Lodestones

By Naomi Mackenzie

On the eve of a new school year, several groups of college students cross paths as they seek out a secret end-of-summer lake party--including Robin and Charlie, two inseparable friends who discover over the course of the twenty-four hours that their relationship is something much deeper than simple friendship.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chicago Review Press
• Release date: Sep 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781941530511

Naomi Mackenzie

Naomi MacKenzie is a writer and photographer from the Canadian East Coast. She considers herself a Maritimer first and a Canadian second, or so she told the standardized test people in essay form during the eleventh grade. She enjoys vegan baking, walks in the woods and, contrarily, hiding from the sun. _Lodestones_ is her first novel.

Book preview

Copyright © 2015 Naomi MacKenzie

All Rights Reserved

ISBN 13: 978-1-941530-37-5 (trade)

ISBN 13: 978-1-941530-51-1 (ebook)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015943651

Published by Duet, an imprint of Interlude Press, New York

http://duetbooks.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and places are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, either living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All trademarks and registered trademarks are the property of their respective owners.

Book design by Lex Huffman

Cover Design by Buckeyegrrl Designs

Cover Illustration by Abby Hellstrom

lodestone. Dictionary.com. Collins English Dictionary - Complete & Unabridged 10th Edition. HarperCollins Publishers.

http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/lodestone

(accessed: May 22, 2015).

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For my family.

Thanks for the sense of humor about,

well, everything.

Contents

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

Eleven.

Twelve.

Thirteen.

Fourteen.

lodestone

/'lohd stohn/

noun

1. a. a rock that consists of pure or nearly pure magnetite and thus is naturally magnetic

b. a piece of such rock, which can be used as a magnet and which was formerly used as a primitive compass

2. a person or thing regarded as a focus of attraction

1510s, literally way-stone, guiding-stone

—Collin’s English Dictionary

One.

5:45 a.m. to 7:30 a.m.

Robin can’t remember the last time he slept through the night. Night sounds play on a loop in his head—somber hooting owls, chirping crickets, the howling of the wind—and he could probably draw up a color-coded list of each and every shade that streaks the sky with the sun’s rise. Perhaps those things would bring pleasure to some people. Perhaps even to Robin, if he wasn’t awake tossing and turning, or sitting as he is now, staring out the drafty picture window that makes up the better part of his living room wall.

He wishes sometimes that he had hobbies other than fencing, anything that he could do at home. Something that would keep him busy, distracted, during his long periods of insomnia and especially on early mornings like this one, when he was up to greet the sun after only a handful of winks. Sleep should be a right, but his body and agitated mind have deemed it a privilege. One that he apparently does not deserve.

Charlie hasn’t spoken to him in more than two months. Sure, there had been emails and text messages—abrupt and cold and only when necessary. Are you still moving in? Yes. How is your summer going? Fine. Are you still mad at me? I don’t know.

Of course he was still mad. Otherwise, he would be calling Robin each night with updates on his every move throughout the day, no matter how mundane. Because that was them. That was their friendship. And Robin has been bereft without it all summer.

Lorenzo had accused him of moping. Lorenzo had accused him of a lot of things, in the end. And now he is without either of them. For now. Until Charlie arrives. Robin is sick with anticipation and also with fear. His insides churn with a nauseating mixture of the two.

He thinks about them both a lot when he sits like this, watching as the sky changes from black to indigo to the warmest shades of orange. And then it slowly washes blue—a lovely, soft cyan. Robin yawns. Maybe now he can shut off his brain for long enough to sleep. Maybe.

But there is movement outside his window. A taxi drives up the street, slows and then turns into the driveway. It could be for the lady who lives downstairs. It could be. But Robin feels it in the quickening of his heart and the roiling of his stomach.

It’s Charlie.

He’s early. He hadn’t warned Robin of a change in his travel plans, but maybe he rushed because he missed Robin as much as Robin missed him. Or perhaps not. Perhaps he’s only stopping by to say he’s found somewhere else to live for his final year. One flake-out deserves another, after all. By rights, it wouldn’t be fair for Robin to get angry.

And it is Charlie. The sun shines off the reddish-gold strands in his hair when he steps out of the cab. At the end of the spring semester, he left most of his things in the spare room, so he has only two suitcases, a laptop bag and a backpack, which he struggles to heft onto his slender shoulders. Rising from his favorite chair, Robin smiles and makes his way to the front door.

Charlie may be angry, but God, Robin has missed him.

He hears thumping on the stairs and braces for disappointment. Should he expect a hug? He’d like one. Should he go back to the couch and wait there? Should he stand off to the side or open the door? Charlie could probably use a hand with his bags. It would only be polite.

When Robin jerks open the door, Charlie is fishing in his pocket, his suitcases at his feet and bags hanging from his body,

He’s a sight for sore eyes: his hair in disarray and his green eyes wide. His long, elegant fingers pause mid-air with the key, and he stands with his mouth parted, watching Robin.

Say something.

But Charlie can’t seem to find the words. Charlie always finds the words. Robin is the one who doesn’t know his own mind.

Hi, Robin finally manages, and Charlie smiles a little. The smile is wobbly and unsure, but his eyes crinkle at the corners, and his thick bottom lip goes crooked, so Robin knows it’s genuine.

The straps of Charlie’s two bags are at war with each other: twisted together so they’re nearly choking him. Robin doesn’t consider new boundaries or discomfort, but reaches across the space between them to untangle the straps and keep his best friend from being throttled.

Charlie’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

You’re earlier than I expected, Robin says, his voice quiet. He fiddles with the strap of Charlie’s computer bag and props open the door with his foot so Charlie can roll his suitcases inside.

Charlie nods. He places his bags in a neat row along the wall and stands there scratching the back of his neck and studying his work. When he finally turns, he doesn’t make eye contact, but stares somewhere just to the left of Robin’s face. It’s good to see you, he says.

Moisture washes over Robin’s eyes and he blinks it back. He runs a hand through his shaggy dark hair. He hasn’t cut it all summer and now he’s embarrassed by the state of it, with the ends curling up every which way. He’s embarrassed by the way he looks. He’s extra-pale and his eyes are hollowed, the blue faded and the whites bloodshot. He swallows and chews on the inside of his cheek, causing his dimple to appear. That usually makes Charlie smile, especially when Robin complains that his dimples are lopsided and deep enough to hide small objects. But Charlie doesn’t smile now. He still doesn’t look at Robin, so there’s no need for Robin to feel self-conscious about his appearance. Robin points toward the kitchen. Would you like some coffee? It’s really early.

Yeah. Charlie worries his bottom lip between his teeth. It’s dark red and looks painfully chapped. Coffee sounds great.

And so Robin moves into the kitchen and Charlie trails after him. The lump in Robin’s throat grows. Things aren’t supposed to be like this, not between the two of them. This tension and discomfort—it’s for other people. They have shared a special ease since the first night they met—both hiding in the common area of their dorm floor to get away from their equally terrible roommates. They spent many a night laughing and talking and even sleeping in that common room, huddled together on the ratty old L-shaped sectional. They decided that it was a rite of passage, living with sketchy roommates in a dorm room—one they passed with flying colors, with the help of each other.

Robin pulls his new French press away from the wall where it sits between the blender and the gleaming silver toaster.

What’s that? Charlie asks, as though he can’t see. It’s the sort of small-talk nonsense that they are usually so good at avoiding.

Oh, Mom bought me a French press when she visited last month. Robin makes his voice light and tries to pretend the air between them isn’t choked with tension. She said it was mostly for you. I swear, she loves you more than she loves me. It’s a good thing I’m an only child, the way she plays favorites. He gives Charlie the most brilliant smile he can muster, but Charlie is staring at the press in Robin’s hand. Robin’s smile turns into a grimace. He opens the cupboard to look for the coffee beans.

Of course she does, Charlie says. He’s trying to tease, but it doesn’t come out quite right. She has very good taste.

Out of the corner of his eye, Robin catches a hint of Charlie’s smile, the slightest tilt of his generous mouth. Charlie holds the smile as he searches through the cupboard under the sink, letting out a happy hum when he unearths the coffee grinder. He takes a step backward and watches in silence as Robin carefully measures the beans. Charlie shakes his head and grabs the kettle, fills it and sets it on the stove to boil.

How was your flight? Robin asks after the noise from the grinder has stopped. His voice still sounds quiet and tentative.

Fine. I mean, besides leaving in the middle of the night— Once again, Charlie’s words sound rehearsed. Hollow. Small talk for strangers. He stops speaking, and Robin can feel Charlie’s eyes as he takes the press apart. His hands shake as he pulls out the insides and sets them on the counter and then spoons the ground coffee into the base.

Robin broke something essential in their friendship when he made that call in May. Charlie no longer trusts him, no longer feels close to him. The spoon wobbles in Robin’s hand and he spills some of the coffee onto the gray speckled countertop.

But then Charlie’s hand is on his, stopping the shaking. I’m not mad at you. His voice is timid now that he’s decided to speak up, to bring up the one topic that’s been a sticking point between them all summer, but he sounds like Charlie at last. Not anymore.

You have every right to be, Robin tells him and finally man­ages to scoop the ground coffee into the press. He can deal with confrontations and even yelling better than this stoic stranger who has Charlie’s face. We planned that trip for months and I—

You what?

He bailed on Charlie at the last moment. Left him with res­ervations to cancel and maps to discard, on top of a whole lot of disappointment. Why? He was so excited to go. Just as excited—if not more so—than Charlie himself. In the end, he was weak and unwilling to sacrifice. He still lost what he was afraid of losing, and maybe what he never thought possible to lose at the same time.

I’m so sorry, Robin says. I should have gone with you. I don’t know why I didn’t. I missed you so much.

I missed you, too. And look, I’m not going to pretend that I understand why you did what you did, but I’m not mad, Robin. I just—no, I don’t even need to know, okay?

Robin nods and reaches around Charlie to turn off the stove burner and remove the boiling kettle. Steam warms his face when he pours the water into the press; the fragrance of hot water min­gling with the coffee is a comfort to his senses. He doesn’t want to tell Charlie his reasons, but he doesn’t not want to tell him either. He’s been sinking in guilt for months, and now his reason to keep quiet has all but disappeared. His eyes swim with moisture again, and blinking it back no longer works. A lone tear tumbles onto his cheek, and he’s not quick enough to wipe it away. Not quick enough to keep it hidden.

Hey, hey, Charlie says. He plucks the kettle from Robin’s hand and curls his arms around him.

Guilt stabs him anew. The coffee—

I’ve got it. Charlie lets him go in order to reassemble the press and leaves the coffee to steep.

Charlie fetches mugs and sugar and sets everything in a neat row because he knows how Robin needs everything to be just so. Charlie always does these things. No one else has ever so gen­erously enabled all of Robin’s little quirks. Not even his own parents.

I know how excited you were about the road trip. It was stupid of me. I kept changing my mind, and I almost called you so many times in June to say I’d meet you, but I was mad that you were mad and I—God, I’m so stupid.

You aren’t stupid, come on. Don’t do that. Charlie pulls Robin back against his chest and squeezes his body tightly. It feels nice, but the tighter he squeezes, the more guilt creeps up the back of Robin’s throat, like bile, until he’s choking with it. Charlie probably thinks his tears are for the two of them and their tattered friendship.

Robin wants to tell him the whole truth, has been dying to for days. But he was mad because Charlie was angry when he needed him. He’s been stubborn. And yes, stupid. Sulking and hiding, hiding so much that he didn’t think he could call his best friend for help and commiseration.

Robin clings to Charlie and strokes his shoulder as he sniffles. I should have just gone with you anyway, he says. It was stupid.

Charlie holds him until the coffee is properly steeped, giving Robin the comfort he’s needed without even knowing that Lorenzo is the real reason why he needs it.

When the coffee has been pressed and poured and a swirling trail of cream spreads into the rich brown, Robin blurts it out.

Lorenzo dumped me!

Charlie’s green eyes go wide and he sets his mug back down on the counter. Are you—are you okay?

I don’t know. I don’t even— Robin shakes his head. I was upset about us not talking and then Lorenzo and I, we didn’t even really have a fight and I—it was just over. All of it.

When did this happen?

Just last week.

Last week and you didn’t tell me?

You were mad at me. We weren’t talking. I didn’t want to bother you—

Oh, Robin. Charlie’s eyes are soft, sad. "I’m always here for you. I’m sorry if you felt like you couldn’t talk to me. God, I don’t want us to be that."

I know. I know, I’m sorry. I should have just— Robin shakes his head. It’s all well and good to say he should have gotten over his anger and guilt and called Charlie the night Lorenzo sent him away, but it’s more than that. He realizes now—realized it that night as he sat in the back of the cab and tried to choke back his tears—that he shouldn’t have been there for Lorenzo to send away. He should have been with his best friend. Probably in some cheap motel with two working channels on the television and a weird stain on the carpet that might have been blood. They would have been horrified and amused in equal measure. They would have had the time of their lives.

But sometimes when you sacrifice things in order to save others, you end up losing more than you bargained for.

Hey, come on, Charlie says. He pulls back with a kind smile and a warm hand wrapped gently around Robin’s wrist. Let’s go someplace more comfortable, all right? We can talk.

Robin picks up his mug of coffee. He feels lighter already; the weight of his secret no longer holds him down. He takes a deep breath and follows Charlie.

Christa Ito has the most annoying friends in the country. Hands down. The three of them bicker outside of Dabne’s moth­er’s minivan; Jaia picks at her nails as Kate gesticulates and Dabne crosses her arms over her chest. Their appearances contrast sharply—although both are tall and athletically built, Kate is all wild red hair and milky freckled face, and Dabne has rich brown skin and short, curly hair. Standing between them, tiny, bored Jaia almost makes Christa laugh.

Christa can just imagine the asinine argument they’re having and she doesn’t want to leave the quiet of her car. It’s bad enough that she has to be awake at ridiculous o’clock in the morning, but now she’s going to be forced to pick sides in a debate about draft beer versus bottled or something even more pointless. And all in the shadow of this sketchy warehouse.

If I catch even one hint of a rat, I’m out of here.

Her eyes dart around before she sighs and unlatches her seatbelt.

Jaia has apparently grown tired of the conversation. She ducks into the van, picks up a cup of coffee, then walks toward Christa’s car, still projecting boredom, her dark, wavy hair tossed about by the wind.

Christa’s time of hiding in peace has come to an end. Her car door creaks as she lets the wind throw it open. A blast of air whips the ends of her once-sleek bob. Why did she bother styling her hair when she could have slept longer? Her friend Robin Abbey always joked that it is better to look good than to feel good, so with his low voice in her head, she got up and fixed her hair and makeup. Robin also told her she was stunning, but she called bullshit on that. No matter how old she got or how she grew into herself, she couldn’t help but see the same tall, gawky Japanese kid she’d been looking at her whole life. Sometimes she swore she even caught a flash of braces in her reflection. But that must be a trick of the light: Those blasted things came off when she was fifteen.

She yawns and drags herself out into the cool morning air.

Jaia has nearly reached her. With a playful roll of her brown eyes, she tilts her head minutely toward Kate and Dabne, whose raised voices Christa can hear drifting over on the breeze.

"What