“You bring people here a lot? She knows to bring coffee without asking. You have a normal order. She looked at me like… I don’t know.”
“Ah, let me guess then,” he said. “You’re thinking this is where I bring my one-night stands and casual flings, right? A little parting gift before sending them home with regret and a want for more.”
“Wow,” I said. “That’s detailed. Sounds like it could be true.”
“Could be,” he said.
“Well, is it?”
“Tell you what, love, why don’t you come over and tell me what my sheets smell like?”
The sudden crudeness made my cheeks turn red.
Josh was calm as he sipped his coffee.
His brooding eyes staring at me over the coffee mug sent chills through my body.
He was a story.
Everything I already knew was a story.
Everything I didn’t know was a story.
“So, whatever happened to you?” Josh asked. “I mean… after that night…”
“Nothing much,” I said.
“That’s not true at all.”
“You wanted to know about me now,” I said. “Why I’m writing.”
“Right. That’s what I wanted from you.”
What does that mean…
My lips moved for a few seconds before finding words. “I used to write. A lot.”
“I vaguely remember you telling me that.” Josh snapped his fingers. “Wait. It was always talking animals, right?”
“Oh, God,” I whispered. My cheeks turned as red as a fresh apple. “You remember that.”
“That was your deal. Talking animals. Hey, I think it’s cool.”
“No, you don’t. You’re trying not to laugh at me.”
“Oh, believe me, love, I wanted to laugh, I would,” he said. “What happened with the talking animals?”
“They’ve been silenced,” I said. “For years.”
“Until now. Wait a second. Does this mean I’m your new animal?”
I had the coffee cup to my lips, and I burst into laughter.
I watched as coffee shot from my mug and across the table at Josh.
I hurried to put the mug down and I covered my mouth. “Crap. Sorry.”
He looked down at the table and wiped it with his arm. “No worries.”
“And, no, you’re not my new animal,” I said, barely able to hold a straight face. “I stopped writing a long time ago. But my roommate… she’s a life coach.”
“A life coach?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “She helps people. People who hate their lives. Or are going through big changes. Like a move. A new job. Divorce. She helps them.”
“People pay her to do what?”
“Coach them.”
“In life.”
“Yes. Any other questions about my roommate? I could tell you about her cat addiction.”
“So, she likes-”
“Don’t say it,” I snapped at Josh.
I could hear him using the other word for cat.
He showed his hand. “I’m not saying a thing.”
“My roommate coached someone who started a blog. And my roommate decided it was time for me to write again. I had nothing to do with it. I came home from work and next thing I knew, I had this stranger telling me to go to your event last night.”
“So where does an animal talking writer like yourself work?” Josh asked.
“The Sharon,” I whispered.
“That’s that fancy place, right?”
I nodded. “I’m a waitress, Josh. Okay?”
“Okay,” he said. “Is there something wrong with that?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Then why does it seem like you’re getting upset over it?”
“I’m not, okay?”
“There’s something else I have to wonder about you, Amelia.”
“Let’s hear it,” I said.
“Your roommate set all this up and you still showed up.”
“Didn’t we do this already?” I asked. “Oh, yeah, we did. And you walked out.”
Josh grinned the kind of grin that destroyed a different part of my innocence years ago. He leaned across the table again.
“This time is different, love… I’m not leaving until I’m full.”
Chapter 11
Lost and Locked
NOW
(Josh)
You lost the fucking letter. Or better yet, did you do something with the letter? The one thing you were supposed to do, you couldn’t do it sober. So you did it while you were hammered drunk, wandering around town, ending up at your best friend’s house because that’s where you felt comfortable.
There were texts in my phone that I had sent to Michelle.
She had been smart enough to ignore them, knowing there was a side of me that enjoyed her company and another side that would have said some emotional stuff and hurt both of us.
The panic I felt retracing my steps to the gallery had taken a back seat the second I saw Amelia. What I remembered about her she probably didn’t even realize. Hell, and the things she did to save my ass without doing a thing…
“That was pretty good,” she said as she crumpled up her napkin and threw it onto the plate.
“Whoa,” I said. “There’s food on there.”
“I’m full.”
“You’re not going to offer it to me?”
“You want to eat my leftovers?” she asked.
All I had to do was give her that sly grin to make her cheeks turn red with innuendo.
She sighed and plucked the napkin off the plate and slid it my way.
I tried hard not to do the stupid teenage thing of telling myself that by eating food her fork touched meant it was like my lips touching her lips. If I wanted a kiss from Amelia, I’d kiss her. Simple as that.
“So how did your night go, Josh?” she asked.
“Are you asking as a friend or a reporter?”
“I’m not a reporter. Or a writer. Or anything.”
“You’re a waitress. That’s something.”
“Promising, huh?”
“Everything and everyone has a purpose,” I said.
“Are you saying that as a friend or an artist?”
I jabbed the fork into the messy plate of eggs, hash browns, sausage, and cheese and took a big scoop.
“That’s a good one,” I said.
“I try,” Amelia said. “So how did you end up doing this?”
“Getting your food?” I asked.
“Josh…”
“Love…”
She swallowed hard. “You knew what I meant.”
“The artist thing?” I asked. “I fell into it. Through a friend. Had someone spot a few things I had done, and it exploded from there.”
“That’s pretty amazing though, right?”
“It has its moments.”
“Not last night.”
I pointed the fork at her. “See, there you go again. Trying to build that story of yours. I’d like to read it.”
“The story about you?”
“Any of your stories,” I said. “You give me a talking animal story and I’ll answer more of your questions.”
Amelia laughed and pushed away from the table. “What if I don’t have any of the talking animal stories anymore?”
“First off, there’s no way you threw those out,” I said. “And second, if you’re going to lie and say you did, then write a new one.”
“Maybe I’ll write about a monster,” she said. “Who gets angry too much and too fast. Who runs when someone asks a serious question. Who has bad habits. Who eats other people’s food.”
“Oh, so I’m the monster,” I said. “How creative.” I placed my fork down and shoved the plate aside. “Does this story tell the part when the monster saved the pretty young girl… more than once? Or the part when the pretty young girl thought she was in some fairy tale and wanted to kiss the monster, but he did the right thing by stoppin
g her?”
Now her cheeks burned even hotter.
“I’m the writer,” she said. “So, I could write how the monster made her feel pretty and then ripped her heart out.”
“Only for safe keeping, love,” I whispered. “Trust me.”
“It’s still my story to tell,” Amelia said with a flirty undertone that threatened to waste the rest of my day. Which I was fine with.
“So then tell it,” I said.
“Nobody wants that story, Josh. They want yours.”
“Some blog does, love. Remember?”
“It would help me if you answered some questions though.”
“I thought you didn’t care.”
“Depends on what this could mean.”
“So now you’re suddenly invested in this story.”
“You know what happened with us,” she said. “Or didn’t happen. And it’s been such a long time. I’m curious.”
“Now you’re talking about two different stories,” I said. “That’s a lot of talking and writing.”
“What’s your price then?” she asked.
“Price?”
“Food? Whiskey? What?”
I simply smiled.
That was my answer.
And Amelia knew exactly what it meant.
Finish what we had started all those years ago.
I was late for an appointment and I knew it.
My phone buzzed over and over, and I kept ignoring it as I enjoyed a cigarette and small talk with Amelia.
“Someone wants your attention,” Amelia said.
“I’m supposed to be somewhere,” I said. “Not worried about it.”
I was worried about it though. Worried about the appointment. The fucking letter. What I had done the night before. And masking it all with Amelia’s company was only good for so long.
We walked our way back to the gallery and I walked her to her car.
“Story for a story?” she asked me as she opened the driver’s door.
“Deal,” I said. “And it’d better be a good one.”
“Same for you,” she said.
“Believe me, love, I could tell you things that would keep that little blog of yours alive and well for a long time.”
“It’s not my blog,” she said. “I kind of want nothing to do with it.”
“You keep changing your story about what you want.”
“Maybe I just want to talk to you, Josh. You sort of… you were a big part of some stuff for me.”
“I’m not sure if that’s good or bad,” I said.
“Neither am I,” she said with a smile that felt like an electric prod to my heart.
“Let me ask you something,” I said. “What was your favorite piece from the showing?”
“I don’t know, there were so many, Josh.”
“Come on. Give me something.”
“The eye one,” she said.
“I knew it,” I said.
“What?”
“Why did you like it?”
“Just the way you did it. The close up on someone’s eye…”
It was Michelle’s eye. But that didn’t matter. It was for artistic purposes only.
“What about it?” I asked, pushing at Amelia.
“I don’t know. Just… you created this entire scene in an eye. Like the eye itself was its own world. It was just… inspiring… I don’t know, Josh. You’re making me feel like a weirdo talking about it.”
I put my hand to the door and kept that as a barrier between us.
“You know how I knew you’d love that one, Amelia?” I asked.
“How?”
“Because of your eyes. Because of the way I used to stare at them when you’d talk. You always talked about a bigger and better world. Forever stuck in whatever story you were writing, but were too afraid to tell me about. Yet you did tell me everything. With your eyes. And it doesn’t hurt that your eyes are fucking beautiful, love.”
I reached out with my right hand and gently touched her cheek.
She was frozen for a few seconds.
One second more and I would have slammed the car door shut and pulled her close.
That would be trouble.
My phone buzzed again.
“You’d better answer that soon.”
“Yeah. If not, I’ll get into some hot water.”
“For what?”
I took my hand from her face. “You’d better keep your distance again, Amelia.”
“Really? You’re giving me that cheap line?”
“It’s not cheap. Just look up my name online. It’s not hard to find out what happened.”
“Wait,” she said, grabbing for my arm. “What does that mean?”
“I should be in jail right now, love.”
Chapter 12
Not the Same Smoke
THEN
(Amelia)
Fly, baby, fly.
It used to be fun and cute. It used to be uplifting. It used to be my escape to feel good about life because that’s what Mom wanted me to feel. The world was forever mine, in the palm of my hand, hidden in my eyes, tucked away in my heart, and ready to be rewritten with my mind.
That was all a lie.
The hardest part of life was facing all that stuff.
I guess people were older when they faced it. Once they were eighteen or older, going to college or getting a job. Getting hurt by douchebag guys or getting fired by a douchebag boss. Something with the real world attacking and taking it all away.
For me, it was different.
When I heard Mom yell ‘Fly, baby, fly!’ from down the hallway, I had to move.
And fast.
Okay, fine, I still had some of my old stuffed animals in the corner of my room. They were stacked on top of each other, their eyes always on me. And every time things got bad, I would look at them. The seven-year-old version of Amelia wanted to pack them all up in a bag and run. The seven-year-old version of Amelia said I didn’t need anything else but them. We would travel across the world to a new town, find a new house, and there would be a welcoming family. A family who would take us in and show us the love we deserved.
Again, that was all a lie.
A stupid, rotten, filthy, fucking lie.
When Mom yelled ‘Fly, baby, fly!’ that was my cue to run.
But instead, I was too busy staring at dumb stuffed animals.
My bedroom door blasted open with a crack as loud as summer thunder.
And just like that, my life was now on the line.
As my father swayed to his left to get around my bed, I made a diving move onto it. I looked like I was out of an action movie as I hit my bed, rolled in some kind of somersault, and then was off the bed. But believe me, it wasn’t as smooth and cool as it was in the movies. I stumbled forward and ran right into the wall.
I had been so used to this kind of stuff that I always left my shoes on. I never knew when I was going to need to run again. And there was nothing worse than escaping the house in socks or barefoot. Especially if it was cool or rainy out.
“Princess bitch,” my father growled as I made a spinning move to get out of the open door.
I looked to my right and saw Mom sitting on the floor in the hallway, her back against the wall. The door to their bedroom was open and I saw broken things all over the floor. In our house it was best to not have anything breakable or glass. Mirrors, knickknacks, picture frames… that kind of thing.
Mom had her face buried in her hands.
“Mom?” I called to her.
“Fly, baby, fly,” she said as she sobbed.
I wanted her to look at me, but I knew why she couldn’t. First, it was embarrassment. Then it was fear of what it would do to me to have me see her. As though whatever was done would magically disappear by morning.
“Get back here!” my father’s voice boomed from behind me.
I was on the move again.
I had started taking the steps two at a time. Then I practiced on the
weekends how to do three at a time. When my father was sober and calmer, he’d ask what the hell I was doing. So I lied and said it was practice for gym class at school. To help with my fitness test. He was stupid enough to believe it.
Then I started jumping four steps at a time.
Now I was up to five.
The trick was to land on your heels with your knees bent. It helped to keep your balance. And if you did lose your balance then you’d just straighten your legs and launch yourself again. I looked like a goofy kangaroo going down the steps, but there was nothing goofy about what would happen if I didn’t make my daring escape.
I opened the front door at the bottom of the steps but didn’t use it.
Instead, I ran through the house to the back door.
I was outside and mostly free as I ran through the backyard and just kept going.
I couldn’t think about anything else.
I just had to keep going.
So I did.
From my backyard through the neighbor’s yards, at least a block or two before I cut to get to the sidewalk. That’s when I stopped running and changed to a normal walk. I didn’t want to look suspicious to anyone.
As I took deep breaths to calm my nerves a little, I smelled something.
It was stinky.
It made my nose curl.
I heard a squeaky giggle.
“Hello?” I called out.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck. We’re busted, man.”
“Shit, Abel, calm down,” another voice said.
Straight ahead, someone popped out of the bushes.
I saw something in his hand as I gasped and hurried to stop.
“Amelia?” a voice said.
I crept closer and smiled.
It was Josh.
He somehow appeared again just when I needed someone.
“Guys, fuck off,” he ordered. “And take that crap with you.”
“This is my crew, homey,” one of the guys said.
“Murph, you’re high as a kite,” Josh said. “Go away.”
“Let’s go float in the stars, man,” another guy said.
“Listen to Nash,” Josh said. “I’ve got this.”
A Letter to Delilah Page 7
