And he melted me. I was a giant, soggy mess. My worries, my insecurities, my endless amount of personal baggage drifted away and became completely inconsequential. I gave him a watery smile and squeezed his hand.
“Can I kiss you?” I asked him.
“Yes, I’d like that,” he agreed.
I moved closer and slowly wrapped my arms around his neck. Going up on my tiptoes, I pressed my mouth against his. He returned the pressure with eager force.
Nothing else in the world existed when Flynn kissed me. His lips communicated things that he could never verbalize. Even if he couldn’t give me the words, his mouth gave me everything else.
Flynn bit my bottom lip, much more gently than he had done in the past. He was learning. I smiled against his mouth. Flynn’s hands started to work their way up the back of my shirt and I pulled back.
“Flynn, remember, that sort of stuff we do when we’re alone. I’m all for a little PDA, but I don’t need the truckers over there getting an eyeful as you grope me,” I chuckled.
“I want to touch you. I like feeling your skin,” he said, sounding breathless.
“I know. Me too, baby. But let’s wait until later for that,” I urged as he pulled his hands out from my shirt and blatantly adjusted himself.
“We’d better get going if we want to get to the beach by dinner. I’ve always wanted to see the ocean at sunset,” I said, taking Murphy’s leash from Flynn.
“We have two hundred and twenty-three more miles to go,” Flynn said, turning on The Cure again once we were settled into the car.
“Why don’t we try listening to the radio?” I suggested.
“I like The Cure. They’re my favorite band. I want to listen to them,” Flynn argued and I didn’t press the issue. Though, I reminded myself that if I were ever on an extended road trip with Flynn again, earplugs would be a must.
We drove the rest of the way with very little talking. And I was okay with that.
Because sometimes the silence said more than words.
-Ellie-
I knew the moment we got close to the ocean. The landscape completely changed. I had lived my entire life surrounded my mountains and hills. It’s all I ever knew.
So the brush and windswept trees and flat, endless expanse was like an alien planet. Seagulls swooped and soared above the trees and the sun seemed brighter.
I rolled down my window so I could smell the salt in the air.
“Roll up the window!” Flynn said, sounding irritated.
“I just wanted to smell the sea air, Flynn. It’s not a big deal,” I murmured, rolling the window up.
“It’s too loud. I don’t like the noise,” he replied, relaxing again now that the sounds of traffic were drowned out by his music.
“Sorry,” I said, trying to hide how irked I was.
Flynn drove through populated urban areas as he headed toward Sandbridge Beach. I was fascinated by everything I saw.
Slowly the sights and sounds of the city gave way to sand dunes and quaint beach shops. We followed the road and I could see the ocean outside my window. I had only ever seen that perfect blue on television. Now I was seeing it with my own eyes!
“Look, Flynn!” I gasped, hardly able to believe what I was seeing.
Flynn didn’t look; he was entirely focused on his driving. He was consulting the paper he had written his directions on and starting to look anxious.
“This isn’t right. I should have been able to turn right back there. But there was no road.” I recognized the panic on his face and I knew he was minutes from a meltdown.
“Let me drive, Flynn. I’ll get us there,” I said softly. Flynn shook his head.
“I’m driving. I have to do it. But there should have been a road back there. There wasn’t a road. The directions said there would be a road. See, I wrote it there,” he pointed to the paper he had propped up on his dashboard so he could see it.
I had tried to convince him before we left to use the GPS on his phone. I had explained it would make it easier to find our hotel once we got to Sandbridge. Flynn had adamantly refused, saying he’d write it down. I knew he felt better when he wrote things down. But I had worried something like this would happen.
“Can I have your phone?” I asked, careful to keep my voice calm.
“There wasn’t a road back there! There was supposed to be a road,” Flynn was saying again.
I knew he was dangerously closed to losing it. I reached over and picked up his phone from the center consol. I found the navigation app and plugged in the hotel’s address. The directions popped up a few seconds later.
“Look, Flynn, you can turn right at the next light. It’s okay,” I said, trying to reason with him. I showed him his phone.
“No, it said turn back there,” Flynn said again. He had slowed down to fifteen miles an hour and there was a line of cars behind us. Someone laid on the horn and Flynn gripped the wheel so tightly I thought he’d snap it in half.
I needed to get him to pull over so I could drive us. But how was I going to do that and not push him further into his meltdown?
“Flynn, listen to me. I think you need to pull over. I can drive us. You can relax and let me take over. Please. For me,” I said. I made sure not to touch him. I knew that would be disastrous.
“Flynn, please,” I said again. Suddenly Flynn jerked the steering wheel hard to the left, the wheels crunching over seashells and sand on the shoulder of the road. He threw the car into park and pushed open his door, jumping out and almost into oncoming traffic.
People were laying on their horns. Several were yelling out their windows at Flynn who was now pacing in front of the car, rubbing his hands.
I didn’t get out of the car right away. I stayed where I was and watched him. Every time someone honked their horn, he covered his ears.
Eventually his pacing became less intense and his hands stopped wringing. I got out and went around to the driver’s side and got in. I didn’t say anything to him. He would come when he was ready.
I pulled up the address on Flynn’s phone and sat it on the dashboard. Murphy was whining again in the back seat. And I waited.
We were sat there for another fifteen minutes before Flynn got in the passenger side. He wouldn’t look at me. He kept his head down. He put on his seatbelt and positioned his body so he was angled away from me.
“The hotel is fifteen minutes away,” I said, putting on the blinker and pulling back out into traffic.
Flynn didn’t say anything. I knew he was embarrassed. He was always shy after his meltdowns. But I tried really hard to act as though nothing had happened. The last thing I wanted was to make him feel worse about something he couldn’t control.
My empathy for Flynn was surprising in so many ways. I had been told my entire life by therapists and social workers that I possessed an inability to empathize. I was missing the crucial part needed to identify with others. I had been labeled. Defined. Explained and diagnosed. And every single one of them had been wrong.
Because I understood Flynn. I connected with him. I wanted him to feel as good as he made me feel.
And that was completely contradictory to everything I had been told to believe about myself.
I turned up The Cure and allowed the music to soothe him in a way my words never could.
Despite Flynn’s humiliation, I could tell he was starting to perk up. He looked out the window at the ocean and I saw his smile.
“You’re going too fast. The speed limit is twenty-five,” Flynn told me, pointing to the speed limit sign as we passed it.
I looked down at the speedometer and saw that I was only going five miles over, but I slowed down anyway, much to the annoyance of the people behind me. Well, they’d have to just get over it.
“Don’t follow too closely to the car in front of you. Keep at least two car lengths between you,” Flynn frowned, pointing to the vehicle in front of us. I was tempted to smack his pointing finger away.
It was like tra
veling with a talking driver’s manual.
“Actually, that’s just on the highway, Flynn,” I countered. I had passed the written exam the first time. He wasn’t the only one who knew his road facts.
Flynn made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. I glanced over at him and his mouth was curved upwards into a smirk. I don’t think I had ever seen Flynn smirk before. It made me grin.
“You’re right. That’s on the highway,” he agreed.
“Wow, I knew something Flynn didn’t. We need to mark this day on the calendar,” I teased.
Flynn frowned. “Why should we mark it on the calendar? That’s stupid.”
It was my turn to snort. “It’s a figure of speech, Flynn. We won’t really be writing it on the calendar,” I explained.
“Oh. Well that’s a dumb figure of speech and it makes no sense,” Flynn replied.
“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes.
Soon we were pulling up in front of an older but nicely maintained hotel. It looked as though it were well past its prime but was trying like hell to hold on to its relevance. But it was right on the beach; I could see the ocean line from the parking lot. I liked it instantly. We were lucky to get such a good deal because it was off peak and the tourist season was dwindling down. So I wouldn’t complain about the dated awnings and the garish paint job.
I parked the car and looked over at Flynn who was absently scratching Murphy’s head and staring out the window toward the open ocean. The beach was mostly empty. Only a few people on boogie boards were braving the most likely cold October water.
“Let’s go check in,” I said enthusiastically. Flynn’s mood was still off but he seemed to be coming around.
Flynn didn’t move right away. He continued to rub Murphy rhythmically. The dog was loving it, not picking up on his owner’s odd temperament.
“Flynn? Are you ready?” I asked.
Flynn nodded and climbed out of the car, slipping Murphy’s leash over his head. The three of us walked into the small lobby and approached the front desk.
It was quaint and clean. The reception area was decorated with your stereotypical seashells and jars of colored sand. A large fishing net covered in starfish and sand dollars hung on the wall.
“Hello, welcome to Sandbridge Inn! Can I get your name?” the elderly woman with a very impressive blue rinse and whose name tag read Paula, asked, giving Flynn and me a bright and friendly smile.
I looked at Flynn but he didn’t answer her. He was chewing on his bottom lip again and he was wrapping Murphy’s leash around his hand over and over again.
“Uh, Hendrick,” I said, smiling to cover for Flynn’s rudeness.
He was looking around the lobby and he didn’t look happy. He looked upset.
Paula with the blue rinse tapped away at the computer until she found our reservation. “Just two nights right?” she asked.
I nodded, glancing at Flynn again. He was still completely disengaged.
I sighed; I couldn’t help it. I had wanted this to be perfect. But it seemed I overestimated Flynn’s ability to handle this.
It made me completely rethink my earlier frustration about his refusal to move away with me. Looking at him now, anxious and unhappy, I knew that perhaps I was thinking too much about what was best for me and not thinking nearly enough about what was best for Flynn. Being unselfish kind of sucked.
“Here you are. You’re booked for the King Suite with the extra $50 pet deposit.” She leaned over the counter to look at Murphy, who was being surprisingly well behaved.
“My, he’s a big boy, isn’t he?” Paula asked, her eyes widening as she took in Murphy’s massive girth.
“Yeah, but he’s a gentle giant,” I assured her. I remembered how nervous the other volunteers at the shelter had been when Murphy had arrived. He was huge. And his size alone made people nervous. But that was before it become clear his size was the only intimidating thing about him.
“Can I give him a treat?” the woman asked and I nodded.
She came around the desk, holding out the small bone for Murphy to take.
“Don’t give him that!” Flynn barked, stopping her. Paula startled and instantly backed away.
“Flynn. It’s fine. It’s just a treat,” I reasoned, trying to give the now flustered receptionist a comforting smile.
“No, he doesn’t eat until six. Then he has his treats an hour after that. Not before he has his dinner. You know that, Ellie!” Flynn’s voice rose and I recognized the tightening of his shoulders and the rigidity of his jaw.
Great, another meltdown.
“You’re right, Flynn. No treats,” I said calmly, though Murphy had started whining because he could smell the bone.
“No treats, Ellie! He has them after his dinner, not before,” he repeated and I nodded my head.
“After dinner. Not before,” I said quickly, knowing how this looked to Blue Rinse Paula. She hadn’t said anything as she watched us warily. So much for a good first impression.
Flynn thankfully calmed down and started scratching Murphy’s head again. The pair of them settled.
Paula’s smile was now a little brittle as she handed me the key to our room. “Take the elevator and get off at the fourth floor. Take a left and follow the hallway to the end. Your room is number 410. There’s a continental breakfast served every day at seven, though you can’t take your dog into the dining room.” She had abandoned all pretenses of politeness and now seemed ready for us to get to our room and out of her blue rinsey hair.
I looked over at Flynn who was staring holes into the floor. “Room 410, Flynn. It’s at the end of the hallway on the fourth floor,” I said. He nodded.
“Room 410. End of the hallway on the fourth floor,” he repeated. Paula was looking at Flynn, her face pinched and judgmental as I had seen so many times before.
I grabbed the key from her hand a little more aggressively than I meant to. “Stop looking at him. He doesn’t like it,” I hissed under my breath, low enough so Flynn couldn’t hear me, but loud enough that she got my message loud and clear.
She straightened her spine and puffed her chest indignantly. We weren’t going to be given the favorite guests award, that’s for sure.
She practically shoved the paperwork into my hand and I narrowed my eyes in warning. Without another word, I turned back to Flynn and put my hand on his arm. He didn’t jerk away, leaned into me instead.
“Come on,” I said softly, taking Murphy’s lead from him. He lifted up our bags and followed me to the elevator. I could feel the tension radiating off him but I hoped once were settled in our room he would be okay. This wasn’t the best start to our mini-vacation.
Once the doors closed and we were moving upwards, it became clear that Flynn and elevators did not mix. He pressed himself into the corner and took deep, shaky breaths. He looked ready to have a panic attack. We weren’t thirty minutes into our vacation and I was already exhausted and wondering if we shouldn’t head back to home.
Then the doors opened and Flynn rushed passed me into the hallway. Murphy tried to pull me after him, thinking it was a game. Flynn found our room quickly and I handed him the key. Once we were inside, I stood there, gaping in shock.
The room was huge! A king sized bed dominated a good portion of the room. But there was also a small seating area with a coffee table and television. A desk was pushed against the wall with a floor lamp beside it. There was a coffee maker and a microwave and a small refrigerator tucked into the wardrobe.
But it was the view that held me captive. The entire far wall consisted of sliding glass doors that led out to a small balcony overlooking the rolling ocean. The sun was sitting low in the sky, cutting a path of color along the water.
Murphy trotted inside and jumped up on the bed, making himself right at home. Flynn closed the door behind him and looked around.
“It’s clean. That’s good,” he said, clutching his hands together. He was nervous. I was awestruck.
I walked t
oward the glass doors, feeling the pull of the sand below us. I pressed my hand against the glass.
“It’s beautiful!” I breathed.
Flynn didn’t respond, not that I expected him to. I couldn’t believe I was here and it was all thanks to the man behind me, whose nerves radiated off him like the waves crashing along the shore.
I turned to face him and found that he hadn’t moved any farther into the room. I bit down on my resentful irritation. Why couldn’t he be normal just this once? I thought hatefully before I could stop myself.
And then I felt guilty for thinking that at all. I wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for Flynn. He was doing this for me. For him. For the both of us. It wasn’t fair to be annoyed by things he couldn’t control.
But it didn’t stop me from wishing like a selfish brat that he’d suck it up, just this once.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It’s not his fault. I reminded myself over and over again. He did this for you.
I opened my eyes and crossed the room back to Flynn. I picked up our suitcases and put them on the bed. “Let’s unpack and put things in their places. You can make sure you’re comfortable before we decide what to do next,” I suggested.
Flynn nodded and joined me by the bed. The next hour was spent taking out clothes and hanging them in the wardrobe. Then he placed his toiletries in the bathroom exactly how they were positioned on his sink at home. He and I looked in all the nooks and crannies until he knew the room inside and out.
I saw that he was starting to calm down. He had stopped rubbing his hands, though he continued to gnaw on his bottom lip.
I found Murphy’s bowls and filled them with food and water. He scarfed it down quickly and then resumed his nap on the bed.
“Do you want to go to the beach?” I asked, hoping he’d say yes, though deep down knowing better.
Flynn sat down tentatively on the bed. “I don’t know,” he said, turning his attention to the glass doors. I was dying to go for a walk on the sand. To get my toes wet in the waves. But I couldn’t rush him.
“How about we open the doors and walk out on the balcony first. See how you feel about it after that,” I prompted.
Reclaiming the Sand Page 24
