Someone to Stay Page 7

  “Hi there,” he said quietly. “Are you ready to go?”

  “Of course. Get in.”

  She turned and got into the driver’s seat of her blue hatchback; he opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, buckling up.

  “It’s already so hot,” she said as she started the car, cranking up the AC. Music began to play - or resume, from the sounds of it - a group he had never heard before, the music quiet and ambient in the small space.

  “I know. Where are we going?”

  This was terribly novel, he thought to himself, as Cassie glanced at him, eyes meeting his. When was the last time he had done something like this? But then, her lips parted, distracting him. Her hair was swept back into a braid that exposed her neck, and he realized then that he had never before noticed how graceful it was. He forced his eyes up again, but she had already looked away.

  “It’s a park called Harrison Hills. It’s about twenty-five minutes away or so. But there’s a lot of nice walking trails.”

  She pulled out of her parking spot and began to drive, her eyes never leaving the road, her fingers tapping an irregular beat onto the steering wheel. He was fixated by the movement, her delicate hands, the pale skin against the black leather.

  “How was your bike ride with Sam?” Jake asked her, as they crossed the bridge he had originally taken into town four nights ago. It felt like an eternity - that night was hazy because he was so exhausted from his trip in. He looked out the window; the town had already slipped by and was behind them now, with only the trees to stare at beyond the road.

  “It was good,” Cassie replied. “We went up this road, a little further and looped back around.”

  “You rode a bike on this road?” he asked, doubtfully. It hardly seemed safe.

  “Yeah. Luckily, there weren’t that many cars.”

  “Luckily.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, and Jake looked at her again, her soft profile, her contemplative expression.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked abruptly, before he could stop himself.

  “You’re quite curious, aren’t you?” she replied, grinning, stealing a glance.

  “It’s one of my best qualities.”

  Cassie was silent for a moment, her eyes on the road, before saying, “I was just thinking about how...happy I am that we’re doing this. It’s going to be fun.”

  She had only one hand on the steering wheel now, her left one, her right resting on her leg. He eyed that hand, wanting to touch it, to hold it. He didn’t, feeling that it would hardly be appropriate to grasp at someone he barely knew, and, instead, nodded his head.

  “I’m happy as well.”

  They were quiet then, for a while; he took in the green summer before him as the car sped toward their destination, the music still quiet in the background. Jake thought of Alexa, wondering if their encounter was going to be a problem for him. He didn’t think it would be, as their relationship was far too strained for her to demand anything of him, but he could rather do without the rumors that he was seen bounding down the stairs dressed the way he was. He thought that perhaps he was too paranoid, but shrugged it off. He wouldn’t have gotten to where he was today without a fair amount of paranoia.

  Pathetic, that voice in the back of his head whispered. Don’t you know how pathetic that sounds?

  “So, what exactly does filming a movie entail?” Cassie asked then, breaking him out of his reverie. He looked at her, thoughtful, uncertain how to start.

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Like,” she started, not sure how to put it. She waved her free hand around mildly, eyes darting to meet his before going back to the road. “Like, what do you do besides, obviously, being on screen?”

  He hadn’t expected to talk about his career. He sat back more in his seat, fingers toying with the seatbelt resting against his chest.

  “There’s a lot more that goes into it than just being on screen.” He paused, lips parting slightly as he stared ahead at the highway in front of them. “When I first sign onto something, I study the script. Sometimes I have to train for my role. I might have to take dialect lessons, or change my diet to put on or lose weight, or shadow someone in the real world for a while to learn the ins and outs of whatever profession I may be emulating. It just depends.”

  “Really? How long do you have to do that for?”

  “It depends on how complicated it is. Like for Hope’s Fall, I had to learn to do an American southern accent. It was about four weeks of training.”

  Cassie nodded. “I see. Did you have to do anything special for the movie you’re about to do?”

  “Ah, not really; I had about a week of brushing up to do on my normal American accent, but I did that largely by myself.”

  “What’s this movie about, anyway? I don’t think Sam mentioned it.”

  “I - uh, is Sam a fan?” he asked.

  “Oh. Yes. A bit, she is, yes.”

  “I see.” Jake decided to brush that off, for now, not wanting to digress any further from their conversation and not wanting to appear overly defensive, either. “This film is a suspense film, I suppose you could say, called The American Dream. It’s about a couple that moves to this picturesque town to save their declining marriage. It has a wicked twist at the end that made me sign on for it without even thinking twice.”

  “Wow! What kind of twist?”

  He chuckled at that. “You’ll have to see the film to find out, now won’t you?”

  She giggled. “Alright, well, who do you play?”

  He didn’t see the harm in indulging her further. And besides, all this information could be found online, if she looked. Do you think she hasn’t already?

  Doing his best to ignore that, he said, “I play the valiant and slightly unfortunate character of Christian Walters.”

  “Slightly unfortunate?”

  Again, Jake chuckled. “I don’t rescind my earlier comment. You’ll have to see it.”

  Cassie pulled a face and slumped her shoulders. “Alright, if you say so,” she said in a mock sad voice. They looked at each other, and she laughed, and Jake couldn’t help but think that there was no sound better than that.

  After the relatively short trip, they pulled into the park, curving around playgrounds and fields and picnic tables. Cassie found a parking spot and stepped out of the car.

  He could understand the beauty of this place, he supposed, eying across the way as children played on the playground, swings squeaking as parents pushed and the sounds of raucous laughter echoed high. The parking lot was shaded by tall green trees overhead; he tried to remember what a park like this back home would look like, would feel like, but the image wouldn’t come.

  “So, how far do you want to go?” Cassie asked him, and he turned to look at her, smiling.

  “How far would you like to take me?”

  He was aware of the double entendre - and apparently, Cassie was too. She averted her gaze, obviously uncertain how to reply to this, but he could see mischief there, too.

  “If you’re feeling up to it,” she said, meeting his eyes again, her expression unquestionably impish, “there’s a three mile loop.”

  He met her statement with a wolfish grin, delighted at this game. “I can assure you that I feel up to it.”

  Cassie’s eyes widened, her cheeks noticeably pink. “G-great. Let’s go.”

  Chuckling to himself, he followed her across the parking lot and to a marked space in between the trees, a walking path wide enough for several people. The air felt less hot under the cover of the woods, but no less humid. He noted that there weren’t many people about at all and felt relief at this; those that they passed barely gave them a second glance, which made him feel extremely lucky. He was careful to lower his head when they passed people, though, just in case.

  “I’ve been wondering,” Jake began, deciding to ask her about something that had been on his mind a few times since the other night. “What got you into sk
etching, if not for fun? You say it’s a stress reliever, but aren’t they one in the same?”

  There was an inordinate pause after his question that made him think that maybe she hadn’t heard him until he turned his head and noticed the expression on her face. It was off-putting, and there was an inexplicable shadow. It was obvious that this was the wrong question to ask.

  “I -” Cassie started and then stopped. She shook her head, to herself perhaps, and then looked at him, a sadness in her eyes that made him worry. “I’m sorry. I just never talk about this, really.”

  The inquisitive part of him wanted to ask her to explain. The polite, reasonable part of him reminded himself that it wasn’t his business, or place.

  “I’m sorry if I struck a nerve. Of course, you don’t have to tell me. But if you want to, then I’d like to listen.”

  They continued the path in silence for a while, Jake kicking stray rocks as he came upon them. She was quiet for so long that he figured she wasn’t going to talk about it anymore, and he thought that maybe he had botched the whole thing with one dumb, albeit simple, question. He was wracking his brain for something else to talk about when she spoke, her voice flat.

  “I lost my father. Fourteen months ago.”

  Jake didn’t stop walking but slowed his pace. Cassie did as well, looking at him curiously as she did so.

  “Cassie,” he said, uncertain what to say. He hadn’t expected this. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  She averted her eyes, and her voice very quiet as she continued. “He had leukemia. And when he died, I...became really depressed. My mom practically got on her hands and knees so that I’d see a therapist, and I did, but I wouldn’t talk to him. So...he told me to draw my feelings, if that’s what it took to express my...grief.” Her voice sounded distant, and Jake had a sudden sense of overwhelming empathy for her; he could see the sudden sense of grief that was obvious on her face: it was all too relatable.

  “When I was twelve,” he began, his own voice quiet, “my older sister passed away. She was in the car, going to a friend’s, when a drunk driver hit her.”

  Saying it again, like that, gave him a strange feeling in his throat. Along the path, Jake saw a wooden bench and gestured at it. “Let’s sit for a bit.”

  Sitting, Cassie looked at Jake and reached out to squeeze his arm, her face turned toward his, her eyes alight with empathy.

  “I’m so sorry about your sister. That must have been...terrible.”

  Jake remembered it then: his mum, a crying mess; his dad, standing stiff as a board in the living room when they got the call, phone in hand, the cord dangling to the ground. Those memories happened separately, but they always came together when he remembered Emma dying. They were faded, flimsy in his mind, and yet something about them discordantly seemed concrete. He sighed, softly, and decided to continue his story, not quite sure what he wanted to say.

  “It was. It was really hard on my parents. I...was too young to understand. To me, Emma was just my older sister...we weren’t very close. But I remember, at the funeral, when they let everyone go up to look at her in her casket, and it was my turn, that all I could do was...stare at her. That was the moment that I realized that she was gone, that she wasn’t coming back. It was so surreal, and I remember stepping away and going into the toilet and crying my eyes out.”

  At this, Jake looked at his hands, folded in his lap. He refused to look at Cassie. He had never told anyone this - not in so much detail, so raw. It had been such a long time since he had thought of his sister like that, dead in her casket, flowers framing her body, the second half of the casket closed because the car crash had crushed her body so much that they had to hide it. He felt the familiar burn in the back of his throat and swallowed, trying to cast the memory away.

  “Jake...I don’t know what to say.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck and finally looked at her.

  “It’s alright. It was a long time ago.” He paused, wishing to direct this conversation elsewhere. He cleared his throat. “Your father...would you like to talk about it?”

  Cassie’s eyes widened. “I - no. I mean, thank you. But...I’m just not ready to talk about him.”

  Not ready? he thought, thinking that maybe she meant she wasn’t ready to talk about it with him. But, regarding her uncomfortable posture, her fingers gripping her knees, he wondered if she ever talked about her dad - to anyone.

  “Of course. I understand,” Jake said. He stood, holding a hand out to her, sliding back into that character he could play all too well. “Shall we continue our walk, then?”

  Cassie gave him a weak smile. “Alright. Yes.”

  She took his hand, and he gripped it, giving it a small squeeze as she stood up. He wanted to keep holding it, to let her feel some semblance of comfort with his actions if not his words. But once she stood, he lost his nerve and let go of her, his own hand hanging limply at his side.

  They continued along the path, not seeing another person at all as they traversed it. It went deeper and deeper into the woods, the sounds of cars and trucks seemingly fading away with each step they took.

  “So tell me,” Cassie said then, her voice taking on a new tone, a lighter one, “What made you get into acting? How do you even get into acting, anyway?”

  He supposed it was natural, her curiosity. He let himself remember it: the excitement he felt when he was accepted to uni, the dramas, the knowledge that his mum was in the audience, somewhere. Life back then was simpler, he supposed, but acting brought a sense of completion to his life that he had never known before. His memories hardened somewhat, remembering how his dad hadn’t exactly approved - he wanted a doctor, a solicitor. Something, in his mind, that was accessible. His dad was never at any of his plays.

  “In secondary school, I became interested in drama. At first I would just stay after classes and help paint backgrounds and sew jumpers. But then...I dunno. I just decided to try out for Hamlet, and...I got the part. It was - well, it changed my life.”

  He was aware that she was watching him closely, and he turned to smile at her. Her expression nearly made him stop - her attention was entirely on him but in a way he wasn’t used to. She wasn’t interested in the normal things that people were interested in when they spoke to him - he could see it so clearly he chided himself for not seeing it earlier. He thought, briefly, of Gina. The woman he had loved, fiercely, at one time, before it all went sour - before she tried to ruin his career. He thought of Zach, the man he thought was his best friend since childhood, whom he hadn’t spoken to since Gina. She’d succeeded at ruining that. But Gina was not like Cassie.

  Cassie was not here, he was certain now, because she was interested in his career, or his fame. She was interested in the things that made him happy...it was clearly written all over her face.

  “It sounds like you really love it.”

  She had turned away from him at that, and he contemplated her words. He had loved it, at one time, absolutely. But did he love it now? His mind sifted through the never-ending expanse of interviews, magazine shoots, endless takes and retakes and cameras flashing in his face. He thought of one day, last summer, on one of his rare off weeks at home, seeing a film and being approached in the middle of it for an autograph and a photo. Did he love that? Did he love his publicist calling him, berating him for leaving the BAFTA after-party early, for not posing for enough pictures? Or his stylist, who chided him every time he chose the wrong watch, the wrong tie?

  “I...don’t know if you could say I love it. When I was in school...when I first got that phone call from an agent, yes. I loved it. I was on top of the world. But now, it’s hardly about the acting anymore. I spend most of my time, honestly, promoting and putting on a good face. My time isn’t mine.”

  He stopped himself from cringing at his words. Why was he saying these things to her? What if she...went home and told everyone? Told Sam, who was a fan, what he’d said?

  “Then...what makes you stay?”

&nb
sp; His own words, rebounded on him, startled him completely. He struggled to find an answer that had any sort of coherency. He had, at times, wondered this himself. Why didn’t he leave? Why did he stay?

  He thought about his options. He could go back home, get some boring desk job, go back to school to be the solicitor his father had always wanted. Both of those notions made him recoil, if only because they sounded so bloody boring. It wasn’t as if he had anything he’d be going back to.

  Trying to think about something that would excite him again was hard. It was all muddled, spoiled by the reality his life had become. He glanced at Cassie, who was watching him expectantly, obviously waiting for his answer. It wasn’t all bad.

  “I stay for experiences like this. If it weren’t for my acting, I’d never have met you.”

  He expected her to smile at this - to be reminded of his charm and distracted from the heart of this conversation which had frankly crossed the line to be uncomfortable for him. She was unknowingly trudging up a lot of memories and feelings he would have rather kept locked away. But instead of a smile, her brow furrowed, and she frowned.

  “What?” he asked, uncertain why she would react this way. Perhaps...he’d been reading her wrong?

  “It’s just -” she started and then stopped. She looked as if she were battling with herself, a feeling he could definitely relate to.

  “Go on,” Jake pressed.

  “Okay. But...it’s just that I think that’s a cop-out. I think you’re trying to evade my question. But if you don’t want to answer it, it’s fine. I understand.”

  Her words were biting. Not her tone, but the way they made him feel. They rounded a corner, the dense woods a solace in the wake of his sudden sense of remorse; he struggled to find a response.

  “Jake.”

  Her voice was coming from behind him, and he stopped and turned. She was a few feet back, standing on the path, her face a confused mess of perplexity and sadness. He wondered if maybe he had been out of the dating world for so long that he had no idea how to go on a proper one anymore; their conversation was a mixed bag of depth that he couldn’t remember ever sharing on a first date. The level of his confusion was extraordinary as he backtracked, walking up to her and stopping.