by B. E. Baker
“Thanks,” I say.
When I pass Brekka her plate in the car, along with a fork and knife in a plastic bag, she leans over and sniffs the food.
“I really hope this is beef or pork or chicken. Or maybe turkey,” she says.
I glance down at the delicious, delicious looking food. “Uh, wait. What else could it be?”
She shrugs. “Possum? Raccoon? Dog?”
My lips curl back, exposing my teeth. “Not really, right?”
She laughs. “I’ll risk it if you will?”
Neither of us talks for several minutes. They’re some of the best minutes of my life.
“If that’s possum,” Brekka finally says, setting her plate on the bench between us, entirely empty, “we’ve been missing out all this time.”
I pat my stomach. “Part of me wants to go back and ask for more, but I doubt I could eat anything else, and it won’t be good if we leave it sitting in the car.”
“Speaking of,” she says. “You were just about to tell me where we’re going.”
“Nice try,” I say.
I pull back onto the freeway and ply her with more questions, albeit less invasive ones, until we’re within a mile of our final destination. I approached from the back so she wouldn’t see loads of signs.
“Any guesses?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “I figure you’re driving me into the middle of nowhere so it’ll be easy to dispose of my body if my family refuses to pay the ransom.”
“Dang it. You are too smart.” I grin.
She glances up then, and her eyes widen. I follow her gaze.
Crap. She’s just seen a seagull, and she does not look pleased.
13
Brekka
“Please tell me that’s not actually a seagull, but some kind of land bound relative.”
Just last night I told him how much I hate the beach. Plus, we were in Atlanta. What place on earth is less beachy than Georgia? We’ve only been in the car… I glance at my watch. Four and a half hours, including the barbecue from heaven pit stop.
“Hmm. I can tell you whatever you want me to tell you.”
“I want it to be true when you say it.” I think about the straw hat and close my eyes. I assumed we’d be doing a picnic. Or maybe a walking tour and he’d insist on dragging me along, pushing me when my arms grow too tired. It never occurred he’d drive me to a sandy nightmare.
“Are you really upset?” he asks. “You don’t trust me?”
“I barely know you.” I think about the amazing conversation we’ve been having. The sideways glances and the flirting. The feel of his hand on mine, of my fingers tangled in his. I’m not being fair. “I’m sorry I’m cross. I don’t love beaches, as I might have mentioned.”
“Which is exactly why I’m taking you with me to Tybee Island.”
I sigh resignedly. Today is about to suck. I don’t say another word while we drive the last few minutes to the beach. I count that as a win for me. I don’t complain or whine or grump, even though I want to do all three.
“You are going to love this,” Rob says. “I promise you will.”
It’s hard to nod and bite my tongue, but I persevere.
“You know, some things aren’t as awful when you face them with someone you trust,” Rob says.
I snort. “I think that’s the motto of the Khmer Rouge.”
Rob turns into a lot that’s labeled, “Beach Parking.” He impressively slides his enormous truck into a tiny spot and shoves it into park.
He turns toward me and crosses his arms. “I’m going to tell you an embarrassing story now. You’re going to understand my point, and then give this a chance.”
I cross my arms and lean back exactly like he is. “Okay, go ahead.”
“When I was a kid, I was terrified of the dentist. I went once when I was five or six, and it turned out that I had three cavities. The man came at me with a drill like the murderer in a cheesy made-for-television horror movie. The numbing shots didn’t work and I swear, it was the worst thing that ever happened to me by a factor of ten, or maybe even one hundred. I flatly refused to ever go again. In fact, when my dad dragged me into the dentist’s office at the age of ten, I yelled so loudly and for so long that the dentist eventually refused to treat me. My dad beat me when we got home.” He closes his eyes. “I still remember the feel of that lash across my backside, and you know what I thought? Better this than the pain of the insane dentist’s drill.”
I’m not sure how much he’s exaggerating.
“You’re thinking it wasn’t really that bad.” He shakes his head. “You’re wrong. It was awful. When I turned thirteen, I still flat out refused to go back. My parents tried everything. They grounded me. They took everything away from me they could think to take. I couldn’t get online. I couldn’t hang out with friends after school. They even canceled Halloween one year, and no matter what they threatened, the dentist still seemed worse to me. And the thing was, I built it up in my mind. As time passed, I convinced myself it was far worse than it must have been. I knew it was irrational, and yet, that fear clawed its way up my spine whenever someone said the word. Dentist.” He shudders.
I lift one eyebrow. I know a sell job when I hear one. “And then what? You overcame your fears and that’s why now you have the best teeth of anyone I know?”
“Oh, no. I never overcame it.” He forces a smile and points at his teeth. “These are all caps. My real teeth rotted out and they filed them down to tiny nubs while I was under general anesthesia and crafted these fake ones.”
My jaw drops.
“I’m kidding.” He laughs.
I slap at his knee. The rest of him is too far away for me to comfortably reach. “That was mean. Just finish your dumb pep talk so we can get my figurative root canal over with.”
He bobs his head. “Now you’re getting ahead of me. See, I got a horrible cavity. In this tooth.” He opens his mouth and points at his back, right, bottom molar. “It hurt. It started as an ache, and then it grew, more and more each day that passed. I didn’t say a word of course, because I knew the dentist was worse than a toothache. Way worse. At least, until the throbbing in my head got so bad that I couldn’t see. It’s called referred pain. When I went blind, I was still afraid of the dentist. I still didn’t want to go. Thinking about it sent me into fits.”
He leans toward me. “This isn’t a very manly story, so I wouldn’t normally tell someone I liked as much as I like you.”
A shiver runs down my spine. He likes me. A lot.
“And then what?” I ask, invested in spite of my dedicated skepticism and principled annoyance.
“My little sisters, Christine and Jennifer. They were twins, you recall. They came up on either side of me. I couldn’t see them, but I knew their voices. Each of them took one of my hands.” Rob chokes up a little and my heart goes out to him. “I was sixteen years old. I wasn’t afraid of bullies, or a burglar, or the all-state basketball tournament. But I was wet-your-pants scared of the stupid dentist.”
This time I’m the one who reaches for his hand. He clasps mine eagerly.
“Just like that,” he says. “My sisters took my hands that day and promised me they’d stay with me the entire time I was at the dentist. They’d never let go. I might not have been able to see them, but I believed they would protect me. My nine-year-old sisters would keep me safe from the boogey man. It sounds ludicrous, but it was enough. I went to an endodontist and he gave me a root canal and a crown. After that, I went to the dentist for cleanings, but every single time I set up an appointment, at least until I graduated from high school, one or the other of my twin sisters went along too.”
He slides over next to me, tucking my elbow up against the warmth of his body. “The idea of the beach is awful. Or maybe you’ve been a time or two and it truly sucked. Or maybe you’re afraid people will stare. I don’t know what scares you, but I promise that I know your fear is real and valid. And ultimately, if you stick with me, if you
hold my hand, we will vanquish it together.”
His words are utterly and completely cheesy. They should be the inspirational line in the middle of a Hallmark card, and yet, he’s sincere. He’s not mocking me. He’s not belittling me for my irrational fear of going to the beach. And he didn’t tell me he knows my hatred masks my fear. He just knew it was true without me saying it, and without pointing it out.
I lean my head against his shoulder. “My legs used to be long and tan and lean and perfect.”
“They’re still long and perfect.”
“I notice you left tan off the list.”
He shrugs. “I’ve only seen you in pants. The one time you were wearing a suit skirt, you had pantyhose on. I can’t speak to tan, so you’d know I was lying. But to long and perfect, I can attest.”
I roll my eyes. “They’re thin. I do my physical therapy religiously, but I can’t do enough with them to build any real muscle tone. The curves I had have melted away and now—” I choke up. “They look like sticks. Or like toothpicks.” I gulp in air to shove back my tears. “People wear shorts and swimsuits at the beach. I’d look repulsive in anything like that.”
Rob gathers me into his arms and pulls me up onto his lap. His right hand strokes the left side of my face. “You could never, ever, ever look repulsive. Never. No part of you will ever repel me in any way. Not your nose.” He kisses the tip of my nose and my heart takes wing. “Not your eyes.” He kisses each of my eyes and my hands shake. “Not your cheeks.” He kisses the tears from my face. “Not your mouth. Never your mouth.”
He kisses me with dedication and resolve then, and I forget about time and space. I forget about legs and arms and feet and toes. I forget about sand and sun and salt and spray. The only thing that exists is Rob’s hand in my hair, and his mouth against mine and his sigh against my cheek when he pulls away.
“No part of you is anything but perfect to me. But if you’re concerned, keep your pants on.” He chuckles. “That is just not a phrase I was preparing to say to you today, or ever really. But, please. Please keep your pants on. Whenever and for however long you want to. You don’t need to impress anyone here. The person you came with already thinks you’re flawless.”
I draw in a shaky breath and nod my head. “Fine. We can go to the stupid beach.”
It’s almost worth the misery I know is coming, to see the utter delight on Rob’s striking face. “You will not be sorry.”
Rob reaches behind me and grabs a backpack, but instead of slinging it over his shoulders, he holds it against his defined pecs and loops the straps over his shoulders backward.
He grins at me, and puts on a pair of sunglasses. “Let’s go.”
He slides out of the car and pats the driver’s side seat. “I’m giving you a ride.”
I shake my head. “No way. It’s got to be hundreds of yards to the beach from here.”
He drops his shoulders in exasperation. “You said we could go. I have this planned. Besides.” He slaps his right arm with his left hand and his left arm with his right hand. Then he slaps his legs. “What’s the point of all the hours I spent at the gym if you don’t let me show off my muscles?”
I smirk. My turn to be obnoxious. “I’ll agree to a piggy back ride on one condition.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “What?”
“Take your shirt off. We are at the beach.”
He grins. “Done.” He whips his shirt off in one smooth movement and I can’t breathe. Like at all. I’m going to die of oxygen depravation, but oh man. I’ll be happy. He has the most impressive chest I’ve ever seen. And the tattoo I’ve only seen the edge of on his arm is completely clear. Semper Fidelis.
“Ready?” he asks.
My eyes snap back to his face. “Sure. Yes. A deal is a deal.” My fingers itch to run themselves over his shining skin. He turns around so I can climb on, and I notice another tattoo. “Wait, what’s this?” I lean closer and realize there are words written in a circle on the left side of his back.
“Words have meaning,” he says so quietly I can barely hear him.
“Do you mind if I read these?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
I bow toward the circle. Broken, but never beaten. My breath catches. “What does this mean?”
“It says Broken, but never beaten.” He lifts his chin defiantly.
“I know.” I don’t press any further.
“They told me my break was complete. They told me I’d never walk again. I worried I might never regain function of my arms. I wasn’t paraplegic, Brekka. I was quadriplegic. I gave up in that hospital bed. I prayed to God that he would let me go. I begged him to let me die, like my best friend Mark already had. I wanted it all to be over.”
He clears his throat. “I came to terms with the fact that I had nothing to look forward to, ever. I had no hope and sank in a puddle of despair, stuck inside my own head. It went on like that for nearly a week, which doesn’t seem long, but it was an eternity to me.”
He draws in a ragged breath. “God decided one day to answer my prayers and I blacked out. My lungs stopped working, and they had to go in to try and clear out a clot to save my life. When they did that, they found tiny fragments that hadn’t shown up on the scans. Somehow, when they removed those, it set me on a path to recovery. I began to feel my toes, and then my knees. One day, I flexed my calves. Both of them at the same time.”
He glances toward the beach and away from me. “I decided then, without knowing exactly what function I might one day regain, that no matter how much I improved, I’d be grateful. After all, anything at all was a miracle. I was broken, but I would never give up again. That IED may have broken my back, but I was not defeated, not anymore.”
He bites his lip. “I also realized that I was wrong.”
“About what?”
“I gave up in that bed. I thought that without the life I had, life wasn’t worth living.”
“I can relate to that sentiment,” I say.
He shakes his head slowly. “I was wrong. It was a miracle that I regained function, but I really hope that even without that miracle, I’d have come to the same conclusion, that my life had value even if I couldn’t move my arms and legs. I know a lot of people who live fulfilling, rich lives without the use of their legs and arms too. We humans naturally resist change, but I hope I never again surrender my life because of it.”
I wrap my arms around his perfect back, glancing downward at the pattern of scars around his spine. I want to trace them, but I don’t. He’s not broken, not to me. He’s perfect. Actually, he’s stronger than perfect. He’s an overcomer. When he carries me to the beach and eyes turn toward us, I know what they see. A plain girl being carried like a child by an Adonis of a man.
They wonder why he’s carrying me. They wonder why he’s paying attention to me at all. The girls around me on the beach, jogging in bikinis, throwing Frisbees, laying in the sun, they’re all jealous of me. They should be. I don’t deserve Rob. But then again, none of them do either.
I decide to let go of my anger. I may be broken, but I’m not defeated either. I never miraculously flexed my calves and learned to stand and walk again like Rob, but the same sentiment applies to me. Those girls may be able to run and splash and flirt and hit a volleyball, but I’m not throwing in the towel.
I open my mouth to tell Rob about my surgery. In a few weeks, maybe I’ll be flexing my calves like he is. I can get the same tattoo, and we can jog along this beach together. Then I’ll deserve him. I’ll get my life back. I’ll dream about the future again.
It’s worth the risks. It’s worth any risk. Rob sets me down on a chair underneath an umbrella. A man in a white button down and cutoff shorts jogs toward us. Rob pays him and he salutes me. What’s going on?
“These chairs and the umbrella are rentals,” Rob explains. “These guys come set them up, and we can use them until sundown.”
“It’s that easy?” I ask.
He nods, and a smile creeps
slowly across my face.
“Not so bad, right?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Geo gave me this for you.” He pulls a book from his bag. “She thought you might like it. It’s the first in a series, Marked. She said ‘the science stuff is kind of boring, but the guy the girl ends up with is hunky.’”
I roll my eyes. “Is this that author she loves? The one with all the kids and the yappy dog and the chickens?”
He grins. “Yep. They’re Facebook friends and you know Geo. She’s unswervingly loyal.”
I sigh and take the book. “I’ll read enough to tell her I did.”
“She’s going to badger you to leave a review. Apparently authors check those like lunatics and smile every time they get a five star.”
Oh good grief. “Hey, before you get entirely settled…”
Rob’s eyebrows lift. “Yeah?”
“I might need to go to the restroom.”
He slaps his forehead. “Duh.”
“See, this is why I hate the beach. Now we’re here, and we’re all settled and I don’t have my chair and you can’t give me a piggyback ride into the ladies’ room and set me on the toilet.”
“I can’t?”
The horror must show on my face because Rob laughs. “Relax, I’m kidding. I’ll jog back and grab it. Remember how annoying I was about figuring out how to put Gladys together? I had a reason for it. Two minutes.”
I sit by myself on the rented lounge chairs and look around at the beautiful beach. Kids dig in the sand and throw handfuls at each other and squeal. Mothers plod along behind toddlers, scooping them up in their arms when they’ve gone too far. A group of twenty somethings dive for volleyballs in a spray of sand and cheers.
Sure, plenty of people lay around and read, but even those people hop up and walk to where the water meets the sand and dip their toes in. I’m sitting here in my pants, hiding my legs, afraid to look different. I’m sick of being afraid. I’m sick of being different. For years I’ve been too nervous to try these surgeries Trig funds. It’s past time for me to get over it and take a gamble. It’s time for me to be brave enough to live my life again.
