Abby Road

by Ophelia London

  “Have you ever seen a shark?” I asked, choosing to totally ignore the proverbial elephant in the room.

  “All the time,” he answered, “when I’m diving.” He sat on the rock next to me, but not as close as before. He’d learned his lesson. “They won’t hurt you unless you give them a reason.”

  “You’re brave.”

  He shook his head. “Hardly.”

  It was all too awkward and stupid, and the hot summer air felt heavy and thick and choking all around me. I didn’t have time for tense silence, so I pulled forward Abby’s most comfortable panic defense mechanism: The irrepressible blab. “My favorite color’s brown,” I blurted from out of nowhere, and Todd’s brows pulled together like he was missing something. I blinked, a little startled myself. “You know, ’cause it reminds me of dirt, and I like dirt—love dirt, always have, as long as I can remember.” I hoped I was making sense but couldn’t slow down to make sure. “I like to plant things, too,” I went on, “and water them, and watch them grow. Hands digging in the dirt, dirt between my fingers, caught in my nails. That’s something I really miss about home. Arizona’s dry and dusty and dirty and . . . and—”

  “Brown?”

  “Exactly!” I laughed, finally taking a breath. “I love wearing brown, too, even though apparently it’s not the right tone for me anymore. I used to be an autumn, but now I’m a spring.” Todd was staring at me with a funny look. I realized I’d derailed myself again. “I don’t know.” I sighed. “Wearing brown makes me feel . . .” I wrapped my wet arms around my wet legs and continued. “Protected and warm, so . . . yeah.”

  Winded from talk and fresh out of ideas, I set my gaze on the bright blue water, waiting for my next brilliant streak of conversational inspiration to strike. It didn’t, and it became quiet again, only the sounds of the wind, the lapping waves, and an occasional bird.

  “Well, I heard,” Todd began a moment later, “that your favorite color is pink. I read about it in a magazine once.” When our eyes met, his expression was both guilty and inquisitive. He leaned his face closer to me. “Or,” he whispered, wearing no smile now, “should we continue with this little charade of my not properly acknowledging who you are, Abigail Kelly?”

  My stomach fluttered, feeling both grateful and terrified. “No.” I finally said. “Whatever we do, let’s not pretend.”

  Todd nodded in unspoken concurrence. As we smiled across at each other, all of that stupid awkwardness evaporated like so much sticky sea water on my skin.

  “So, pink?” He lifted his eyebrows and leaned back.

  “Are you sure you want to hear this?” I asked. “You might lose all respect for me.”

  “Eh-hem.” His eyes flashed to the front of my wet clothes. “I believe we’re way past that, Abby.”

  I looked down, then quickly pulled and shook out my damp yellow tank top, which had been rather see-through and molded to my purple bra.

  “Pink,” Todd prompted, looking only at my eyes now, like a gentleman.

  Appreciating the distraction, I theatrically cleared my throat. “My favorite color in all the world is pink,” I recited, turning toward my audience (the water), gesturing with jazz hands. “Any season, any reason, it’s such a pretty, cheerful, dreamy color, and pink’s a girl’s best friend.” I winked flirtatiously at the invisible camera over my right shoulder. “I’m always in love when I’m in pink.” I blew a kiss into the air.

  Breaking character, I chortled, feeling the full stupidity of it.

  “I had to say that,” I explained, “for this perfume I endorsed a couple years back. Moulin Rouge.” I drew my wrist to my nose, inhaling the nonexistent bouquet, further demonstrating my pitiable acting skills.

  “Impressive.” Todd chuckled, applauding in short, brisk claps.

  “’Twas nothing,” I assured him, giving a little bow. “I’ve actually come to despise that color. But I tell the magazines pink over brown every time. It’s in my contract.”

  “That’s interesting,” Todd said distractedly as he leaned forward to look past me. I turned and followed his gaze.

  Right down the beach from us, a mother and two little girls were setting up camp. All three wore red bathing suit cover-ups and matching hats. The mother was attempting to pitch an aqua sun umbrella. Todd was suddenly on his feet and jogging over to them. The wind was blowing their way, so I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I did see him take the umbrella, hold the pole straight up over his head, and then jam it into the sand with a shockingly mighty force.

  Oh my.

  Down on his knees, he shook the pole, making sure it was secure. After an adjustment, he stood up and opened the shade wide. It didn’t escape my notice that, after a glance in my direction, he angled the shade so it blocked where I was sitting. This made me smile.

  The woman produced another umbrella, and Todd began setting that one up. It was rather mesmerizing to watch. Of course I couldn’t see from where I sat, but I imagined how his biceps stood out like rocks while he worked and his abs flexed with effort. I almost thought about going over to help, just so I could get a front-row look at those muscles in action. But I stayed put. And fanned myself.

  When Todd was through, the woman motioned to her cooler. He held up both hands, palms out, refusing whatever she’d offered him. Arms crossed, he chatted with her for a few moments and then motioned to me. Even from my distance away, I could see the woman’s posture slump a bit. After Todd crouched down to say something to one of the little girls, he waved to the mother and trotted back to me.

  He was wearing a carefree smile, the kind worn only by legitimate do-gooders, when he sat next to me.

  “Do you know her?” I asked. “Them, I mean,” I quickly corrected.

  “No.” He shrugged. “Why?”

  “No reason.” I couldn’t help smiling. How was it that his natural happy-go-lucky-ness made him even more appealing? I wondered if there were any more umbrellas he’d be willing to pitch . . .

  “So do you really make up things for interviews?” he asked, jumping right back to where our conversation had left of

  “Um, sometimes,” I replied, grabbing the front of the rock with my hands, leaning back in a suspended sit-up. “It’s the only way I feel like part of my life is private.” I dropped my feet, shuffling them in the sand. A gust of wind filled the sail of a white boat straight ahead. I smiled when I heard the passengers whooping and cheering as the boat picked up speed.

  “They turn on you.” My throat suddenly felt scratchy and my voice dropped a notch. “They act like your best friends, then two seconds later, they’ve said the ugliest things. They write whatever they want, even if they know it’s a flat-out lie.” I paused, remembering something from the past, and shuddered. After what felt like another too-long pause, I looked at Todd—for approval maybe, or for understanding. He was watching me, expressionless. I turned toward the water and stared into the distance, getting another disconnected-from-the-present feeling.

  “It’s like being sucked into a hurricane,” I went on. “Instead of meeting a million new people, I feel isolated. My family and close friends are all I have, and after Christian, my family won’t even . . . They don’t—” I stopped short, pulling myself away from where my dark thoughts had been headed.

  Todd’s head tilted as he watched me, a flattish smile on his face. He was trying to understand, but I knew I wasn’t making sense.

  I tried to smile back at him, but my lower lip was wobbling. “I’m in full-blown survival mode these days,” I whispered through the wobble.

  “What do you miss the most?” he asked. “About before, I mean.” He leaned back on one hand. A lock of dark hair had fallen across his forehead. He looked innocent, wholly un-jaded by life. I wasn’t used to seeing that quality in people anymore.

  I exhaled, taking a cue from his calm. “I miss the excitement of traveling,” I answered. “Moving around like I do, I never get to experience where I am. I’ve been to Ireland three times, and I�
��ve seen only the inside of rooms and cars.” I shrugged. “I’d really like to go back someday; I’ve heard the grassy hills are an indescribable color of green. That landscape might be fun to paint.” I sighed wistfully. “I should probably start one of those bucket lists. Oh, and you know that real sugary orange soda? I might miss that most of all.”

  Todd laughed approvingly. The way he was watching me brought back a memory of my little nephews listening to a bedtime story. I felt the urge to tuck him in but immediately flushed hot at the thought. Hadn’t I already pushed things to the edge of appropriate manners with someone I just met?

  “What else?” Todd inquired. The manner of his voice was unobtrusive.

  I stared down at the sugary sand, watching a circus of sand fleas bounce up and down on a small piece of driftwood then fly away. “Right now,” I said, my fingers twirling the ends of my wind-drying hair, “I miss real life.”

  I could feel the air shifting around me as he leaned forward. “Meaning?”

  The sharp ticking of my heart begged me to take a chance, that it might be a good idea to share my feelings with him. With anyone. That was what my therapist had said, anyway.

  “I sometimes wish,” I spoke in a whisper, causing our faces to automatically draw together, “that I was back in my dorm room studying bio. I wish I was trying to decide what to wear on a date, or singing Beatles at a karaoke party, or hoping the guy next to me in English would ask me out. I wish I had those kinds of things to worry about instead of . . .” I sighed in spite of myself. “A lot of people rely on me now. That’s all.”

  “You’re a pretty tough cookie, Abby.” Todd smiled. He scooted an inch closer. “Heavy lies the head that wears the crown.”

  “How true,” I agreed. “But, it’s uneasy lies the head.”

  His lips peeled apart, but he didn’t speak.

  “You know Shakespeare?” I asked.

  “A bit,” he said after a moment. “You know Shakespeare?”

  “A bit,” I echoed. “That’s from Henry the Fourth.” I looked down, poking the tips of my feet into the sand. “He was made king at a young age. I can relate.”

  Todd’s foot reached out and touched my toes.

  The tiny hairs on my arms stood up. “My sister says I carry the world on my shoulders.” When I looked at Todd, his lips were trembling, like he was trying not to laugh. Then he did laugh—one chuckle into the back of his hand, like a cough.

  “Sorry about that,” he said. “What you said struck me as funny.”

  “Funny?” I repeated the word, trying not to sound indignant.

  “Ironic is a more accurate word,” he amended when he noted my crushed expression. He leaned back, bracing his hands on the rock behind him. “I’ve been accused of having the exact opposite tendencies.” A pause. “Relationships,” he said, slowly shaking his head. “Sometimes no matter how hard you try, they don’t work.”

  I leaned forward an inch, trying to read his expression. It was solemn for a split second and then lightened up. “Enough of that. I wouldn’t want to bore you.”

  I was about to list off the dozens of reasons why nothing he could say would bore me, but just behind Todd, a pair of barefoot joggers approached from the right. I was feeling fairly incognito at the moment, but to be on the safe side, I dove over and buried my face in Todd’s chest.

  Okay, I knew this was unconventional, probably unnecessary, and I was most certainly asking for trouble, but I simply could not stop myself. “Those runners?” I asked. “Are they past us?” My voice was muffled while my nose took the opportunity to build a memory of the smell of his shirt. It felt warm against my cheek and was fresh and a bit spicy—that unique cologne again.

  “Not quite,” Todd reported. I felt his chin on the top of my head and the hard muscles of his chest. “Not . . . quite.” One of his arms went around my back and then the other. Relaxing into our position, I breathed out, imagining that I could have comfortably remained in that very spot for hours. But it wasn’t hours, maybe just a minute—a happy minute.

  “Hey,” he began a moment later, “how long will you be in town?”

  “That’s a good question.” I pulled my head off his chest. I noticed new splotches of wet down the front of his shirt, transferred to him from my wet clothes. “Sorry,” I said. “That was way out of line again.”

  “It’s okay. I get it,” he said quickly, then lifted a smile. “I’ll do better at concealing you next time.”

  I returned to my rock, and my eyes found the joggers. They were way down the beach, so he could have released me much sooner, right? Which meant he must have been enjoying our close encounter as much as I was. I couldn’t stop myself from grinning.

  “So? How long?”

  It took me a few seconds to remember his question. “The whole band’s on break till September. It’s our first summer off in five years.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “With my sister, Lindsey, in Seagrove Beach, a couple miles from the Seaside Square. She really wants me to stay the whole summer.” I chewed on the inside of my cheeks; they were still sore from when I’d chewed them raw yesterday on my drive home from the bookstore. All that stress and misery seemed like a million years ago. “I kind of promised her.”

  “But you don’t want to stay.” It wasn’t a question. Todd was perceptive. He just had no idea why I wished I could avoid every member of my family.

  “I have a hard time hanging around one place,” I offered, since this response seemed entirely reasonable. “We just wrapped a sixty-two-city tour. On and off, I’ve been away from home for almost two years straight. You would think it would turn me into a complete homebody when I’m not touring, but it’s the exact opposite.” I gave him a sheepish smile, feeling alien again.

  “But you could stay if you wanted to?”

  I considered and then nodded.

  Todd dropped his chin, looking down at our feet, side by side atop the white sand. They resembled baked pretzels sprinkled with sea salt.

  “Well, if you ask me,” he offered matter-of-factly, “I think you should stay.”

  “And why is that?”

  He bumped his shoulder against mine. “I think it might be fun rescuing you from sharks all summer.”

  {chapter 9}

  “ACROSS THE UNIVERSE”

  I gazed out at the late afternoon sky above the water; it was beautiful and swirly. The occupancy of the beach had nearly tripled. Couples were strolling along the shore, children splashed in the shallow waves, and even a few brave swimmers had taken to deeper waters, despite the red flags whipping in the wind. Todd and I were semi-protected on the ground, nestled inside our circle of Stonehenge rocks.

  It was easy to share with him under these conditions. He was easy to talk to and open to hearing about my crazy life. My filter had all but disappeared.

  “So I’ve been sitting here, trying to plan my summer.”

  Todd smiled, flicking sand in my direction. “Your summer here?”

  “Maybe.” I smiled back. “I haven’t thought much about what being away for so long will really mean.” Pensively, I sifted some sugary grains through my fingers.

  “Think aloud,” Todd suggested, sitting up. “Maybe I can help.”

  “With no ulterior motive, of course.”

  He chuckled. “I’m pretty good at talking to either side of an issue, but for this, I’ll listen for now.”

  “Okay.” I sighed. “Well, there’ll be conference calls with Max and the team, weekly at the very least.”

  Todd nodded.

  “And they’ll send out music for me to work on. Hopefully no press,” I added, openly cringing. “My diet’s already blown.”

  “You’re welcome.” Todd smiled proudly.

  I leaned back against the rock and exhaled. Okay, maybe staying for the summer really is doable. “Oh, and I might get a movie script. Max would love that. He wants me to break into legitimate acting.”

  “Really? Is that w
hat you want?”

  “What do you mean?”

  After a moment, he repeated the question. “Is that what you want?”

  “I guess,” I answered, looking away from him. “It’s part of Max’s career plan for me.” I started digging my hands into the sand on either side of my thighs. “I’ll never get the part,” I added. “It’s for the new Bond girl. Max would probably love for me to have surgery first, probably this summer.”

  “What kind of surgery?”

  My hands froze and I turned away, scrunching my face. Too much information, Abby.

  Todd cleared his throat—a subtle request for an answer.

  I looked over and gave him a sharp look. “What kind of surgery do you think someone like me would need to be a Bond girl?”

  His eyes narrowed in thought, but he didn’t answer.

  “Obviously I don’t currently have the . . .” I didn’t know how to finish, so I just looked down at the front of me. “I’m not particularly, I mean, I don’t want—”

  “That’s ludicrous,” Todd cut me off. His disapproving voice was almost a growl. “You don’t need anything like that.” One side of his mouth pulled back. “From what I’ve seen of you, you’re very nearly too perfect.”

  My stomach dropped at his words. From what he’s seen of me? Great. He thinks that glamour girl in those magazines is the real me.

  Nothing could have been further from the truth. Suddenly every muscle in my body pulled tense like a piano wire.

  “Thank you,” I replied politely as I burrowed my hands deeper in the sand. The cold, sharp grains dug under my fingernails, a stinging pain. I burrowed deeper.

  “You don’t like being told that?” From the tone of Todd’s voice, he was obviously confused. “Sorry,” he added when I didn’t respond, “but I’m not about to take it back. I stand by my opinion.” He chuckled, but then must have caught sight of my pained expression, because he immediately stopped.

  I pulled my feet in, sitting cross-legged, my shoulders hunched forward, my body attempting to curl itself into an invisible ball. I kept my eyes down, preoccupied by my pedicure. It was a vile pink. I loathed pink.