Page 15 of Coffin Up Love

I’ll do what Todd says and treat this less like a weird vacation and more like I’m in real danger. But man, I’m gonna miss jogging outside. And sunlight. And fresh air.

As I go to close the curtains on my window, I spy Emile and his friend pulling up to the house. I can probably trust him, right? At least enough not to take my picture and shove it around mafia circles.

He just seems so… nice. I close the curtains and smile, a warm blush on my cheeks. Maybe I can still go jogging now and then, at least up and down the street. What harm could that do, really?

8

EMILE

Ifinish fixing the backward cleat, but like this morning, I can’t stop thinking about Clarissa and the awkward lunch I just had.

My mind is ragged, playing the conversation out over and over again. Every time Marcel’s teasing comes to mind, I wince as if being hit with a fresh wave of guilt peppered with annoyance.

I know Marcel sees right through my attempts to play it cool when it comes to Clarissa, but the thing is, I do want to keep it cool. Casual. If I keep telling myself that long enough, whatever this weird attraction is will fade. And that’s way better than just breaking the poor girl’s heart in a month or two, isn’t it?

But along with Marcel’s incessant teasing come flashes of Clarissa sitting right across from me, her eyes catching mine every now and then, her shy smile speaking volumes. Could it be that she was awkward, not because of Marcel’s over-enthusiasm, but because she was as struck by our eye contact this morning as I was?

It’s only when I find myself wondering if she’s attracted to me, too, that I realize what I’m doing.

“Stop,” I groan to myself, trying to put an end to the daydreaming that I know will only lead me down a dangerous path.

The fact is, it doesn’t matter if I’m into her or if she’s into me. I’m not getting involved with yet another fun fling just to hurt her again.

Isn’t that the whole reason I’m going on this trip? To be alone?I think to myself as I pick up my drill and make another hole in the hull.

I want to get away from everything, not just as an opportunity to enjoy the work of my hands, but to make sure there is no way I can meet anyone for a good long while. I need some time to focus on myself and not the next pretty face that comes along.

I drill another hole, ready for the cleat to be bolted on, but the passion just isn’t there. I’m too distracted, and forcing myself to work on the boat isn’t giving me the relief I hoped for. Marcel and Clarissa have gotten way too far into my head.

In fact, I’m working almost as slowly as I did this morning, and with the unexpected lunch and the earlier mistakes, I’m way behind on the boat building for today. As much as I’d like to redeem myself, I can’t help but feel exhausted by Marcel’s childish needling.

With a sigh, I reach into the hull, winding another nut onto a cleat bolt before tightening it and sealing the whole backplate with marine silicone. At least I’m putting the cleats on the right way this time, even if they’re going on slowly.

But as I work, I feel my mind and body dragging.

“Fuck it,” I mutter to myself, putting the caulking down on the workbench and wiping the silicone off my hands.

I’ve had enough for today, and rather than stress myself out over finishing what I’d planned, I decide to give myself the rest of the afternoon off.

I glance out the garage door to the darkening sky and realize it’s not the creeping evening that’s blocking out the sun but a blanket of thick clouds. Judging from the smell of the air, it won’t be long until those clouds turn into a full-blown storm, and the thought propels me out of the garage and towards my leaky mailbox.

I glance up at the sky again as I pull a couple of letters out, reminding myself to fix the box before I leave for my trip. Coming back to a mailbox full of soggy mail will not be ideal.

I’m about to head back into the house with my mail when something next door catches my eye. A tall man in a dark suit is striding out of Clarissa’s house with a serious look on his face. I recognize him as the man who fell through the cracked wood of the porch earlier. He’s a bear of a man, and I’m still not entirely certain just who he is to Clarissa. He heads across the porch toward his car, a sleek, black BMW this time. But before he can open the door, he turns back to the house with a warning stare.

I follow his gaze and see Clarissa standing on the porch, looking totally terrified, her almond eyes wide and lips pursed tightly together. There’s something in her eyes that sparks compassion in me, and for a moment, I’m frozen there at the mailbox, wondering what I could possibly be witnessing.

As the man in the suit drives away, I consider going over there and checking if Clarissa is okay. It’s an impulse that goes beyond attraction and into care. But the thought passes quickly, and I tell myself the guy didn’t exactly look dangerous. Somehow, I don’t really think he’s a jilted ex coming around to make threats.

So I give up the idea. Instead, I hurry back inside, clutching my letters tightly and vowing to stay out of it just in case I creep her out again.

The moment I step back into the garage, though, I feel like a complete ass. Marcel’s words come back to haunt me — not the teasing this time, but the chastisement. I realize he was right, Iwasaloof at the diner. And in comparison to Marcel being his usual overly friendly self, I must have come off as completely disinterested.

What must Clarissa have thought of me?I wonder, shaking my head.

I sigh, closing the garage door and cleaning up the workshop before heading back into the house. I move slowly, as though the shame I feel for my conduct at lunch and even outside just now is physically weighing me down. I figure maybe a shower will help me relax, and I strip off my work clothes. But as the warm water washes away the day’s grime, it doesn’t wash away the stress.

I know I can’t get involved with another woman right now, but I also know that I don’t want to turn into a dick because of it. I was standoffish at lunch, there’s no way around that. When I think back over Clarissa’s story, I realize she must have lived a pretty lonely life.