Summer Shadows

The moment I stepped out of his car a wall of humidity hit me. The coastal breeze was stifled behind the rows of buildings that separated us from the ocean. It was a sticky heat, heavy with moisture making it feel much hotter than it actually was.

“Jesus, is it always this hot?” I asked, whipping my hair up into a ponytail. Cal laughed, handing his keys to the valet before circling around to where I stood. We were in front of a pricey looking hotel at the heart of the city. I watched as his car slowly pulled away. “Does everyone here use the valet service like it’s nothing?”

He shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets as he walked along side me. “I mean, my family does own the place so free parking seemed logical.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the building we were walking away from; the hotel it housed, along with countless overpriced stores. Why was I surprised by his news? He lived in a ridiculously extravagant house on the beach; next door to a man whose family ran a bank. This shouldn’t have been shocking in the least.

“Have you guys always owned it?”

“Yep, seventy five years in business this summer,” he replied proudly. “There’s a big anniversary celebration in a few weeks, the Dreytons got an invite so I expect you’ll be there too. I mean, you could always come as my date if you wanted.”

I shook my head, giving him a disbelieving look. “Geez, you southern boys are a bit quick on the draw, aren’t you? You barely know me. And I don’t know a thing about you either.”

“Well that’s what today is for!” He threw his arms open dramatically, bright eyes and wide smile glaring at me. I rolled my eyes, watching as an elderly couple dressed in all designer clothing stopped Cal for a moment, asking him to tell his father how much they enjoyed their last stay, and how they’d be back again in a week or two. Cal had merely nodded, promising he would before he put a gentle hand on my shoulder before steering me away from them.

“I swear I can’t go downtown without that happening at least once,” he mumbled lightly.

“Guessing it’s safe to assume everyone I meet down here is loaded,” I commented.

“In our crowd? For the most part, yeah,” he admitted. “I mean, you know the Dreytons so you must be used to it.”

I gave him a pointed glance as we reached a crosswalk, waiting for our turn. “And that conversation stops there. I didn’t really know them until a few weeks before her death. So no, I’m not used to it.”

He sighed looking around before we crossed the street, him at a casual stroll, me at a quickened walk. He caught up as I waited for him on the sidewalk, the sun and heat causing a slight sweat to break out on my brow.

“Sorry, sorry,” he muttered. “I’ll shut up now. Still game for the carriage ride?”

“Does your family own the carriage company as well?” I smirked in reply as he fell into step beside me.

A smile crept onto his face, dimples showing as he graced me with an amused glance. “Aren’t you funny. Actually that would be Duncan’s family. You’ll meet him eventually.”

“Are you guys like a cult or something, ‘rich families of Charleston unite’?”

“I like that, I’ll have to propose it at the next meeting,” he quipped. “Now, Miss Maggie, to the carriage ride.”

We passed what appeared to be a large flea market to our right, stopping in front of a little stand under an umbrella. The girl behind it wore a polo with the carriage company’s logo emblazoned on it, she grinned at our approach and greeted Cal with an earnest familiarity. Duncan’s name was mentioned in passing as the boy at my side purchased two tickets. We joined a group of tourists a little ways down, holding a comfortable silence as I looked around, examining the old town. A smell of sweets lingered in the air, and not far from where we stood was the entrance to a local candy store that housed homemade confections. I made a mental note to check it out later, as Cal nudged me to point out the approaching carriage. It was led by a large, tan horse that towered over almost everyone in our group. It shook its head roughly as the carriage driver pulled it to a stop before ushering everyone on.

The ride was admittedly warm, humidity coupled with close body proximity to the other people on the little excursion making it feel nothing short of a sauna. Cal hadn’t started this off on a good foot. I couldn’t say I was particularly fond of the downtown Charleston area at that point. Every part of me felt sticky as the guide began his speech. I zoned in and out listening, noting that the flea market we passed was actually the “Slave Market.”

“And no,” Thomas the guide stated. “It isn’t called that because that was where slaves were bought and traded; it’s called that because it’s where the slaves themselves were allowed to go to sell produce they had grown. If any one was caught trying to sell slaves the market would have been immediately shut down.”

We rode on, stopping now and again to let cars pass us on the busy city streets. The tour continued into an area of Charleston known as The Battery, which was filled with antebellum homes that boasted wealth with their columns and large gates. There was also a park directly across the street from a seawall. There were display cannons and pyramids of cannonballs lined up at the edge of the park, recalling the days of the Civil War. It had apparently been a location where artillery was stored. The rest of the ride went on rather smoothly; more than anything I wanted to end it so we could slip into one of the many little shops that lined the streets. I was sure they had air conditioning, and at that point that was all I asked for.

As our ride finally came to it’s end and Thomas the tour guide bid us adieu, relief rolled in. I climbed out of the cart, glancing across the street towards the market as I waited for Cal to finish exchanging words with the man; it should have come as no surprise they knew each other. Where one building of the market ended and another started a few yards up there was a space where a woman sat. Her skin was ebony, clothes light and loose in the heat of the summer sun. Around her sat many a baskets, small and large, tall and short. In her arms was one in progress; her nimble fingers wove what looked to be grass together quickly and effortlessly. It was a fascinating process, one I had meant to ask Cal about as we rode around but had completely forgotten as the guide had begun to explain the meaning behind the market’s old name. At her side was a child, no more than five or six, clinging to her arm as she stared intently at me. She was a tiny thing, hair done in tight braids, skin to match her mothers. I raised my hand after a moment, offering her a wave and a smile. She stared for a moment, and then glanced over at her mother before back to me. Her tiny hand came up, fingers twitching the slightest bit as she returned the motion.

“Sorry, sorry, we’re done now.” Cal came up beside me, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “So, did you enjoy the ride?”

I rolled my eyes, turning to walk down the street in the direction of the candy store I had seen a little while earlier. “Tons. I love being shoved on a tiny little horse drawn carriage with a bunch of other people on a humid summer day.”

He laughed. “I’m not gonna lie, that wasn’t one of my best moves. Sorry about that. Anything you’d like to do so I can make up for it?”

“Actually, there was a candy shop somewhere down here, could we—“

My phone went off, interrupting our conversation. I quickly dug in my pocket, producing the phone before flipping it open with out a glance. Maybe it was Katie calling back to repay the harassment I had given her that morning.

"Hello?"

"Maggie? Are you okay? Where are you?" James asked frantically. I didn’t reply for a moment, a bit taken back by the tone of his voice, the ringing urgency it held.

"I'm fine," I said. "Downtown with Cal. Sorry I didn't give you a heads up, no one was there and it was kind of a spur of the moment thing. Everything okay?"

There was a rattled sigh from his end of the phone, and I glanced briefly over at Cal who was watching me patiently if not curiously.

"Can you come back? Now, if possible, but soon, please," he stated crisply.

"Did something happen?" Dread seeped into the pit of my stomach, flashes of a deceased Darren crossing my mind, memories of my house in flames ripping to the forefront of my thoughts. Cal caught my eye, pausing for only a second before he dug through his pants pocket and produced his car keys. He motioned in the direction I presumed we had come from and I replied with a short nod. We were off as a stale silence resonated from my phone. "James, what happened?"

"Just get back here as soon as you can, we'll discuss it then."

"Are you serious right now? You can't just--"

"Maggie, we will discuss it when you get here. This is not a conversation to be had on the phone,” James snapped. There was no sound that followed; I gaped as I pulled away, staring at the screen that declared the call ended. James Dreyton had just hung up on me.

“So, that seemed pleasant.” Cal glanced down at me.

I shook my head, putting the phone back in my pocket as we walked quickly along the crowded sidewalk. “I honestly don’t know what that was.”

“Something happened?” He asked.

“I really have no idea,” I muttered, wiping the slight trace of perspiration off my forehead, discomfort and urgency becoming increasingly prominent. “He just told me to get back there as soon as possible.”

“Huh, okay, that’s kinda weird.”

I looked over at him, brow furrowed as he grabbed my shoulders and steered me out of the path of a confused looking family of tourists who almost took me out. “Sorry. Anyways. It’s just strange. The guys usually have free reign when they’re down here. Generally the Dreytons are too busy to even care what they’re doing. But I guess after this year…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. After this year who could blame James for caution, for trying to keep a closer eye on myself, or Oliver? But what had that call been about, exactly?

“Come on, let’s get you back.”

I sighed, shaking my head as we trekked down the street at an accelerated pace. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting to have to go back, and we came all the way out here—“

“Hey, look, don’t sweat it. We can always come back another day. Shit happens, it’s not like it’s your fault. We’ll just have to take a rain check.”

“Thanks for…being understanding,” I said.

“No problem,” he replied with a grin, dimples showing. “Besides, we’ve got all summer.”

***

The house was utterly silent as I stepped through the entryway, the cool air of the house sending a rush of goose bumps across my skin. Cal hadn’t asked questions on the drive back, he’d held his silence pretty well, which surprised me. He had stopped me as I had tried to exit his car though, only for a second, only long enough to exchange numbers in case either of us ever needed anything. I glanced down at my phone momentarily; part of me wondered if he meant specifically right after I dealt with the Dreytons. Part of me wondered just if I really may need someone to lend an ear.

Through the door to the living room I caught sight of Oliver, leaning against the column beside the window with his back to me. The blonde hairs on his head looked even more disheveled than normal; his figure unmoving. My fingers brushed against the archway as I stood, watching him with a pained familiarity from across the room.

“Maggie, glad to see you could finally join us.” The business-like tone echoed hints of the same feeling I had gotten on the day I had partaken in my first ever conversation with the bank CEO. My head jerked in the direction of the couch; James sat there, elbows on his knees as he watched me with cold, weary eyes. I heard a shuffle from the direction Oliver was in, willing myself with more than a little effort not to glance back towards him.

“What happened?” I demanded in a matching tone.

“Daddy had a meltdown,” Oliver quipped immediately. That did get my attention, ripped it completely from James and over to the son who had hardly spoken to me during my stay. Behind the glass frames his eyes were fixed steadily on the older man, arms crossed over his chest. “But everything is okay now, isn’t it, father?”

“You tell me,” James replied shortly. Oliver’s eyes flicked over in my direction, only momentarily before setting his stare again on his father. He said nothing; face blank as the quiet hiss of the air conditioning filled the room.

I didn’t like the crackling tension that filled the void; I didn’t like the undisclosed situation the two seemed to be speaking of.

“Did I miss something?” I asked, not even putting a dent in their focus.

“A trip to the hospital, but that’s about it,” James stated coolly. I stared at Oliver momentarily, the words of his father ringing in my ears as I tried to process them. Oliver didn’t move, his breath barely shook his figure.

“Wait, what?” I asked, glancing between them.

“There was an…incident. It’s been resolved now,” the older man said. I merely gaped at him, the idea of hospitals and all that was related to them leaving a swell of discomfort in my chest. How could he discuss hospitals so nonchalantly given all that had happened in them with Oliver, or myself? They were haunting, awful memories.

“Is everything okay?” I pressed, voice strained as the lump in my throat began to grow.

“Feeling alright now, Oliver?”

The blonde boy remained a blank sheet, never looking away from his father. He looked a bit paler than usual, dark circles under his eyes more apparent than at first glance. His clothes were ruffled; he looked as though he may have slept in them.

“I’m fine.” He replied shortly, turning away from us and quickly making his way to the exit. He left us with the brief sounds of the shore followed by a quick slam of the door. I stared after him, unsure of how to react, what to say.

“Is he alright?” I heard my voice before I realized I had even spoken, knowing it was the only thought that had crossed my mind since James’s question to his son. The older man let out a huff, reclining back against the couch. My feet seemed to move of their own accord, propelling me to the window. I pulled back the crème drapes, watching Oliver’s retreat to the beach beyond the dunes.

“That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it, Maggie?”

“Why was he at the hospital?”

There was a pause before James spoke again. “He hasn’t been the same since he woke up, he just hasn’t been the same. I don’t know what to do.”

Oliver had vanished from my sight, the tall grass of the dunes holding my focus as it swayed steadily in the summer breeze. A nice day had gone bad so quickly. Downtown had been lovely—despite the sweaty carriage ride, it had been a relief and a change of pace I had needed. Back at the Dreyton’s beach house the air was once again heavy, toxic with the poisonous feelings of confusion and loss. I hated that it was familiar and almost normal; I detested that happiness had become the rare treasure in the world I inhabited.

“We can’t keep living like this,” I admitted quietly, more to myself than to him. “We just can’t. It’s going to destroy us.”

“I think you’re right, Maggie Walton. And I don’t think I can help either one of you.” He sounded so defeated. “But maybe you two need each other.”

I turned slowly, watching James uncertainly as he stared at the ceiling. Was he insane? Oliver wanted nothing to do with me, and at that point I couldn’t say my feelings weren’t far from the same.

“James, if you haven’t noticed, I’m the bubonic plague and he’s a terrified villager.”

He smirked a bit at that, finally looking at me. “No, you’re not. You’re tied together more than you think you are. You both lost a person of mutual importance, and you both lost a parent. I think…I think talking about it would make it easier for both of you.”

A fresh ache of pain ripped through me at his words, sadness gone and replaced with a misplaced anger. “What the hell makes you think I want to talk about it?”

“You sound just like him,” James commented. “He said the exact same thing.”

“Joint dislike of the idea makes it sound really promising,” I said sarcastically.

“How about this, either you try to communicate or I’ll let you take up your issues with a psychiatrist, how does that sound, Maggie?” His threat came out cold and sincere. I could only stare at him, the hard glimmer in his eyes daunting and unwavering.

“You can’t be serious,” I stated defensively.

“Oh, but I am. It’s your choice. Him, or therapy.”

“You are unbelievable,” I breathed, nails digging into my palms.

James shook his head. “No. I’m trying to help you both. Because you’re right; you can’t keep living like this, neither one of you. I know, I know it’s been barely a week for you, but it’s been months for him. I can’t stand seeing him like this, I can’t stand watching you in the same position, I don’t want you to be where he is six months from now. I want you two to smile again, I want you both happy, and I don’t know what else to do.”

“What makes you think that we can help each other? What makes you think we won’t destroy ourselves?” I demanded.

“Because there’s a loneliness in you only the other can relate to.”

It was a quick flash of Simon’s face, followed by a short burst of pain I still couldn’t bring myself to get used to that hit me as I locked eyes with James. It was fire and ice all at once, it was a sensation I wouldn’t wish upon anyone else.

“If you’re not going to do it for me, do it for him, Maggie, please,” he begged. I swallowed, hard, looking away from him and back towards the world beyond the window. That was the one weapon I had no defense against, no way to combat. The memory of the dead boy who had been with me for such a short period of time.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re ruthless?” I said quietly.

“I’m a corporate kingpin, does that really surprise you?”

“No, no, I guess it shouldn’t. You two were a lot a like, you and Simon,” I barely choked his name out. “And there’s always kindness under your cruelty, but you’re both so bad at presenting it.”

James didn’t respond as I stared at nothing in particular, the sterile color of the room really sinking in. It was so bright, so white and clean, pure of hardly any trace of color. It reminded me of hospitals, the place where I found myself multiple times back in January, the place where Oliver had laid comatose. The discomfort seeped in then; awful flashbacks and bitter pain coupling together again as I realized that I needed to get out of there. The peace and traces of joy that had come with my trip to the city were erased, destroyed as quickly as the phantasm traces of a dream would leave someone who had just awoken.

I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt; glancing quickly at the door Oliver had exited a few minutes prior.

“Go,” James said. “But when you do, go check on Oliver, please. Try to talk to him. Trust me, I know he hasn’t exactly been what one could call cooperative.”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes before giving him a pointed glance. He just nodded. “But just give it a shot. For both of you; for Simon.”

“James?” I said levelly. He met me with an inquisitive glance. “Thank you for your help, after my father died. And I’m going to talk to Oliver; I’m going to try. You and I both know there are no guarantees this is going to work, though. But you keep using Simon against me, and that has got to be one of the lowest things I’ve ever dealt with, so before I go chase your wayward son down I just wanted to say, fuck you.”

Hearing whatever response may come was the last thing on my mind as I turned back to the door, slamming it behind me as forcefully as the boy before me had. Maybe James had pushed Oliver to such irritable, short-tempered behavior like he was beginning to do with me. Maybe the boy’s anger wasn’t quite as misguided as I thought. I sure as hell was getting sick of James Dreytons’ games and his constant use of his deceased son to get me to do what he wanted. A simple “please” followed by an explanation of how concerned for his son would have worked just fine. But he had to mention Simon; he had to threaten therapy. It had been uncalled for, it had been utterly unkind.

From the mid-way point along the wooden bridge that went through the dunes and to the beach I could see the remaining twin sitting a short ways from the rising and falling tide. I bit the inside of my cheek, uncomfortably shuffling towards him through the white-hot sand. My steps slowed a few feet back; pushing the strands of hair the wind seemed insistent on blowing in my face away. How was I supposed to approach this, exactly? What was I supposed to say?

His head turned suddenly, peeking over his shoulder and meeting my eyes through his thin glass frames. “Are you going to sit down or just stand there like some kind of creeper?”

Shit.

I stepped up awkwardly, settling myself on the hard damp sand beside him. Pulling my knees to my chest I wrapped my arms around them, maintaining focus on the white foam of the waves as they crashed along the shoreline a little ways up.

“I heard the slam of the door from all the way out here, I kind of assumed you were coming. He must have really pissed you off, huh?” He asked.

“Your dad is kind of a jackass,” I stated simply.

Oliver scoffed, “Should I assume you also had a threat thrown in your direction pertaining to our…strained standing with each other?”

“Therapy. You?”

“Yeah…” He nodded. “He’s a bit of a dick, or at least when he’s trying to get what he wants.”

“And he wants us to talk.” The words were swept away by the ocean breeze, a growing discomfort forming between the two of us in the momentary silence that lapsed between us. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

I stole a glance in his direction; his gaze fixed on the horizon as an expressionless look lingered on his face. His brother had been the very epitome of emotion; anger, sadness, pain, and even care darting across his features as though it were nothing. I could generally tell what he had been feeling, I had been able to gauge a proper reaction when need be. But Oliver was different. Oliver was the stoic figure that I couldn’t understand. I didn’t think he would let me in like James wanted; I didn’t know if I was willing to let him in. He was too familiar yet foreign at the same time. He was a trap.

“You’re not the only one.”

I ran my fingers across the bandage on my arm that he had put there; at least there was one thing we agreed on even if it was simply our lack of desire to discuss our issues of loss with one another. It was too private, too fresh to bring up with a stranger behind a stolen face. It was probably too early for him to even want to discuss death with the girl who more or less aided in the loss of his mother.

“How’s your arm?” He nodded at the bandage.

I looked down at it for a moment. “Oh, fine I guess. It doesn’t hurt, at least.”

“Did you dose it with peroxide again?” Oliver looked over, giving me a business like stare over the tops of his glasses. I bit my bottom lip, giving my head a small shake as I averted my gaze.

He sighed, “Unless you want an infection I’d advise doing that once we go back. I’ve had enough of hospitals.”

“That’s why I hate your living room,” I admitted. “It reminds me of a hospital room. It’s just so…”

“Cold? Clean? Yeah, I know what you mean. I can hardly stand it either,” he finished for me. “Look, dad takes his threats rather seriously. I think we need to at least try to put on a good front while he’s around. Luckily for us he’s got a business trip the day after tomorrow, so for the time we’ve only got to worry about tomorrow. He said I needed to take you shopping at some point. How about we tackle that then?”

“Was that you trying to be social?” I asked skeptically. “I mean, you’re actually going to tolerate my presence for more than five minutes?”

“Do you want to go see a shrink?” He deadpanned, curls blowing in front of his glasses. I shook my head again. “Didn’t think so.”

He reached up then, removing the frames before rubbing his eyes with his other hand. The exhaustion on his face hit me then, the dark bags under his eyes, the slightly pallid complexion despite the tanned overtones his skin had taken, the heavy feeling that danced in his irises.

“Um, Oliver?”

He looked over tiredly, waiting.

“Are you…are you okay?” I queried cautiously, remembering how the mere mention of a hospital visit had sent him flying out the back door a brief while earlier. “I mean, we don’t have to go shopping tomorrow, I can wait, I just don’t want to push you—“

“I. Am. Fine.” He cut me off with a clipped tone and a hint of irritation. “I will be fine. I don’t need pity, I don’t need sympathy, and I really don’t need curiosity. Just drop it.”

“Look, I just asked a question, that’s no reason to bite my head off, especially if you want this ‘fake friendship’ thing to go over without a hitch,” I fired in response against his glower. “Either you play nice or I don’t play at all.”

He only nodded, giving me a once over. “Looks like you’re learning how to do things the Dreyton way.”

“After a while you kind of get sick of being a doormat to people who are so used to getting their way,” I admitted frigidly.

“Fair enough,” Oliver said. “Fine. I’ll try to be on my best behavior. So, this means our little plan to dupe my dad is on for tomorrow then?”

He smiled at me. It wasn’t friendly, it wasn’t trusting. It was generic; but at least it was better than nothing. I greeted it with a smile of equal caliber.

I replied, “as long as you have no intentions of dragging me on a carriage ride from hell, I think I can manage something.”

Oliver’s expression changed; just a little. His lips curved a little farther upwards, one eyebrow arching lightly as the blue irises below them brightened a bit. That time it was genuine. After a moment he held out his hand; I took it lightly. It was warm, and he gave it a gentle squeeze as we shook. “Deal.”