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My dad grunts and anger washes through me. Heather’s hand on mine is the only thing preventing me from telling my dad off. I don’t want to argue with him because I’ve done it before and lost. My mind twists over the arguments we’ve had as Heather and I walk down the hill and past the tennis courts. I’ve taken this path so many times. It leads through the trees and twists past piles of dirt.
“When I was a child, I came back here to play. It was my sanctuary, my hideout.”
Heather turns and walks backward for a few steps before spinning around. "It's nice out here. How long have William and Alisha lived here?"
“Forever. Their children are older than me. I think her grandfather owned the house. They’ve added to it, built the tennis courts, put in a pool, but they’ve had it forever.”
She stops and looks up, spinning a little as I watch. I could look for a hundred years and never find a woman as good as her. “They’re different than your parents.”
I laugh. It’s a painful realization, one I can’t quite talk about. I pluck a leaf from Heather’s hair before catching her hand in mine. Anger from the past surfaces. I thought I had that old fury beaten, but something had set it off. I try to focus on Heather as we make our way to the creek that twists through the woods.
“This is nice.” Heather’s words pull me from my musings.
We’re close to the creek and I take my hand from hers to move a limb that is blocking our path. “It was one of my favorite places as a kid. I know it may be tough to imagine this, but my parents fought all the time.”
She slaps her hands to her cheeks. “What? Surely you jest.”
I laugh with Heather and move to bump her shoulder but my foot slips on a rock and I slide down the bank, landing in the creek with a splash.
“Are you okay?” Heather looks horrified as she tries to make her way down the slippery bank.
“Don’t come—”
It's too late for my warnings. After a screech and a splash, Heather is in the water next to me, her laughter warming me all the way to my toes. I chuckle and try to stand, but Heather picks up a wad of mud and tosses it at me. It smacks me on the side of my face. A flash of annoyance fuels my anger. Years ago I'd come home muddy after playing by the creek. My father had beaten me, leaving red marks up my back and down my legs. It had traumatized me. I fight through the haze, shoving my anger down. I don't want to be my dad, ever.
I pick up a handful of mud and smear it over Heather’s neck and down to her cleavage. As weird as it is, I’m getting hot. Heather gasps then laughs louder. In less than thirty seconds we’re both dripping with mud. She pushes me to the bank and hovers over me. A glob of mud drips off her neck to my cheek.
We both laugh as she lowers. “We’re so dirty.”
“If this place were more secluded, I’d strip you naked and show you how dirty I really am.”
She sits back and studies me. “Why do you try so hard to be like your dad?”
I sigh and shake my head, hating the truth. I go to cover my eyes, but my arm is too dirty, so I let it drop to my side. “I don’t know. Stupidity maybe.”
“You’re not a stupid man, Baxter.”
My father had drilled in how dumb I was when I’d done stuff like come home covered in mud. Again and again, he’d railed, telling me I was stupid. “You don’t know that.”
“Please, we were friends. I know you’re not dumb.”
I turn over and crawl up the bank. Disgust fills me. Heather doesn’t know that her challenge makes me feel powerless. Her words rub salt in wounds I’d etched on my body after tireless nights spent trying to be good enough. Once at the top I turn and look at her. She’s still in ankle deep water with mud running down her neck onto her breasts. She’s everything I want to be. Free-spirited, kind, loving, and I’m not enough of anything that used to be me when we knew each other in California.
“You don’t understand.” The words were flung at her in anger. I try to remain calm, but it’s too much. Memories flow fast, making my head spin.
“Are you happy?” Heather climbs up the bank. I should reach down and pull her up, but anger has me frozen.
Pain lances my heart. Her question sets off a fire chain of anger I can’t control. “What do you know about business? You wear your funky clothes and do your hair however you want. You don’t have to deal with the real world or what it takes to run a business. I work hard, and still, my dad is an asshole, keeping the business from me. It’s not like I can be happy and work. I have to choose.”
I draw in a deep breath as realization dawns. I'd made a colossal mistake. The words were my father's, not mine, but they were out there, floating on the wind. The hurt on Heather's face was too real. I reach for her, but she shakes off my hold.
Without any hesitation, she turns and races away. I go after her.
“Wait. Please don’t go. I didn’t mean it.” I’d seen tears in her eyes, and I want to wipe them away, but my hands are filthy. "Heather, I'm sorry."
“I’m done. I’m going home.”
Panic sets in. “Please. Don’t leave.”
