Haley Thistle
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Werewolf Boyfriend: Max (complete)
🕑 Added 2020-09-14 19:01:00 +0000 UTC
I’ve always had to be careful in life. I took ballet to learn to be graceful and thoughtful with my movements. I decided to study for a job that would allow me to avoid any accident or peril. But life is hard to control, and you don’t get to pick and choose when you bump into things, fall over, or get a nosebleed.
I got my first nosebleed when I was still an infant. It sent my parents into such a panic, they still talk about it like it happened not too long ago. Hemophilia was common on my dad’s side, they just never realized what it was. Ever since my grandfather’s time, they called themselves heavy bleeders. I got the worst of it. Any time I got a nick or cut, I bled like I was in a horror movie with an massive special-effects budget. Even worse, my nosebleeds happened regularly. I would get too dry, and bam! I stopped wearing anything other than black to keep from staining my clothes.
I had to give up ballet because my teachers were worried I would start bleeding on the stage. I hated that because I really did love dancing. I graduated high school early, and learned that even if I was the ‘kid with a bloody nose’ during college, that was fine with people. I changed the focus of my studies and became an art restorer. I learned to wear gloves and a mask when I did the work; it would catch the blood, and I would have very little worries. Studying art history seemed like the safest thing in the world for me.
It was around this time that I started noticing my nosebleeds were getting much worse. On top of that, I was tired all the time, and had a constant fever. I just figured I had the flu at first, but the truth was much worse. I would have lived my life with the flu rather than hear what the doctor said - I had leukemia. Nothing a young girl wants to hear, nothing anybody wants to hear. I spent the first week crying as I moved back home. After that, the next couple of years were like drops of paint pouring down a canvas - at first it all goes too fast, then it slows, thickens and hardens there, crusting where it’s thick, sinking where it’s thin. Nothing moves. You’re stuck.
I was a different person in remission and recovery - thin and frail, where I had once built myself up to be quite strong. I couldn’t dance anymore. For a while, holding a paintbrush was more than I could stand. It took me another couple of years to come to a place where I recognized the person in the mirror. I hated it, so I decided to do the things I kept away from when hemophilia was the worst of my worries.
I got a job with one of my old professors, who had a shop dedicated to the restoration of artwork. I went out hiking more, slowly building my strength back up. I would take weekend trips, going to random places near my home. Now I’ve also volunteered my time at a dance studio that offers free classes to unprivileged kids. I can’t quite dance like I used to, and ballet is a faraway memory for me, but at least I can show kids the joy in it.
It’s there, during a dance competition, that I meet a man named Delaynie. He doesn’t look like the kind of man who would dance, let alone teach it to children, but his students in the competition are some of the best I’ve come across. The two of us become acquainted and, to my surprise, he offers me a job at his studio.
“I have to think about this,” I confess to him. “I would very much love this opportunity, but my real career is in art.”
“The offer stands. I have a need for good teachers.” Delaynie’s smile is warm and reassuring despite his rather fearsome appearance. I take his card, pondering what such a move would mean for me. I want to focus on art history and restoration, and I’d never planned on seriously teaching dance.
A couple of weeks later, I receive a call from Delaynie with some exciting news. “A friend of mine has a rather extensive art collection. He needs help with it, and he has a place you can stay, too.”
I hold my phone and look out the window into the distance. “Where is this again? Your town, I mean.”
“Hearthway Hollow,” Delaynie announces. “It’s in North Carolina - not a horrible move for you, at least I hope. But if you want, both these jobs are yours.”
I don’t know anything about the place, but looking out my window and seeing my reflection superimposed on the distant horizon, I feel a bit of the me that remains from before the leukemia. “Can you get me in touch with him?” I ask. “I think I’ll take it.”
The prospective client’s name is quite long and hard to pronounce; truly, I haven’t encountered one like it outside of old aristocratic paintings. He’s Jürgen Maximilian Friedrich Ludwig Otto Georg Hannekum, but he insists I called him Max or Maxim. His Austrian accent is muted from his time living in the States, but the inflection and diction of his words makes everything he says feel like it’s coming from a past I look at through paintings.
Max and his wife are art collectors, auctioneers, dealers, and artists in their own right. They made comics together when they started having children - Max would write and ink, and his wife would draw and color. They opened a hobby shop, putting their art collecting aside to focus on family, using the store as something their daughters could inherit. Meanwhile, the art was just there.
“My wife passed away and I ignored our collection. I put it away and didn’t want to think about it. It needs attention, and I can’t give that to it anymore. I would very much appreciate your help.” Max’s voice wavers when talking about his wife.
“I can send my recommendations,” I reply. “I have people willing to vouch for me and what I can do.”
“I’m not asking for much. I really don’t know what else to do with all of it,” he says solemnly. “Right now, it’s just my youngest and I here, and we’re at a loss.”
I move to Hearthway Hollow not long after that. Delaynie and his wife, Lenore, come to help, offering one of the dance studio’s buses to move my things. The drive isn’t awful; in fact, the scenery is quite beautiful once we come closer to North Carolina. “My sister-in-law is the head of medicine in Hearthway Hollow,” Delaynie says at one point. “She’ll be able to get you a great doctor while you’re here.”
“Hopefully I won’t need one.” I can’t help but laugh a little bit. “But thank you.”
Max’s house is surprisingly big. It must have at least three stories and a ghost or two from the looks of it. It seemed like the kind of place Vincent Price would either live or shoot a movie in. Once we’ve parked in front of it, two people I assume are Max and his daughter come out to meet us. I’m aware Max is older, and he wears his age well. He has long, billowy white hair peppered with gray, and the crinkles around his dark eyes only seemed to enhance them. He’s tall, lithe and, to my embarrassment, very, very handsome. His daughter, Clementine, looks to be very young, but it turns out she’s in college rather than middle school.
“We have your place all set up,” Clementine tells me. “Used to be the servant’s quarters, but don’t worry, it isn’t haunted.”
I stare at her in disbelief. “I’m sorry?”
She looks back at me, a bright, childish smile spread across her face. “Isn’t that usually where places are haunted?”
“I suppose,” I murmur.
The room I’m given is just beyond the kitchen. It’s surprisingly big, and I have my own en suite bathroom. They’ve provided almost all the furniture I need, including shelves and a small sitting area with a table. I didn’t bring much with me. Ever since I received my diagnosis I’ve been pretty minimal with my possessions. It doesn’t take long to move in, and after all the boxes are in my new place I sit outside on the porch, looking out at so much green.
Max joins me, offering me a bottle of water. “If you would like a tour, Elisa, I’d be happy to show you around.” I marvel at how tall he and his daughter are.
“If you’d like. I’m actually quite curious about the place. I saw lots of cabins and cottages on the way here. But this place feels like it was transplanted from a black-and-white ghost movie,” I tease.
Max’s smile is soft and small. “A leftover from my grandparents who moved here before the war. They built it big, so that when refugees needed help they could bring them in as ‘family’ from overseas.” His smile becomes a bit bigger. “The house is their taste, the size was to shelter whomever they rescued.”
“Oh, wow,” I murmur. “That’s amazing.”
“They built it to feel like home, a part of what they had always known. Back then, there wasn’t much in the area.” He looks around, and some of his hair falls over his face. I don’t want to be that person with a schoolgirl crush. I may not have time for such things. But Max is quite good-looking. Max sighs. “I should leave you to unpack. Feel free to ask for anything. Clementine is often in and out, and I’m either here or at the shop. So call me anytime.”
“I’ll try not to be a bother. I am excited about seeing your collection, though.” The look in his eyes then is like I’ve slapped him. “I just want to start working. It’s been a while since I got to really stretch my legs with it.”
“It’s all in the basement. My eldest, Helene, will be helping you with it when she comes home.” Max isn’t looking at me. He isn’t looking at anything. His gaze is distant, almost hollow. “Take your time, there is no rush and payment has been discussed, but I am more than willing to pay more if you feel it’s needed.” He barely looks at me before bowing his head. “Thank you again. I’ll leave you be now.”
I know what grief can do to a person. I felt it myself when I was first diagnosed, mourning a life I thought I’d lose. But I’d never lost the love of my life. I can’t understand that, but I can understand the distance in his eyes. I can see myself in it.
I’m hanging up my clothes when Clementine knocks on the door. “I was wondering if you wanted anything to eat?” she asks. “I was going into town and thought I should invite you.”
“I’m almost done here, so that might be nice.” I wave her to come in and sit while I finish. Clementine looks over my wardrobe, a sea of black with a splash of blue from jeans, and red from my hiking flannels. Her brow crinkles and she tilts her head to the side.
“That’s a lot of black for one person. You’re a goth?”
I laugh and shake my head. “Not exactly. I just like wearing black.”
Clementine lifts away a bag lying on a set of clothes and arranges them for me to reach. “My sister, Luisa, would appreciate it. She’s very witchy-gothy.”
“What about you?” I chuckle.
“Hand-me-downs,” she says proudly. “I’ll wear whatever is free. So I have things from Helene, Mary and Luisa.” She sighs heavily. “And the things I got from mom’s closet.” She tries to remain perky, but I can hear the dull tone in her voice.
I sit back down beside her as I fold some clothes. “I’m so sorry about that,” I murmur. “How long ago did she pass?”
Clementine’s thoughts weigh heavy, I can see in the droop of her shoulder. She tilts her head down. “I was eleven,” she says quietly. “Close to ten years now, almost.”
“Oh,” I whisper. “I thought it was much sooner than that.”
“Looking at Dad, you’d think so,” she shakes her head wearily. “He has his good days and his bad days.” She sits down in the chair and leans back. “He blames himself.”
“For what?” I close my closet door and turn to look at her.
She screws her mouth into a firm line. “None of us could donate to her because we all had his blood type. We couldn’t give her the marrow she needed.”
It feels like an electric probe has been jabbed down my neck and through my spine. “Marrow?” I look back at her. “Did she have leukemia?”
“Yeah, she...” She stops as she looks at me, like she’s seen a ghost. “Your nose… It’s...”
“Oh, shit.” I go into the bathroom and grab tissues. “Sorry about that.”
Clementine has gone extremely pale, and there is a hint of tears in her eyes. “Are you okay?”
I clean myself up and hold the tissues under my nose. “I’m sorry! I have hemophilia. That’s why I wear so much black.”
She clutches her chest and finally exhales. “A warning would have been nice!”
“Sorry, I’m sorry.” I wonder how many times she saw her own mother’s nose bleed like that. I feel awful that she had to see it in me. “I’m fine, it happens.”
“I guess you would have to wear black.” She makes herself laugh to lighten what must have been a terrible shock for her.
I step out of the bathroom once the bleeding is stopped. This can’t be possible. I’ve gone into a home where the mother died of the very thing I survived. It’s not right, is it? I can’t say anything. “What were you thinking for dinner?” I ask.
Clementine nods, still looking a bit shocked. “Lost my appetite for a second there.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“No, you’re fine. It’s okay.” Clementine smiles at me. “I was thinking of just going to the diner and getting breakfast.”
“That sounds nice.” I pick up my bag. “What about your dad?”
“He went back to the shop. I’ll call him before we leave to see if he wants anything,” Clementine says as we go outside.
“So you have three sisters. What’ that like?” I ask as she drives us off.
She shrugs. “I’m the youngest. There’s ten years between Helene and me, seven between me and Mary, and Luisa is three years older. I was the baby, so I felt both coddled and left out. Helene was grown and out of the house before I could learn to appreciate her. I never knew Mary until after Mom died - she was always away, always traveling. Luisa and I are close, at least.”
“Your Dad must have been kept busy,” I try to laugh.
“Oh, for sure!” Clementine laughs. “He tells us the reason he’s so messy is because he never got to finish anything - he always had to chase after us.” Her gaze and smile are nostalgic as she dips into her past. “A warning about that, by the way. He’s a horrible mess-maker. I’ve tried to have him hire a housekeeper to come in every so often, but he doesn’t see a problem.”
As we drive through town, Clementine points to the shop. “That’s the place!” She drives a little slower so I can see it. The front is painted green, and there’s a big metal sign over the door reading: ‘Page, Block, and Twine’. “They sell lots of crafts and art supplies, and have a comic section,” she says. “He also offers classes on the weekends.”
“That’s nice,” I murmur. “Do you work there?”
Clementine nods. “Between classes.” She keeps on driving, taking us down the road to the diner.
That evening, I’m sitting on the porch again. The porch wraps around the entire building, all of it screened in. After my trip into town today, I feel like Hearthway Hollow must have fallen from a fairy tale. The idyllic downtown mixed with the overgrown forestry feels like it was magicked here. I hear a door close near me and, looking down the porch, I see Max step out towards the end. He stands close to the screen, looking out at the night with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He appears lost in thought.
“Good evening,” I call out.
He jumps and turns, looking at me like Clementine had. Like he’s seen a ghost. “Oh, Elisa,” he breathes, “it’s only you.”
“Sorry to scare you.”
“It’s alright.” He strides closer towards me. “I hope you’re doing well getting settled here. Helene called and she’ll be in this week, but you also will be starting with Delaynie in the evenings.”
“I’m doing fine. I didn’t have much to move in anyway. Thanks again for the room. It’s really nice.”
Max’s soft smile returns. “We used to keep it for guests, but since my daughters are the only ones who visit and they all have their rooms, it’s gone unused for some time.”
“Clementine was filling me in on some family history.” I notice Max’s hair is down and it hangs in waves around his face, making him look almost angelic. “Having four girls must have caused a few gray hairs.”
He touches his hair and laughs. “I actually started going white in my teen years, if you can believe it. I got my first gray when I was thirteen. Barely in puberty and already I was an old man.”
“If it makes you feel any better, you have beautiful hair. I wish mine had waves like that. It just lies there.” I reach up, running my fingers through the short locks of my pixie cut. I decided to keep it short when it started growing back, just in case I had to shave it again, so there wouldn’t be much to lose.
“My daughters used to tell me that.” He comes even closer. “They were mad because I had the pretty hair, the pretty eyelashes. They all got the sleek, dark hair of their mother.”
“My brother has the most beautiful curls. I used to hate him for it,” I laugh. “I had the straightest, coarsest hair while he had the corkscrew curls of a cherub.”
“You have a brother?” Max asks.
I nod. “As soon as my parents had one of each, they were done.”
Max looks back into the distance. “I always wanted a boy, but the Lord blessed me with all girls, so that must be what I needed.” His soft smile returns. “I wouldn't ask for anything else.”
Silence replaces our idle chatter. It comes with a breeze and whispers through the leaves of the trees. I look up towards the moon, which is waxing towards full. “I guess the werewolves will be coming out soon.”
Max flinches. “What makes you say that?”
“Full moon.” I point to the sky. “And being so close to the woods, this feels like the kind of place werewolves would flock to.” I chuckle. “Sorry. That must sound childish. But even to this day, my brother and I still talk about full moons as if werewolves come with them.”
Max’s look is pinched, but he’s slowly trying to relax it. He laughs weakly and nods. “That old story. Yes.” He looks to the moon and it reflects in his glasses. “This certainly would be the place to come to if you were a werewolf.” He clears his throat and turns. “It’s supposed to get chilly and rain tonight. I hope you’ll be warm enough.”
“I have lots of blankets, my one crutch.” I stand from my chair, but when I look down a drop of blood hits my foot. “Oh, shoot.” I cup my hand around my face.
Max’s brow pinches, and that same look of distress that washed over Clementine comes across him.
“Hemophilia!” I blurt quickly. “Just some regular old blood not clotting!” I try to laugh it off to soften the blow. “I’m fine, really. This happens.”
Max’s next breath is a shuddering one. “Good.” He gulps down the fear that must have lurched from his stomach. “Good. Are you okay? Do you need anything?”
I can feel the blood dripping from my hand. “Just a tissue to clean up. I’m fine, really!”
Max takes a handkerchief from his pocket and offers it to me. I’m reluctant to take it because it will stain, but he insists. “I need to sit down a moment.” He sits in one of the wicker chairs and takes deep breaths.
I cradle the handkerchief to my nose. “Are you okay? You look kind of clammy.”
He chuckles softly. “If I get scared, I’ll get palpitations. It’s alright, really. Don’t worry about me.”
I sit down in the opposite wicker chair. “Easier said than done. I’ll get you a new handkerchief.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it, Elisa. I’m happy to give it to you. I must have a drawer full of them in my bedroom. Luisa practiced her stitching and needlepoint on them, so I have tons from those days.” He smiles softly at me and tilts his head. “Has the bleeding stopped?”
“Have your palpitations?” I take the handkerchief away and wipe up my upper lip. “I think it’s okay. I should go wash up, though.”
Max stands from his chair. “I should too. Someone spilt a can of varnish in the store today, and my hands still feel quite off from cleaning it up.” He offers his hand and helps me to stand. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.” He turns and walks away.
“Goodnight,” I answer after him.
I quickly go to the bathroom and clean myself up. “Of course you do that in front of both of them on your first day.” I grumble. “How very rude.”
Comments
Liese Haley
I was today years old when I found out Women can have Hemophilia too and not just be carriers.
