The Girl of Sand & Fog

by Ward, Susan

  “Because you love me.” He moves again and I groan. “And you are definitely not done torturing me.”

  I lean forward until my breasts are dangling close to his face and he takes one nipple in his mouth, twirling it with his tongue, and caresses the other. My lower muscles tighten around him, he twitches inside me, and we both shudder.

  His body moves up into me as he drags my face down for his kiss. His arms tighten around my hips, clutching me to him as he devours me with his mouth.

  Bobby breaks the kiss, lying back on his pillow. “Are you done yet?”

  I nip my way up his neck, then pause on his chin. “Not even close, bud.”

  A growling groan escapes his lips before his mouth comes crashing back and I’m turned beneath him on the bed. My laughter vibrates down his throat and mine, then rapidly fades with the sudden thrusting of his body. I close my eyes, feeling the buildup inside him, and I cry out, my nails digging into his back. My shudders move down my limbs, rippling waves that roll into him as he lets loose inside me.

  I open my eyes to find Bobby staring at me.

  “Nope, I think you’re right. You’re not even close to done. How long is this going to continue?”

  He kisses me and pulls out, lying back on the bed and taking me with him until I’m nestled into his side.

  I shake my head, amused. “Are you complaining?”

  “I’m not sure. Depends on why you’re hypersexual lately. If it’s because you’ve been gone for a week then, no, I’m not complaining. It was agony you being in Santa Barbara over the holidays. I hated not being with you for Christmas.”

  I pretend to think it over, but inside I’m a little hurt. Hypersexual? Really, Bobby? “So suspicious. It’s your Christmas gift.”

  He picks up the very naughty panties I somehow managed to buy with Chrissie watching me shop, and laughs. “I like how you wrapped my present.”

  I drop a kiss on his nose. “You liked unwrapping it better.”

  His eyes gleam. “Definitely.”

  I make an aggravated groan. “I need to get dressed. I need to get out of here.”

  He rakes back his hair with his hand, frowning. “I thought you were staying the night.”

  I kiss his neck and climb from the bed, trying to figure out where my clothes got dumped.

  “I can’t. Chrissie’s been all up in my shit since Christmas. Snapping over everything. I don’t want to push it. I don’t want to get busted. And I definitely don’t want to get grounded.”

  “Grounded, huh? You’ll be eighteen in a few weeks. Chrissie wouldn’t really try to ground you, would she?”

  I grab my panties from his hand. “Ah—yes. She’s been really sad, upset lately. It’s the only reason she’s been on my back about the smallest things. She blows over everything. I feel kind of bad for my mom.”

  Bobby turns on his side. “Are you going to tell me what happened over Christmas? You’ve been off, too, since you got back.”

  I shrug, fighting to keep my thoughts from my face. “Nothing happened. It was just your standard Parker family Hallmark Christmas.”

  Bobby sits up on the edge of the bed, alertly watching me as I dress. “Exactly what is a standard Parker family Christmas?”

  I put on my bra. “You know. Mexican food on the patio. No tree because we’re at Grandpa Jack’s and he hates commercial Christmas. Modest number of presents. Then all of us hanging out together at the beach.”

  “It sounds nice.”

  “It was nice.”

  “Then why do you sound—I don’t know—angry when you talk about it?”

  I flush.

  Angry? I didn’t know I was so obvious. I make a show of searching for my shoes. “Things can get intense with Chrissie. She’s so emotionally exposed and oozes 24/7 sometimes. She floods the fucking airways with it. Especially over the holidays. It made our afternoon Christmas Day ritual even worse this year.”

  Bobby crosses the room, reaches under a chair, and hands me my shoes. I sink down on the bed to put on my Converse. I can feel him watching, patiently waiting for me to explain that last part.

  I jerk the laces into order and then sigh. “Fuck, you’re really going to make me tell you about this? It’s so creepy and awful. We go to the cemetery in the afternoon. Every Christmas since my dad died. Only this year Mom took Krystal and the twins to visit Jesse. Just Khloe was spared. She got to stay home with Grandpa Jack.”

  I turn toward the mirror, pretending to focus on my hair. Bobby comes up behind me, encircles me with his arms, and lightly paints kisses across the back of my head.

  “I’m sorry. That must be rough for you.”

  Emotion swells in my throat. I let out a ragged breath. “The cemetery outing wasn’t hard. That I’m used to. I didn’t get a present or a card this year from Alan. Again. Neither did Mom, which I’m sure is why she’s all butt-hurt these days.”

  Bobby’s eyes lock on mine in the glass. “I’m sorry, baby.”

  I search for something funny to say. “I guess Alan will have to die before Khloe will ever get to see her father on the holidays,” I quip before I realize that it was mistake to say that.

  Bobby’s eyes flash. “I wasn’t sure when you returned to the ’Sades what I was feeling in you. It’s like you’re trying to fuck something out of you. It was a turn-on when I thought it was us not being together for so long, right up to the point when I figured out you’re pretty much just angry. All the shit stirred up in you gain. And I’m not sure how I feel knowing that all we’ve been doing the last two days is Kaley anger fucking.”

  My cheeks are now burning crimson. “Fuck you, Bobby, if you think that.”

  He steps back from me, grabs his jeans from the floor and pulls them on. “I love you, Kaley. I get what’s going on with you, how emotionally complicated it makes you at times. But don’t expect it not to bug me occasionally.”

  I grab my tote and pull the strap across my body. “Well, since I’m bugging you so much, I’m out of here.”

  I’m almost to the door before he stops me. I try to pull away and he holds me in a tight cocoon of his body. “Talk to me when you’re angry. It’s better for both of us when you do.”

  I struggle not to cry.

  He’s right. Bobby is always right.

  I exhale loudly. “Fine. And I did talk to you. Just now. Remember? And I really have to go.”

  He kisses me. “Have you asked Chrissie about the Tahoe trip? I think it would be good for us to spend a week alone together.” He grins. “I know it would be good for me.”

  I laugh, but inside—fuck, snowboarding. Like that excuse is going to work twice in a millennium with Chrissie.

  I lift my brows, widening my eyes. “I’d love it, Bobby, but I’m not even going to try to ask my mom. Things are no bueno with her. I shouldn’t leave her right now. Not now.”

  He nods, his eyes softening in understanding. “Then I guess that means you’re not coming back tonight.”

  I laugh harder, pushing him away. “Fuck, you’re such a jerk at times.”

  He smiles. “Nope, I just really love my girlfriend.”

  I loop my arms around his neck. “Then you’re forgiven. I’ll text you later once I know what’s up at my house. Maybe I can get out.”

  “Don’t push, Kaley. Do what you need to do.”

  I kiss him, step back, and then rush out the door.

  I climb into my car and make the short drive to my house. As I pull into the driveway, I notice a black Mercedes parked by the front door.

  Ah, Chrissie has company.

  Maybe I’m finally going to get to meet one of the guys Linda’s been fixing her up with.

  Crap, it’s so weird that Mom’s dating.

  But maybe I will be able to get out of the house tonight.

  I pull the key from the ignition, grab my bag from the passenger seat and hurry up the walk. I put in my earbuds and click on my music before I enter because the twins have been out of control since break st
arted. And with the earbuds in I won’t hear Chrissie yelling at me to do something so it’s not like I’m really ignoring her.

  Fuck, I just want to get to my room as quickly as possible. I open the front door. Hallelujah. Empty. I cross the entry toward the hallway and as I pass the open space living area, I halt mid-step.

  After a year MIA he finally showed up.

  Standing in the family room.

  Alan.

  I hang back, trying to figure out what I’m feeling and what I should say. Seeing Alan causes all my chaotic emotions to amplify. He’s aged in a year and he looks tired. He doesn’t look well. It should please me to see signs of aging, and I am disappointed to discover that it doesn’t.

  Where the fuck is everyone?

  Where’s Mom?

  He’s alone and it definitely doesn’t feel like a shitstorm has happened here. Oh no, am I the first one to run into him? Good one, Chrissie, not to be here when Alan gets here so I have to deal with this on my own.

  What the fuck am I supposed to say and do?

  I drop my tote and it lands on the tile. He whirls to face me, and the first thing I notice is he doesn’t smile. His eyes fix on me, widen—fuck, are you surprised that I’m here or that your daughter has changed in a year—and then his gaze grows intense.

  I wait for him to do something—he used to always come give me a hug—but today nothing. Just that freaking black stare.

  I pull the earbuds out. “How long have you been here?”

  His eyes flash and his features tense, as if he was expecting something else from me.

  He rakes a hand through his hair in an anxious, uncomfortable way, and then stills. Shit, he’s doing it again. Not talking and staring at me.

  Yep, pretty striking resemblance, wouldn’t you say, Pop? It must suck to have to see it, since you’re so committed to not being my dad. Maturation is a bitch. I couldn’t look more like you if Mom made me from an Alan Manzone kit in the garage.

  The tension in the room becomes suffocating as I wait for him to do something with this fucking awkward moment. He’s the adult; shouldn’t he save us?

  Come on, Alan, why don’t you say something useful?

  Like, hello, I’m your dad.

  Or maybe, hello, you’re my daughter.

  I’d settle for I know I’ve been gone a year, I’m sorry I was a prick, but I’m your father…

  Stupid, Kaley, that’s never going to happen.

  “Well, hello to you, too, Kaley,” Alan says affectionately, and for some reason it has the power to make me flush. “I just got in to LA a few hours ago.”

  “Does Mom know you’re here?”

  “No, I wanted to surprise her.”

  He smiles.

  Oh fuck, he doesn’t know anything.

  “Oh, there is definitely going to be a surprise here today.” I debate whether I should get out of the house now, and then hurry to the kitchen.

  I start rummaging through the refrigerator, not because I’m hungry but because I need something to do as I try to figure out my next move. I don’t know if I should stay—if Mom is going to need me—or if I should get the hell out of here before the fun starts.

  I hear sound behind me. Crap, Alan followed me. I pull out some sort of ready-made pasta salad, slam the fridge door, and grab a fork from the drawer.

  After popping off the lid, I lean against the counter, poking at the noodles, wishing Alan away and wishing I were the priority so that we could finally get a few factoids out in the open about who this baby’s daddy is.

  Fuck, that’s all my mom needs, for me to have this confrontation now. I shove a too-large forkful of pasta in my mouth and choke it down.

  I can feel Alan watching me eat, and it’s completely unnerving.

  “You used to like me a little, love,” he chides good-humoredly.

  A stupid joke; how the fuck does he do it? Why am I the one feeling as if I’m in the wrong?

  I take in a steadying breath.

  I’ll do my line.

  “Very little,” I murmur, not looking up from my food.

  That earns me a smile.

  Alan relaxes back against the kitchen island. “You look good,” he says, more in his natural, charming way. “How do you like living in Pacific Palisades?”

  Really? After a year? That’s what you want to know? Meaningless bullshit you could get from reading my Facebook page.

  “I fucking hate it here.”

  His eyes widen, surprised. Don’t act like you never heard the word before, Alan.

  “How’s your mother been?”

  Everything inside me turns over and erupts.

  That’s it for Kaley time.

  You look good.

  How do you like it here?

  And now you’re ready to blow past me, Alan, to pump for information about my mother.

  I slam the pasta container on the counter. “I’m out of here.”

  Before he can respond, I’m into my bedroom. I lock the door behind me, lean back against the wood, and clutch my stomach. It feels like someone has knocked the air out of me and I can’t pull in oxygen.

  I stare at my room, not knowing what to do. Somehow I find myself in the bathroom. I take a quick shower to wash the smell of sex from my body, put on fresh clothes, and then grab my Vans from the closet.

  No sounds for the rest of the house. Crap, it’s still quiet. What’s going on out there? I grab my cell from the bed.

  Me: Alan is here.

  Mom: I know, sweetheart.

  I stare at the screen. Well, that wasn’t helpful.

  Me: What do you want me to do? I can stay if you need me to or I can spend the night at Zoe’s.

  Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. I stare at the screen, biting my nails, watching the little bouncing dots that tell me Mom’s typing. Why is it taking so long to answer that one?

  Mom: Text me when you get to Zoe’s. Text me in the morning. I love you, baby girl.

  I shove some stuff into a small duffel and head for the door, grabbing my tote from the entry hall before I hightail it into the driveway.

  So much is running through me. The seeing-my-dad aftereffect. Guilt over abandoning ship during my mom’s moment of crisis. That hideous crackling uncertainty of life about to change and spin and not knowing in what direction.

  The sense that tomorrow everything will be different in my world—I don’t know how, but Alan is here about to go through one of my mom’s classic bombshell moments—and my entire world will change.

  It will all be different.

  Like it was when my mom left Neil: poof, up and gone.

  Like when my mom left Alan—hasta la bye-bye, no warning—and married Jesse before she’d even unpacked.

  Like when my mom had Khloe and a week later I found movers in the house and we were taking apart our life in Santa Barbara with Jesse.

  When Chrissie makes a move—which isn’t very often—she moves boldly and unexpectedly.

  It’s going to be the same with this latest Chrissie life-altering moment. Everything is going to be different. My mom, my dad, my sisters and brothers. Everything—but me.

  CHAPTER 16

  I park in the alley behind Bobby’s house, pull my keys from the ignition, and grab my stuff. After punching the security code into the back panel, I hurry across the lawn praying I don’t run into anyone. Getting caught sneaking into Bobby’s bedroom means discussion time with Linda.

  Linda would take one look at my face, know shit’s going down in my world, latch on and pump me for the full 411. Linda knows and sees everything. It’s a freaking nightmare how on target she can be without ever being told anything. As for keeping my shit private, there is no such thing in the domain of Linda Rowan.

  I make my way around the pool, slip into Bobby’s bedroom and flip on the light. Frowning, I drop my junk on the floor.

  Where the hell is he?

  I only left an hour ago.

  I pull my phone from my pocket and check my texts. Not
hing. Of course, he doesn’t have to tell me everything. He wasn’t expecting me back tonight. But, damn, I’m in crisis here.

  I plop on the bed and start to type.

  Me: Where are you?

  I stare at the screen, expecting my usual rapid-fire response, and when nothing comes I fight the impulse to text him again and toss aside my cell.

  Fuck. My gaze settles on his laptop still open on the bed. I slide it toward me and hit a key. His Facebook page comes up with an open chat box.

  My entire body grows cold.

  What the fuck is Caroline doing texting him? I scroll through the messages.

  Caroline: Bobby, call me now. I fucked up big. I can’t reach anyone. I need help. NOW. Definite emergency. Don’t talk to Seth. Call me now!!!!!

  Really, the I can’t reach my boyfriend, please come, fembot in distress bullshit?

  Emergency my ass.

  I continue to read. Crap, it doesn’t say what’s going on or where they went. Bobby must have called her. My insides grow queasy and chaotic. I can’t believe he jumped for her. I can’t believe he went. And I can’t shut off the voice inside my head wondering how often she has emergencies, how many times he’s run to the rescue, and what the fuck else I don’t know about.

  Stupid?

  Maybe.

  Irrational jealousy?

  No doubt, since Bobby isn’t a player.

  But I can’t contain my spiking temper. He’s my guy. He should be here when I need him, not with her. You’re going to have a lot to answer for, Bobby Rowan, when you get back.

  I exhale loudly.

  Crap, I wish he were here.

  My nerves feel like they’re about to snap.

  Fuck.

  What’s happening at my house?

  Why is Alan in Pacific Palisades at long last?

  I start clicking away, cyberstalking my dad. It’s galling that I have to surf the net to know what’s going on in his life. I hit a link. Nothing. Another. Nothing. Why isn’t there ever anything useful on the Internet? But nope, no answers here about what’s going on in my dad’s universe. Just the standard PR bullshit—blah, blah, blah—and Kodak tabloid moments.