It's early in the morning when I hear Reed's footsteps moving across the wooden floorboards. I keep silent, trying to completely hide away underneath the sheets, although I know that he won't come inside my room.
Nevertheless, he stands still in front of my door, waiting. The seconds stretch until he finally leaves and his footprints echo on the staircase. A sigh of relief escapes me and I sit up in my bed.
I thought that after a night of sleep, I might be able to forget what a complete fool I made of myself last night. But in the early morning light, it is only more clear than ever that I completely embarrassed myself.
I throw my legs to the side, hesitant to let my toes touch the wood beneath. When I hear Reed firmly closing the front door, I dare to step up and walk towards the door of my room. My ears are ringing, looking for a sound that tells me Reed returns inside.
Instead, as soon as I open the door, the sound of the engine of the skiff replaces the soft background of cicadas. I let out a sigh. At least I can continue my day without having to embarrass myself in front of Reed for another six hours.
Once dressed and cleaned up, I start with the chores I find myself as I walk around the house. In the morning, I clean the windows, in the afternoon I manage to clean the curtains. All the while replaying the last few moments before I went to bed last night. It's ridiculous, but whenever I recall Reed's lips on mine, that one blunt moment of blind courage, my stomach knots together and heat spreads through my cheeks no matter how fervently I drown my hands inside the bucket of cold water.
It is not that I have never kissed a man before. I have, but if my parents would know, they'd be so ashamed I would be banished to the closest nunnery. It's uncommon for decent girls to experience flings, tainting our reputations. It's just that Reed did something, stirred something inside of me that fluttered and batted, a bird in my chest trying to come out.
Around three p.m. the phone rings. Surprised by the hard, foreign sound, I approach it carefully. I lift the black horn from the machine and hold it against my ear.
"Hello?"
The line creaks and it takes a while until a solid voice sounds from the other side.
"Annabelle?"
I frown, trying to match the morphed voice to a face when realization hits me.
"Reed." I let out and a small laugh resounds in my ear.
"I wanted to tell you I won't be coming home tonight. Appareantly something went wrong with the last delivery and it will take a while until it's solved."
"Oh."
A silence fills the empty air between us. It's about to turn uncomfortable when Reed continues to talk.
"I am sorry I left without notice this mornin'."
"No problem." I reply, twirling the curled cable around my finger, staring at my hand in the process. Again silence follows.
"You were still asleep, I didn't want to wake you up." Reed keeps talking. Somehow, my heart is stammering in my chest. Stupid hormones.
"Well..." Reed's voice sounds far away as he stretches the word. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"I'll see you tomorrow." I reply, cursing myself for being frozen near the phone. A dry click sounds but the horn is still pressed against my ear long after. I shake myself awake, forcing myself back into reality when a sudden noise drives me to the window.
In the setting light, the sound of a motorboat approaching sounds louder and louder with each passing moment. Finally it comes into view. My heart stutters to a halt. It can't be Reed.
YOU ARE READING
The Mask of New Paris ✓
Historical FictionALTERNATE HISTORY #1 Place Blooming Awards (JULY 2017) #1 Place Reach for the Stars Awards (SEPTEMBER 2017) #3 Place The Dreamcatcher Awards (JULY 2017) The big floods in 1870 changed the geography of the South. The survivors took years to settle do...