by Anna Cruise
“With anyone I know?”
“Nope.” He changed the subject. “So. Are you gonna tell me how you ended up here? By yourself on a bench at a deserted beach twenty some miles from home?”
I rolled my eyes. “You make it sound so much more dramatic than it really is.”
I told him a toned-down version of my fight with my dad. And I left out my raid on the liquor cabinet.
He maneuvered the car on to the freeway, glancing behind him as he merged the truck in to the slow lane. “Hmm. Sounds like a pretty bad scene.”
I nodded. “It was.”
I didn't want to elaborate. I couldn't.
With rush hour over, the traffic moved quicker now. We were quiet for a while, listening to the radio as we drove back through the canyons. I stared out the window at the houses on the hills, their lights twinkling like stars that hovered much too close in the night sky. I wove stories for the families inside of those houses, families that were intact, complete. Families with moms and dads who lived together, who hadn't been ripped apart by a heartless dad and a beautiful bitch.
“Think your dad will forgive you?”
I shrugged. “I don't really care.” I was trying not to care, anyway.
Case glanced at me with raised eyebrows. “You planning to apologize?”
“No.” I looked at him. “What? You think I should?”
If it had been my decision, my dad would be apologizing to me. For leaving me and my mom, for putting my house up for sale, for choosing Cheri over me.
It was his turn to shrug. We were off the freeway now and he turned down Garnet Avenue, cruising through green lights, turning right on Lamont. A few more blocks and he turned left on to my street.
“Case, she's a total bitch. She ruined my entire life.”
He didn't respond.
“What?” I asked. “You think I made a mistake?”
“That's not what I'm saying. I just don't want you to have any regrets, that's all. You can't take back things you say but you can apologize for them. You know, say you're sorry.”
“Wow. Wise words, Case.” I didn't bother hiding my sarcasm. “And I'm sure you're speaking from experience, right?”
“Tell me which house is yours.” He was driving slowly down my street. “And, yeah, I am.”
I pointed. “There. With the For Sale sign. So, you called your stepmom a home-wrecking whore, too?”
He looked at me with his lopsided grin. “Not exactly.”
“Well, tell me, then.”
He pulled up in front of my house and shifted the truck into park. “I don't have a stepmom. It was something I said to my dad. Something I never got to apologize for in person.”
“What happened? I mean, if you want to tell me...”
“I told him he was the biggest fuck-up I knew and that I wished he was dead.”
My eyes widened. “Oh my God. And did he...die?”
An image flashed through my mind, of Case kneeling in dew-kissed grass in front of a granite tombstone, whispering apologies to the person buried beneath.
Case shook his head. “No.”
“Well, then...” I was confused. “Why couldn't you apologize to him?”
“Because he went to prison. Life without parole. My mom and I moved before he was sentenced.”
My mouth fell open but I quickly closed it. I wanted to ask what his dad had done but I didn't. We weren't that good of friends.
He told me, anyway. “Robbery. Assault with a deadly weapon. Attempted murder. Possession with intent to sell.”
I breathed out slowly. “Holy shit, Case. That sucks.”
“Pretty much.”
He studied his hands and I wanted to do something—anything—to comfort him. But I didn't know what to do, what I could possibly offer that would accomplish this. Did I offer a hug or reach out and hold his hand? I didn't know what he'd want so I did nothing.
I asked another question. “So, is that why you and your mom moved here?”
“Uh-huh. Some other reasons, too.” He didn't share those.
I remembered his comment when we'd been discussing my house and where my mom and I could live. I knew now that he'd been speaking from experience.
“So San Diego is your fresh start?”
He nodded and I asked, “Where did you move here from?”
“Texas. Before that, Florida. North Carolina. We moved around a lot.”
I could only imagine why.
“Look,” he said, reaching for my hand. He held it between both of his as he looked at me and I suddenly wished that I had reached out to him first. “It's easy to let it go, to say nothing and pretend it never happened. It's hard as shit to admit you screwed up and just apologize. But you'll feel better about yourself if you do. No regrets to worry about or to keep you awake at night, you know? And they'll probably feel better, too.”
I hated that he was right. But I was in no mood to apologize—to my dad or to Cheri. Not after what I'd done. And not after what he'd done, either.
“I'll think about it,” I promised grudgingly.
“Good.” He let go of my hand. “So no Aidan tonight, huh?”
“No. I was supposed to spend the night. You know, at my dad's. He went out with some friends.”
“I didn't hear about any parties this weekend.”
“They went to TJ, I think. Guess there isn't very good cell reception there,” I said, thinking of the times I'd tried to call him.
“Yeah, I guess not.”
I unbuckled my seat belt. “Anyway. Thanks for the ride home. I owe you.”
Case smiled and shook his head. “No, you don't.” He turned the key. “See ya, Megan.”
I hopped out and headed toward my house. His truck sputtered down the street as I slipped through my front door.
He might not think that I owed him anything but I knew better. He'd done more for me that night than my dad or than Aidan.
I owed him everything.
FIFTEEN
I woke up at five but I waited until six to call Aidan. It was dark and shadowy in my room and those shadows had lurked in my mind and slunk along the walls all night, haunting my thoughts and—what little I slept—my dreams. Menacing, taunting, reminding me of the disastrous hour I'd spent at my dad's. His reaction, his abandoning me. I didn't find any comfort in the pink and purple glow that slowly filtered in, hinting at the rising sun. No, I was afraid those seeds I'd planted, of anger and despair, would absorb that energy, would welcome the light and heat and grow into something more ominous. I couldn't be by myself any longer.
I felt around on my nightstand, finding and grabbing my cell phone. I flipped it open and the key pad glowed to life.
“Mmm?” He was half-asleep.
My voice was a whisper. “I'm home. Come get me.”
“Hmm?” I pictured him in his bed, a blanket twisted around him, lifting his head to glance at his alarm clock. “Meg?” His voice was husky, sexy. “It's six in the morning. What...?”
“I'll tell you when you get here.”
I hung up.
I tiptoed around my room as I got dressed and brushed my teeth. I'd just finished combing my hair when I heard the unmistakable sound of his car pulling up in front of my house. I hurried to open the door before he could knock. My mom didn't know I'd come home and I wanted to keep it that way.
I turned the knob and the door pushed open of its own accord. Aidan slammed into me, pressing me against the wall, his mouth fastened to mine, his hands roving the length of me. I tasted beer and tequila, I smelled cigarettes and weed, but I didn't care. All that mattered was he was there.
“I missed you.” His mouth moved to my cheek and I tilted my head sideways, letting his lips glide along my throat. His lips came back to mine, hot, urgent. “I want you.” He untied the drawstring on my shorts, sliding them down with one hand. “Now.”
“Aidan...the door...” It was wide open.
He kicked it shut as he unfastened his shorts. “Now.”
He lowered me to the floor and the cool terra cotta tile pressed into my back but I didn't care. “Right now.”
*
We went to Zanzibar for a breakfast of bagels slathered with cream cheese. He brought me a coffee, too, plain with no whipped cream or chocolate syrup. We sat by the window, looking out on to a mostly deserted Garnet Avenue as we ate. A few cars drove past, cars loaded with surfboards on top, driving the three short blocks to where the road dead-ended on Mission, where drivers would have to choose to head north or south in their search for good breaks. Saturday mornings in downtown Pacific Beach were notoriously quiet, at least this early in the morning.
We sat across from each other but Aidan lounged back in his chair, stretching his legs forward so they intertwined with mine. I pressed my legs against his, taking comfort in the solidness of his presence. He still made me weak in the knees.
“Tell me what happened.”
I dumped two packets of sugar into my mug and stirred it, trying to make it more palatable, as I relayed the events of the previous night. I included the liquor cabinet in this particular retelling. It was easier this time, the second time around.
“You didn't,” he said, laughing, his eyes wide, when I got to the part about Cheri. “Good for you.”
He finished his bagel and brushed the crumbs to the floor. “I'm glad you got out of there. How did you get home? Don't tell me your dad actually offered you a ride after all that?”
I shook my head and told him the rest, about my dad kicking me out. I glossed over it, not wanting to dwell on that particular part. “Case came and got me.” I said. “I tried calling you.”
He took a drink. “My phone died.”
“I figured.”
“I'm glad you got a hold of someone. Got home OK.”
If there was any concern over my choice of chauffeur, any worry over whom I'd chosen to call, he hid it well.
“Me, too.” I switched gears. The blackness was threatening, trying to creep back in, to drown my bolstered spirits and snuff out my burgeoning good mood. “How was TJ?”
Aidan smiled. “Fun. Too fun. Got totally shit-faced.” He motioned to the mug in front of him. “Not as good as some coke for a hangover, but it'll do the trick.”
I looked at the menu mounted above the counter. “What? They don't serve Coke in the morning?”
He burst out laughing. “Not that kind of coke. My God, you are priceless.”
I smiled, feeling a little foolish. I should have known. I changed the subject. “Sorry about waking you up.”
“I'll wake up as early as you want for the morning we just had,” he said, grinning. He drained his coffee mug. “I was getting up early today, anyway. Ben and I are supposed to hit the waves. Pumphouse.”
“Oh. When? Are you supposed to be there now?” It hadn't even occurred to me that he might have other plans. “You can drop me off. At home, I mean.”
“Don't be stupid. What the hell are you going to do there?” He stood up. “Come with me. You can watch.”
He stopped at his mom's house just long enough to grab his board, a scuffed blue and white piece of fiberglass only slightly taller than him. He settled it on the roof of the car, adjusting and tightening straps. He drove to Tourmaline and parked in the public lot at the top of the cliff. It was already packed full of cars, nearly all of them with empty surf racks. Surfers bobbed up and down in the water, looking like gigantic seals in their tight, black wetsuits. Aidan reached into the back seat and pulled out his own.
“You wanna sit in the car or come out?” he asked. He wrapped a towel around his waist and stripped off his shorts. He kicked off his flip flops and stepped into his suit, pulling it up over his legs.
The marine layer was gone, the sky a cobalt blue that glowed warm and bright in the early morning sun. “I'll sit outside.”
His shirt came off and he pushed his arms through the wetsuit and zipped it up. “I'm just gonna catch a few. Half hour at most.”
He unbuckled his board from the roof of the car and adjusted it so he carried it under his arm, tucked tight against his side.
He leaned down and kissed me. “Watch me?”
I nodded, although I wasn't sure I'd be able to identify him among all of the other black blobs already in the water. He put his free arm around my waist and helped hoist me to the hood of the car.
“Love you,” he said, kissing me once more before heading toward the beach.
He made his way toward the water. Someone joined him on the way down and I watched Aidan laugh and joke with him. His blond hair glistened in the sun and his wetsuit hugged the contours of his body. He reminded me of some Greek god, a marbled statue breathed to life. He was almost too beautiful to look at today, too perfect, but I didn't look away. He reached the sand and held his hand over his eyes as he scanned the waves. His friend pointed left, past the pump house, and Aidan nodded. They ran into the water and hopped on their boards, paddling past the breakers with swift, powerful strokes, farther out into the rolling waves.
I watched him but soon my thoughts drifted. To my conversation with Case and the incident at my dad's. With a little time and perspective, I did feel bad about it. Not about being mean to Cheri, but about how I'd hurt my dad. He had been angry with me—so angry that he'd told me he was done with me. That I was done there.
And he hadn't come looking for me.
I tried not to let this fact stab at me and slice me apart, but I fixated on it. I couldn't help it. He'd stayed with her. He hadn't come looking for me and he hadn't called. What if something had happened to me? What if I'd been hit by a car or abducted or raped? No one would know. Not my drunk and depressed mother and certainly not my indifferent dad.
I thought about the GameShow Network and the reruns I'd seen of The Price Is Right. The Showcase Showdowns and all of the cheesy prizes. I imagined my dad as the contestant, choosing between his two Showcase Showdowns. Except his weren't a trip to Hawaii or a new Jeep. No, I was on one platform, and Cheri was on the other and he had to choose. I swallowed hard. He'd chosen, alright. He'd chosen her.
I shook my head. If it had been me, standing up there, I would have chosen him. Not just because there was no other parent waiting for me. That part didn't matter. Even if there had been, if my mom had been sober and involved in my life, I still would have chosen him. I wanted him.
I fingered the phone in my pocket and debated. I knew Case was right, that I needed to call and apologize. But I couldn't do it now, not with the way I was feeling. Hurt and resentment would dictate what I would say, not the little amount of remorse I felt. I bit my lip and searched the water for Aidan, the only person in my life right now who did seem to care about me.
He surfed for an hour. I watched him as though I were watching a movie. He paddled out and straddled his board, gripping the sides as he glanced behind him, scoping the waves. He'd see one—I couldn't tell which were good or not—and lay down and start to paddle. The wave would crest underneath his board and he would get to his knees and then stand, hunched down, arms slightly extended as he rode the length of it, weaving back and forth in the barrel. I could almost see the smile on his face. Sometimes he'd ride all the way in, stepping off into the shallows before heading back out; other times, he'd lay down before the wave crashed into shore and work his way back out.
After a few more waves, he stepped on to the sand and I saw him wave to a few guys out in the water before turning toward me. He didn't paddle back out; instead, he walked up the hill, his board under one arm. Back to me.
He leaned down to kiss me, a sweet, salty kiss. “Hey you.” His tousled hair was already drying. “Have fun?”
I hopped off the hood, ignoring his question. Thinking about my dad had not been fun. At all. “You're good.”
He grinned. “I know.”
He strapped the board to the roof and, using the towel again as his make-shift changing room, stripped off his wetsuit. I stared at his smooth, tanned chest and his hard, m
uscled stomach and my knees buckled just a bit. Why did he have to be so gorgeous? He caught me looking and leered at me, his grin widening.
“You want some right now?” he asked, hitching his towel a little lower.
I reached out my hand to pull it up and he intercepted, pressing my palm against the rough fabric. “Well?”
“Stop it,” I said, my face warming. I glanced around to see if anyone was watching.
He laughed and dropped my hand. “OK, good girl. We'll wait 'til later.”
We drove the short distance to his mom's house. I'd asked him once why he didn't spend time at his dad's. He had a house in Mission Beach, right on the boardwalk, just a few blocks from the restaurant he owned. Aidan had just shrugged and said he liked his freedom. He certainly had that at his mom's.
She was on her way out as we walked through the door, clutching keys and her purse. She wore a fitted blue dress that matched her eyes and her blond hair was pulled off her face, secured with a wide, black headband.
“Hi, sweetie,” she said to him. She smiled at me. “Oh, hi.”
I was pretty sure she didn't know my name.
“Where're you going?” Aidan asked her.
“Brunch with the Brennan's. At George's.”
He nodded. “Have fun.”
“You, too,” she said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. I thought about what our afternoon would probably have in store and smiled. She really was completely clueless.
Once in his room, I kicked my shoes off and lay down on his bed. The covers were thrown back, the pillows bunched up together. I turned into them, breathing in the musky, slightly smoky scent of him that lingered there. I never thought I would like the smell of tobacco but on him, I did. I liked everything about him.
He flopped down next to me, face-down, and draped his arm across my stomach. I moved closer and his arm curved more fully around me.
“I'm beat,” he said.
“Me, too.”
He reached for the comforter and pulled it up over us. “Wanna sleep first?”
I'd done a lot of other things with him but falling asleep together wasn't one of them. Sharing a bed and sleeping somehow seemed much more intimate than having sex. I realized I wanted to. More than anything. I snuggled next to him and, with the sound of his heart as my lullaby, closed my eyes and drifted to sleep.
