Abby Road

by Ophelia London

  What I came to next made my stomach drop. Closed for Construction read a sign on the inside of the window. I cupped my hands around my eyes, peering in. It was a mess. It looked like someone had taken a sledgehammer to the walls. All the racks and tables were shoved to one side and covered with sheets; heaps of plaster and piles of broken sheetrock cluttered the middle of the floor; naked wires hung loose from the ceiling.

  The muted orange of the sunrise breaking through the clouds reflected off the window. Water from the ends of my hair trickled down my neck, soaking into my shirt. I spun around, wiping my rain-drenched eyes with the back of a hand.

  Then I took off running.

  Through the rain I splashed, dodging puddles, leaping over sidewalk streams, losing my shoes in the mud somewhere along the way. It was the kind of running you see at the end of romantic comedies. There was always running—running toward something or someone. I was running toward both.

  A woman under a red umbrella was walking her dog. A nondescript jogger in a yellow poncho trotted by. Both eyed me skeptically as I loped past them, drenched to the skin. A car honked as I crossed the street outside the designated crosswalk. I waved to it from behind me and kept running, torpedoing toward my goal.

  Other than pure adrenaline, I felt something extra, like a cosmic, magnetic gravitational pull helping me along my way.

  Faster now, I ran past Wandering Thoughts, A Summer Place, and all those other sugar-cookie homes that sat behind their white picket fences along the north side of the Gulf. Glimpses of wintery-gray water flashed in between the summer cottages.

  Half a block away now. Finally, there it was.

  But I stopped, considering—almost for the first time—what it was I was about to do.

  I had been traveling for hours. I was finally there, yet I still didn’t have a plan. After the Fasten Seatbelts sign went out, Hal and I e-mailed the entire time I was in the air, strategizing about Mustang Sally’s next move. Should we totally retool the group immediately? Should we go in a brand-new direction and then burst onto the scene with a bang? Or should we regroup in a few months, giving each of us time to decompress properly? Hal and I had decided on the latter, pending what the others thought.

  We’d probably have to release an independent album, because without Max—let’s face it—we might be dropped from our label. Hal and I thought the guys would be thrilled about that, though; we’d all become rather disenchanted by the massive bureaucracy that came with being high-profile artists on a major label. Five years earlier, I’d willingly signed my life away to a group of businessmen in dark suits and slick smiles to live the dream of every American girl. But what if your dream came true and it was nothing like you dreamed?

  After I’d landed in Pensacola, I told Hal that I’d be in touch with him either in a couple of hours or in a couple of days, depending on how this whole thing turned out.

  Still a few houses away, I stood in place, breathing hard from my run, rain beating down. I bent in half, bracing myself, hands on my knees. I still couldn’t catch my breath, and my insides were twisted in knots.

  Foolishly, I was stalling the inevitable, fighting a gravitational pull, delaying the very reason I was there. It took effort, but slowly I straightened. I took one step forward and then another. From my angle of approach, the sun was rising directly behind the house, illuminating its silhouette in a halo of muted yellow and orange through the rain.

  I was standing right before it—the place I’d been mentally re-conjuring for weeks. My chest sagged with heaviness when I noticed there was no shiny black Ranger Rover in the driveway, no blue-and-white-striped tent in the backyard. All the inside lights were off. The dim lamp above the porch flickered morosely in the breaking dawn. I allowed my dripping hand to reach out and touch the gate that swung open in the wind.

  It hadn’t occurred to me—nothing had occurred to me. In all my rushing and running, I hadn’t thought about what to do if he wasn’t there. Had I expected him to be waiting for me, lying fetal positioned on the floor, listening to “Don’t Get around Much Anymore” over and over until I decided to show up?

  I pressed my lips together and clenched my eyelids, my whole face scrunching—not that tears mattered much as I stood in the downpour. I lifted my chin, allowing the torrents to hit me dead on. I couldn’t feel it, but I knew I was crying.

  That’s when I heard something.

  Sniffling, I turned toward the sound. A mixture of raindrops and teardrops clung to my lashes, blurring my vision. Through the blur, I saw a figure standing stock-still in the driveway. I had to squint because I was staring directly into the hazy orange sunrise. The figure remained frozen, probably wondering why this loony, barefooted woman was loitering around the front yard at seven a.m. in the rain.

  He took one step forward, then two more, almost at a rush. But then he stopped. Thinking better of it, maybe.

  “What are you doing here?” the figure queried.

  “I was in the neighborhood?”

  “You’re all wet,” he observed.

  “So are you.”

  He was beautiful standing in the morning rain, his dark hair slick and sopping. His green eyes were the same as I had been painting in my dreams. His black T-shirt clung to his body like a wetsuit.

  “I think there’s a storm.” He held a hand out to the side like he was testing the air for rain. A moment later, he looked at me, dropped his hand, and frowned. “You’re shivering.”

  My teeth chattered in response. “Because I think there’s a storm, and they’re usually accompanied by colder temperatures.”

  His lips twitched—an almost-smile. “Weather? How tedious. Can we skip the small talk?” His motions were cautious, his hands hid deep in his pockets. Raindrops bounced off his shoulders and the top of his head. “What happened, Abby?” Todd asked.

  I sniffed a few times then looked down at my bare feet, suddenly feeling awkward, wondering where my shoes had gone. Somewhere back there in the mud.

  “I flew all night,” I finally said.

  “Are you . . . okay?” His tone sounded anxious. Even through the rain, I noted the worry on his face. His brows were pulled together, causing a notch between his eyes. It looked like he hadn’t shaved in a while.

  I sniffed again and nodded, wrapping my arms around myself, feeling shivers of leftover adrenaline. “I found out what Max did in London, about Christian.” Uselessly, I wiped at my eyes with the back of a hand. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry you were put in the middle like that. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t reply right away, making me wonder if he was even interested in an apology. Or was I three hours, three days, and three months too late?

  “I know,” Todd finally said. His gaze held on me for a moment then moved up to the sky. He looked back at me and reached out his hand. “Here, come with me.”

  When I placed my hand inside his, heat shot up my arm and my fingers tingled. Instinctively, I reached out and grabbed him with my other hand, too. I needed to feel that spark again.

  He led me onto the front porch. The roof sheltered us from the rain. Once we were covered, he let go of my hands, and we sat on the steps.

  “Do you need anything?” he asked, sweeping back his wet hair with his fingers. “A towel?”

  “I’m okay.” I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around my legs, resting my chin on my knees. I hadn’t noticed before, but Todd’s soggy front yard looked like it was under major renovation as well. Fence posts were pulled up, leaving deep holes filled with muddy water. A pile of two-by-fours was stacked along the side of the house, mounds of dirt everywhere.

  “I passed by your store,” I said, trying for polite conversation. “It looks a little like London after the blitz.”

  He exhaled a chuckle. “I had some nervous energy to discharge. You remember how I used to be.” He flashed a flicker of a sheepish grin. “But I’m working on it. I’ve been taking yoga.”

  “You?”

  I cou
ldn’t help laughing. Todd laughed, too. “And my store, well, it seems like a mess now, but believe it or not, it looks a lot better today than it did a few weeks ago. My life needed a shake up.”

  I laughed again, mostly to myself, as I gazed out at the street in front of us. The scene was wide open, a new life, a real life. Messy, wet, and muddy, exactly the way I wanted it.

  Last night, somewhere over Texas, that invisible cord that had been binding me to a warped and unhappy half life had finally snapped for good. As I was sitting next to Todd in the chilly, drizzly morning, I caught a glimpse of a brand new kind of freedom.

  “I began my own shake up a while ago,” I said. “It was a huge mess at first, but it’s also looking a lot better today.” I blew my bangs out of my eyes.

  “I like your hair,” Todd said with a smile in his voice. “What’s left of it.”

  “Thanks. That was part of the shake-up. But actually . . .” I took a beat. “Actually, I wasn’t just storm tracking in your neighborhood.” I leaned back, crossing my muddy feet in front of me. “I came to tell you something.”

  Todd’s eyes fixed on me in his hypnotic way. Even after months apart, it still managed to make my heart jump into my throat. We weren’t touching, but the heat between us was unmistakable. It burned my insides like a campfire; every part of me wanted to grab him, but I couldn’t even tell if he was happy to see me. His eyes, that weird semi-smile, his body language, were all a muddle of mixed communication.

  “I was wondering when you’d get around to it,” he said as he leaned back on his hands. “Why are you here?” He took in a breath. His face looked troubled, hesitant, like he was preparing himself to hear bad news.

  “I was drifting along,” I heard myself whisper in rhythmic cadence, “till something brought me to the sea. When I saw you, I found me.”

  I couldn’t help noticing an air of appreciation cross Todd’s face. “Nice,” he said.

  “Yeah, but that’s not even my line,” I admitted quietly, a little embarrassed by my lack of romantic originality, chagrined by the fact that I’d become my own worst chick flick cliché: girl running through rain to find her hero, then plagiarizing lines from a love ballad. “I stole it from a song Hal wrote.”

  “‘Indian Summer.’” The teensiest of smiles twitched at the corner of his mouth. “It came by special delivery a few weeks back.”

  I blinked, wondering if he could see the millions of questions behind my eyes and further wondering if he realized my heart was in his teeth.

  His tiny smile grew. “We’ve been in touch.”

  “You and Hal?”

  Todd nodded.

  “I hope he wasn’t bothering you,” I said, bewildered.

  “Of course not. I always liked him. You know that.” His gaze left me and moved out to the street. “In fact, when he first called, you were never mentioned, so after a while, I figured he hadn’t told you. When we spoke a few weeks ago, he said he had to be quick because he was helping you pick out a TV.”

  “That was you on the phone that day?” I asked, remembering how strangely Hal had behaved after he’d taken that call at the electronics store, looking both guilty and exceptionally pleased with himself.

  “We spoke for only a second then,” Todd continued, “but later he managed to give me an earful about all the home decorating you’d been doing, and painting, I understand?”

  I nodded.

  “A few weeks before that, he mentioned you were in Tucson.” He turned to me. It looked like he was holding his breath. “Did you see your parents?”

  I nodded again.

  Todd let out his breath. “Good, Abby,” he said. “That’s really good progress.” His voice sounded relieved, but also a bit detached, like he was my academic advisor.

  “I fired Max,” I blurted.

  I wasn’t sure why right now was the moment I decided to broach the subject. My body responded to the new burst of adrenaline, and I sprang to my feet. “The guys and I, we’re going to run the band on our own. It’ll be different. Smaller, but better. Because . . .” I faced Todd, who was sitting with his arms on his knees, looking up at me. “Because I truly love it.” My throat started feeling thick, full with emotion. “I forgot that for a while, but I do. It’s what excites me and energizes me, and I just love it, more than almost anything.” I looked him in the eyes and swallowed. “But that’s not what I came to tell you, either.”

  He tilted his head to the side, wearing a worried look again.

  I turned around to stare out at the rainy street. “That night you left,” I quickly pressed forward before I lost momentum, “you said that ours was the most important relationship of your life. I wanted to tell you then that I felt the same way—feel, I mean. Feel right now.” I was still standing with my back to him, unable to face whatever his troubled expression had morphed into.

  That was when I felt something on my shoulders. It took me a moment to realize Todd’s hands were resting on top of them. The sudden heat was a shock to my system. It burned through my wet clothes, soaked into my bloodstream, and spread warmth through my entire body.

  “I love you,” I said, unable to stop myself.

  But nothing came in return, only the splattering of rain.

  It felt like hours were ticking by. I pinched my eyes closed, feeling my heart sink. Then suddenly I was spun around; Todd’s hands were on the front of my shoulders.

  “What was that?” he asked, tipping his head down a bit. “I couldn’t quite . . .” He paused, the side of his mouth pulling back. “Hear you.” One hand left my shoulder and slid behind my neck. The feeling of his fingers on my bare skin snapped my senses to attention. Every hair on my body leaned toward the location of his touch, like a sunflower stretching toward the sun.

  “Well?” he said, his eyes narrowing playfully.

  “I love you, Todd,” I said, properly, staring into his eyes.

  The next thing I knew, his arms were around me, hugging me so tightly that my heart banged in surprise. When I managed to inhale, I took in his scent, his dizzying pheromones.

  I forced myself to speak. “Todd—”

  “Shh.” He cut me off with a squeeze. “You had your say; now let me enjoy this.” He squeezed me tighter. His mouth moved down to the side of my neck; the three-day beard tickled. I heard my blood rushing behind my ears like the Gulf at high tide.

  “So?” he breathed in a whisper, his nose on my cheek. “Was that all you came here to tell me?” His nose moved in a slow circle.

  “I can’t rememb—”

  Before I could finish, his hands moved to the sides of my face, his eyes so full of love. The way he was holding me, precious and protective, was like I was something lost. Lost, but miraculously found.

  And then he kissed me, perfectly, with so much wonder and magic.

  I had no words, but Todd had one. He whispered it.

  The first moment I could, I threw my arms around him. The force of my enthusiastic, propelling body knocked him backward. We stumbled and fell onto the porch in a heap.

  “How’s the head?” I asked, taking a breath.

  One side of his lovely mouth curled up as an answer.

  I hovered above him; drops of rainwater from my hair dripped onto his cheeks. With another kiss, we were rolling. I heard something fall off the side of the porch and crash onto the wet cement below. We’d probably kicked over some potted plants.

  “What took you so long?” I asked, my face buried in his neck.

  “Ha! Me?”

  “Why make us sit in the rain like that?”

  He stopped kissing me and pulled back, bracing his weight on his elbows over me.

  “Why did you let me keep talking a blue streak when you knew why I came?”

  Todd furrowed his brows and rolled to his side. “I didn’t know why you came.” He passed one hand across his forehead as something painful shadowed his expression. “Seeing you out my window, standing like that, frankly, I didn’t know what to think, a
nd I could see you were crying.” He sighed, dropping his chin. “I knew a little about what you’d been going through the last few months, but I also knew there was a lot I wasn’t being told.” He lifted his chin, still wearing that dark expression. “I was so worried about you, Abby. Every day. Every minute. But seeing you here . . .” He took a beat. “I was more relieved than anything.”

  My hands slid under his arms, around his back. Slowly, we sat up together. The end result was me on his lap.

  “To be honest,” he continued, his voice lighter, “I was ready to pounce on you the second I stepped outside. It was all I could do to refrain as long as I did.” His strong arms tightened around me. “It looked like you had something you needed to say, so I let you talk first.”

  “And then you pounced.”

  From the street, a car honked. Todd unleashed his hold for just a moment as he tilted his head to one side, looking past me and out at the street. He raised one hand and waved.

  I turned around in time to see Chandler’s silver pickup pulling away from the curb.

  “Small town,” Todd said, and we both laughed.

  I leaned in, laying my head on his shoulder. It was amazing how different I felt being with him now. I felt so good. So strong. So much more myself.

  “I want you to know, I’m sorry, too,” he said.

  When I pulled back, his expression was oddly rueful. “For what?”

  “I wanted to tell you what Nate told me that night, about Christian, but I thought the situation was bad enough already for you. I didn’t want to make it worse, especially since you said you would never quit.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  He shook his head. “There hasn’t been a day I haven’t regretted leaving you like that. It killed me.”

  I didn’t let him continue. I took his face and drew the two of us together, our foreheads touching so we could see nothing but each other.