by Dela
“I’m sorry. I find it hard to believe that you can come here and just dance,” I said.
She stepped closer, placing the top of her head right beneath my chin. She had to look up to see me. The deepness in her eyes did something to me, and I couldn’t think clearly. I froze as her hand unexpectedly slid around my waist and pulled me into her subtly. Then she rose on her toes and leaned in my ear.
“What if I was waiting?” she whispered in a naughty bedroom voice.
I couldn’t help myself. Without waiting, I clasped her cheeks between my hands and kissed her. The hardness of her unready lips softened and she squeezed me back with urgency. The playfulness of our mouths came naturally, and I knew I didn’t want to back away. Ever. But we had to be somewhere in twenty-five minutes and I needed her to change. Maybe she’d let me help her. No, Kendal, you’ve got to take this slow. I broke our kiss regretfully and grabbed her hand.
“I’m going to need you to come with me,” I said.
She giggled the whole way back to their table. I helped her with her coat, she said bye to Regina, and then we were out. It had started snowing and the paved ground was sleek with fresh flakes. The lampposts were on, but it was still too dim on the walkway. I held her hand tight and walked carefully so she wouldn’t slip in her boots.
“Where are we going?” she asked, shivering underneath her coat.
“To your hotel room.”
“You don’t waste time,” she snickered sarcastically, but it almost sounded upset. I felt awful that she would think of me like that. I needed her to know I was different—that I was going to take care of her.
“Brooke, as much as I would love to make you shiver in a different way, I won’t. You can trust me. We’re going back to your hotel so that you can change into something warm. I can’t have you freezing on our date.”
“Date?” A new pitch rose in her voice.
“Date,” I confirmed. We came across a patch of ice slightly covered with tracked-through snow. “Oh watch out right there. Here, come this wa—”
Smack!
My fingers slipped from her hand and I fell to the ground, landing hard on my hip. Her laughter instantly filled the brittle air. All I could do was lie there, shocked; I couldn’t help but laugh with her. Eventually I hopped up and wiped the snow off my pants.
“Um. So don’t do that,” I cried, my stomach pleading with me to stop laughing.
She tried to keep a straight face but the lift in her cheeks was rock solid. “I’ll try not to.”
I waited outside her door for the length of one song on my phone. I couldn’t help but notice how her eyes stood out when she came out bundled from head to toe. The dark depths of them carried the smallest speckle of honey.
“So where are we going?” she asked again.
“You don’t want to know Brooke.”
“Try me.”
“No, I don’t think so. The game would end badly.”
“For who?”
“For me of course.” I stopped and turned toward her. “If I tell you where we are going you most likely would cancel on me. And well, I’m not about to lose my date. I sort of like her. So I am remaining quiet and you are going to have to stick it through.”
I drove out of Whistler Village and stayed south on the quiet freeway until I saw the Olympic Park sign on the other side of the street. I slowed, made a U-turn, and turned right onto a plowed road that ran through the trees.
“The wedding starts at three, so could you meet me in the lobby at two-thirty? I need to be there early.”
“After this? Anything.”
Fear began to settle in her face but she never commented further on where I was taking her. Eventually I spotted through the denseness the arched bridge spanning a granite gorge. Its steel beams glowed pleasantly in the moonlight, but I knew the drop below was larger than it seemed—160 feet over a glacial river—and that Brooke would most definitely lose her cool. I grinned.
We parked in the forest a few hundred feet from our destination, where I spotted the two employees I’d hired earlier waiting underneath a small, roofed hut at the center of the bridge. Brooke craned her neck and squinted her eyes in their direction. There wasn’t much to see, but it was enough for her to figure out what we were about to do.
“No, no, no! You’re kidding me, right?” Brooke’s hands flew over her mouth, muffling her voice. “I can’t do this Kendall.” Then they moved over her already-squinting eyes. “Oh lord, help me.”
“Brooke, do you know why I brought you here tonight?”
“To kill me!”
Honestly, she was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen, even better when she was getting mad at me. I grinned. “We’re taking your first whim together.”
I stepped out into the icy midnight air and was surprised that she followed.
“But that’s you, not me,” she finally responded.
“Who says?”
She raised her hand, half hopping in place. Her teeth gritted together, and it wasn’t from the cold. Entertaining, actually.
“Me!” she screeched through clenched teeth.
“Brooke, look at me. There’s only one way home and that’s with me.” I pointed to the bridge. “And your ticket is right there.”
“Okay, okay, okay,” she repeated, coaxing herself as if she were about to step into a lion’s den. She looked down at the snow, still hopping back and forth.
“Brooke—“
“Okay, okay, okay. Oh my lord oh my lord oh my lord. I’m going to die.”
“Brooke!” I shook her shoulders firmly until she finally looked up.
“Huh?”
“You’ve got this.” I stared her hard in the eyes, noticing the first snowflake of the night.
“I’ve got this,” she repeated. Still not still. I could feel her shoulders moving up and down beneath my palms.
“You ready?”
“I’m ready.”
“You’re going to be fine. Okay?”
“Right. I’m going to be fine.”
“Let’s go. It’ll help to move.”
Brooke swung her arm around mine and unexpectedly squeezed her face into my shoulder with our first step. I held onto her arm for reassurance but every other step we took, a little squeak escaped from her mouth.
“Good evening, I’m Kendal.” I introduced ourselves to the men, who turned as we approached. They were about my age and weren’t wearing any work clothes. They wore unmatched coats, of their liking I’m sure, because I didn’t notice any company logo on them. But I could have missed it with what dim lighting we had.
The shorter one with hair sticking out beneath his beanie stepped forward. “I’m Matt, and this is Rick. He’ll be helping with the harnesses.”
“This is Brooke,” I said.
She shook beneath her layers, managing a nod that carried excessive jitters. She was still standing here though, which said a lot in my book.
“Would you guys like to go tandem or solo?” Matt asked.
“Is it safe to go if there’s snow?” Brooke erupted.
Matt smiled. “The only place in the world that you can go bungee jumping in the snow.”
“Well that doesn’t sound too promising.” She turned to me and whispered from the side of her mouth, “There’s probably a reason why no one bungee jumps in the snow.”
“She’ll go solo,” I said. It was easy to look at Matt over her head.
“Solo? No!” She turned back to Matt and Rick and chuckled as if she knew what she was doing. She looked half-drunk, except she wasn’t. I chuckled, too. “We’re going tandem. He’s coming with me.”
Rick and I both spoke at the same time. “Are you sure? You drop faster if you weigh more,” Rick said. “Brooke, are you sure?” I asked.
“Faster? No, not sure . . . Ooooh!” She tightened her hands into fists and clenched her eyes tight for a brief moment. “Okay.” She laughed out loud as her eyes went wide as a bat’s with disbelief. “I’m going solo!”
>
This time, all three of us boys asked together, “You are?”
“Yes. Now Rick, hurry and harness me up before I change my mind,” she demanded.
She looked like she was praying, the way her hands pressed together in front of her wincing face. Rick moved on command without the slightest hesitation and dropped a harness to her feet. As he prepared the harness around her legs and hips Matt read off the waiver and jumping rules.
She glanced toward me from her side. “You owe me,” she said, stepping into the harness with shivers.
“I’m your wedding date. Remember?”
“Ha! Not even close.”
“Wedding and breakfast then?”
“Have you forgotten our last breakfast date?” I laughed as Rick prompted her to turn around. She followed his instructions but in doing so, she could now see the drop. Her eyes grew like saucers. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“Alright, Brooke. You’re all set,” Matt said. “Hold on to the ledge where Rick is showing you now and slowly walk to the edge. When I give you the go you can jump when you’re ready.”
“Okay,” she said shakily. I couldn’t believe it. Bubblegum was doing it.
“Brooke . . .” I reached for her, placing my finger underneath her chin to prop it up. “I'm so proud of you.”
She shivered beneath my fingers.
“Now,” I said, stepping back a step. “Don’t be afraid. Enjoy it.”
“Is this what whims feel like?” She clung to the posts on either side of her for dear life. She stared, unblinking, at the dark depth below. There was fear in her voice, fear in her eyes, fear in her stiff movements; a fear—I was sure—that she’d never felt before. And she was doing it for me.
“Exactly what whims feel like. Always scary, always rewarding.”
A small breeze brushed past us lifting her hair off her back and blowing it in a soft direction toward the jump. The snow was really coming down now, and I was beginning to worry she wouldn’t be able to do it. Her chest rose with each deep breath but she never actually jumped.
“You’re ready, Brooke,” Matt finally said. “Feel free to go anytime.”
She muttered something quietly to herself but stayed unmoved.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said clenching her eyes tight. “If you’re late tomorrow . . .” she warned.
“I’m never late.”
Her body teetered back and forth with the slightest motion . . .
And then she let go.
Chapter Seven
Jessie
The next day, I entered the morning-lit lobby twenty minutes too early in my grey tulle bridesmaid dress. My punctuality was strange, but the stares were stranger. I mean, I was a pretty, normal girl; I didn’t have wings growing out of my back. My makeup was in neutrals and browns, and my hair was simple: down with waves. Maybe it was my dress. There was no back, and I had tulle running from my waist all the way down to the floor. It was gorgeous but it was also Regina. She was always the fashion-forward one.
A cool breeze iced over my skin and I glanced out the tall, foggy windows. The snow was coming down hard still. Maybe Kendal needed to drive slower. I slid on my loose, chunky sweater and settled in a chair at the entrance to the ceremony next to our fragrant DIY arrangements.
I kept myself busy, but my nerves were rattling with anticipation at the thought of seeing him again. I tried to remember if I was ever this excited to see Drew. I couldn’t.
Eventually the waves of guests slowed down, and I assumed the wedding was about to begin. I checked my phone. I had fifteen minutes until I needed to be down that aisle.
Five and a half minutes later I hadn’t moved. My body stayed rooted in that chair, and beads of sweat formed over my top lip.
Ten minutes passed.
Twelve minutes passed. Okay Jessie, time to move. Regina had joined me in her stunning white designer gown, and though she felt badly, and kept telling me how sorry she felt, her contentious eyes told another story. Without another word, I rushed down the aisle at my cue, trying to keep the tears from welling in my eyes.
The wedding was fantastic, really, and I was happy for Regina and Jake. But later that night as I tried to fall asleep I wondered why Kendal had stood me up. It didn’t seem right. Kendal was fearless and kind and compassionate. He wouldn’t have stood me up. Maybe he went home and realized I was more of a side project than a love project. Maybe I was too broken to fix. Or maybe he just didn’t feel a connection. Oh gosh, the thought of that put knots in my stomach at once.
It took hours for sleep to come. I was like a stressed teenager. Luckily for my sanity sleep did come; the blizzard had slowed to a soft angelic drift flittering past my window and watching it, I drifted off.
The next morning I woke up early, again. I tried to go back to sleep to drown out the pain and loneliness of my normal life but my lousy efforts failed. Today I was leaving.
I hopped out of bed with a loud grumble in my stomach and decided to go downstairs to order an omelet.
“All whites?” the bartender asked. Yes, bartender, because the bar was the only thing open this early. I was sitting on a nice, cushiony black bar stool.
“Definitely not. Regular eggs please,” I said. Because I clearly can’t keep ‘em even when I only eat the whites.
After the bartender walked to the back, I turned my attention to the large flat screen above the liquor. A national news headline stayed at the bottom of the video, and big, bold letters read, ‘Breaking Report.’ I’d barely managed a sip of my chamomile tea when I looked back up again and saw Kendal on the screen. I gulped down whatever was left in my mouth and shot my hand over it in utter shock. Kendal was walking out of a New York City hospital in a nice black suit. The camera zoomed in on his face and I could tell his eyes were red and puffy, like he had been crying all night long. Suddenly, ‘Breaking Report’ changed to ‘Fashion guru, Daniel Vargas, dies in tragic accident.’
My stomach tightened even more. Kendal was Daniel Vargas’ son? The heir to a billion-dollar business had been pursuing me? No wonder he didn’t want me knowing his last name. I stared stricken back at Kendal. I needed to be there with him. His eyes were empty; it was like he wasn’t even there. But what would I do, show up on his doorstep? I didn’t even know where that doorstep was! Probably on a mansion in Long Island.
No! That was a stupid plan, and way too big of a whim. It was too risky. And I probably wouldn’t make it past security. Yeah, that’s right. Security. Because I’m sure he has a gazillion guys watching out for him. I tried to manage a few more bites of my omelet without feeling like the world’s biggest wimp. But I couldn’t even stomach the food so I paid the bill and left.
Today I’d return home broken hearted and world’s biggest loser.
On the drive to Statesboro back in Savannah, I thought about Kendal some more. How could I not when he was all over the news in every airport during every layover? Back in New York after staring at the same picture of the totaled car for hours I had to stop looking. It was too torturous, especially knowing that we were in the same city again, even if it was for just a little bit of time. “Hit by a drunk driver,” said the headlines. Of course the drunk bastard lived. They always do.
Back at home in my small studio, I crawled into my unmade bed and crunched my knees to my chest. I stayed there until the next morning when I woke up like a frozen pea. It was sunny outside, but the South’s frost had come into my tiny home and chilled it like a freezer. I was so tired last night that I’d forgotten to change the thermostat. I begrudgingly walked to the wall and rested my head against the thermostat. I couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t pretend I wanted normal any longer when I felt brilliant at my fingertips.
Starting now, I needed brilliant.
I slipped on my wool socks and unthinkingly, started packing. It was an absent whim. I had no idea where I was going. All I knew was that it was going to be warmer than here.
I filled my suitcase
s with clothes first, and when I ran out of room I used cardboard boxes in the garage. I was surprised that with no breaks everything was packed in a day’s time. By afternoon, I called a moving truck and asked for help with the rest: one bed and one love sofa.
“Where to?” the packing man asked.
I stood still for a moment. I grabbed my glass of water off the top of a cardboard box, and noticed a DVD with palm trees on the cover. Suddenly, I had an epiphany. I spoke into my phone with an eager, whimsy voice, “Los Angeles.”
I arrived in the Golden State exactly one week later. I found a small, one bedroom home just off the freeway on Lankershim and used my savings for rent. My scarce savings would only last another three months before I’d be homeless, so I knew I needed to find a job fast. Tomorrow I would go out and search, avoiding teaching positions at all costs—because that was normal, and I left that in Savannah.
The old sixties wood floors creaked as I unloaded what little I owned. That night I ate takeout on the couch with a TV tray. I wondered about Kendal for a moment, and if he’d be okay, and how I wished I could tell him I took his advice and moved away without knowing what the hell I was doing. It was a short-lived moment, because I fell asleep on the couch talking to myself.
The next morning I headed to Ralphs Grocery to purchase enough food to get me by until Christmas. Dad bought me a ticket home to Alabama, where I’d be staying for two weeks. I was grateful that it also bought me more time to think about what I wanted to do other than teaching. As I headed out into the mild December air I noticed a man near a fence festered with weeds.
Something hit me, and I never felt closer to Kendal in that moment. So spontaneous was this urge that I knew I had to follow it. I loaded my groceries in my Hyundai and walked to the ragged man.
“Are you hungry?” I asked.
The top of one shoe was missing, exposing his toes to the cold. It matched his torn, dirty clothes.
“Yes,” he replied. His teeth were decaying, and I tried not to flinch in disgust.
“Would you like to come with me inside so I can buy you some groceries?”
