Beyond The Waves

Four | Gossiping, Nosey Cog

I laughed at her compliment, and we continued talking about my experience so far in Clifton and her time in Washington State. We ended the call by confirming what else I had to write for our research journal. As I pulled more weeds and sprinkled mulch in their place, my brain would not shut off despite cranking my music up.

No matter how much time passed between graduating high school and now, I still felt like a child. I thought it would subside as days passed, but it only worsened. It was partly because my routine was off, and the feeling my parents would waltz through the front door any second lingered in my chest.

Though, the house and I had slowly become acquaintances again. The walls and floors had stopped groaning at night, I didn't smell coffee brewing in the early mornings, and the house welcomed me with open arms anytime I came back from town, overwhelmed by the leering eyes and hushed talk.

I always dreamt of living in a house tucked away from the hustle of life. A home where I could sleep with the windows open, listen to the cicadas sing at night, and step outside on a sticky morning with a cup of coffee while the dew hung heavily in the air. Except, now I was here and never felt so alone, which was why my mind constantly lingered on the man in the blue house.

Weston might've been across the bay, but it was comforting knowing someone was close enough if I needed help, and even if he didn't want to see me, I could get the family boat out of the boat garage and sail over.

By late afternoon, the sun had lost its swelter, and I retreated inside to wash today's grime away and eat dinner. Still, my fridge looked barren, with no leftovers or fresh produce. I could have skipped dinner or made butter noodles. Instead, I hopped on my bike, pushed through the searing pain in my foot, and rode toward town.

As I whirled past quaint lake houses and watched porch lights turn on, all was quiet aside from the whooshing wind in my ears. The sky melded into dusky shades of blues, and I closed my eyes briefly and smiled.

I hoped this grocery run would be swift, and I could slip in and out of the store without being stopped for a conversation. Despite being here for almost a week, I had ventured out twice. Once for the first grocery trip and second for the tetanus shot, meaning nobody has been able to corner me.

I chained my bike and entered the store, filling my basket with only the needed things. The isles were desolate, and the harsh buzzing of the fluorescent lights and hum from the refrigerators lining the walls was all I heard.

Yet, my heart skipped a beat when I turned into the ice cream section.

Weston stood at the freezer with a basket in hand and ice cream in the other. For some reason, he didn't seem like someone who would buy ice cream. I'd expect him to eat tubs of greek yogurt with slices of fresh fruit and a strong cup of black coffee. With all that bitterness, maybe he chews the raw coffee beans?

His brows cinched as he read the label, still in his formal attire from the office. Though the tie was gone, I couldn't help but stare at the top undone buttons of his shirt. Although he looked like he belonged in Clifton in that outfit, he radiated outsider energy.

"That is a good flavor," I said to my neighbor.

His head whirled at the sound of my voice, and his hands fell to his side. Then he reread the label as though he had forgotten the flavor he was holding. "It is."

I stepped closer and reached for the freezer, grabbing my pint of cookie dough. He didn't take his eyes off me as I stuck it in my basket and smiled faintly. I hoped he would smile back but was not lucky.

Rocking on my heels once, I thought of something to say. "I haven't seen you on your dock." That was weird. Now he will think I was looking at his house, even though I was.