That Day, Karen Deen [early readers .txt] 📗

I jump up, reaching for my blanket at the end of my bed and startling poor Coco. She springs to her feet, ready to attack whoever is disrupting her sleep. Well, not quite, maybe it’s more she wants to give me the death stare for waking her.

I pad in my bare feet down the hallway in the light from my bedroom, toward my office, so I can look out the window.

“Tell me where to look. Who am I kidding, all I can see are houses scattered all along the beach for as far as I can see. Maybe in the daylight I might have more of a chance.” I stand with my soft blanket wrapped around me, seeing the storm off in the distance, and this is the first time I don’t get that nervy feeling that it will come back to get me.

“Ye of little faith. Tell me if you see me.”

Watching the houses, I start to giggle. “Okay, Mr. Genius. Very clever. I’m guessing you are the house in the distance near the other end of the surf break. The one that the lights are now going on and off like a rave party in a night club. Have you got the doof, doof music to go with it? I’m sure your neighbors are loving you right now.”

Both of us start laughing, not just a little but a really deep belly laugh, as he turns on his stereo that starts booming in the background and through the phone, some god-awful music that is thumping with deep base.

“Please tell me that is not your favorite playlist,” I groan. “Otherwise, I will have to rethink this whole friendship agreement.”

“That’s harsh, but rest assured, I don’t even know what the hell this music is. I just punched into Spotify looking for house music. You can thank me later for your education of a new music style.”

“Hmm, not sure any thanks are necessary, or that music is the word you should be using. I can imagine it’s like a disco in your house right now, with the flashing lights. You know you can stop flicking the switch, I can see you.”

Pulling the blanket a little tighter around me, it’s like I have a friend for the first time in a long time.

“I’ll look out for you at two am. It’ll be nice to know I’m not alone in the world sometimes,” I whisper more to myself but not quietly enough, as per usual.

“You are not alone, Asha,” he says sternly, like he wants to imprint his words in my head. “Ever!”

I wish I could believe him. But on the inside, I know that no matter who is around in this world, I can’t trust anything but my gut instinct. Protect myself, because there will always be someone who is ready to take everything away in an instant, the moment that I let that guard down.

My heart is beating so fast now, listening to Kurt. My lonely heart wants me to reach out, but unfortunately, I can’t.

Totally jumping backward in the conversation is the only thing I can think to do.

“Anyway, I’m not sure you should read my books. I won’t be able to look you in the eye the next time I see you.”

“You know that’s got me downloading the book right now, ready to see what you’re hiding.”

My mind straight away goes to something stupid. “After last night, there is nothing you haven’t seen, so nothing to hide.”

“Touché, lady, touché. But I’m still reading them, so you better get ready for my questions.” I can hear the deviousness in that comment.

“If you message me with enquires about any sex scene I have written, do not expect an answer.” I make myself comfortable in my desk chair, my eyes still glued on his house.

“Okay, no messages, but what about requests for re-enactments?”

“Kurt, seriously, what part of friendship is that?”

“The fucking best part!”

“Literally! I think I might have to write you the handbook to friendship. Not sure you’ve read the definition correctly.” Swinging backward and forward on my chair, I’m smiling at knowing he still wants me, even though we both have reasons not to pursue this.

I feel more like a woman tonight than I have in a very long time.

“Do I get to be the editor?” he asks, teasing. “I mean, I’m sure there will be things that need to be deleted and paragraphs you will have completely missed. Or things I’d be good at embellishing. You know, with all my amazing skills as a builder, of course I would know how to write.”

“You might be surprised what is hiding inside you, Kurt.” I lean forward on my desk and turn on my computer. Words are starting to race in my head. Sleep won’t be happening for a few hours now. All the emotions that are swirling inside me are stirring my inspiration like it hasn’t been for a while.

“Yes, like the hidden builder in you.”

“Are you saying I can’t use a hammer and nails? I’ll have you know I built the best tree house on Geraldine Street. It was the talk of the neighborhood. Women can use tools too, you know, you should see me in action.” I picture the treehouse Dad and I built together in the big old oak tree in my backyard. I was about eight, I think, and I wanted a secret hideaway for me and my dolls. Of course, I wanted it high up like a castle where the prince would come and rescue me. Mom wanted a proper playhouse built with a nice little table and chairs, curtains on the windows, and tea parties for my dolls. But the tomboy in me wanted the adventure of a treehouse that I could make into whatever I was imagining in my fantasy for the day.

“Then show me.” Kurt’s voice breaks me from my memory.

“What?” I splutter.

“Let’s swap jobs for a day. I’ll write you a story and you spend a day with me on the tools. Surely,