by Jeff Shelby
“Sure.”
She led me into the living room, a tiny space sparsely furnished. Brown, slip-covered couch, glass-top coffee table, a scratched-up pine entertainment center with an ancient television. Most everything looked like cast-offs or items picked up at a local thrift store. But it was clean, meticulously so. We sat down on the couch and I could feel the springs through the cushion.
Bella took a long drink from her beer but kept her eyes on me. I gazed across the room, focusing on the hallway to Jackson’s room, on the door that led back into the kitchen. She kept her eyes locked on me.
“What?” I finally asked.
She pointed the neck of the beer bottle at me. “I can’t figure you out.”
“What does that mean?”
She clasped the bottle between both her hands. “You’re this big, hulking beach boy who rarely says more than five words at a time. You brood. You seem distracted. Yet, you seem totally content with being my kid’s best friend. You don’t just tolerate him. You actually…I don’t know what you call it. But you do it with him. And you live in a garage.”
I took a drink from the beer.
“So I can’t figure you out,” she said. “And I have this feeling you aren’t going to help me figure you out.”
“I’m not good at talking about myself,” I said.
“Not good is different than not wanting to,” she said. “But I get it. And it’s totally okay. I’m not prying. Well, I mean, I probably am and obviously I’m curious. But I’m not trying to push you. So I’m sorry if that’s what it seems like.”
“It’s OK,” I said, hoping she meant it.
“Plus, you’re the first guest we’ve had over since we moved in here and I sometimes manage to screw up meals, so I’m a little nervous.”
“I thought you said you were a good cook.”
She tucked her legs under her on the couch. “I am. But that doesn’t mean I’m perfect.”
“No one is.”
She pointed the bottle at me again. “True. So if it sucks, remember that.”
“I will,” I said. “But it won’t suck.”
“If you say so.”
It did not suck. It tasted fantastic, as did the garlic bread and the salad she put together. Jackson ate an entire plate full of lasagna, splashing sauce all down the front of him and around his plate. He scrambled away from the small kitchen table as soon as he was done, back to his room and his Legos.
Bella and I talked. Or rather, she talked and I listened. I learned that she was originally from Tampa and that she was an only child and that her parents divorced when she was sixteen and that her father moved to New York and married a model while her mom became a missionary and moved to the Philippines. She did a stint in community college, general education classes, then got pregnant with Jackson. Now, at 26, she had no clue what she wanted to do.
She noticeably skipped over one part of the story, though.
“Where is Jackson’s dad?” I asked after we’d done dishes and moved back to the couch.
She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “He’s dead.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “Don’t be. He was awful.”
“How?”
She ran a hand through her hair, memories taking up uncomfortable space in her expression. “Just a bad guy. Everything he did, it was pretty much wrong. He hurt people. He lied. He stole.” She squinted, as if it was painful to even talk about him. “There wasn’t much good in Evan.”
I had some experience with people like that, so I believed her.
“How did he die?” I asked.
Her fingers tapped the back of the couch. “He was big-time into drugs. A bunch of other crap that I probably didn’t even know about, but he was a whatchamacallit? Like the head of a group? That was Evan. He had a pretty big thing going around Tampa. Most of the dope that came through the area apparently went through him somehow.”
Tampa was one of those places that looked glamorous on the outside because of its physical location on the bay. But I knew I’d read that its seedy underside could rival that of nearly any city in the country. If Evan was that big in Tampa, he’d been a significant player.
“Anyhow, some deal went bad, I guess,” she said, waving a hand in the air. “Bunch of guys showed up one night and shot him.”
“Were you there?”
She shook her head. “No, I was long gone. He’d already declared he wasn’t going to be a father and I’d finally gotten it through my thick head that maybe, just maybe, I shouldn’t be hanging around a guy who always had a gun in his pants.” She laughed derisively. “Took me awhile.”
“How long were you together?”
“Off and on since high school,” she said. “I knew he was bad news then, but…but I really don’t have an excuse. My life was going to shit with my parents divorce, he was unbelievably good looking and he could be insanely charming when he wanted to be. And he liked me.” She shrugged. “I latched onto him and had a hard time letting go.”
“So Jackson never knew him?”
“Nope. And I think that’s a good thing.”
I’d gone nearly my entire lifetime without knowing my father and when I’d finally met him, I wished I never had. So I wasn’t going to argue.
“He ask about him?”
She shook her head. “Not really. I know he will someday, but he’s not at that age yet where he knows he should wonder.”
“Be honest with him,” I said. “Even if it’s not what he wants to hear.”
She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and I was momentarily frozen, remembering how Liz used to make the exact same gesture.
“Why do you say that?” she asked.
I blinked several times, forcing myself to focus. “I just…think it’s better not to lie.”
She stared at me for a long moment. “I’m not sure I believe you.”
“How’s that?”
“Seems like there’s more there,” she said, the corner of her mouth curving into a smile. “Like with damn nearly everything else about you. Just seems like there’s a lot more there.”
I didn't say anything to that, just focused on the beer in my hand. She took a sip of her own and we sat quietly for a while. It wasn't an awkward silence, but it wasn't necessarily comfortable, either.
I set my bottle on the table and stood. “I should probably go.”
She didn’t bother to hide her disappointment and for a moment, I felt guilty. She very obviously wanted the company of someone other than a little boy. But I could feel the questions forming in her head, about to find their way to her mouth and I didn’t want to have to sit there and lie to her.
She pushed herself off the sofa. “Okay.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just that…”
She held up a hand. “It’s okay. I need to get Jackson to bed, anyway.”
I went down the hallway and pushed open the door to his room. He was curled up in a bundle, surrounded by Legos, eyes shut tight, snoring softly.
Bella came up next to me and chuckled. “Every night. He plays himself to sleep. And, oh boy, is he going to be mad that he didn’t get to say goodbye to you.”
“Tell him to come find me on the beach,” I said. “Tomorrow.”
She raised a thin eyebrow. “Yeah?”
I nodded. I glanced back at the boy. “Can I put him in the bed for you?”
She hesitated, then nodded.
I bent down and scooped him up. His head rotated to the side and he let out a sigh, but his eyes didn’t open. Bella pulled back the sheets on his small twin bed and I set him down gently. She pushed a tattered stuffed dog into his arms and he clutched it, his lips smacking together as he sighed again. She covered him with the sheet and the Batman comforter and shut off the light as we walked out.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Thank you,” I said. “For dinner. And the company.”
“You’re welcome to stay awhile longe
r if you’d like,” she said. “I’ve got more beer.”
“I should get going.”
She nodded, as if she'd expected that response.
We paused in the entryway.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she said. “But it bothers me that you’re going home to a garage.”
I smiled. “It’s fine. Just temporary.”
“You’re going to move soon?”
I nodded. “Probably.”
She smiled. “That’s good. You shouldn’t be living in a garage.”
She didn’t realize that I meant from Fort Walton, but I didn’t correct her.
“You’re welcome any time,” she said, stepping closer to me. “Here.”
“Thank you.”
“Is it alright if I give you a hug?” she asked. “You sorta look like you need a hug. No offense.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I stood there still, stupidly.
She reached up on her tiptoes and put her arms around my neck. I leaned down and started to hug her, then stopped, then placed my hands awkwardly on her hips. She squeezed me hard. It wasn’t one of those fake hugs that people just gave to give. She meant it.
Her hair smelled clean and citrusy, brushing against my cheek. She held on longer than I anticipated. She finally pulled away, but kept her arms around my neck until we were staring at one another. Her eyes were bright, happy, curious.
She waited.
I waited.
Finally, she leaned forward and kissed my cheek, then let her hands fall from my neck.
She stepped back. “Really. Any time.”
I nodded, unable to find my voice. Too many things were running through my head and I couldn’t process them the right way. How her hair smelled different than Liz’s and I was glad, because otherwise I might not have been able to let go. How I could remember exactly the last time I’d been touched with affection and it had been from Liz. How absolutely nothing and everything about the hug reminded me of Liz and how suddenly I could barely breathe.
I needed to leave and find some air. I reached for the door and pulled it open.
And was surprised to find someone standing there.
FOURTEEN
“Hey, Bella,” the visitor said. “Didn’t realize you had company.”
He was almost my height, short black hair combed neatly to the side. Large, dark eyes were set against skin turned brown from the sun.
Bella’s demeanor changed immediately. Anxiousness stiffened her shoulders and something flickered in her eyes. Something like irritation. Or fear.
He looked at me. “I don’t know you.”
“No,” I said. “You don’t.”
He glanced at Bella. “New boyfriend?”
She shifted her weight from foot to foot, not answering. She looked at me. “You can go. It’s fine.”
I didn’t move.
“Did you not hear her?” the guy asked, smiling at me.
I looked at Bella. “Maybe I should stay for that other beer.”
She hesitated, then shook her head. “No, it’s okay. Really.”
“If you two need to finish saying goodnight, I can go wait at the curb.” His tone was patronizing.
I didn’t like him. I didn’t like his arrogance or his attitude or the way he was showing up late at night. The way he looked at Bella wasn’t friendly, but I wasn’t exactly sure what it was.
“David,” she said, shaking her head. “Just…” She sighed and looked at me. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Just go.”
There was no mistaking that she wasn’t happy to see him, whoever he was. But she was telling me to go after I’d offered to stay, so I didn’t feel like it was my place to stick around.
“Okay,” I said.
I stepped outside, next to a smiling David, who seemed to have it all figured out.
I picked up my bike from the driveway.
“A bike?” David asked. “Really?”
“Shut up,” Bella said.
I threw a leg over the bike and sat there for a moment.
“Just put your feet on the pedals and go.” He spoke as though he were talking to Jackson. “It’s not hard.”
“David!”
I stared at him, taking in his face and absorbing everything else about him.
He didn’t care for that and stepped toward me, away from the door. “You need something?”
Bella stepped outside, panic lacing her face. There was clearly something about the guy that was scaring her and I was torn as to what to do.
She brushed past him and planted herself in front of me.
“Just go,” she said. “I’ll explain tomorrow. I promise. I’ll be fine. Okay?”
Nothing felt right about the situation. Not a single thing. And as much as I didn’t want to be involved in anything that exposed me, that left me vulnerable, I wasn’t comfortable leaving her with someone who did not seem like a good guy in any way.
But she was telling me to go.
“Okay,” I said. “Find me tomorrow.”
“I will,” she said. “Promise.”
I pedaled away into the dark.
FIFTEEN
Bella didn’t find me.
I barely slept, pissed at myself for not listening to my gut and staying. Nothing felt right about leaving her and yet I’d done it anyway. Yes, she’d told me to leave, told me to go, that she’d be fine, but nothing that was going on indicated she was telling me the truth. I tossed and turned all night, thinking about her and Liz and all of the other decisions I'd made that ended up being the wrong ones.
I got to the beach early and worked off my anger and frustration by setting up the umbrellas and chairs before anyone else was even on the sand. I emptied the shed and then ran for thirty minutes, all the way down to the base and back, sweat coating every inch of my body. I didn’t look at the water or the dunes or the people slowly spilling out of their rental condos and hotels. Instead, I looked down, watching my feet as they pounded the wet, packed sand.
As the day wore on, I kept scanning the beach, looking for Bella or Jackson. Every small kid looked like Jackson until I realized that he or she wasn’t. At one point, I spotted a woman in a blue bikini, her hair pulled into a make-shift ponytail, a little boy trailing behind her. I sat up straighter, certain it was Bella.
It wasn’t.
My irritation got the better of me and I pounded my fist into the sand, tiny grains flying into my face, sticking to my sweat-moistened skin. Where the hell was she? And why did I care?
I collected the chairs and umbrellas at four on the button, locked up the hut and pointed my bike towards her house.
No one answered the door.
I peered in the front window. Nothing looked out of place. I could see a couple of Legos on the living room floor, a magazine tossed onto the coffee table, a plastic Marlins cup next to it.
But she wasn’t there.
I hopped on the bike and headed out to the highway, pedaling next to the heavy evening traffic, the breeze blowing back into my face. The highway was littered with long strip malls and each one looked exactly like the other, neon signs advertising T-shirts, food and fun. I had a vague idea of which restaurant she worked at and I scanned the malls as I biked, keeping an eye on the traffic behind me.
I’d gone about three miles when I found it. King of the Sea, a pink-stuccoed building that had seen better days. A flag pole stood next to the entrance, a large plastic swordfish impaled on the top and seashell-shaped plastic lights draped the interior of the windows. I coasted into the parking lot, breathing heavy and drenched in sweat. I leaned the bike up against a newspaper stand and walked up the wooden switchback ramp that led to the entrance.
The air conditioning hit me like a hammer, bathing me in cool air and stinging my eyes. A girl in her twenties glanced up from the magazine spread before her on the podium. “How many?”
“I’m looking for Bella,” I said.
She gave me a quick once over before returning t
o the magazine. “She’s back there.”
“Back where?”
She held out an arm and pointed toward the dining area without looking up. “Back there.”
I walked toward the large windows that looked out over the Gulf and spotted Bella at a table, scribbling on a notepad, helping two older couples. She wore a bright pink T-shirt and denim shorts, her hair pulled up high in a ponytail behind her head. She gathered their menus, smiled at them, then glanced in my direction.
