AMAZING HEART (Broken Bottles Series Book 4)

by Pamela Taeuffer

  "Not the way I feel right now." My mood turned dark.

  Chapter 11

  Internet Girlfriends

  "The hell with all these men, little sissy. Let's have some woman time."

  We changed in the clubhouse and had a quick lunch at the golf course restaurant. While chatting over salads, Jenise's phone lit up. At first her face was bright and lovely, but then her mouth became twisted and knotted up over what she was viewing.

  "What's going on?" From her expression I was concerned it was bad news at school or with her boyfriend. "Is Sean okay?"

  "Yeah, it's um . . . it's not about me. Or Sean." Her entire body seemed to tighten.

  "Tell me before I grab your phone, Jenise."

  "It's about you and Ryan," she frowned. "There's a picture of you guys on someone's Instagram when he sang to you on stage."

  "Oh well." I was ready to dismiss it.

  "It shows when he had you pinned against the wall and he was leaning on one arm." She wrinkled her nose. "It's so obvious he's trying to make you weak. It's a great photo, but will you be in trouble with management?"

  "Shit! Yeah, they could release our whole team. Oh, how reckless of me. Damn it."

  "There's more, Nick."

  "Is it bad?" I put my hand on my forehead.

  "Kind of." She held out her phone. "Look at this."

  It was a web site that featured athletes—mostly single—filled with an overwhelming majority of followers who were women. The comments weren't about the way he pitched on the field. Many of the posters seemed to be current and former girlfriends, but also haters, admirers, and apparently scorned lovers. There were hundreds of pages dedicated to male athletes of all sports. Each athlete had his own page on the web site, filled with photos and comments of all sorts, twenty to a page—and dozens of pages. Once again, I was faced with the reality of his public persona and this time, I was included—and not in a good way.

  "Ew, look at these photos. Women hugging him, and oh, God, posing to make sure their breasts touch him . . . damn." I stopped as I saw the picture Sean texted. It was posted about two-and-a-half pages down, and captioned: "Check out this curvy cutie with Tilton at The Waterfront in San Francisco this Saturday."

  Among the few dozen comments that followed were these:

  "She's so fat. Really, Ryan?"

  "Aw, Tilton's in love."

  "Tilton's taste has gone from blondes to brunettes?"

  "Gawad, Tilton, you couldn't have picked someone more glamorous? Where did you find her . . . on a street corner?"

  "What a big girl . . . it's obvious what part of a woman's body you like."

  "After you had my body? Are you kidding, Ryan? You're dating her?"

  "Give me a break. Guess I need to get plastic surgery on my boobs and ass to get you back. Those can't be real, can they ladies?"

  "Rumor has it she's only seventeen."

  "Ryan Tilton is a pervert and has always had a thing for underage girls. He's dated them younger than this. I've heard he ties them up, leaves, and comes back for more."

  "After dating swimsuit models, you're with her?"

  "She's so lucky—look at him singing to her—looks like love. Lay off of them."

  "Another in a long line of soon-to-be castoffs for Tilton. Enjoy him now, lady. It won't be long until you're a memory."

  When I finished reading the last one, I tried not to get emotional. It was soon after he'd told to stay home . . . I couldn't hold them back. Tears filled my eyes. It was as if every mean girl in high school had grown up and posted their comments about me on the site.

  "How mean." I gave Jenise her phone and put my hands over my eyes. I couldn't stop sniffling.

  "They are mean." She put her hand on my arm. "I know it's hard to look at it. I don't think those posts are real, just rude comments to make it seem like they know him. It's like they're phantom girlfriends playing make believe. I'll bet Ryan doesn't pay any attention to this shit or know any of them."

  "He probably doesn't, but it's like . . . all those old comments and the names—those names I heard when I was eleven and twelve that reminded me every day that I was overweight. You never had to worry about that, Jenise, but I'll never get over hearing fat cow, heifer, fatso, hippo, tubs . . . the list was endless. I still think I'm too big and it puts me right back into those adolescent years."

  "You're a beautiful woman, Nicky."

  "Thanks, but . . . even now, inside here?" I pointed to my heart. "I'm still a fat girl."

  "Most of us are still insecure about something." She stabbed at a tomato. "Remember those awful glasses I used to wear before Dad and Mom got me contacts?"

  I started laughing.

  "Yeah, you know how awful they were. You can't stop laughing even now!"

  "I'm sorry." Once again, she helped to lift my dark mood. "Those glasses were so bad."

  "Yeah, when I'm not wearing my contacts, I still have those pings in my stomach when I go out in my glasses . . . even though I know I look good in the pair I have now. Talk about names! I heard crab eyes, goggle eyes, glass clown, Mrs. Harry Potter—childhood crap is tough. Kids are mean—especially girls on girls."

  After my sister helped me to temporarily file away the ugliness of being called out for no good reason, we finished our lunch and then window-shopped downtown. Sak's had a display of their new arrivals. Jenise drooled over an Armani tunic top, which was paired with a tight pair of Burberry pants with ankle zippers.

  "Ooh! I want to buy this outfit and wear it for Sean."

  Yeah, what happened to the hell with men?" I teased.

  "I know, but . . ." she clasped her hands together as if making a wish.

  "Yeah, but what?" I kidded.

  "He makes me feel like I can fly." She sparkled. There wasn't any denying it; we couldn't stay quiet about our boyfriends for very long. Just being with Jenise made me feel better about Ryan's presumptuous text.

  Mom and Dad beamed as they watched us come through the door laughing. I understood how precious those moments were. We sat down and told them about our day, watched a little TV, and then Jenise announced she was going over Sean's. When I went up to my room to write in my journal, I tucked our golf scorecard inside its pages.

  I talked with Ryan, stayed passive, and stuffed down my feelings so I wouldn't say anything to cause him to seek out another woman. In order to maintain the peace between us, I withheld the conversation I wanted to have about our boundaries.

  Peace at any price—it was what I'd done all my life.

  Even though Ryan had told me to forget about the road trip, he sounded sad. Much of our conversation focused on how much he missed and loved me.

  I didn't want to cause a ripple of doubt with him. I was always mindful to protect myself from the resulting chance of being abandoned. Although I wondered if he already knew, I didn't even discuss the Internet site, photo of us, the rude comments or the "pretend" girlfriends.

  Another upset swept under the carpet.

  Chapter 12

  Days with Tara

  Leisurely sliding into the next day, I decided on a long walk, first stopping at West Portal Bakery for a scone and coffee. When finished, I made my way to Ocean Beach and sat listening to the waves. I'd just gotten back and was almost in the shower when Tara called.

  "Nicky?" Her voice sounded shaky and filled with panic.

  "Tara?" My heart felt as if it was in my throat. "Are you okay?"

  "Can you come over? I know you're probably busy and you weren’t expecting to visit with me until tomorrow, but I need you." She began sobbing. "Can you—"

  "I'm on my way." I threw my phone on the bed and quickly showered. I'd previously only heard stability and reassurance in her voice, never the fear-filled tones she'd just let go of. I left my house so off balance and worried that I hadn't realized I forgot my phone charger.

  Tara lived in the Cow Hollow District in San Francisco, a few blocks off Union Street. It was one of the nicest areas in the city, fill
ed with beautiful homes, good schools, restaurants, boutique shopping—and all of it a ten-minute walk from most anywhere in the neighborhood.

  Her townhome was on the second level of a modernized building with a brick façade. Big, stylish windows with black shutters adorned it. When she buzzed me in, I pushed open the glistening wrought iron gate and found her waiting at her front door. Immediately taking my hand, she led me inside.

  She'd decorated the living room in light greens and pinks with lots of paisley and flower accents in the drapes and sofas. The room was classically romantic. A big fireplace with a large, cream-colored mantle was the focal piece. The dark Acacia wood floors were stunning. Her long and narrow kitchen had gorgeous black cabinets on each wall, polished black granite countertops, a six-burner Wolf range and stainless appliances. At the end of her kitchen was a greenhouse-style breakfast nook with a view out to her garden through floor to ceiling windows.

  Wicker chairs with lush cushions surrounded a glass table. It was where Tara wanted to talk. Lines of worry crossed her face. Her eyebrows were taut. It was obvious she'd been crying. I squeezed her hand, sitting with her quietly until she was ready.

  "I," she wrung her hands. "I don't even know where to begin."

  "When I was in pain last week, a friend told me to dive in." I put my hands together and pointed them as if diving into water.

  "In some strange way, I don't want to say it out loud," she confessed. "I'm afraid I'll make what seems like a dream, real."

  "What's wrong?" I didn't want to circle around the issue.

  "Tell me about you first," she stalled. "What are your plans the rest of the summer?"

  "Tara, you called me to come over and scared me half to death . . . come on. Give."

  "I'm being tested for uterine cancer." She looked out the window and back to me. Her eyes had welled up with tears. "I just finished the tests today. They told me it will be a few days and I couldn't stand to be alone."

  Not knowing what to say, I did the only thing I could—I listened.

  "I knew there was a reason why I was having trouble getting pregnant. We've been trying for a year, you know. Recently, I've had some bleeding, so I went in for tests. I hope the results are back before Matt gets home."

  "He already knows, doesn't he?" I prodded gently.

  "He knows I'm getting tests, but not for cancer."

  "I think he's guessed. The other day when we talked, he practically begged me to stay with you this road trip."

  "Still, I want to know before he does. I need to prepare . . ." Her voice was shaky. "I knew. When I started bleeding, I knew." Her sobs were deep and she buried her head into my shoulder.

  "You don't know anything yet." I played with her hair. "Don't go there."

  "I can't stop thinking the worst." Her cheek rested against mine.

  "It could be any number of things." I rubbed her back.

  "I know I shouldn't be thinking this way," she agreed. Let's sit on the sofa where it's more comfortable."

  After all, the next bad thing is bound to happen. It always does. And now it's going to happen to my girlfriend.

  She talked for a few hours, trying to work through her emotions, crumpling dozens of tissues, throwing them on the floor with the others.

  "I'm sorry you're here with me instead of having fun with friends." Finally it seemed she was able to let go for a little while and she changed the subject. "So what have you been up to?"

  I told her about my date with Jerry. I couldn't let it go.

  "That's surprising." Tara looked at me quizzically. "You two have been friends a long time and you've had nothing but good to say about him. Do you think his reaction is just because of sex? Something else bothering him?"

  "Before he left to play in his summer league we talked about having sex. We agreed to consult with other adults and do some research online. As soon as he got back he gave me a friendship ring. I didn't want to embarrass him, so I took it even though I didn't want to. When we went out, I forgot to, no, actually I chose not to put it on. The thing is, as soon as he saw me, first thing he says? He's ready for me," I told her. "I get it. It was sweet he did everything I asked, but did we have to go right there?"

  "Well, I agree it was rude. He was anxious. The thing is, boys his age have no tact. On the ring, has um, someone else caught your eye?" The inflection in her voice indicated she knew about Ryan. "You didn't want Jerry's ring and that's all there was to it?"

  "Yeah, I've . . . I'm interested in someone else," I admitted.

  "My girlfriend, Nicky, who swore off boys is interested in someone?" Her face blossomed from the wilted flower she was only moments before. "Spill the deets, girl! Were you really going to have Jerry as your first experience?"

  "I thought so, but then I pulled back . . . and I've done that more than once. Crap, I've done if a half dozen times. I don't know if I'll ever by ready, Tara."

  "Trust me, you'll know when you're there," she giggled. ""If Jerry's turned some corner and he's comfortable with sex, I'm afraid that's how boys are in their late teens and early twenties. It comes up them pretty suddenly. You aren't the kind of woman a man can be friends with."

  Why not? I still don't get it.

  "You've got too much going on." She took a drink from her water bottle.

  "I know." I took a long sip of water. "I'm busy all the time."

  "No," she reached for me and put her hand on my forearm. "I mean that you draw people to you in a way that's very deep."

  "I don't believe that I can't be friends with boys . . . well, guys, um . . . men. The thing about staying away from sex, I mean, Jerry and me—we’ve been friends all our lives. Whether it's him or the other man who's caught my attention, I always thought I'd stay a virgin until marriage. Parts of me want to remain untouched until then and other parts are screaming to hurry up and enter that world."

  She put her hand over her face, laughing at my dilemma.

  "I know it's not funny, Nick, it's just watching you debate over sex . . . Do you have some spiritual stuff complicating your decision?"

  "Yeah, my priest told me it's a mortal sin." I wove my fingers together.

  "What does that mean?" she asked. "Sorry, I'm not familiar with that term."

  "If I don't confess my sin before I die, I might go to hell." I knew my spiritual beliefs were conservative. The few people I'd shared them with . . . including my own family, seldom agreed with them. Jenise and I were baptized Catholic. My sister, always the one to find out the scoop, told me Mom had only agreed so their marriage would be "approved" by the church, which made my Grandma Young, Dad's mother, a happy woman.

  "And how long ago was that, Nick?"

  "It's been a while."

  "I know your beliefs are important." Tara uncrossed her legs and sat on the edge of the couch facing me. "In my opinion? I think that piece of extreme guidance was for a young girl whose priest didn't want to see lose her innocence too early."

  "You're probably right. I shouldn't feel this way, but I can't shake the feeling I'm doing something that's gravely wrong. That's what I mean by sin. It's a natural thing, my logical mind gets that, but it seems dirty before being married; like it's just pleasure."

  "And that's bad?" she raised an eyebrow.

  "No, see there's the rub. I know sex isn't dirty, but—"

  "Do you think Jenise is dirty?" she posed a great question.

  "No."

  "What about your high school friends? Your teammates?"

  "No."

  "How about Alex? Oh well . . . on the other hand, let's not use her as an example," Tara giggled.

  "God, Tara!"

  "Shh," she put her finger to her lips. "Don't tell her I said so."

  "What the hell is happening to me?" I laughed off and on thinking about Dirty Alex. "I didn't want male relationships at all, especially before college. I was careful to stay away from guys."

  "Life doesn't sit still very long, does it?" She leaned back and tucked her feet under h
er.

  "Jerry even said we're too smart to let sex ruin our friendship. Yeah, sure we're smart. Guess we're as dumb as everyone else who thinks that."

  "We're all dumb in the beginning, honey. I'm sorry to disagree with your priest, but I don't believe you'll go to hell for sex. I understand having spiritual values, but come on. Your creator is going to send you to a place of suffering for all of eternity because you had sex before marriage? And all because you didn't get a chance to confess you were sorry for acting on a powerful force that was given to us by the same creator that loves you? Why have hormones, a clitoris, wonderful orgasms and a penis if we're not expected to use them for pleasure?"

  She paused to gauge my reaction.

  "Isn't that part of what our sisters did for us in the sixties and seventies? Women's liberation pointed out how it was acceptable for men to have sex all the time and they were heralded as cool and suave, while women were tramps and whores. Those are stereotypes, honey. Give yourself time. You'll know when you're ready because it will feel right. As far as Jerry? He had an expectation built up in his head. When he was rejected, he obviously didn't handle it well. If you check in with him when you get home, I'll bet he'd apologize that he reacted that way."

  "Maybe you're right. I really don't want to check in with him so soon, though." I glanced toward her fabulous, gourmet kitchen. "Hey, how about I cook us something to eat?"

  "I could eat something. Just get what you want, Nick. I'll share with you."

  "How's your tomato garden doing?" I thought back to a year ago when Matt and Tara had asked me to housesit for them. They were impressed that I not only tended their garden the way they'd requested, I had also completed an entire checklist of items labeled "if you have time," and had dinner waiting for them on their first night back. "Are there any ready for a salad?"

  "Yes! I'll go pick a few ripe beauties." She put on her garden gloves, which rested in a basket by the patio door. "Remind me to give you some before you go home."

  I cooked grilled cheese sandwiches and made a salad of tomatoes, with a chopped apple and a few thinly sliced radishes on top.