Project "Lavender" - Chapter Three
Below is the first draft of the third chapter of my work in progress novel "Lavender."
Author’s Note:
This is a rough draft. It has not been edited properly. Nothing is set in stone yet, and things may change as the draft develops. Thank you to anyone who reads and leaves feedback.
Read the rest, here:
Day One:
Augusta doesn’t hang around long after dinner. She doesn’t think she can stomach much more of Sam. She tells Carey she has a headache – too much sun and alcohol, she says – and needs to sleep it off. Carey, having no reason not to believe her, takes her at her word.
“Do you need anything?” He asks. “Tylenol? Advil? Aleve?”
He’s so sweet. So very sweet. How can she tell him his best friend is probably evil?
“I’m okay,” she says. “Probably just need some water and rest.”
Still, he looks concerned. She feels bad for lying. She really needs to be alone, though.
“Alright,” Carey nods, squeezing her hand affectionately. “We’ll keep it down out here. I won’t be too late.”
She smiles. “Don’t worry. Have fun.”
Maybe she should say, yes, please come hide in the room with me, away from Sam. Maybe she’s being foolish, leaving him alone with the two of them. Maybe she should stick like a mollusk to his side, and never give Sam the opportunity to voice his relationship-ending, manufactured concerns. Maybe this is Augusta throwing in the towel, in a way.
Whatever. She doesn’t have a lot of fight in her. There’s always been a sense of inevitability when it comes to losing people she loves. Of having them walk away, for one reason or another. It’s always felt like her lot in life; never to be quite permanent, but a placeholder. She’s not the person to go down kicking and screaming. She just really wishes this wasn’t the reason she’s going to lose Carey.
It’s infuriating, actually. Who the fuck does Sam think he is? Judge, jury, and executioner of Carey’s love life? It’s so arrogant and controlling and… And he’s a jackass! A total jackass! He doesn’t know Augusta. He hasn’t made any effort to get to know her. He’s completely rebuffed any of her attempts to be friendly with him. He just decided that Augusta wasn’t good enough for Carey, based on what? Her job? Her appearance? Her presence? Something Carey might have said? She doesn’t know, but it’s driving her crazy. She can’t think of one good reason Sam would have to not want her and Carey together.
Until she can.
She’s lying in bed, tucked under a heap of covers and fleecy blankets, bedroom illuminated by a small lamp on the nightstand, looking at patterns on the timber of the roof, when it hits her.
Sam doesn’t have a reason to dislike her. But Luana? Luana does. Luana has a big, huge secret that she’s probably keeping from Sam and Carey and everyone else. A decade later, and she’s still holding onto it. What if she does remember Augusta? What if she remembers everything the way Augusta remembers it, and she’s just a very skilled actress? She’d have to be, wouldn’t she? What if she’s said something to Sam to make him behave this way? To make him certain Augusta isn’t a good fit for Carey?
Augusta rolls over and huffs into a heap of pillows. Is she being crazy? Her thoughts sound a little crazy, even to herself. Paranoid. Maybe she’s being paranoid. Maybe Sam isn’t even that bad. Maybe she’s insecure. Maybe he’s just a little abrasive, and she’s reading into it. Maybe everything will just be fine if, like Luana, Augusta just pretends she’s okay with the way things are.
By the time the chatter outside the bedroom dies down and Carey comes to bed, Augusta still hasn’t fallen asleep. She’s worked herself up into a spiral; he’s going to dump her, no she’s overreacting, no Sam is evil, no Luana is pulling his strings, no she’s just pathetic and insecure and needs to grow the hell up.
“Hey,” Carey says, smiling down at her as he closes the bedroom door. “You’re awake. We weren’t too loud, were we?”
“No, not at all,” she says.
It’s true. Although she’d heard Carey’s occasional loud rumble of laughter, they hadn’t been noisy.
“How are you feeling?” Carey asks, sitting down on the edge and reaching to touch her forehead like she’s a little kid with a fever.
“A bit better,” she lies. She actually feels worse than when she decided to hide in here.
“That’s good,” Carey says. “I was worried.”
“Can I ask you something?” Augusta chances, maybe against her better judgement.
“Of course,” Carey nods. “Anything.”
“Did Sam…” She sighs. “Did Sam say anything about me?”
Carey frowns, like this question has come completely out of left field. Is it really so surprising?
“Sam? No. Why? What would he say?”
Augusta’s mouth pinches with frustration. Is he intentionally obtuse to his friend’s behaviour or does he genuinely not see it? Even Luana seemed embarrassed.
“I don’t know,” Augusta shrugs. “I just got the feeling he doesn’t like me very much.”
Carey’s brows furrow. Maybe it’s the particular shade of blue of his eyes, but whenever he looks unhappy with something, he has the effect of an exaggerated Disney character. It’s not on purpose. Augusta knows he doesn’t do it on purpose. Yet, somehow, every time he looks mildly distressed she wants to say something to make it better. Just kidding, love Sam! We’re thick as thieves! She doesn’t, though. This time, she doesn’t.
“Hey, no,” Carey says. “Sam doesn’t dislike you. He doesn’t have any reason to dislike you, Gus. You’re amazing. Of course he thinks you’re amazing.”
He may not have any reason to dislike her that is valid or fair, but he certainly doesn’t think she’s amazing. If Carey really believes that, he’s on something.
“Carey,” she says. “Come on.”
Carey sighs. “Look, it’s… It’s not like that. Really.”
Ah. Which means he’s aware it’s like something.
“He doesn’t like me,” Augusta says. “I’m not stupid. He hardly responds when I talk to him.”
“I-I don’t think you’re stupid,” Carey assures her. He looks sort of horrified. “I know you’re not!”
“Then what’s the problem, Carey?” She demands.
And she hates herself for it.
She hates sounding insecure. She hates sounding needy. She hates sounding frustrated. Those are the kind of things you get to be when you’re certain someone wants you around. When you’re certain your value outweighs the temporary moodiness. Augusta isn’t sure of that, and she has this whole Sam and Luana thing counting against her, so she should really be more careful.
Carey rubs a frustrated hand over his eyes for a moment before answering her.
“Listen, Gus, it’s not you,” he says. “Sam is… Well, you know Sam and I have been best friends for years.”
Augusta nods. Obviously she knows that.
“But it’s… It’s, like, more than that, you know?” Carey says. “We’re family. He’s the person who has been with me through all the toughest shit in my life. And-and vice versa. When things were really bad between me and my parents, and then they died, I had Sam. When Sam was getting divorced, he had me, and during a hundred other things before that…”
“I get it,” Augusta says. “Like a brother.”
Carey pauses. His lips pull into a tight almost-frown.
“Um… I mean, I’ve never called it that. But sure.”
Augusta doesn’t know what to make of that reaction. Surely thinking of a best friend like a brother isn’t so strange? How many times, during undergrad, had Alannah called her sister? But that’s not important right now. Augusta files this away as information for later and moves on.
“He’s protective of me,” Carey says. “We’ve seen each other get hurt, you know? That’s all. He doesn’t want that. But I know who you are, Gus. He will, too. He doesn’t mean anything by it, I swear.”
Augusta considers this. She doesn’t know she’s ever had a friendship like that. Someone she’s so close to that the very idea of them having a new partner is a threat because of the potential harm they may one day cause. That’s very… Intense?
“Did you feel that way when you met Luana?”
“What do you mean?” Carey asks.
What does he mean what does she mean?
“When Sam introduced you to Luana, did you feel the same way?” Augusta asks. “Were you protective of him? Standoffish?”
Even as she asks it, she realizes he couldn’t have been the exact same. Carey is so charismatic and friendly, it’s impossible to imagine him acting like Sam is acting now.
“With Luana?” Carey asks. “No. She’s so… I mean, she’s really easy going and sweet. I love her dog. She’s a good fit for Sam. He’s happy.”
Augusta nods. See? That’s reasonable. That’s how a normal friend behaves.
“But…” Carey sighs.
“But what?” Augusta asks.
“But, his ex, on the other hand…” Carey winces.
“The one he married?” Augusta whispers, like suddenly Sam must be listening in on them.
“Yeah,” Carey nods. “Blair. I may have vocalized, eventually, my misgivings. So, I get it. But, you know, I’d known Blair for a while. We all went to high school together.”
“How’d that go for you?” Augusta asks.
A dark, sad sort of look passes over Carey’s face. As quick as a flash. Not a look he wanted Augusta to notice, she thinks.
“Well, he still married her, didn’t he?” Carey chuckles wryly.
And oh. Oh, see, this isn’t making Augusta feel any better. If anything, it sort of confirms her fears.
He tried to stop the wedding? Carey genuinely tried to prevent Sam’s marriage. Obviously he was right, they didn’t last long. But still. What the hell?
Carey is devoted to Sam, in a way that sort of transcends that usual best friend relationship, by his own admission. He broke up with someone because Sam said so. He doesn’t see his faults. But that same level of devotion isn’t returned by Sam, maybe. He married a woman Carey didn’t like. A woman Carey knew well enough not to like.
“Why didn’t you like Blair?” Augusta asks quietly. She needs to know. She needs the pieces of this puzzle, as though for her own survival. Like if she doesn’t figure this out, Sam will drive her off to an undisclosed location and dump her in her woods to fend for herself.
“It was a long time ago,” Carey says.
“Yeah, but why?” Augusta presses. “I’m curious.”
She’s annoyed with herself. Like her voice is an ice scraper, picking away at a frosted windshield. It’s an arduous and irritating task, and no one wants to do it, but here she is, scraping away, making a sound that no one wants to hear.
“He wasn’t marrying her because she was the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with,” Carey sighs. “She wasn’t the love of his life, clearly. So… So I said that. I told him. He felt like he had to, I told him he didn’t. That’s all.”
“Right,” Augusta nods. “That makes sense.”
“Are we okay?” Carey asks. “I’m sorry if tonight was awkward for you.”
Augusta isn’t okay. Not really.
“We’re fine,” she lies. “I just… You know I’m really serious about us. I don’t want him to have the wrong impression of me, I guess.”
“Hey, I know you are,” Carey says. “And I am, too. Don’t worry about Sam, okay? I promise, it’s all gonna be fine.”
“Okay,” she agrees.
She lets him give her a soft, reassuring kiss. The type that’s meant to be a promise. But Augusta doesn’t actually think this is settled. Not even close.
Day Two:
Augusta wouldn’t really describe herself as an early riser, but sometimes, when she’s in a new place, her brain won’t let her sleep much after sunrise. Like it knows something is different and not quite right, so she should be awake and alert and ready for anything. It lasts for weeks any time she has to move and was a sincere problem when she spent two weeks in Iceland during the summer as part of her Master’s degree.
The point is, Augusta is awake before seven, and unable to fall back asleep. She doesn’t want to wake Carey prematurely, but if she lies here, tossing and turning and checking her phone with its limited data reception, she will. In the interest of being the only person disturbed. She figures she’ll wake up, make herself coffee, maybe read a bit of one of the books she brought on the dock. The view from the window suggests the morning is lovely and she doesn’t feel a chill. A hot beverage and time outside is probably exactly what she needs.
Or it would be. If she were alone. As it turns out, she’s not.
Augusta makes her coffee, grabs her book and an apple and heads down to the dock, where she plans on occupying a lone, empty Muskoka chair, only to find that the one she had in mind has already been taken by none other than Sam. Great. Augusta would turn around and disappear back into the cottage, take up residence in the sunroom instead, but she makes it close enough without noticing Sam that he notices her. His eyes, wearing reading glasses she hadn’t seen yesterday, lift to meet hers. His expression slackens with surprise.
“Augusta,” he says. His hand is wrapped tightly around the handle of a steaming mug of tea. “Uh, hey. Morning.”
His tone is friendlier than last night, if not a little groggy. Maybe because he’s groggy.
Augusta looks down at herself, suddenly very aware she’s wearing an oversized orange pajama shirt advertising a university recruitment event she once attended, and tiny pink linen shorts.
“Uh, hey,” she says. “Sorry. I, uh… I didn’t realize you were down here.”
“S’okay,” Sam murmurs. “I don’t sleep in, really.”
“I don’t in new places,” Augusta admits.
He nods. “Yeah, I get that. Uh, if you wanted to read or… I’m just scrolling through articles, so…”
He’s inviting her to sit down? Just like that? After last night? She sort of thought they might be enemies. Maybe she should just take the win. Be agreeable. Convince Sam she’s a good, likeable person who he doesn’t need to tell Carey to dump.
“Yeah, okay,” Augusta says quietly, taking a seat in the chair opposite Sam. She puts her coffee on the wide arm.
Sam’s attention returns to his phone. Augusta opens her book. She’s exactly three pages in. Not even past the introduction. It’s an interdisciplinary publication; something recent about queer studies and anthropology intersecting. She’s thinking of adding it to a course curriculum, based on reviews. She needs to actually read it first though.
Sam glances at the cover of the book. His eyebrows raise. Augusta notices. Of course she notices. She raises a single eyebrow back at him. Is that the problem? That she’s bi? Does he not know… About… He probably doesn’t. Well, crap. That’s awkward on so many levels.
“Everything okay?” She asks, voice challenging.
Sam looks at the cover again, then back at her. His cheeks redden.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, of course.”
But it’s not enough. Augusta is still confused about his whole deal. Is he nice or an asshole? Does it just depend on the time of day? And it’s just them now. No Carey. No Luana.
“It’s not, though,” Augusta mumbles.
“Pardon?” Sam asks, surprised.
“Maybe I’m completely off base here,” she continues, insecurities and frustrations driving whatever vehicle operates her brain. “But I get the feeling you don’t like me very much. And I mean… Okay, you don’t have to. I’m just not sure what, in the span of one evening, I did.”
Sam’s eyes widen, clearly caught off guard. They look kind of golden in the early morning sun. She writes yet another explanation for him in her mind; her brain seeking stories to explain the social wrongness of what’s happening in front of her. She imagines he’s just some guy who is so classically handsome and appealing to others that he’s never had to work on hiding his opinions or being nice. People just cater to him regardless. Luana. Carey. The world. Well, not Augusta. She wants answers. Tell her what the hell she did wrong, or stop being cold during conversations and glaring at her gay books.
“I don’t even know you,” Sam says after a moment, clearing his throat a little. He sounds uncomfortable. There’s a tightness to his mouth that looks uncomfortable. Well, good.
“Exactly,” Augusta agrees. “You don’t.”
Sam’s eyes flash with guilt.
“He talks, you know?” Sam says. “He’s a talker.”
Carey, he means. Of course that’s who he means.
“Yeah,” Augusta says. “I do know.”
“Look, I don’t have anything against you,” Sam says. “You seem really nice, even. But he’s always been the kind of person to get swept away. He goes through these phases, where one thing or another is really important to him.”
Augusta wrinkles her nose, insulted.
“And that’s all I am? A phase?”
A tiny voice in her head says it’s probably true. It’s cruel, as far as observations go, but it’s probably true. Isn’t that all she’s ever been to the people who are interested in her? A phase of their life? Good enough for a time, but never indefinitely. Carey seems different, but maybe he’s not.
“No! No,” Sam shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean. Not you.”
“Not me?” Augusta echoes.
“The whole being enlightened about death thing,” Sam says. “I’m glad he’s working out what happened to him. To his family. But, you know… I hope this isn’t something of, like, scholarly interest-”
“Scholarly interest?” Augusta scoffs. “Sam, I’m not a psychologist. I study what death means to people as a part of the larger cultural experience. I did my Master’s research on Fante coffin traditions in Ghana. I’m not studying Carey.”
The fact that he thinks she would is insulting. That’s so unethical and creepy. What happened to Carey’s family is a tragedy and it badly impacted Carey and his sister. From what Carey has told her, at least, it is something that a psychologist would likely find rather interesting. But that psychologist should not also date him. And Augusta really had nothing to offer Carey in a clinical sense. They’ve just spoken about death and mourning and the human experience. She’s just helped him make sense of what happened to him in whatever way she can. That’s all.
Sam nods. He looks apologetic.
“Okay,” he says. “I’m sorry. I made an assumption. He talked about you like you were the… The Dr. Phil of grieving people or something.”
She sighs. She knows how Carey sees her. How he speaks about her.
“He exaggerates,” she says.
For example, he said Sam was the kindest, most wonderful person known to man, and that is just simply not true.
“He does,” Sam agrees. “But he also went through hell. You know? I was there. I saw it.”
“Yeah, I understand,” Augusta says.
“Do you?” Sam asks. “Because-”
“I do, actually,” she cuts him off. “I was the person who found my brother dead when I was thirteen. So, yeah. I get it.”
She doesn’t know why she tells him this. He doesn’t deserve it. It’s not a story she owes anyone, least of all Sam. But it shuts him up.
Augusta tries not to talk too much about Sebastian. It feels wrong somehow. Like talking about him, sharing him, only to talk about the end that he came to, only serves to tarnish his memory. To paint an incomplete picture of him. But with Carey? With Carey, talking about him is easy. She can bring up stories and memories without receiving a pitying look. She can reminisce freely, with someone who gets it. A complicated death doesn’t simplify the life lost into one moment.
“I’m sorry,” Sam says eventually. “I can’t imagine…”
Augusta shrugs. “I’m just saying, I do understand. I get that you’re protective of him, but there’s nothing… Nothing bad is happening here.”
Sam sighs. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m not being fair. And… And he seems really happy.”
Augusta swallows. Maybe it’ll be this simple. Maybe it’ll be over now. She can accept his apology, move on, and head towards a tentative peace with Sam. Then Carey will never feel like he has to make a choice.
“Thank you,” Augusta nods. “I appreciate that.”
She doesn’t have to like him. He just has to not actively dislike her.
“Yeah,” Sam mutters. “I’ll be less of an ass.”
“Good,” Augusta says. “Thank you.”
Matter settled, or at least so she hopes, Augusta returns her attention to her book. She won’t be driven off this dock or out of Carey’s life by some potential discomfort. Maybe there’s more fight in her than she thought.
Sam doesn’t leave either, though. He lets out a heavy exhale, but remains firmly planted in his seat. Augusta feels, despite the truce, that they’re still engaged in some sort of war of attrition. Though she doesn’t quite know why.
Unfortunately for Augusta’s reading goals, she doesn’t get through more than a paragraph before there’s another interruption. This time, in the shape of a very excited dog, barging her way down onto the dock. She charges at Sam, moaning happily, and trying to climb onto his lap.
“Hi, Sailor,” Sam says, scratching her head. “Good morning, girl.”
Bum wiggling faster than Augusta would think is comfortable, Sailor spins and rushes to greet her. As though she and Augusta are old friends.
“Oh, hi, pup,” Augusta mumbles awkwardly, trying to protect her coffee from being knocked onto her lap or book.
It strikes Augusta and Sam at the same time that if Sailor is outside, someone must have at the very least, opened the door for her. Perhaps even stepped out with her. Likely Luana. For some reason, Augusta doesn’t turn to look up at the deck, where Luana is most likely standing, looking down at them.
Instead, she looks at Sam.
She doesn’t know what makes her do it. It’s like a moment of magnetism. Something deep in her bones telling her to pay attention to specifically him. So she does. She watches him watch the person on the deck.
“Hey!” Sam calls out, his whole face twisting into a different shape. His sort of stony, cold expression morphs into something warm. Something like sunlight. Mouth in a wide grin, eyes crinkled with fondness, he’s sort of breathtaking. He’s the very picture of someone in love.
Augusta feels a strange pang in her chest. Does Luana know how he looks at her? Does she see this expression and feel entirely secure in Sam’s adoration for her? He must love her so much, to transform from ice to molten gold at the very sight of her. She must. How could she not see it? He’s practically advertising his devotion with a neon sign.
“Hey, earlybirds!” Comes the response from the deck.
It makes Augusta’s head snap around fast, just to be sure she heard right. Because it’s not Luana’s voice she heard.
Surely enough, what she sees is one, lone person standing up on the deck.
It’s not Luana.
It’s Carey.
Augusta looks back at Sam and, finally, she understands why he doesn’t like her.
Shit.