Anything, Anything

A novel currently in progress. Read it here first.  

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Anything, Anything

CHAPTER TWO, PART ONE

The morning sun streaked our bedroom with bright yellow and white light, little specs of dust dancing in the beams.

“I’m off to work,” Johnny whispered, already showered and dressed in his uniform, ready for the day. “Have a good day, Rox.” With that, pecked me on the forehead and walked out of the room.

From the bed, I could hear him pour his coffee into his thermos and walk out the door, closing it quietly behind him. I listened as he turned the lock in the door, ensuring my safe sleep, even though nobody had ever so much as crossed onto our property line without authority to do so.

Once I heard Johnny start his car and was sure he was gone, I reached for my phone on the bedside table, sitting up. I opened the tab for the news in our county, but found nothing. I wondered if anyone had even found the man yet, the bat covered in dried blood next to his head. I thought about searching for it in my phone, but decided against it. I didn’t want any kind of search history that could link me back to him.

Back in Chicago, I had been a high school English teacher, but when we moved to Mountain Grove, I stopped working. The original plan was for Johnny and me to get pregnant and then I would stay home to take care of the kids, but when I didn’t get pregnant right away, we decided that we would wait a bit. This way, I could get acquainted with the town, Johnny could focus on work, and we could try again later. That was more than five years ago.

In those years, I had decided to follow through with my other passion, writing. I had written seven novels, four of which were published by a small imprint here on the west coast. The second of the four hit it big and became a bestseller, and as the first in a series, the other two followed suit. Steep Point was the first in a series of murder mysteries about a small-town sheriff, the fourth of which I was supposed to be working on. Johnny was my inspiration for the main character, the handsome and smart protagonist, always one step ahead of the killer.

My phone buzzed in my hand, still on silent from the night before. A text message from Johnny appeared on the screen.

Don’t forget our appointment tonight. 5pm. Xo.

Of course I had forgotten our appointment. We were scheduled to see Dr. Friedman, a fertility doctor a few towns over. I didn’t feel old enough to need a fertility doctor, but as Johnny had pointed out, we had been trying to have a baby since I was twenty-three and, “getting checked out couldn’t hurt.” To be honest, we probably should have done it sooner.

Of course! See you then, babe.

I checked the clock on my phone. It was only just past nine now, which gave me plenty of time to drive to the ocean for the day before needing to meet Johnny at five. I clambered out of bed, tripping over myself as I made my way toward the bathroom. I climbed into the standing glass shower and let the water pour over me, soaking my waist-length hair. I didn’t bother to blow-dry my hair before leaving the house, instead tousling it in front of the double vanity and then letting the mountain air create perfect beach waves.

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The writing g-ds are kind tonight.

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Anything, Anything

CHAPTER ONE, PART TWO

It was dark by the time I pulled my old, blue, Ford pickup off of the winding road and onto the gravel drive that led up to our single-story ranch house. Inside, the lights were on in the kitchen and through the large window over the sink, I could see Johnny’s blonde hair bopping to music as he cooked. As he turned away from the stove and toward me, he shielded his eyes from the headlights of my truck. I turned them off, then waved, unsure if he could see me in the dark cab of the truck contrasted by the bright light inside the house.

I hadn’t made it to the door yet when Johnny opened it up, wrapping me in a warm hug and planting a soft yet firm kiss upon my lips. My hands found their way around his neck, so high above my own, and I stood on my tippy-toes to return his kiss. At 6’3” and 5’4” respectively, he and I always had to meet in the middle.

“How was your day?” I asked, dropping my jacket on a rack near the door and kicking off my boots, using my foot to nudge them against the wall. The drive home had calmed my nerves, and I was cool as a cucumber as I spoke.

Johnny walked over toward the kitchen to tend to whatever was on the stove, calling over his shoulder as he went.

“It was good,” he said. “No major calls.”

Johnny was a deputy with the Sherriff’s department in Mountain Grove, the small town in which we lived. He was hoping to make Sherriff the following year, and maybe even move us to Portland to pursue a more high-profile career. Personally, I enjoyed the quiet of Mountain Grove. We had moved away from a big city for a reason.

Mountain Grove is a small town in the middle of eastern Oregon, Southwest of Portland and just Northwest of Eugene, not far from the ocean, a little over an hour inland. I suppose saying the town is “small” is a bit of an understatement. We have four traffic lights, only a handful more stop signs, and it wasn’t until the early 90s that we got a post office. Until then, we had to go two towns over, where one post office stood for the entire county. We still don’t have a Starbucks. Instead of police, we operate under the Benton County Sherriff’s department, as we’re considered an unincorporated community.  In our town, everyone knows everyone, and Johnny is practically famous. Although I prefer to keep to myself, being Johnny’s wife has its’ perks. Like him, I am well-liked and well-respected, and with the added bonus of not having done much to earn such praise.

“What about you, Rox? How was your day?”

My name is Roxanne, but I can’t remember the last time anyone has used my full name. To Johnny, I have always been Rox, and to nearly everyone else, I’m Roxy.

“It was good, too. I went over to that farmer’s market near Yaquina Bay for a bit. I got some fruit,” as I spoke, I realized I had left the bag of produce in the truck. “I left the bag in the front seat, I’ll be right back,” I called, already heading for the door.

Outside, the stars were starting to come out. From our property on the edge of town, we could always see the stars. It was my favorite part. Making my way toward the truck, I pulled out a cigarette I’d palmed as I grabbed the keys to the truck. Even though we didn’t need to lock our doors, as a girl born and raised in a big city, I always did. I reached in my pocket for a lighter, finding instead the tiny nest of hair I’d pocketed earlier. I pulled it out and released it into the soft evening wind.

Once at the truck, I found the lighter I’d thought was still in my pocket and lit my cigarette, hoping Johnny wouldn’t notice, but not entirely hiding it either.  It wasn’t a secret that I smoked, but it was almost a secret that I hadn’t quite quit when I had said I would. I meant to, it just never stuck. I inhaled and exhaled slowly, savoring my last drag before heading back inside, thinking of the man lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood, and knowing Johnny could never find out.

“Got it,” I said, holding up the canvas bag filled with fresh fruit. “The nectarines smell perfect this time,” I added.

Johnny turned from the stove and smelled the nectarine I was now holding up, out of the bag. Without a word, he bit into it, juice running down his chin.

“Hey!” I scolded, now going bite for bite with him on the plump fruit, masking my cigarette breath with a mixture of sweet and tart flavors.

Quickly, our insatiable appetite of one kind led to another kind entirely, and Johnny was kissing me, the bag of fruit toppled over carelessly onto the floor, the nectarine merely a pit and pulp between our hands.

“We can eat dinner later,” Johnny whispered, picking me up and carrying me down the hall to our bedroom.

“What were you making, anyway? It smelled delicious.”

“Only your favorite, homemade macaroni and cheese. It can wait.”

“Perfect,” I said before devouring him in another kiss.

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A Solitary Feeling

•••

Encoded in her eyes

Are every word she’s ever spoken

Every thought she’s ever held

Every feeling she’s ever felt

And when she looks at you

She tells you everything all at once

In the form of a single word

A lone thought

A solitary feeling:

Love

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Check our my secondary blog, For All Things Said, to read my poetry and short prose.

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Anything, Anything

CHAPTER ONE, PART ONE

I had never seen a dead body before, not even at a funeral. I wasn’t sure if this was what it always looked like, but it looked pretty gruesome. His brown eyes were still open, staring blankly at the ceiling above, and his mouth gaped open out of surprise or shock, or maybe to say something, but I wasn’t sure what. I hadn’t given him the chance. He was still tan from years spent in the sun, not yet the kind of pale that death brings. If not for the pool of blood he was soaking in, I might not have been sure he was dead at all.

“Shit,” I muttered. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

What am I going to do? I thought.

Whatever you do, don’t touch the body.

Slowly, I backed away. First checking that my shoes didn’t have any blood on the soles, I took a few steps backward, making sure to leave no footprints. I looked at the man in front of me, but it barely registered. The blood around his head was slowly growing more vast, the radius already doubling in size. It had been a long day and with the sky darkening outside, all I could think about was getting out of there and going home.

I checked around me for anything that would give me away, tell someone I had been here. I picked up a few strands of the long, brown hair I saw on the floor, presumably mine, pulling a piece from right near his fingertip. Had he been trying to reach out to me? Had he grabbed me? It all happened so fast. I rolled the strands of hair between my fingers until they formed a tight little ball and then shoved them into the pocket of my jeans. I could only be so sure, but I didn’t see anything else – no other evidence. The metal baseball bat was lying on the floor beside him, blood and pieces of what I can only assume to be skull caked onto it.

Pulling my shirtsleeve over my hand to grab the doorknob the same way I had when I’d come in, I let myself out of the dingy apartment. Nobody was in the hallway, but I quickened my pace nonetheless. I rounded the corner and hastily, but quietly, let myself out of the building and out of the surrounding gate, the latch barely clicking to lock behind me.

Outside, the air was crisp and the breeze from the ocean was blowing the few fallen leaves through the street. The sun was just setting and if I looked to the west, I would be able to see what I could only imagine was another watercolor sunset over the Pacific. I went east though, away from the ocean and toward the mountains, back home.