by Elle Casey
“Twenty-seven.” He pauses and then looks at me. “You thought I was older, didn’t you?” He sounds slightly offended.
I shake my head at his vanity. Silly man. “Don’t worry. You don’t look a day over forty with that beard.”
He strokes it as he returns my gaze, his sadness slipping away to be replaced by pure chemistry. “Not into the beard?”
I try not to smile, I really do, but the way he’s petting himself and looking at me like that . . . it’s getting me all riled up. My lips move up into a sneaky grin despite my best efforts to remain serious. I hope my sister doesn’t look over at us. I hope no one looks over at us; this is a completely inappropriate emotion to be having in this place.
“The beard’s . . . okay,” I say, lying. In truth, it’s nice. Too sexy, really. He should probably shave it off so I can lose the urge to stare at him every five seconds.
I turn my attention back to the memorial. There are engravings on the edges of the ledge surrounding the water. I run my finger over one of them. Jonathan. A man named Jonathan died in this place where we’re standing. He will never grow a beard or flirt with a girl from central Maine or worry about how scary and confusing it can sometimes be to make connections with people you’ve just met. Suddenly, I feel very, very lucky to be alive, standing in this place with this beautiful man next to me. Tears well up in my eyes. I quickly brush them away before Sam can see me riding this emotional roller coaster straight down to its lowest point.
“How old are you?” he asks.
I’m glad for the distraction and wonder if he did it on purpose to spare me my embarrassment. “Twenty-five.”
“Huh.” He slowly nods, staring off into space. That single syllable is loaded with meaning, but I can’t translate what it is by reading his body language. He just keeps bobbing his head up and down.
I face him. “Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?”
He turns his head and looks me up and down. “I was just thinking . . . you don’t look a day over forty in that skirt.”
My heart does a double flip. He’s flirting with me! I have to bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from saying anything as my face flames red again. Oh my god, he is too much. How on earth are we going to live in the same apartment for ten days? If he’s this intense after just a few hours, I can only imagine . . .
“Do you like the music?” he asks out of the blue.
I’m confused for a moment, wondering what music he’s talking about. The only thing I can hear is water and people talking. “Huh?”
“Red Hot’s music. Sorry. Totally random subject change.”
“Oh. Yeah. Okay.”
“Things were getting kind of heavy,” he says by way of explanation.
“Yeah. No. No, I get it.” It takes a second for my brain to come back online. He didn’t mean to flirt. He regrets it. He’s taking it back. “Yeah. I guess I’m a fan.” I don’t want to offend him and tell him that I couldn’t care less about their music. After all, his brother is their guitarist, and I’d heard that Sam is supposed to be writing new stuff for them. It would be like him telling me he dislikes farm animals.
“You don’t sound very convinced,” he says, smiling slightly, the emotion not reaching his eyes.
“My mothers were big fans.” I shrug.
“You have more than one?” He looks at me quizzically. He probably thinks his silly beard is throwing me off again.
I shake my head and stare down at the water. “It’s a long story.”
He glances over at Amber, who is now wandering around the other fountain. “I think we have some time.”
I’m not sure how much of my family’s dirty laundry I want to air in front of Sam, so I take two steps to my left, pretending to be interested in another perspective of the fountain. “Maybe another time.”
His jaw tenses and he looks straight ahead. “I get it.” His half smile looks forced.
“You get what?” I worry I’ve offended him somehow, and I don’t want to do that. Not here. Not anywhere, really.
“Who am I, right?” He glances at me, vulnerability in his eyes. “Some jackass who wandered into your vacation and ruined it.”
I shake my head at him, taking two steps back to the right. I’m being rude for no good reason. My mothers would be so disappointed, especially considering who he is to the band. “No, it’s not like that. I’m not here on vacation, and you didn’t ruin anything.”
“You sure about that?” He nods in Amber’s direction. “I’m pretty sure your sister thinks you’re here to play tourist.”
“She might think that, but that’s not the case. She was going to be lonely with Ty gone, so I came to keep her company . . . That’s it.”
His jaw tenses again. “You’re a good sister.”
“Because I’m visiting when she’s lonely?” If he only knew how much I didn’t want to come, I’m sure his opinion of me would change in a heartbeat.
“Yeah. And you’re doing it in a place that you don’t really like.”
Huh. Maybe he does somehow know. “What makes you say that?” Do I have another mind reader in my life? How horribly inconvenient that’s going to be.
His gaze is piercing. It’s like he’s seeing right through my façade. “It’s obvious you don’t like being here. You don’t like crowds. You don’t like talking to strangers.” He shrugs. “You’re reserved. Like me.”
I nudge him with my elbow as I look out over the water, trying to lighten the mood. “What are you talking about? You’re no stranger. We’re practically related. My sister is dating your brother, and they’re living together.”
He doesn’t say anything to that, so I risk sneaking a glance at him. He’s staring out ahead, not seeing the memorial or anything else as far as I can tell. He’s got a faraway look in his eye. His shoulder muscles are tense, and his jaw is bumping out over and over again.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He shakes his head and turns around, slowly walking away. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
I’m torn; do I stand here by myself, or do I follow him? I hate the idea of looking like a desperate fool by running after him—he’ll take it as a sign that I like him, no doubt—but I also know what it’s like to be sad and to feel alone . . . like I’m an inconvenience to everyone around me.
He thinks we’re alike. You don’t like talking to strangers . . . like me, he said. And I know that when I’m feeling down, I just want everyone to leave me alone. He probably wants that for himself too. I watch him go, the slump of his shoulders making me feel bad about my decision to stay.
I’m not good in situations like this. Not good at all. Terrible would probably be the most apt description. Analysis paralysis. Too shy to fly. Too school for cool. Would following behind him be creepy, sad, or compassionate? I have no clue.
He looks upset. I don’t think it’s the memorial doing it either. Maybe this place is prompting his sad thoughts, but there’s something else going on, too. I hesitate to take action, not just because I’m not sure how to react, but also because I don’t want to open up the door to him asking me a bunch of personal questions, and I risk that by volunteering to get involved with his problems. Rather than making a mistake by doing something, I decide I’d rather make a mistake by doing nothing. There will be less embarrassment that way, at least. And so I let him walk away . . .
Suddenly, Amber is by my side, taking any further decision out of my hands. “Why do you look so forlorn? Is this place making you sad?”
“Of course it is. I think that’s the whole idea.” I’m trying to make a joke out of it, but it falls flat.
She puts her arm around my shoulders and hugs me to her. “I’m sorry. I just thought . . . if you’re going to see anything in the city, this should be it.”
“No, you’re right. Thanks for bringing me here. I should see this. Everyone should see this.”
“We’ll skip the museum part,” she says. “You could spend hours in there, but maybe another time.
” Amber looks over at Sam. “Is he pissed I brought him here?”
“No. I think he’s sad about something else.”
“Did he tell you anything?”
“About what?”
“About his life. About what his deal is.”
I shake my head. “No. He said some stuff went down back where he lives and that’s why he’s here early. That’s all I know.”
I can practically see the wheels turning in my sister’s head as she stares at him. “Sam and Ty had a hard time growing up. Their father wasn’t a very nice person.”
“They can join the party, I guess.” I can’t keep the disappointment from my tone.
“Don’t start,” Amber says, pinching my cheek lightly. “Our fathers are not mean people. It’s a totally different thing with Sam’s father, trust me.”
“Whatever you say. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why not?”
I sigh. “Since when are you so nosy?”
“Since when am I not nosy?” She’s back to staring at Sam.
“Aren’t you worried about upsetting Sam and Ty by digging into their past?”
She looks at me. “Why would being interested in their lives upset them?”
“Maybe they’d see it as pushing when they don’t want to be pushed.”
She sighs. “Not everybody is as hyper as you are about people knowing their personal details.”
I laugh at her boldness. “I think people are more worried about them than you give them credit for.” Her teasing strangely makes me feel better. She’s accepted me as who I am. Acceptance means a lot to someone like me, a girl who never feels like she belongs anywhere beyond the end of her driveway.
“Whatever. Let’s go get a cab.”
Amber and I walk arm in arm to the curb where Sam is waiting for us. He throws his hand up, and a cab veers over in response.
“Well done,” she says, giving him a thumbs-up.
He nods at her compliment, saying nothing.
She leans in and speaks quietly in my ear. “I think he’s the strong, silent type.”
I jab her in the ribs with my elbow. “Shush.” Now she’s just looking for trouble. I’m pretty sure he heard her, because his back tenses up as soon as the words are out of her mouth. I don’t think he’s one for teasing, which means we could be in for some trouble over the next ten days. There’s one thing my sister knows how to do well, and that’s how to get under a person’s skin.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The cab brings us to the art supply store, where I allow my sister to buy me some primary acrylic colors, a few brushes and palette knives, and a large canvas . . . even though the last thing I feel like doing right now is painting. Hoping for inspiration, I also put a box of rubber gloves on the pile at the cash register. They aren’t something I’ve ever used with my work before, but I read an article a few months back about this other artist who does use them and I feel inspired to give her technique a try.
Amber holds up the box. “What are these for? Protecting your manicure?”
I take the gloves from her and put them on the counter with the other supplies so the man can ring everything up. “No. It’s a secret.”
“Oooh, I like secrets.” She leans in close and wiggles her eyebrows. “Tell me all of yours.”
I push her on the shoulder. “No. Go away.”
Sam is waiting for us at the front of the store, about ten feet away, his expression beyond bored. I’m not going to feel bad about it, though, because he didn’t have to come. We offered to drop him off somewhere, and he turned us down.
“I’m going to pay you back for all of this,” I say. I left my purse in my room, thinking we were dealing strictly with hot dogs.
“Don’t worry about it. I have loads and loads of money now.” Amber grins big at me.
I roll my eyes. She knows I don’t care about money. “Good for you.”
“We’re still going clothes shopping, I hope you know.”
I glance up at Sam, who’s busy staring at his phone. “Not now. Sam would kill us if we asked him to do that.”
“You are correct on that,” he says without looking up, making my heart jump. I was thinking he wasn’t paying us any attention when he was actually hearing every word.
Amber sticks her tongue out at him before she responds. “No, he’s not invited to that outing. We’ll go tomorrow or the next day.”
“Can we go back to the apartment now?” I ask quietly as the clerk finishes bagging up our purchases, hoping Sam doesn’t have superhero hearing. “My stomach is bothering me.” I rub it, seriously regretting my lunch choices. No wonder my sister spent so much time in the bathroom today. Those hot dogs are murder. I’m glad I didn’t order the chili or the onions.
“Yeah, we’ll go back right now.”
I look at Sam and drop my voice even lower. “Do you think he needs anything before we get back? Like at the grocery store or whatever?”
“I don’t know . . . let me ask.” Amber raises her voice. “Hey, Sam! Em wants to know if you need anything while we’re out!”
I could seriously kill her right now. I hold in my reaction, trying to act like being outed by my sister isn’t totally embarrassing. Now he knows I’m afraid to talk to him.
He shakes his head, his expression getting darker and darker the more he stares at his phone.
“Looks like he got a text or an email that’s not making him very happy,” Amber whispers over my shoulder as I reach for my bag of goodies. “I wonder what it says.”
“Whatever, Nosey Parker. Mind your own business.” I pray he can’t hear us digging into his life.
He turns abruptly and exits the store, stopping outside on the sidewalk. Amber and I stare at him through the window as he punches in somebody’s phone number and then starts talking rapidly. He is not happy at all; that much is clear.
“I hope he doesn’t cause any trouble while he’s here,” Amber says under her breath.
“Why would you say that?” We walk as slowly as we can toward the door, giving him time to have his conversation in private and giving us time to gossip about it.
“Think about it . . . ,” she says. “He got here three weeks early because something was going on in California? That can’t mean anything good.”
I won’t share my crazy ideas of him running from the law and whatever else my imagination was cooking up earlier. He doesn’t seem like the type, now that I’ve gotten to know him a little bit more. At least I don’t think he does. Not that I have any experience with criminals or anything. Jesus, what am I thinking? For all I know he could be an ax murderer. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” I say, trying to reassure Amber and myself.
“He’s a tortured soul.”
“Really?” I pause to look at her, my hand on the door. “What does that mean?” I can’t tell if she’s being facetious or not.
“We’ll talk about it later.” She pushes the door open, mumbling under her breath, “Let’s go. I don’t want him taking off and running around the city with a chip on his shoulder.”
“What do you mean? Why would you say that?” I’m hurrying to catch up to her. She’s making no sense.
She’s bearing down on Sam as he takes a couple steps away from us. “I know the look of somebody who’s about to rabbit off.”
He looks perfectly calm to me—maybe a little angry, but not like he’s about to run away. “I think you’re imagining things.”
She stops suddenly, causing me to bump into her as she turns around to face me. “I’ve been living with you for twenty-five years, Little Miss Scared of Her Own Shadow. Trust me . . . I know when somebody is about to take off because they’re freaking out about something.”
“What? You’re crazy.” I can’t tell if she’s joking around, but I sure don’t appreciate being called that name.
And then Sam starts to walk quickly down the sidewalk away from us.
“See? Told you.” Amber starts to jog after him, and I hurry to
follow. My heart feels heavy as I realize she was right about him, and that she could be right about me, too. Am I really afraid of my own shadow?
CHAPTER TWELVE
I’m going to grab a cab,” Amber says, running short of breath. “You get Sam and bring him back here.” She leaves me standing on the sidewalk with my mouth hanging open.
“But . . .”
She’s already gone, stopping half a block away with her arm out.
Sam is quickly disappearing in the other direction.
What to do, what to do, what to do . . . Amber’s words echo around in my head: Little Miss Scared of Her Own Shadow . . .
Scared, my butt. I start running after him without another word. My sister needs my help and I’m going to give it to her, even though Sam is a big boy and I’m sure he can handle wandering around the city by himself. He did look upset. It might be good for him to have somebody nearby just in case. And I’m not afraid to talk to him, or run after him, or do what needs to be done, so there!
“Sam!”
He ignores me.
I kick my pursuit into higher gear, my feet slapping on the pavement with my all-out effort. I’m a-huffin’ and a-puffin’, my arms pumping madly while my skirt flies way out behind me—a sad imitation of a superhero’s cape. It’s a bird . . . it’s a plane . . . it’s Super Hippie! I can’t believe I’m doing this, looking completely foolish with so many potential spectators. What is wrong with that man, anyway? He knows I’m chasing him; why doesn’t he stop or at least slow down?
His strides are really long. He’s in a heated discussion with someone, and as I draw near, I hear parts of it.
“I told you, I can’t deal with this right now. She needs to get her shit together.”
Who is she? Who is he talking about? What’s her problem?
“I know that. I did everything I could for her before I left, like I have been for two solid years. Sadie is fine, I made sure of it, but I’m fighting a losing battle with her. At some point she’s got to stand on her own two feet.”
Wow. He sounds kind of heartless. After hearing this, part of me wants to stop and run the other direction, get in the taxi with my sister, and let him find his own way home. But Amber asked me to get him to the cab, and apparently she’s made it her job to keep him happy until Ty gets back, so I can’t let her down. I’m closing the gap between us, despite the fact that the hot dog I ate an hour ago is really kicking my butt. Oh, the cramps.
