If I Fall

by Anna Cruise

He didn't comment on my conversation with my dad. “So where exactly did you go at six in the morning?”

  “It wasn't six when he got there,” I said. It had taken Aidan a good fifteen minutes to get to my house. “And we went to Zanzibar. Out for coffee. And breakfast.”

  He took a drink of his water. “And after that? It's not exactly beach weather at seven or eight in the morning.”

  He was giving me the third degree and I didn't owe him any answers. But I told him. “Aidan went surfing and then we went back to his house for a while. Then back to the beach.”

  “Full day,” he commented.

  Our waitress returned and set down a basket of warm tortilla chips and two terra cotta bowls, one filled with salsa, the other brimming with guacamole. She took our order.

  “So,” he said after she left. He dunked a chip in the guacamole. “You two are pretty serious?”

  “I don't know.” The breeze blew in cool from the ocean and I turned my face toward it, letting it blow my hair back. “I guess.”

  “Sleeping with him?” Case's voice was casual.

  I toyed with my glass of water, swirling it, clinking the ice cubes together. He ate another chip and watched me, waiting for my response.

  “Is that really any of your business?” I asked.

  He smiled. “Nope. But I'm asking anyway.”

  I felt the heat creep into my cheeks. “Yeah. I am.”

  He nodded his head as if he knew this. “You're being careful?” His words came out haltingly, like a car sputtering on fumes.

  I didn't answer. No, we weren't being careful. I thought back to yesterday morning in the hallway. Some days we used protection, some days we didn't. I knew it was careless and I knew I was being reckless and I didn't care. Most days, anyway. It had become far easier to stop caring about everything.

  “Megan.” His voice was filled with disapproval. “Don't be stupid. Don't do anything stupid.”

  “I know,” I said. “I won't. I mean, I'm not. Not anymore, anyway.” I made a mental note to remember this.

  “What are you using?” I stared blankly at him and he sighed. “For protection?”

  “Oh my God,” I said, shaking my head. “I can't...I don't want to talk about this with you.”

  “Who else are you going to be talking to about it?” he asked. “Jada? Your mom? Your aunt?”

  He had a good point.

  He shifted in his chair and leaned back, lacing his hands behind his head. “I'm just trying to help, Meg. Looking out for you, you know?”

  “I know. Um, Aidan has some stuff.” I looked out at the water, at the small white breakers crashing into the sand. “You know. Condoms.”

  He nodded. “Good. I was hoping you weren't gonna just say you were on the pill or something. Pregnancy isn't the only thing you need to be worried about.”

  I was sure my face couldn't be any redder. “Got it. Can we change the subject now? Please?”

  He grinned. “Sure.”

  Our food arrived and I dug in to my platter of fish tacos.

  “Tell me what you've been up to,” I said. I was tired of always talking about me. “Did you do anything fun yesterday?”

  “Jada invited me to the beach.”

  “Oh? Did you go?”

  “Yeah. It was fun. She's a nice girl.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. She's great.” I meant it.

  He'd ordered enchiladas and was scooping up some of the sauce with a chip. “She misses you, you know.”

  I was skeptical. “Did she say that?”

  “Not in so many words. But I know. I can tell.”

  “How?”

  He frowned at me. “Come on. You guys have been friends for years. And now suddenly you're not talking anymore? It doesn't take a genius to figure out she would miss you.”

  I finished my first taco and took a long drink of water.

  “Is it because of Aidan? Does he not want you hanging out with her anymore or something?”

  I shook my head. “No. No, it's nothing like that.” I sighed. “It's just...I just don't know what I'd talk to her about anymore. Our lives are going in two totally opposite directions.”

  His frown deepened. “What the hell are you talking about? You're both at the same school. The same grade. You have a class together. And you've been friends for years. How different can your lives be?”

  I knew how different our lives were. My parents were divorced and my house was being sold from underneath me. I was drinking almost daily, smoking pot and sleeping with my boyfriend. None of those things were on Jada's radar. None. And I didn't want them to be. I was making a monumental mess of my life. I didn't need to ruin hers, too.

  “We just don't have that much in common anymore, I guess.” Somehow, the conversation had turned back to me. I tried to steer it away. “So are you guys dating? A couple?”

  He laughed. “Uh, no.”

  I waited but he didn't say anything more, just kept his eyes on me, a small smile on his face. I was tempted to ask more questions but something stopped me. Probably because I knew how much I hated answering questions, personal questions that really weren't anyone's business. But there was something else, something in his expression that halted me. I couldn't name it, couldn't put my finger on it, but it was there.

  My phone rang then, just as our waitress returned to clear our plates. It was Aidan.

  “You ready?”

  “Ready?”

  The waitress put the bill on the table and Case took a twenty from his wallet and handed it to her. He glanced at me, a quizzical expression on his face. I mouthed Aidan's name and he nodded.

  “For me to come over.”

  “Oh. Actually, I'm not home right now.”

  “What? I thought you said you were grounded.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I tried to explain. “But I didn't want to stay home alone so I took a walk. Case was down on the boardwalk and we grabbed some lunch. I'm heading home now.”

  Silence. Then, “Alone?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, alone.” I turned away from the table and lowered my voice to a whisper. “He's a friend, that's all.”

  “A friend that seems to be showing up pretty fucking often.” He wasn't as nonchalant about my choice of companions today.

  “Stop,” I whispered. “I'll explain later.”

  “Damn right you will.”

  The line went dead.

  “Everything OK?”

  I shoved my phone back into my pocket. “No. But it will be.”

  “He's not happy you're hanging out with me.” He didn't phrase it as a question.

  “I don't know. I guess. I mean, it's not like he has anything to be jealous about.” Once I said it, I grimaced at my tactlessness.

  “That's for sure.” Case laughed, seemingly unaffected by my statement, and stood up. “Come on. I'll drive you home.”

  I started to protest. He'd been my personal taxi two nights earlier, he'd just treated me to lunch and now he was offering to chauffeur me again.

  “I won't take no for an answer,” he told me, grabbing my hand as we walked back to the boardwalk, pulling me along. “I'm three blocks down. I can have you home in fifteen minutes, tops.”

  He made it to my house in ten. We talked about his truck as he drove. It was an older model Ford, a faded cherry red truck with high-backed white vinyl seats and wood-grain detail. I hadn't noticed much about it on the ride home from Del Mar.

  “This is sweet,” I commented, running my hands along the dash. “Where did you get it?”

  He hesitated for a second. “It was my dad's. He used to restore old cars before...” He didn't finish. I wondered if it was his dad's before he went to jail. Or maybe it was before he started selling drugs.

  “It's cool.”

  Case grinned. “Not really. Not yet, anyway. I have a lot of stuff I want to do to it.”

  “Like what?”

  “New paint, for starters. And the person who owned it before installed some crappy k
nock-offs. I want originals—mirrors, radio, hubcaps. Stuff like that.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. It's gonna cost a ton of money. So I'm baby-stepping it. I picked this up last weekend.” He pointed to the rear-view mirror. “Cost me almost a hundred bucks.”

  We'd pulled up in front of my house and I glanced up at the mirror. It looked ordinary, certainly not worth a hundred dollars, but I didn't say this. “Cool. Where do you find parts?” I pictured him wading through a sea of smashed cars in some junkyard, sifting through twisted bits of metal.

  “There's a place downtown. A store. East San Diego. I've been there a couple of time, found an original owner's manual there. I look online, too. And in catalogs.”

  “You're pretty into it, huh?”

  Case shrugged. “Keeps me busy. Gives me something to think about, you know?”

  I knew. I had my own diversions to fall back on so I didn't have to think about my current situation, but his seemed a lot safer than mine.

  I opened the door and used the runner board to step on to the sidewalk. “Thanks for the ride. And for lunch.”

  He stared at me, an amused expression on his face. “No problem. I hate to say it but...be careful.” He broke into a huge grin. “Responsible.”

  I shook my head. “Shut up.”

  Case laughed. “Just lookin' out for you.”

  He waited until I'd unlocked the door and stepped into the house before leaving. I called Aidan as soon as he left.

  “That was fast.”

  “Case gave me a ride.” I sighed. “Look, nothing is happening with him. Nothing.”

  He ignored me. “Is your aunt home yet?”

  “No.”

  “I'll be there in a few.”

  He must have been in his car because he was standing in my doorway five minutes later. He smiled and reached for me and I breathed a sigh of relief as he kissed me. He wasn't mad anymore.

  “Sorry I was an ass,” he murmured as he held me. The pungent aroma of pot scented his hair and clung to his clothing. I wondered if he'd gotten high in his car. And if he had any left.

  “I'm sorry about this whole mess,” I said, gesturing to my empty house. “My aunt and everything. I don't know what the hell is going on.”

  He pulled me down the hall toward my room. “You never told me what happened last night.”

  His hands were lifting off my shirt, pushing me gently toward my bed. I tried to tell him but I couldn't, not when he was doing the things he was doing with his mouth. I bit my lip and closed my eyes and forgot all about my mom and my aunt. And about the promise I'd made to Case.

  I told him afterward. He curved his body around mine and stroked my hair with one hand and the inside of my thigh with the other as I relayed the conversation I'd had with Sara. I told him about my mom's condition that morning, too.

  “So you think she's gonna be a hard ass?” He was referring to Sara. “Won't let you out and stuff?”

  “I don't know. She was really pissed yesterday. And this morning she was like a drill sergeant, ordering me around.”

  “So don't listen to her.”

  I gave a short laugh. “Right. She's moving in. Taking over as mom.”

  “But she's not your mom. She can't tell you what to do.”

  But she could. She was taking over in the parenting department and if things didn't work out—if she decided I was too difficult or she couldn't measure up and deal with me—she'd send me to my dad and Cheri. The last thing I wanted was to end up living with them.

  I didn't have to answer Aidan because the phone rang. I slipped out of bed and grabbed the cordless receiver sitting on my desk.

  I could hear a radio playing in the static-filled background. She was in her car, I thought. Probably driving back. “Where have you been, Megan?”

  “Here. Home.”

  “Why didn't you answer when I called?”

  I leaned into my desk, my back to Aidan. “I was in the shower.”

  “For two hours?”

  Shit.

  “No,” I retorted. I thought frantically for a suitable excuse. “But for a while. And then I sat outside. Did some homework. It was too nice of a day to be in the house. And you told me I couldn't leave, not that I couldn't go outside.”

  I heard her sigh. “We'll talk when I get home. I'm getting off the freeway now.” She hung up.

  I raced to my bed and picked up the discarded clothing on the floor. I thrust Aidan's shorts and t-shirt into his arms as I pulled my own shirt over my head. “You have to go.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Sara will be here in ten minutes. She'll freak if she finds you here.”

  He made no move to get up. Instead, he reached out his hand and grabbed my forearm, trying to pull me toward him. “So let her freak.”

  I jerked my arm away and gave him a disapproving look. “If I let her freak,” I said, repeating his words, “she's going to ground me for good. And then I'll never see you.” I stepped into my underwear and then my shorts.

  Aidan's sigh was deep, exaggerated. “Alright. I'll go.”

  He swung his legs over the side of the bed and pulled on his shorts. He stood and worked his shirt on. “But what about tomorrow after school? And the next day? You gonna have to come straight home? When the hell am I going to see you?”

  “I don't know,” I admitted. “I'll figure it out. Let me work on her a little tonight. OK?” I wrapped my arms around his neck and touched my lips to his.

  He deepened the kiss as his hands trailed down my back, resting on my hips, pulling me fully against his body. The heat began to build inside me again as I felt his own response pressing against me.

  “I can't get enough of you,” he whispered, echoing my thoughts. He kissed me again, his hands slipping inside my shorts to cup me against him. “I'll never get enough of you.”

  “You have to go,” I said again, but my resolve was fading. Would it really matter if she walked in on us? What was the worst that would happen? I was so wrapped up in him that I couldn't even think about it. The consequences.

  Aidan kissed me one last time. “Alright, good girl. Deal with your aunt. I'll see you at school.”

  He left and I fell back on to my bed. Who needed drugs when someone like him existed? All he needed to do was kiss me or touch me and he could make me forget my own name. He was my own personal drug and I was addicted to him.

  And it scared the hell out of me.

  TWENTY

  Two minutes after Aidan left, the front door opened and I heard keys being tossed on to the table in the entryway. Shoes clicked down the hallway and a soft, tentative knock sounded on my door. I leaped off the bed and yanked the comforter to the floor.

  “Megan?”

  “Yeah?”

  She opened the door a crack. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking my sheets off. Going to do some laundry.”

  “Oh.” She sounded surprised. She should have been. It was the first time I'd thought to do it in more than a month.

  “You need any help?”

  “I'm almost sixteen, Sara. I think I can handle the washing machine.”

  Her eyes narrowed and she frowned at my tone. “I'm sure you can.”

  She stood in the doorway for a minute, watching me. I knew what she was waiting for. For me to ask about Mom. But I didn't want to know. I didn't want to hear.

  “I need to unpack a few more things, get settled in,” she said. “Come find me when you're done.”

  I finished stripping the sheets off my bed and pulled off the pillowcases. I gathered the cream-colored linens and carried them down the hall, through the kitchen and into the small laundry room. I stuffed these into the washer, added detergent and liquid fabric softener and shut the lid. The washer blinked to life and water rushed in, filling the basin. It had taken all of five minutes.

  I turned and headed back through the kitchen and down the hall. I could hear Sara in the third bedroom, the room that had been my dad's
office. When he'd moved out almost a year ago, it had been the only room he'd emptied. He'd taken everything. The antique mahogany desk that had belonged to his grandfather and the high-backed, office chair, its black leather creased and faded. The bookcases brimming with history textbooks and reference tomes, biographies and autobiographies, and the odd novel that might have historical significance and could be used as a reference in one of his classes.

  “Sara?”

  “Come in.” Her voice echoed a bit.

  I opened the door—the door that had been closed for months—and peeked inside. It was woefully empty still. She'd inflated a twin-sized air mattress and was attempting to wrangle a fitted sheet over its slippery sides. There were three empty copy paper boxes and she'd stacked two on top of each other to serve as a makeshift nightstand/dresser. The top box housed her socks and underwear, the bottom some shorts and tank tops, things she would wear when she wasn't working. A digital alarm clock sat on the top of the box along with two paperback books, romance novels by the looks of them. The third box was still empty and I wondered what treasures she would tuck inside.

  “Sara, you can't stay in here.” It was awful. Truly awful.

  She'd succeeded in attaching the fitted sheet and was working on the flat one, lifting the mattress off the wood floor and tucking the sheet underneath. “Why not?”

  I looked around. “You're sleeping on the floor. You have no furniture.”

  The rich brown walls were bare, polka-dotted with nail holes, a stark reminder of the artwork my dad had taken with him, his collection of antique crosses and framed medieval tapestries. Bits of drywall peeked through the holes, a blinding white on the otherwise dark surface.

  “I'm not on the floor. I'm on a mattress.” She spread a comforter over it, a soft green one decorated with bamboo shoots, and sat down on it. “See? Comfortable.”

  It didn't look comfortable at all. “Why don't you sleep in Mom's room?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that's her room. And she's coming back. Soon.” It sounded to me as if she was trying to convince herself this statement was true. I decided not to argue.

  She stood up. “Let's grab a snack. I didn't eat lunch.”

  Once in the kitchen, she opened the fridge and pulled out a bag of baby carrots and a plastic baggy filled with cut up celery. I wondered when she'd done that. She arranged these on a plate and poured some ranch dressing in a glass custard cup and set both down on the table.