FROM HELL WITHOUT YOU

She didn’t slow down as she drove by the trailer park, but she stared.

The past seven years might as well have been a couple of decades – rust had spread over the dozen or so homes like a fungus, and aluminum siding hung askew everywhere she looked. The grass probably hadn’t been mowed in months, but in truth, there was none – only weeds of every variety, thriving on neglect, growing tall in the shadows of deteriorating mobile homes.

The seemingly exaggerated passage of time weighed her heart down just as thoroughly as the sight of the dilapidated lots. Exerting pressure against the gas pedal, she sent the odometer needle creeping up to ten miles over the posted speed limit, so that when she passed the painted wooden sign reading Shady Side Mobile Home Court, it was only a blur, its faded letters unrecognizable.

Gold and orange, the foliage lining the road out of town was gorgeous and should’ve been enough to wipe the sight of Shady Side from her thoughts. Still, the memory of one trailer in particular – the ugliest one of all – stuck in her mind.

Years ago, it’d been a faded pink, but it was mostly rust-brown now. She’d recognized it anyway – third one back, on the left. She’d never been inside – she’d asked, but he’d always refused – but she could’ve sketched the exterior from memory.

How embarrassing was that ? Her cheeks heating with secret shame, she sped a little more, hoping the road would remain empty and devoid of police. She was only a mile from her destination, and for some reason, she knew that laying eyes on it would erase thoughts of rusting trailers and weedy lots from her mind.

The brick house – two sprawling stories of Victorian architecture – loomed around a corner, tall and stately. It was as perfectly maintained as she remembered, from the close-clipped lawn to the whitewashed gingerbread trim. Coming to a rolling stop alongside the country road, she breathed a sigh.

Whoever had bought the place was obviously taking care of it. Thank God. She’d wondered and worried that her grandmother’s pride and joy would be left to deteriorate after her death, but apparently, that wasn’t the case.

Had the new owner moved in yet ?

It didn’t look like it. The driveway was empty, and the mailbox was gone from the edge of the yard. The weeping willow in the center of the front lawn looked beautiful but lonely. Everything appeared too perfect for an actual residence. Maybe whoever owned the house had other plans for it, like turning it into a bed and breakfast – it would make a beautiful one, though who would want to vacation in Willow Heights, Pennsylvania, she had no idea.

Buoyed by the thought, she turned into the driveway, tires creeping over gravel. Surely the owner wouldn’t mind if she took a quick look around, especially not if they were going to turn it into something semi-public.

Stepping out of her car, she inhaled her first breath of Willow Heights air in four years. Considering that her last visit to the town had been brief and for a funeral, this occasion seemed markedly better, even if she still had her reservations about returning in the first place.

The air smelled like a storm. Unusually humid for fall and tinged with ozone, it warned her that her time was limited. Striding quickly, she approached the house, rounding the front porch, letting her fingertips trail over brick and wood as she went, determined to make a round of the building before rain started to fall.

The sky seemed to grow darker with each step, deepening to gunmetal grey, thick with clouds. A breeze brought cool air that permeated the weave of her cardigan, brisk after hours spent in the car. By the time she finished her circuit of the yard, she was on the verge of shivering. As she fastened her sweater’s top button, an ominous sound came from the tree-lined road.

A vehicle. A large one. A big black pick-up truck, to be exact – one that was moving way too slowly to be passing by. She was standing in the gravel next to her car like an idiot when the truck came to a halt just behind her vehicle, boxing it in so that she’d have to drive on the perfectly-maintained lawn to leave.

She swallowed a knot that had formed in her throat, standing statue-like with her fingertips on her car’s door handle. She’d make a quick apology, explain that her grandmother had been the house’s previous owner, and then be gone. The new owner would understand.

Wouldn’t he ?

The truck was so high up and the windows were so dark that she couldn’t make out much of whoever was inside – only that he was a man, and wearing sunglasses. Music blared, rock so loud that the bass reverberated in her breastbone. He must’ve really been enjoying it, because he didn’t exit his vehicle, just sat there for what had to be one, two, three whole minutes … an eternity.

She was seriously considering climbing back into her car and driving away without a word when one of the truck doors swung halfway open, revealing a black leather work boot. Even with only his foot visible, the guy really didn’t seem like the bed and breakfast proprietor type.

Maybe she’d made a mistake. Something in the center of her chest deflated at the thought, even as she prepared to explain, to defend herself. She’d only wanted to see her grandmother’s house – the happiest place she’d known as a child, or ever, for that matter. Now she felt like a trespasser.

The mystery man descended from his monster of a pick-up with a crunch of gravel and a sound that could only be described as a grunt. « Clementine ? »

Shock rippled through her system, making her stand a little straighter. « No one calls me that anymore. » The words died on the tip of her tongue as the man shoved his truck door shut, revealing himself fully.

Tall, dark and – God – twice as muscular as she remembered, he stood with his arms crossed. Time had filled out the frame that had once been all lean muscle, adding bulk. She could practically smell the testosterone it had to take to maintain that body, just like she could smell the promise of lightning in the air.

« What do they call you then, if they don’t call you by your name ? »

Her gut clenched and knotted up as images of Shady Side flashed in her mind, only half as vivid as other memories of the man who stood in front of her. Even with seven years and God knew what else between them, she knew in her bones that he wouldn’t play along when it came to the moniker she’d adopted during her college years. « CeCe. »

For a moment, he was silent. « CeCe ? That doesn’t go with your name. How about Clem ? »

She tried not to make a face, but the urge was too powerful. « Clem ? That’s one letter away from clam. No way. »

He gave the barest of shrugs, his thick arms flexing beneath the sleeves of his plain white t-shirt. « Fine, I’ll call you Clementine. Like always. »

Like always. The words shot straight into the center of her, piercing some emotional reserve she hadn’t known she’d possessed. Or at least, one she’d done her best to pretend wasn’t there. For fuck’s sake, was she really standing in her dead grandmother’s driveway discussing nicknames with Donovan – Donovan who should’ve seemed more like a ghost than a man, though he was too solid for her to doubt that he was all flesh and bone.

« What are you doing here ? » The words tumbled out – hopefully they didn’t sound like a plea.

« Shouldn’t I be asking you that ? » He crossed his arms a little more tightly, and she felt the distance between them – years and years, instead of mere feet.

« I was driving by and wanted to check out my grandmother’s old place. »

« Where were you headed ? »

« I was taking the scenic route to the other side of town – you know, to check out the fall foliage. »

« You always sucked at lying. »