She'd stepped into the bathroom and brushed her teeth. I had bumped into her once last week, leaving the shower. I could never tell when she'd come barreling through the door and two days ago, she'd crashed into me, damp, her hair smelling of coconut and roses, her skin, brown and wet. A little tendril of black hair snaked from the turban towel around her head down her back. "I'm so sorry," she'd said, tripping a little on a throw rug in the hall. I grabbed her arm and steadied her, my groin suddenly on fire. "I thought you were still asleep," she tossed over her shoulder before closing her bedroom door behind her.

I was tempted to take a cold shower right then and there.

Why Finn put me back here next to her I don’t know, I assume he's trying to torture me.

I don’t know what wakes me. It’s two or three in the morning at least, but I am sitting up, alert, training kicking in instantly.

Someone's in my room. Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I rise quickly, balancing weight on both feet, a little lighter on the right so I can pivot, shift weight, strike.

I hear nothing and wonder if Finn is triggered as well. It's nearly pitch black except for the silver patina of the moonlight shining through the window. There's the rattle again. Not in the room. Just outside. My gut is tight.

I reach for the gun under my pillow but it's not there. Then I remember: I'm not working here. The bullets and gun separate, locked in the basement.

I'm not ready. I'm unprepared, shit, fuck, fuck, fuck. There it is again.

Someone is fiddling with a door—the rattling is intermittent. I walk to my door, making no noise on the hardwood floor. I know just where and when to step to keep those floorboards quiet.

Then there's a sob, deep, gut-wrenching. But muffled, like from far away. What the hell's going on? It can't be one of the guests. They're way down at the other end of the hall with some little kid. Quickly opening the door, I step out into the hall, bracing for a tackle. There's no one.

Then I hear it, the sound that wound me up. Someone sighing or gulping air, stifling a cry, a wringing of a soul somewhere in the dark.