Caramel Beach (Lessons in Pure Life Book 2)

by Audrey O'Connor

  Diego tries to talk us out of it, but Officer No-Nonsense isn’t giving any fucks tonight.

  “Vengan.”

  He gestures to the long driveway, where a blue pickup truck with police lights is idling. Another officer’s riding shotgun, chatting with a staticky walkie-talkie. A younger third guy sits on a cooler in the truck bed, gazing up at the clearing sky.

  Sickly panic stabs into me.

  “Are we getting arrested?” I ask Diego, reality breaking through my sex fog. We shuffle slowly toward the truck, the cop waving us forward absently.

  For the first time ever, Diego looks totally at a loss.

  I might barf. Spending my savings to pay off whatever fines we’ll be charged with just sucks so much. I’m tired, I’m hungry, I’m soaked, and I miss wearing underwear. I just want to go home.

  We reach the truck. How the hell do they expect to take us in without a squad car?

  The boss unlocks the flatbed and steps back.

  “Your chariot,” he says to me in English, dry as sandpaper. He holds his hand out.

  This is the part where I realize I’m actually being escorted to jail, in the back of a pickup truck no less. I swallow hard.

  “Don’t worry,” whispers Diego, rubbing his eyes like they’re sore.

  He doesn’t sound sure and that doesn’t inspire confidence. My dress itches.

  Seeing no other option, I swallow my pride the way you swallow gum – just get it over with. Cupping a protective hand over my crotch, as if this somehow gives me privacy, I step onto the bumper and climb into the bed of the truck. There’s a low wooden bench nailed to the floor, so I sit with my purse in my lap, ankles crossed like I’m the queen on a tour of the colonies gone horribly awry.

  The young officer and I look at each other awkwardly. For sure, neither of us wants to be here. Diego’s sent up next and sits beside me heavily as the tailgate slams shut harder than a nail in a coffin. The ignition coughs to life. At last the warning lights are turned off and we back down the driveway slowly, gravel crackling beneath us like bubble wrap.

  His smell, his skin next to mine, is like a quick-acting drug, especially now it’s so familiar. We’ve broken the ice time puts between two people. Vaporized it. Above us the sky’s waking up, hopeful yellow at the horizon melting upward into the palest blue. Clarity. Purity.

  Simultaneously we look toward each other, one stupefied sober and tired face mirroring the other.

  “Well, shit,” Diego says in a huff, rolling his head back and squinting his eyes shut.

  “I guess we had that one coming, didn’t we?”

  I can’t help laughing at the series of events, and it’s contagious.

  “Oh yeah. We were fucked from the start.”

  “I’ll say,” I can’t help muttering, and he chuckles. “That guy looked pretty angry. His big eyebrow is burned into my brain.”

  “Who, the guy who lived there?”

  “Yeah. I felt bad.”

  “Sí, me too. But he wasn’t mad.” He looks at me knowingly. “He was jealous.”

  “Of us?”

  “Of me. What man wouldn’t want to get laid in the yard by some sexy zorra? Instead he’s sitting inside watching TV like a chump.”

  “Right, I’m sure that’s how he saw it.”

  “It was an act of nature. I couldn’t control myself,” he says matter-of-factly.

  “It’s not like we hurt anyone.”

  “Of course we didn’t.”

  “We’re just young and passionate.”

  “Exactamente.”

  “I mean, is that a crime?” I implore.

  “Well…” He nods at the truck.

  I elbow him, giggling. Don’t know why I’m not more upset. He drapes his arm around me, and my hair blows pleasantly off my neck as we coast down the road. As far as being hauled downtown goes, I could do worse.

  “Remember that first night we were together?” I ask, resting my head on his shoulder. “When we ate lobster and got drunk and fooled around on the beach.”

  “Mm, of course. That’s how I lured you in. And then, you know, got my father involved to mess things up. Girls like that, right?”

  We laugh softly together, then fall serious.

  “Everything I was before moving to Pacifica seems flat and old. And cold. You’ve been there since the beginning of my new life,” I tell him.

  It sounds strange to think of it that way, but it’s true. Diego’s been a constant, except for the past month. He’s been a reliable and unfathomable distraction that evolved into a wild wedding date and consequent arrest. I mean that in a good way.

  “I never thought of it like that.”

  “Yeah, and I have this feeling of leaving behind this old part of me I’ll never go back to because I’m evolving out of it. Like shedding a skin.”

  Burnt gasoline mingles with the earthy-sweet rainwater evaporating all around us in the warm dawn. Diego massages between my shoulders absently, natural benevolence flowing through his touch. His palm is wide and firm, his fingers reading the tension in my neck, increasing pressure to release knots I hadn’t even noticed yet.

  “I know what you mean, though,” he says, coming out of his thoughts. “There’s been a shift since you’ve been here. For all of us, I think. Some of it was already bound to happen, I mean with my family, but we’re past that and you’re still a part of this. You’re having your own independent evolution and I’m having mine, but they’re connected to each other.”

  I nod as he works his fingers up beyond the nape of my neck right over the curve of my skull. Despite the bumpy ride, an involuntary sigh shudders out of me as the tightness releases and whatever I’ve been holding empties out out out. Like an untangled headphone wire, I am untwisted, unraveled. Feels so wonderful my jaw drops and tears burn the backs of my eyeballs.

  What’s with these tears lately, man?

  Something’s coming.

  Pop music plays out the open passenger window, tinny and saccharine as maraschino cherries. The cheesy chorus gives me butterflies. They’re not even ironic. My fingers tremble, but I touch Diego’s arm anyway. I feel terror and excitement and self-awareness.

  Something’s coming up.

  “Hey,” I begin, my voice in Diego’s ear, away from the engine.

  Just before he turns to engage with me, he blinks slow and affectionate. More than that. Like the way your eyes go when your favorite song comes on the radio, or when you come home after a long day. His heart is peaceful. It stands out because a peaceful heart is the new ultimate quest for humanity and he’s got it, thudding away at 250 horsepower.

  Could be I’m high from transcendent sex, but I’m going for it. What the hell. I have this window and it’s not every day you have something.

  “Diego…”

  The truck bounces over a pothole filled with water and a droplet beans him in the forehead, rolling down the bridge of his nose. He wipes it and smiles kindly, waiting for me.

  “You make me feel really good.”

  “Your traps are tight, baby.”

  “No, I mean, I’m not done with you. Whatever you’re going through, it’s okay. I don’t expect you to have all the answers, if that’s what you think.”

  He squares his shoulders and twists his body to face me fully, suddenly serious.

  “What about your ex?”

  “Shit, I forgot.”

  It’s true, for the last while Carter’s imposition has escaped me.

  “You can’t just leave it undone.”

  “I can’t?”

  “Do you want him to keep bothering you? It bothers me.”

  “I don’t want those things.”

  “Maybe it’s time he knows you’ve got a boyfriend.”

  That does it. He’s right. I’ve earned the sexiest boyfriend in the history of cross-cultural romance. Like a zombie I retrieve my phone, still not wanting to be tainted by the asshole from my past. At eight percent battery, Carter’s message remains happi
ly aglow, like radioactive waste. Nausea occurs to me, but it’s just passing through, stomach acid without enough to eat.

  “You want me to turn away?”

  “No, it’s all right. It’s not a secret. Not from you.”

  Tap goes my index and the conversation screen opens.

  Unknown: As usual I’ve gone about this all wrong. Sorry for the way I came off. Old habits. My sponsor helped me write the following message to you but please trust that the sentiment is mine. Dear Lia: I’m an alcoholic and I’ve been an addict for about eight years now. The law forced me into AA after our relationship ended, and there I met some very helpful people, like my sponsor. Lynn at the Dean’s office tells me you’re into great work now, saving children in need or something. I need to tell you how sorry I am and that I understand how harshly I treated you. I guess I don’t deserve a response from you, but it would help to know that my words reached you. I’m trying to make up for some big mistakes and it’s going to be a long road. You’re young, intelligent and beautiful. I sincerely hope you don’t run into any more fuckups like me. Good luck in everything you do, Lia. I hope you find someone who treats you like the leading lady you are.

  Tears prick but don’t fall.

  “You can read it,” I tell him and pass the phone over.

  He scans it with his brow furrowed and hands it back when he’s done.

  “That’s not so bad,” he shrugs.

  I laugh bitterly.

  “Sorry, that was insensitive,” he admits, wincing.

  “I did build it up pretty big. It actually provides a bit of closure, now that it’s out.”

  “Doesn’t sound like he’s coming this way anytime soon.”

  “No, it doesn’t. Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “Pushing me. Sometimes I need that, to face things.”

  “You’re not the only one.”

  “Will you be honest with me, now? Tell me what’s going on in your head, about us.”

  Diego exhales heavily. “I want to give you what you need, while I get what I need. Without fucking up what we’ve got. Does that make sense to you?” he asks, at a loss.

  “It makes more sense than anything else that’s happened tonight. Yesterday. Whatever it is. But what is it you need? I honestly can’t say that I know.”

  He sighs again. “Wish you could tell me. Lia, I feel so trapped here. False starts are all I’ve known in my adult life, and if you get rolled up into another one I couldn’t live with that. Not after surviving grief and growing up with my father and everything my family sacrificed to get me here. But my brain is rotting; I’ve done all I can do without expanding. Ya sabes? I’m ready to have purpose. More than ready. Does that freak you out?”

  “Well, no. I want all that for you too. What do you mean by freaked out?”

  “I don’t want to come on too strong. You’ve pushed me away before.”

  “Have I?”

  That’s news to me.

  “After the whole thing with my family,” he mutters awkwardly, looking off at the fields rolling by, embarrassed. “When we talked. You just couldn’t give me an answer, so…”

  “That was a really uncomfortable time for me, it was so much all at once. Before I had some space to think, I felt isolated. I wasn’t ready to connect to all – to everyone. It’s hard trying to find your identity when you haven’t got roots in a place. Or, it’s easy to get lost looking for it. So I think I’ve been nervous to have my identity linked to someone else’s. Even if it’s yours.”

  “I think I’m finally understanding what that feels like.”

  “I think we’re not going to understand every experience or emotion that comes up, between us or alone. But you’ve been a pretty big part of my life this year. Your friendship really means something to me.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Friendship?”

  “Yes. In addition to … come on, you know I want to lock myself in a room with you for a week.”

  “No I don’t.”

  “Hasn’t it been obvious? I felt like exploding on the way here, in the car with Jose and Kat, I mean. I kept thinking about how much I still want to ask you and to do with you and to show you, we couldn’t arrive soon enough. I’m sick of false starts too.”

  “Lia, if I wanted to get the fuck out of here, would you ever come with me?”

  “For how long?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Where to?”

  “No idea. Maybe up to San Felipe and then Monterey. Or somewhere farther. Colder.”

  “You can handle the cold?” I blurt out.

  He tilts his head and looks at me, half-jokingly offended. “Do I look that delicate to you?”

  “I guess not.”

  Still, can’t quite see him strapped to skis, but we’ll come to that if we get there.

  “Where would you go?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. Monterey’s cool. So’s anywhere. Cuzco. Amsterdam. Shanghai.”

  “Shanghai, baby, now you’re talking.”

  “Always wanted to see Mount Fuji on the water, too.”

  His expression is warm with joy. I’m kind of surprised by his revelation, but this is all good news. Or, it’s not a bad thing, anyway. Never ever imagined traveling with Diego, really adventuring. It’s thrilling.

  He’s staring at me, dumbfounded.

  “What?”

  “It worked,” he says under his breath.

  “What did?” I ask, still confused.

  “Nothing. Just something Jack told me.”

  “Huh. Anyway, I wonder how much time I could take away from work.”

  “You wouldn’t have to sacrifice your job. I’ll build something for Genesis, the office she wants–”

  “Genesis and I can figure it out. Besides, there’s no school in the summer. I’m not locked down.”

  He looks about as sated as I feel, and about as exhausted. We’re touching and it’s nothing and everything. I’m so tired and also still so deeply connected to this man who isn’t a stranger anymore and won’t ever be again. Goddamn it, I love him. I love him.

  “Hey, Romeo y Juliet! Vengan.”

  All three officers are staring at us. Turns out we’ve come to a full stop and parked in front of the police station. We stand, startled and flustered. This spell can’t be over yet. I grab his shoulder hard.

  “Wait, Diego.”

  “Don’t worry, Lia, I’ll figure a way out of this,” he mutters to me over his shoulder. “I’ll pay your fine; this is my fault.”

  “No, wait.” I reach up and grab his face by the jaw so he turns around fully and looks right into my eyes. “There’s just one more thing.”

  “What?”

  The words aren’t coming even though I feel them so hard. Can’t he see what I’m thinking?

  “I think you’re – we–”

  “Te amo, Lia.”

  He bends down, wraps me up tight, and stands so my feet don’t touch the ground, kissing me hard and soft at the same time. When he pulls away from my lips, it’s only an inch so he can speak once more.

  “I’m serious. I fucking love you.”

  “I fucking love you too.”

  We press our foreheads together like penguins, looking cheesy as hell and not giving a damn.

  “Holding your body in the bed the other night felt right,” he says tenderly, pulling back and helping me down from the truck. Somewhat intrigued, the younger officers watch our scene play out. Let them. “I have real feelings for you, beauty. And I don’t wanna hold them back. You’re my girl.”

  “I couldn’t be anyone else’s.”

  The tired cop rolls his eyes. Me, I’m high. I’m high on life and love and the world all around me, until I notice the machine guns. They threaten to kill my dopamine buzz and let’s hope that’s all. Two solemn guards stand on either side of the open entrance holding two-foot weapons. I smile. They don’t.

  I’m taken by the arm by one of them and led inside, away from
the one person I want to be with more than anything.

  “Don’t be afraid, baby. Hang tight and I’ll get you soon as I can,” Diego calls to me as he’s cuffed and led away with his hands behind his back. I believe him. It’s like that scene in The Last of the Mohicans where Daniel Day-Lewis is like, “I will find you.” They weren’t in a Central American police station, but still.

  I’m led down a corridor by an intimidating female officer who could throw me out the window like a hot bag of trash if she wanted to. On either side of the hallway is a barred cell. Last night’s rabble-rousers lean with their hands dangling out between the bars so it looks like something from an old movie.

  We make a sharp right, and she unlocks a door with a small glass window too high for either of us to see through. I wander in and the door clicks shut behind me.

  This can’t be happening.

  CHAPTER 11

  Lia

  I can’t help but count them because they seem to fill the room.

  A seven-piece mariachi band dressed hat to boots in forest green velour have draped themselves around the room in various states of disappointment. A tall, skinny player talks miserably on the payphone, the elaborate pomp of his outfit mocking his situation. One limp hand holds his shiny trumpet at his side. His smaller companion with maracas sits on a plastic chair, staring at the floor dejectedly, still wearing his velvety sombrero.

  Three others sit around a wobbly table, playing cards like they do this all the time. They’ve had the sense to take off their hats and loosen their collars but, despite that, sweat rolls down their flushed faces. Two chairs pushed together are dedicated to carefully placed guitars and a hand drum, the objects in the room getting more respect than the inhabitants.

  The last two are huddled together in serious discussion, speaking in low, harsh sounds. They’re older than the others. One of them holds a cell phone they’re both trying to read from.

  “Ah, el viene!” calls out the guy on the payphone, and the other mariachis flock around him, cheering.