Perspective

My hair was dripping. Droplets trickled off my fringe into my eyes. My sweater hung sodden and heavy on my shoulders. My jeans swished, and my socks squelched.

I trudged miserably along the country road, swearing at myself for not bringing a raincoat, or a brolly, or a damn plastic bag. Anything to fend off this downpour.

I saw him in the distance, sitting on a fence under a tree, a dog by his feet.

“Nice day for it,” he said, as I drew closer.

“For what?” I thought. “Drowning?” But I laughed politely and said, “If you’re a duck.”

A smile spread across his face. “Not even ducks would go out in this shit.” He pushed a sopping curl from his eyes and peered up at the heavy sky. “It’s a little better under here, if you want to wait it out with us?” He dipped his head towards the yellow lab leaning against his leg, looking wretched.

I nodded and watched as he shuffled out of the tree’s protection and patted the wooden railing beside him.

“Now you’re in the rain,” I said, as I clambered onto the fence.

“I don’t mind. Besides, my mum would kill me if I made you sit out in this deluge, while I was getting somewhat less wet.”

“Well, thank you. This storm came out of nowhere, huh?” I felt like an idiot. Who goes for a walk, in weather like this? I tucked a bedraggled strand of hair behind my ear and gazed up at the branches offering me their meagre protection. “Apples,” I said, spying the red fruit for the first time.

He jumped down from the fence, his feet landing in a puddle and spraying mud up his jeans. He grinned. Wide and toothy and dazzling. “Whoops.”

Leaping into the air, he snatched an apple from a branch. The bough flicked back and sprayed us with more water.

We both screamed. Then laughed.

“Sorry about that. Like we needed to be more wet.” He rubbed the red fruit on his soaked t-shirt and handed it to me with a bow of his head. “For you, Milady.”

He blessed me with another stunning smile as I took the apple, then pushed himself back up onto the fence.

“My mum planted this tree,” he said. “This is where she met my dad. On this very spot. On a day like today. Apples were his favourite. He died a couple of years ago.” He gazed at the dog by his feet, reached his hand down and scratched the pup’s ears. “She died yesterday. My mum.”

I drew in a sharp breath. “Oh gosh. I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “Thanks. You’re the first person I’ve said that to. “She died. My mum died. It sounds so weird.”

We sat wordlessly for a time, as the patter of raindrops on the leaves above us filled the silence. Two strangers side by side but a million miles apart.

On another day, we might have exchanged names. We might have gone for a coffee. We might have become friends, or maybe something more.

But he was at the beginning of a storm that raged beyond the one churning in the skies above us. A torrential, lashing, sunless storm.

He breathed out a weighty sigh and dropped onto the road. “Anyway, I guess I should go, I’ve got a bit to organise. Thanks for sitting with me. Enjoy the apple and your soggy stroll.”

I watched as he jogged away with his dog by his side.

I looked up at the gloomy clouds that hung dark and pendulous above me, closed my eyes and let the rain pour down over my face. Then I wandered back towards the village, no longer bothered about being soaked. If getting rained on was the worst thing that happened to me today, I was lucky.

©Amy Hutton 2021

The Bride

It was supposed to be the happiest day of her life.

***

The dress sat perfectly across Katherine’s shoulders. The delicate rose coloured flowers stitched meticulously around the neckline, complimenting her smooth, alabaster skin. Folds of white silk charmeuse cascaded to the floor, trailing out behind her, a trim of intricate lace edging the train.

Her mother adjusted her veil, tucking her fiery ringlets behind the soft tulle.

She shook the ringlets forward and heard her mother sigh.

“You look beautiful,” her mother said. “But maybe you could wear a…”

She waited while the older woman arranged her words.

“…A less bright lipstick?”

Katherine mashed her lips together. They glowed with a slick of scarlet.

“I like it. It matches my hair.”

“It’s just that most brides…”

“Mother.”

“All right,” her mother said, raising her hands in mock surrender. “But you do look beautiful.”

Katherine squeezed out a smile. “Thanks.”

Her mother was right. She did look beautiful. More beautiful than her groom deserved. Even though he was beautiful himself. At least physically. The rest of him was as ugly as any man could be. Brutish and cold and narcissistic.

Her mother handed Katherine a glass of champaign. “Maybe a drink will help with your nerves,” she said, with a titter.

Katherine took the champagne on offer, tossing the bubbly liquid down her throat in one swallow before handing the glass back.

“Or five,” she said, her eyebrows raised.

Her mother took the hint and refilled her glass.

She gazed in the mirror again, barely recognising the woman staring back at her. The one who loved adventure, who danced wildly when no-one was watching, who drove too fast and swore too much, and wanted nothing more than to travel the world, free of commitments and boundaries and barriers.

She knew that life would never be hers now.

***

A year ago, she could never have believed this would be her fate. But a lot can change in a year.

Her father died and left a hole in the family filled with a debt no one knew anything about. Two mortgages on the farm that had been in her mother’s family for four generations.

They tried to get finance. They tried to work the land. They tried everything to keep their heads above water. Her, her mother and her two younger sisters.

They failed.

They sold off most of the stock to simply hold on to the farm. They let the ranch hands go, some who had been with her family nearly all their lives. Roy stayed, of course. More for her mother, than any other reason. He always held a flame.

Their saviour came in the shape of their neighbour. A man who owed his life to her father. Her father had pulled him from a raging river during one almighty Texan storm. They were never friends, but there was a respect between the men that lasted through to the end of her father’s days.

Landry Russell didn’t offer them money, but he did offer up his first-born son.

“A way to join our families and honour your father’s memory,” he had said.

A way to save their farm.

By selling her off.

She knew Walker Russell from school. The quarterback, the homecoming king, the bully. He was handsome beyond any boy she had ever seen. But behind his pretty chestnut eyes, lay a selfish, privileged, cruel young man, who saw himself as better than all around him. He picked on her with her pale skin, and flame coloured hair. He laughed at her father for still working his own land. He told her one day his family would own her ranch.

Seems he was right.

She hated him.

***

Her sisters bundled into the room giggling, their lavender bridesmaid’s dresses billowing behind them.

Laurel was too young to be anything but excited. At fourteen, she had no notion of love. All she cared about were her horses and BTS. Posters of the KPop stars papered her walls. But Justice knew better. She was seventeen, only three years Katherine’s junior, and a senior at the same school her older sister had attended. She understood why Katherine was marrying Walker. She knew it was so their mother could live her remaining years on the land she was born on. She knew it was so her and Laurel could go to college. She understood the sacrifice being made.

Justice looked over Katherine’s shoulder and into the mirror,

“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered in her sister’s ear.

“I do,” Katherine said with a smirk. “See how easy that was?”

Justice shook her head. “I’m going to tell mom you don’t love him.”

Katherine swung around and pretended to fix her sister’s hair. “You will not. Anyway, you don’t know how I feel.”

“Yes, I do. I saw how he used to treat you.”

“People change,” Katherine said with a shrug as she turned back towards the mirror.

“He hasn’t,” Justice said. “Please don’t do this, Kat. Please.”

Katherine smiled at her reflection, “Okay, ya’ll,” she said as she reached back and squeezed Justice’s hand. “I’m fixin’ to get married, who’s with me?”

Her mother and Laurel let out a hoot.

~~*~~

Delicate silk billowed around her like a shimmering marshmallow, as Katherine dropped to the ground and leant heavily against the old phone booth.

She gathered up the voluminous skirt and shoved it between her knees.

Pushing her shoes off with her heels, she tossed them one at a time towards the lake. They landed on the shore edge, a gentle wave claiming the left one and pulling it into the watery expanse. She watched as it drifted back and forth on the lapping tide, before it slowly sunk.

“Just like my life,” she said, as she wrenched the veil from her meticulously constructed up-do. Her flame red curls cascaded down in a messy mop of backcombing and bobby pins.

A dinging sound made her jump, and she fished around under the masses of white fabric, shoving her hand into the pocket she’d fought for when designing her gown. The one choice that was truly hers out of the whole god forsaken mess. Pockets.

She pulled out her phone and stared at the screen with its seventeen missed calls, sighed, and buried the phone back in the folds of her dress.

***

Everything had changed for Katherine when the limo transporting her to the church stopped for a herd of cows on their way to market. In a moment of clarity, Katherine saw the plight of those cows as being the same as her own. Plodding mindlessly forward to where they were expected to go. Passively accepting their fate. Lumbering towards the end of their life.

Without thinking, she’d dived from the car and dashed towards a thicket of trees, with no clue where she was going. Only that it was away. As far away as she could get from her shot gun wedding and a bitter future without love.

As she’d stumbled through the undergrowth, the sound of her name being hollered behind her became nothing more than a whisper on the wind, until finally it stopped. She knew her mother would never speak to her again. She knew she was being selfish. She was turning her back on her family. On their history. On her heritage. On everything she was ever taught to respect and cherish. But in that moment, as she’d clambered over fallen trees and through the long grass, Katherine felt free. The freest she’d been in years. Her future was hers once again, and no amount of money was worth throwing that away. Even if that meant losing the only life she had known since she was born.

When she burst out of the forest and onto the old highway, she’d flagged down a passing truck and a man, the age her father would have been if he were still alive, gave her a ride.

He hadn’t asked a single question, as she clambered aboard with swathes of wedding dress frothing around her. He’d talked only of the weather and the marvellous music playing on his ancient radio.

The man had dropped her by a phone booth beside Lake Pines, handing her a fist full of change and wishing her luck.

***

The coins jangled now as she stood.

***

Katherine’s Uber pulled up, its wheels crunching on the gravel.

She couldn’t help but laugh at the driver’s shocked face. She must have looked a sight. A wayward bride. Barefoot and bedraggled. Marbled patches of mud smeared down the front of her white dress and a tangle of hair hanging over her face.

She would fix it all. Fix everything. She would make it up to her mother. To her family. She would fine another way. A way that didn’t involve selling herself for a plot of land. Her father wouldn’t have wanted that for her, and once her mother understood, she was sure she wouldn’t want it either.

She slid onto the backseat, her one shoe in her hand, and stuffed her dress between her knees as she put on her seatbelt.

The driver gazed at her in the review mirror. “Bad day?” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

Katherine thought for a moment, then smiled.

“Happiest day of my life.”

©Amy Hutton 2021

Hawaiian Heatwave

Elle wasn’t sure if the pounding was happening inside her head or if it was the surf crashing against the beach outside her hotel window.

She groaned and licked her lips, screwing up her face at the stale tang of mint and shuddering at the memory of the mojitos she drank way too many of the night before.

“Morning,” a raspy voice beside her said.

Elle’s eyes snapped open, and she cautiously glanced to the side before slowly allowing her head to follow.

A smile met her. Wide and sleepy and impossibly bright.

She squinted as she struggled to focus.

The smile was surrounded by golden skin, with eyes the colour of faded denim sparkling above it. Messy brown curls stuck out in every direction and dark scruff shimmered along a strong, square jaw.

Everything roared back to her as she gawped at the gorgeous man in her bed. The cocktails. The music. The dancing. The kissing. The more kissing. So much kissing.

She lifted the covers and peeked beneath them, sighing with relief when she saw she was wearing her underwear.

“Yeah. We didn’t do that,” he said with a laugh. “What kind of guy do you think I am?”

At that moment, she wasn’t entirely sure, but she thought he might be an… “Adam?” she blurted. “Hi… Adam…” She cringed at the hesitation in her voice.

He laughed again. “Yep. Adam.”

She winced. “I know. You’re the reason I can’t feel my feet.” Or my lips, she wanted to add.

“We did do some dancing,” he said, stretching his arms above his head. A crack rang out. “Oof. I need to work out more.”

Elle frowned. From her vantage point, it looked like he worked out plenty. Broad shoulders lay against her pillows and perfectly formed biceps rested on top of her sheets.

She ran a hand over her hair, as she wondered how she could slide away to the bathroom and a mirror.

“Hey. You look beautiful,” he said, leaning in and kissing her on the cheek.

He threw back the sheets, strode to the window and drew the blinds.

Elle was dazzled by a magnificent sunrise and Adam’s equally magnificent back.

She inhaled sharply, and a tiny gasp escaped her mouth.

“I know, amazing, right?” he said, still gazing at the view. “Nothing like a Hawaiian sunrise.” He turned and smiled at her. “How about an early swim?”

***

They held hands as they walked barefoot down the path, past the pool and its straw umbrellas, and onto the beach.

“Race you,” he said, turning towards her and running backwards.

“You’re on,” she said, as she dropped her towel and sprinted towards the ocean.

She hooted as she shot passed him, then squealed in surprise as the cool water slammed against her skin.

He followed her in, slid his arms around her waist and dropped them both under the waves with a splash.

Elle burst to the surface laughing and spluttering – her long hair wrapped around her face.

Adam stood in front of her and guided the wet strands from her eyes. Then, bending down, he pressed his lips to hers.

They rocked back and forth, mouths locked together, bodies pressed into each other, fingers entwined, everything warm and wet as gentle ripples lapped around their thighs.

“So,” Adam said, when they finally broke for air. “You feel like some breakfast, Elle? I know the best spot on the island for Loco Moco.”

“Sure,” Elle said. “Or…” she hesitated. “We could get room service?”

***

As they walked back across the sand, towards the hotel and the deliciousness that awaited them, Elle licked her lips, this time savouring the zing of sea salt, and the heady taste of holiday romance.

© Amy Hutton

The Cruel Sea

Should I tell Jackson what really happened? Should I confess to him my secret? 

The music from the ballroom wafted on the breeze as I breathed in the salty air, its sweet tang settling in the back of my throat. We stood alone on deck and took in the stars; the tiny pinpricks of light peaking through the swathe of darkness. It had been such a beautiful evening. Perfect. Dancing, laughing, singing, swaying in Jackson’s arms. It made the last time I was on a ship seem like a distant dream. A distant dream preceded by a nightmare.

~*~

Jackson knows nothing of the man I loved before him. The man who made my every day a living hell. Whose cruelty still marks my body and my soul. He knows nothing about what I endured. The humiliation. The brutality. Will he understand if I tell him everything? Will he understand if I tell him the truth about the night the man tumbled overboard and vanished into the inky ocean?

“Somebody, help me!” I remember screaming.

Eventually.

“No. Please. No,” I remember crying.

In public.

But behind closed doors, I secretly celebrated. The joy was almost painful, it was so acute. I didn’t feel sad about it. Not for minute. Not for a second. I mean, I wouldn’t have shoved him over the rail if I didn’t want him dead.

Sometimes I wonder how death claimed him. The man. Was he dragged into the frozen depths and sliced into tiny pieces by the ship’s giant propellers? Or did he scramble to the surface and bob in the great expanse of water until sharks despatched him in a bloodied frenzy?

These are the sweetest of musings.

Jackson never questions me about what happened that night. He never asks for details. He says with grief, he knows the score. He understands that sometimes, it’s easier to keep the pain hidden than it is to share it.

Dearest Jackson with his kind eyes and sweet smile. He saved me in so many ways. He brought brightness back into my bleak world.

~*~

I gaze up at him, the silvery glow of the moonlight illuminating his gentle face. For the first time I know love, and if I’m going to spend my life with this man, then he deserves the truth.

“Jackson,” I say. I notice the thump of my heart pounding against my chest. “There’s something I should tell you.”

Jackson smiles at me, “I know all I need to know.”

“But you don’t.” A quiver colours in my voice, as the beginnings of tears prick at the corners of my eyes. “I didn’t tell you everything…”

“About the man?” he says. “The one you killed?”

“What?” I breath out.

Jackson’s hands suddenly slam against my chest, and the force of his shove makes me stumble backwards.

“Jackson!” I cry, as I bash into the guardrail. The metal impacts across the middle of my back and I yelp in pain and shock.

He shoves me again, and this time my balance falters completely and I tumble over the side.

I somehow manage to grab one of the rails as I fall. But it’s cold and slippery from the spray of the sea and I struggle to hold on. My fingers ache with strain as my feet scramble wildly against the hull of the ship trying to find a hold.

“Help me! Please! What are you doing?”

“I’m doing to you what you did to my brother,” he says, coolly.

I hear myself gasp, and in that moment, I see his face switch from kind to cruel. They have the same sneer, Jackson and his brother. The same ugly, vile sneer.

“You don’t understand,” I say, as I plead for my life, hoping he has more compassion in his heart for me than I had for his brother. “I’m sorry, Jackson. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not,” he says, and his foot comes down and stamps on my knuckles.

I watch his smirking face get smaller and smaller as I plummet. My arms flailing in front of me, grasping at the air. My screams lost on the wind.

The surface of the ocean is like concrete when I hit it, and the shock of the impact explodes the air from my lungs.

I disappear beneath the waves and the foamy wake of the ship.

 I’m kicking now, kicking and kicking. My hands reaching for the light as I struggle for air. I break the surface briefly and glimpse the stern ship as it disappears into the black night. I wave frantically, but a whirlpool of freezing water is sucking at my legs and dragging me down, and I know I can’t fight it.

Will Jackson raise the alarm, I think, as my lungs start to burn from craving breath. Will he feign panicked devastation while he secretly celebrates?

I know he will. That’s what I did.

I’m dying now, my mind is dimming; my heartbeat slowing. And as the darkness of the inky ocean pulls me into its depths and swallows me, I no longer need to wonder about the man’s death.

Because I’m living it, and in a moment, I will understand everything.

© Amy Hutton 2020