by J. L. Mac
“No. Do you have pets?” Zander cranes his neck back at me as he leads the way to his living room.
“Yeah. Well I use to have a cat named Starla Winters, but she lives at my mom’s now.”
“Starla Winters?” The disbelief in his voice is hard to miss.
“Yeah. Glamorous, huh?” I nod my head proud of the name that took me days to come up with.
“I was thinking it sounds more like a stripper name.”
“It is not!” I glower, affronted by his opinion of Starla’s name. I thought long and hard to come up with her name and I thought it was elegant, dammit.
“It’s definitely a stripper name.” He nods his head confidently, pursing his lips.
My mouth pops open at just how honest this man is. “Well I think it’s a glamorous old Hollywood type name.”
“Glamorous stripper, then.”
Starla Winters. Starla Winters. Son of a bitch. I despise admitting it, but he’s right. It does sound a little stripper-ish.
“Do you always speak your mind?” My eyes narrow on him in mock anger, earning me a crooked grin that has my insides humming with joy just knowing that I’ve made him grin.
“Usually.” He shrugs.
“Usually as in almost always?”
“Yes. Unless I’m forced into staying quiet.”
I can’t imagine this man being forced into anything. He’s so—so his own person. “I don’t imagine you being the type who gets forced into much of anything,” I admit honestly.
“It’s rare.”
I nod and decide that if he cared to elaborate he’d do it voluntarily. The limbo that we find ourselves in is due to mutual vagueness. I haven’t elaborated much about anything and neither has he.
I stroll aimlessly through his living room, taking in his personal space.
“What’s this?” I ask, picking up a picture frame from the mantle with a younger Zander standing beside an older man. They must be related. The resemblance is striking. They’re on a golf course and both of them are smiling wide for the picture. He’s even more beautiful when he smiles. I’d like to see him smile.
Zander holds up a finger and leaves the living room, returning a moment later with a big photo album in his hand. He sits on the couch, motioning for me to join him. He flips open the album and points to the first photo of him standing in front of some award stage with a caddy at his side. “That’s my grandfather and this is what I retired from.”
“Golf?! You were a golfer?” I can’t disguise the incredulity in my voice. I can’t picture Zander playing golf professionally.
“What? It was a whole lot better than going into the family business. I was forced to play golf from the time that I was out of training pants.” He shrugs, wearing another grin that has me melting on the inside. “I was good.”
“What’s the family business?” My eyes scan the other photos in the album, expecting him to tell me that his family is in plumbing or used auto sales.
“Professional conning.” The way he says it so seriously causes my brows to scrunch up and my gaze to snap up to him.
“What? Are you serious right now?” I ask, completely deadpan.
“Yep.”
“Vague much?”
“I guess I am.”
Zander commandeers the album from my lap, closing it as he goes. His fingertips brush against my thigh, making me feel shaky and needy and frustrated all at the same time. I hate that he makes me feel these things so easily. Ignoring the urges I feel for him is way more difficult of a task when he does little things to burst through my self control.
A grin.
A joke.
A hug.
Simply breathing near me makes my fight against this pull between us all but futile.
Before he stands up, he stops and watches me closely, his blue eyes searching and communicating something with me.
A sign. An invitation. A warning. Something.
He stands from the couch and leaves the room. I run the palms of my hands down my thighs again, but it does nothing to pacify the growing need that I’m beginning to simultaneously love and hate.
Zander rejoins me in the living room holding up three DVD cases in his big hands like playing cards. “Pick a movie, any movie,” he crows in a voice that reminds me of the circus.
I smile but quickly look away from the kind, charming, mystery of a man in front of me. “I should probably get going. I’m actually kind of tired,” I lie.
Zander’s face falls and he turns serious. “When are you supposed to go back to Atlanta?”
My eyes meet his and I find that I’d rather have a fucking root canal than disappoint him. I shouldn’t feel this way, but I do. I don’t want to ditch him or the movie. I don’t want to spend the rest of the night alone in my room at The Beachcomber Inn. And I don’t want to think about leaving him here, on this island, when I have to go back home.
“Well, I had planned on leaving tomorrow. Why do you say supposed to?” My curiosity has piqued and the secret part of me that wants nothing more than to spend more time with Zander has inwardly stood, coming to attention with wide eyes.
“Because I was hoping you’d decide to stay. Talk a little more.”
If a person could turn liquid and pool on the floor, I’m nearly certain that’s what just happened to me. The tone of his voice. The look on his impossibly handsome face. Even the way he’s stuffed one hand in his pocket makes me want to reassure him that I’d really love to stay but I can’t spend another minute with him because I don’t trust my stupid body.
“I—well. I had thought about maybe an extra day or two down here is better than facing my family just yet.” I shrug with a forced smile, hoping that I haven’t let him down.
Zander moves three steps closer to me. He leans forward, depositing the movies on the coffee table in front of me. With his body still bent at the waist he looks at me wielding the full power that those deep blue eyes hold. “So stay.” The heady mix of plea and demand in his tone isn’t hard to miss. In fact, it’s all-consuming.
“Maybe I will,” I whisper. My eyes are locked with his. My tongue slips out, moistening my lips and begging to be touched.
“I’d like that,” he says, then swallows hard so that his Adam’s apple dips then rises again.
“Me too,” I say softly, knowing that saying anything else would simply be a lie.
Chapter Nine
The Lighter Side
Sadie
Zander’s red Jeep squeaks to a stop right in front of my motel room. I unclick the seatbelt and despite having the sense to know better, I chance a look at the ethereal creature in the driver’s seat.
I shouldn’t torture myself. I know I’ll only stir the needy part of me, resulting in a bout of internal tug-of-war. I want him so badly. I want to talk to him all night. I want to touch him. I want to listen to his short, choppy sentences. I want to find myself laughing at one of his jokes. I want to be touched. I want to be held. I want Zander, the man carrying my husband’s heart, to wrap me up in him. I want to pretend for a while that I can have Jake back in the form of Zander.
I’d expected that after my time visiting with him, while short, I’d be somewhat used to his striking features, but I expected wrong. Every time I lay eyes on him it’s like seeing him for the very first time and my reaction doesn’t waiver in the least bit. My heart stills then speeds, my eyes lock on, my stomach flips, and every molecule I’m composed of gets sucked in by the gravitational tether pulling me to him. My attraction to Zander is so much more than physical, though. It’s all of him, including the heart that is now, physically, his. He carries it. He is responsible for taking care of it, but it wasn’t that long ago that I slept beside that heart every night. I took comfort in that heart. My world revolved around that heart. He carries it now, but I’ve carried that heart too. I was once responsible for seeing that it was kept safe. Just in a different way.
Even with Jake’s passing, I’ve never felt free of that responsibility. I’ve st
ayed connected. I’m just as connected to that heart as I was the day Jake’s vital signs slowed then stilled completely. It’s the exact reason that I know making any sort of physical connection with Zander is dangerous territory for me. I’d immerse myself, lose myself in him for all the wrong reasons. It would be unfair to him and a sham for me. He isn’t Jake. Jacob Parker is gone. I have to cling to that knowledge.
“You know, you get a little line right here on your forehead when you think too much,” Zander says as leans closer. He lifts his hand slowly, reaching across to me like I’m a wild animal. I guess the similarities between me and a wild animal are pretty striking. I snap and snarl and bite. I run. I hide. I do just enough to survive. But I don’t live. Not by any measure.
I wish I could live.
He runs the pad of his index finger over the middle of my forehead, between my eyebrows and down the ridge of my nose. “You’re too pretty for that. Don’t think. Just be.”
“Hard not think,” I whisper softly.
“Not true. Let me prove it to you.” The mischief plays in his blue eyes and I’m near powerless to resist.
“And how do you plan on doing that?”
“Just trust me. Noon okay?”
“I suppose.”
“Okay, I’ll pick you up at noon!” he exclaims, wearing an infectious smile that I’d love to see a thousand times a day for the rest of my life.
I’m adrift in the current of Alexander McBride. It’s becoming more and more evident that my best hope is to go with it and hope that I don’t drown.
I take one more look at him, then push my door open and slip out. Zander doesn’t make a move to drive off until the door to my room clicks shut. I hear the engine rev as he puts it into first gear and zips out of the small parking lot. I peek out through the plantation blinds and watch his taillights disappear into the distance, realizing that the ache in my chest that I’m so used to has been joined by a new kind of ache.
A longing to be near Zander.
I take in a deep breath and head right back out the door so I can pay for another day or two of my room. I swing the door of the office open to see Dawn scowling, looking right past me, out to the dimly lit parking lot. I look at her, arch a brow, then turn to see what the hell she’s glaring at. The lampposts lighting spread enough light to see the flower bed nestled around the base of the small motel marquee. It’s a wreck. Mangled flowers are scattered across the pavement. Garden soil and scalloped-edged bricks are tossed about.
“Shit,” I mumble then look back to Dawn.
“That husband of mine ran over my flower bed again! He was in drive not reverse. He spends more time looking in that rearview mirror than he does looking forward. That’s what I always tell him. We spend too much time looking behind us and we end up crashing right into something beautiful and ruining it. I should just remove that damn rearview mirror from his truck. Don’t you think that would be a good solution to the problem?”
“Or confiscate his truck keys?”
“Yeah. I guess that would fix it,” she guffaws. Dawn smiles the most endearing, warm smile I’ve seen yet and it settles over me like a blanket. “Anyway, whatcha need, honey?”
“I’m going to stay another day or two. Hope that’s fine.”
“Oh good! That’s perfectly fine. Can I get you more towels or anything like that?”
“Nah. I’m fine. Thanks, though.”
“Hey, Sadie, I hope it’s okay that I call you that, we aren’t some big hotel or anything, but I do offer breakfast for our guests. I make a mean omelet. We live in back. Just come in the office in the morning. Say eight?”
For the second time in less than a half an hour, I’m being invited to something, and for the second time in less than half an hour I’m finding it impossible to pass up. I like Dawn and I like eggs. It’s an easy yes even though I hate mornings.
“I’ll be here.”
Dawn smiles and nods her head, pleased with my answer.
***
Jake has just tossed the huge yellow car washing sponge, covered with suds, right at me. It hits my chest with a soggy thud and my mouth pops open, my eyes bulge, and I’m already plotting my revenge. My eyes scan the grass beside me for the sprayer nozzle attached to the end of the water hose. I glance up at Jake, who also spotted the sprayer, and the race is on. I lunge for the garden hose. Jake lunges for me and we fall to the grass in a tangled mess of arms and legs all grappling for control. Jake has me pinned at the waist and I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe. I sigh heavily and bring my hands to his cheeks. I relax into the grass with his torso pinning me down and bring his lips to mine. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear one of our neighbor’s lawnmower humming along. The smell of fresh cut grass hangs heavily in the air. Someone else drives by and honks the horn a few times, causing us both to laugh into each other’s mouth. Jake breaks the kiss and looks me right in the eyes. “I love your laugh, Sadie Parker. I love all of you.”
My eyes pop open and just like that, Jake vanishes like vapor all around me. I clutch my chest and war with my cresting emotion. I miss him. I miss him so damn much. Closing my eyes, I relax deeper into the pillow, letting my rare, precious dream settle over me. I hold tight to it for fear that it will slip right through my fingers if I let it. I won’t let that happen. With one deep breath I file away the sweet dream of my love, to be revisited again one day. Hopefully.
“I love all of you too, Jake.”
***
April 23, 2013
I trudge into the office of the motel, wishing that I had just stayed in bed. I’m tired thanks to my night of restlessness. I slept well until I woke up grasping at my fading dream of that spring day out in the front yard with Jake.
I have these great dreams sometimes but as soon as I wake up, details become less vivid. They’ve become a double-edged sword for me. I love those dreams but I hate losing them when I wake.
“Oh, you came!” Dawn chirps, rounding the counter and effectively distracting me from my own thoughts. She comes right up to me and gives me a squeeze, wrapping her kind arms around my thin frame. I find myself liking her hug instead of cringing. Something about Dawn just feels so familiar.
“I can’t refuse a good omelet, now can I?”
“Mean omelet, honey. Mean,” she says, punctuating “mean” with wide eyes and a grin. “Come on back.” She motions back behind the desk. I follow behind her as she leads me to what looks like a door to her private quarters. It’s a small space but seems plenty suitable for just her and her husband. She continues walking past a living room area, complete with his and hers La-Z-Boys, to the kitchen. She points to the breakfast table equipped with two chairs. “Just there, honey.”
I sit and watch her bring various things to the table from the open kitchen.
“Oh! Before I forget…I picked this for you this morning.” Dawn hands me a short-stemmed single white daisy.
I take it from her and admire the little bloom. She’s so thoughtful. I really like Dawn. I watch her pour me a cup of coffee and set it on a saucer with a spoon.
“Made your omelet like mine. Hope you like it.”
“Thank you,” I enthuse. “I’m sure I’ll love it.”
“Careful, honey. Holding it like that, you’ll crush it,” she declares, motioning her chin to the flower in my hand.
I glance down to my white-knuckled grip on the delicate blossom. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize—I guess I just don’t want to lose it,” I admit honestly.
“Holding it like that, you’ll crush it. Then losing it wouldn’t really matter now, would it? Here—” She steps right up to me, wipes her hands on the dish towel draped over her shoulder, and takes the daisy from my hand. “Right here is just fine. Over your heart. Won’t lose it there,” Dawn asserts, slipping the stem of the daisy into the small pocket on my shirt and something passes right through me. Her wounded eyes connect with mine and a familiarity, a kinship of the most painful sorts is strung from her to me like a ch
ain, bonding me to this woman. It leaves me bewildered and curious. It’s like I’ve looked in the mirror but the eyes gazing back are green, not brown but that’s an irrelevant detail. The dominant trait in her eyes is the same as mine.
Loss.
“How do you know so much?” I inadvertently blurt out in a soft voice.
Dawn smiles warmly and pats me gently on my shoulder then turns her attention back to our breakfast. “It isn’t that I know much at all, honey. It’s that I know you.”
Her easy explanation has me confused. How could she possibly know me? I’ve only been to this island once and I was a little girl.
“How is that poss—”
“I know you. I used to be you.” she interrupts from where she sits in the chair directly across from me.
I make no effort to hide my confusion. Either she’s prematurely senile or I’ve got amnesia. Both possibilities seem equally implausible.
Dawn reaches to the buffet against the wall and picks up a small picture frame and hands it to me. The photo has yellowed quite a bit and has faded marginally. There are two water spots in the bottom corner. Water spots that come from tears.
There’s a boy standing on the beach holding his hands out, cupping various small things in his palms. His blond hair is messy in that way that young boys always seem to look. He’s smiling big, exposing his braces-covered teeth for the camera.
“He’s handsome,” I mumble admiring the picture of someone that I fear is no longer alive.
“That’s my boy, Timothy. Course, we called him Timmy his whole life. I bet he’d be about your age now.” Her eyes search mine for a moment as I’m left speechless. Painful realization coats the space between us leaving me bereft of words. “If he were still alive he’d be twenty-eight this June.” Her lips tilt up in a sullen little smile.
“I’ll be twenty-seven in August,” I reply in a small voice. Dawn smiles ruefully, her eyes crinkling at the edges.
“Like I said, I know you. I used to be just like you. I spotted it the moment I saw you walk into my motel.” She purses her lips and shakes her head regrettably. “Having gone through loss like that, you can kind of spot one of your kind even in a crowd. I lost my son when he was only twelve years old. I know what it’s like walking around holding on so tight to those memories because you think you may lose them.”
