by Beth Michele
I set my burger down, giving him my full attention. “What do you mean?”
“To be happy. Not when my mother is rotting away in there.”
A crushing vulnerability shades his eyes and it resonates in my core. I realize that nobody has ever made it okay for him—to carry on, to live, to breathe. My hand goes to my chest, trying to push back the swell of emotion that wants to escape. For reasons I don’t fully understand, I suddenly want to make it okay for him. “Oh, Vance. You’ve got it all wrong. That woman in there, the one that I saw… she would want you to be happy.” I watch him as he tosses my words around in his head, trying to see if they make sense. And then, because I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut, I add, “Well, I like your laugh. And your smile, too. If I’m honest. Which,” I wink, “I always am.”
He attempts to smother a smile, but it’s like a beam of light across his face.
“You see. Now I’m two for two.”
THIS GIRL. I don’t know what to make of her. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a friend—certainly not one that’s a girl anyway. She throws me off my game. Not that I have a game. But what I do have is a way I live my life that works for me, and she’s chucking a wrench into it simply by existing. And I like that she exists. I also like the way I feel around her. I want to devour her honesty and soak up her sincerity. I’d like to know more about what makes her tick.
“I think I deserve some kind of a medal.” Ember and I approach the car after a visit to this woman Kasia’s house to discuss topics that put me to sleep. “I just listened to you two talk about cinnamon rolls and bakery shit for over an hour. Not to mention the half-hour conversation about her poodles.”
Ember breaks up in a laugh as we both move toward the driver’s side. I shoo her away with my hand. “I’ll drive there, Mickey. You drove the whole way here. If you don’t mind me driving your car, that is.”
She stretches her arms above her head and yawns. “Nope. No problem here. I’ll handle the music.”
“Should I be worried?”
“I don’t know,” she retorts, plopping down onto the seat. “Should you be?”
I flip her a mock glare then back out of the driveway that looks like it could hold about thirty cars. Once we’re on the road and stopped at a red light, I peer over at her. “So Ember Bennett, what makes you tick?”
The air conditioning blows a piece of her hair around as she shifts to face me. “Lots of things, really.”
Red changes to green and my eyes return to the road. “Like?”
“Sculpting for one, but you already know that. I also love all kinds of art. I love to bake. And music to me is… everything.”
“Oh yeah,” I challenge. “Who’s your favorite band?”
“The Vines.”
Flipping on the blinker, I switch to the left hand lane. “Who?”
She breathes out a frustrated sound. “You don’t know who The Vines are?”
“Nope.”
Ember pops the glovebox and digs around before removing a CD and inserting it into the player. She places her hand in front of her, palm up, and announces, “I give you… The Vines.”
I appease her and listen for a few minutes. My thumb taps against the steering wheel, head bobbing slightly. “They’re not bad.” They’re actually better than not bad, but the smug look on her face makes me not want to give her the satisfaction.
“Not bad?” she huffs, so sure of herself I have to suppress a grin. “You’re practically dancing to it.”
“I don’t dance,” I confess, still trying to keep my smile in check.
“Keep telling yourself that.” She releases an airy laugh. “Okay, so who’s your favorite band?”
“Staind.”
“They’re pretty good.”
“Fucking A they are, Mickey.” From the side, I catch a glimpse of her smile. “Favorite food?”
“Lobster.”
I make a buzzer sound in my throat. “Gross.”
“I’ll have you know it’s quite delicious, especially dipped in butter. I would think you’d appreciate that last part.” She huffs again and I like that I’m getting a rise out of her. “Okay, let’s have it. What’s your favorite food?”
“Twinkies,” I answer with a huge grin on my face.
“Twinkies?” We come to a stop sign right before the entrance to the highway. I look over to find her staring at the package on the console, her nose scrunched up. “That’s not a food. That’s a chemical.”
I try to rile her up with my evil glare but only succeed in making her double over with laughter. “Okay, okay. Favorite color?”
“Red,” she replies proudly. “Yours?”
My eyes fall to my black t-shirt and black Chucks and the choice is obvious. “Black.”
She rubs her hands up and down her arms on a slight shiver. “Avery likes black, too.”
“That’s because she’s smart.” Ember cackles and I press the button to lower the A/C in case she’s cold.
She kicks off her sneakers and rests her feet on the dashboard with a contented sigh. The lightness of it travels in the air between us and lands on my chest. It makes me feel a little less empty. As I sit with that, I hear her singing quietly to herself. Her voice is nothing to write home about but she doesn’t seem to care. Something else I really appreciate about her.
“So what’s your favorite novel?”
Her question drags my attention away from the asshat in the BMW who cut me off. If I was in my own car, I’d give him a run for his money. “Honestly, that’s a really tough question. I have a lot of favorites.” I pause to think about all the books I’ve read. I’m inclined toward many different genres which makes it hard to choose. “I can give you a few of them, though. I would say The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway, The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger, Mansfield Park by Jane Austen, and Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy.
“Wait.” She drops her feet down on the floor. I can feel her eyes grazing the side of my face. “Isn’t Anna Karenina an eight hundred page book or something like that?”
“Yup. Around eight hundred and sixty-four.”
“Wow.” Fascination fills her voice. “That’s crazy long. There’s no way I’d have the attention span for that.”
Brake lights signal traffic ahead and I change lanes. “I told you. I love to read. In fact, I’d rather read than do anything else. Except maybe play guitar.”
“You play guitar?”
I’m trying to discern whether her tone holds shock or awe. I’m also trying to figure out why it matters. “I do.”
“Interesting.”
“What is?” Traffic slows and I get a chance to view her expression. Her head is angled to the side, fingers outlining a frame through which she appraises me.
“I can totally see that. The hair. The earring. I bet you even have a tattoo.”
My head shakes again at her audacity, though it no longer bothers me now that I’ve gotten to know her better. “You crack me up. Look who’s making assumptions again.”
“Come on,” she coaxes, lifting her chin in the air. “Fess up. I know you have a tattoo.”
An obvious sigh of resignation gives her the proof she needs. “Maybe.”
“Aha!” She slaps her hand against the leather seat. “I knew it.” She looks me up and down before returning to my face. “Can I see it?”
I cock a single brow and smirk. “Are you sure you want to?” That one question is enough to make her cheeks blush pink and her eyes stray from mine.
“Oh. Um. Never mind.”
I find her so interesting. In one breath, she’s entirely confident. In the next, completely shy. There is an innocence to her I’ve yet to figure out. It’s… dare I say, sweet?
“Ember.” Her eyes slowly advance on mine, and again, her reticence makes me check myself and any comments I might have made. “You can totally see it. It’s on my upper back. Only not while I’m driving.” I hope the smile I put on for both of our benefits washes away h
er unease.
“What is the tattoo of?”
“It’s just three words.” I swallow and spit them out. “Lest We Forget.”
I don’t have to see her face to uncover the empathy I know is there, and when her fingertips lance my arm I do my best not to pull away. She leaves them on my skin and every second I feel them, my heartbeat picks up. A little voice in my head says to keep her at a distance. As it grows louder, I find myself gradually lifting my arm until her fingers fall away. The loss of her touch leaves me cold. But cold I know how to deal with.
“I didn’t picture you as a Honda girl,” I throw out, attempting to distract from the chill I’ve created in the air. She doesn’t respond right away and I sense she wants to say something. Tension mounts inside of me and I hold my breath as I wait. For some reason, she decides to let me off the hook and I breathe out a quiet sigh of relief.
“It was Zack’s car.” She clears what I interpret as emotion from her throat. “He worked three jobs one summer to save up for it. My dad wanted to help him out but he was determined to do it on his own… and he did.” Traffic comes to a dead stop and I watch her as she brings her knees up to her chest, thumb scraping over a patch of fabric on her jeans. “We had a lot of memories in this car. We made tons of plans for what our futures were going to look like. He…,” she glances up as if to gauge my reaction, “showed me how to smoke a joint in this car.” My eyes must show my overwhelming surprise because her head springs back. “What? I’m not a prude, you know?”
“I didn’t say you were.” Although I was thinking it. “It’s surprising. Sue me, Mickey, but you don’t seem like the pot-smoking type.”
She quickly corrects me. “I didn’t say I was a pot-smoker. I tried it. Just that once, actually. It made me paranoid and I ate a whole bunch of junk food I wouldn’t normally eat. So it was basically my first and last time.” I chuckle at her reasons for never doing it again and she joins in before she adds, “I ate an entire two bags of Cheetos.”
“A whole two bags?” I tease her, and she grabs the Twinkies from the center console and chucks them at me. “That’s just… wrong.”
Her green eyes thin though her smile shines through. Since she reminded me about the Twinkies, I pick them up and tear open the package, holding one out in front of her. “Twinkie?”
She makes a chopping motion with her hand against her neck, her grin uncontrollable. “Uh, no thanks. I’ve already had my chemical allowance for the day.”
“Suit yourself.” I bite into the Twinkie and groan in appreciation. “But you seriously don’t know what you’re missing.”
Her smile dissolves into thoughtfulness and she runs her palm over the dashboard. “I’m going to keep this car until it won’t drive anymore. Maybe even longer than that. I don’t want to let it go.” She exhales a sigh. “It would be like tossing away a piece of him.” Then quietly she utters, “And I can’t do that.”
Finished with the Twinkie, I wipe a hand on my jeans before lifting my ass up to reach into my front pocket. I slide out the smooth black stone with orange and grey flecks and lift it in the air between us. “My mom and I used to skip stones at the river. She’s the one who taught me how to do it.” I glare at the rock as the memory clogs my chest, making it hard to breathe. “One day we were there and I found this stone. I showed it to her and was getting ready to flip it into the water, but she told me it was too beautiful and I should hold onto it.” I smile at the stupid little stone. “So I did. I keep it with me always. I’ll never let it go.”
She nods in understanding then holds her hand out. I drop the stone into her palm. Her index finger rolls over the surface and she eyes it with admiration. “It is beautiful. I like the little dashes of color. Makes it unique.”
The honk of a horn behind us indicates that traffic has started moving again. I bring my attention back to the road. The sun is beginning to set, shades of oranges and pinks skid across the sky—reminiscent of a painting.
“Oh, wow. Vance, can you pull over?” The sound of Ember frantically searching through her purse makes me pause.
“Sure. Is everything okay?” As it seems important, I abruptly check for cars before veering off into the emergency lane. I put the hazards on, venturing a glance her way. “What are you doing?”
She’s already out the door when I hear her call back, “I want to get some pictures of the sunset.”
I watch her with I don’t know what—interest, maybe fascination, as she continues to snap pictures with her iPhone. She holds the phone this way and that, in various angles as she shifts on her feet and changes locations. She’s so unlike any of the girls I’ve known. Then again, I haven’t really made an effort to know any in a long time—only in the biblical sense. They’re all the same anyway—except Ember. She is… different. I haven’t quite figured out if that’s a good thing for me or not.
“That sunset is amazing.” She bounces into the car with enough fucking enthusiasm to have me excited. “Look at these pictures.” Lifting the phone, she holds it between us and scrolls through them.
“They’re… nice.”
She slaps me on the shoulder. “They’re fantastic. I’m going to print a few out and get them blown up and framed.” I tilt my head, surveying the brightness in her eyes and the way her lips curve higher on one side than the other. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
I rap a finger against my mouth. “I’m just wondering who you are, Ember Bennett?”
She wiggles her dark brows and her eyelashes flutter. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was flirting with me. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Yeah. I think I would.
WOULDN’T YOU LIKE to know? For a split second, I wonder who this carefree person is and where the heck Ember went. I’d almost be mortified by my own words if Vance wasn’t looking at me with such interest—as if he wants to know more about me—as if I’m genuinely interesting. I mean, I’m confident with who I am. It’s not that. Actually, I don’t know what it is.
At a loss of how to follow up that awkward moment, I’m about to say something to detract from it when a yawn escapes. I cover my mouth with my hand. “I guess I’m a little tired.”
“Understandable,” Vance affirms. “Talking about cinnamon rolls for hours on end can certainly be exhausting.” He blows out a breath then winks a ridiculously dazzling blue eye at me. “I know I’m fucking wiped.”
“You’re a smart-ass is what you are.” I motion with my head toward the wheel. “More driving and less talking,” I order, and he raises a hand to his forehead in salute.
“You’re cute when you’re bossy,” he mumbles, concentrating on getting us back onto I-5 to head home. It’s then that I realize how late it is and decide to check in on Mom. Pulling out my phone, I dial her number. It rings several times before going to voicemail.
“Hey, Mom. Just calling to say hello. I’m on my way back from Eugene now. Hope you’ve had a good day.” After ending the call I notice Troy left me a few voicemails and figure I’ll get back to him later. I toss the phone in my purse and lean against the headrest, closing my eyes.
“So you’re close with your Mom and Dad?”
“Very. Like I said, it’s kind of a weird dynamic. But yes, they’re pretty great.” It occurs to me that Vance hasn’t spoken much about his Dad. As usual, I can’t hold back my curiosity. “I haven’t heard you talk about your Dad. He seemed nice when I came by the house to drop off your book. Are you close?”
The bitter noise he makes stuns me and I open my eyes. “Uh. No. We were at one point. But, I don’t know. He’s changed.”
I turn my head toward him. “How so?”
His jaw works back and forth, fingers clamped onto the steering wheel. “He’s forgotten all about my mother. It’s like… he’s gone on with his life. He hardly ever goes to see her anymore and it pisses me the fuck off. I realize we’re much further from Winston now, but if I can manage it—”
“That’s where you moved
from?”
“Yeah. And I saw her every day. Sometimes, more than once. We were only a few blocks away from Ridgecrest.”
“So why didn’t you stay there?”
His loud exhale fills the car. “In a nutshell, I was short on money and didn’t anticipate having such a hard time finding a job after I graduated from University of Portland. Especially with a degree in Computer Science.”
“I’m sorry.” I stuff my hands under my thighs because they want to wander over to his side again. I can’t seem to keep them under control around him.
His shoulders wilt and his head dips down. “Yeah. Me too.”
“University of Portland is a great school, though. I went to Oregon State and majored in Fine Arts. Still, I don’t think anyone really prepares us for how challenging it is once you get into the real world. Of course,” I joke, “I haven’t quite entered it, since I’m still living at home.” I wait for Vance to make a smart comeback but he’s almost too quiet. Anxious to shift his mood, I opt for a change of subject. “I like your brother. He seems sweet.”
“Yes.” He laughs, the sound filled with adoration. “Everyone loves Julian. He spreads charm wherever he goes.”
“I think he’s already charmed my sister.”
“But not you?” He flashes me a sideways glance.
“I’m not easily charmed.”
He rubs the stubble on his jaw, appearing to ponder this before he simply asks me. “Why not?”
My answer is a shrug that he can’t see. “Just not interested, I guess.”
“So.” He hedges. “No boyfriend?”
“Nope.”
“Are you into girls?” he probes, and I don’t know why this topic is important to him. It rates very low on my priority scale.
“Why do I have to be into anything?” I exhale my frustration with a nervous laugh. “If you must know, my last boyfriend was about two years ago,” I admit. And instead of dropping it, he digs further.
“What happened?”
“It’s simple.” I reach out and twirl the rabbit’s foot between my fingers. “He ended things because when Zack died… I… I couldn’t give him the attention he wanted. I was having a really hard time and needed to focus on me and my family… and that didn’t work for him.”
