Once we finish, I take in a deep, satisfied breath. He moves, wrapping his arm around me, saying, “I love you. You feel so good, baby.”
With I love you, too, on the tip of my tongue, my mind starts racing, and I think about the fact we didn’t use protection and how I didn’t think this was going to happen. I wasn’t prepared. I mean, I wanted it to happen, but I… It feels like it went by so quickly, yet at the time, I felt like we were like that for hours. We stand up and put our clothes on, and I feel something wet between my legs. Concern simmers inside of me as we walk back to the party. Travis goes to put the blanket back up, and I look for Jennie because my stomach is starting to hurt. Oh God, what if I get pregnant? My mama would never forgive me. How can something so beautiful turn quickly in my mind to something horrible?
“Jennie,” I say, walking up to her.
“Where did you go?” she asks? “You and Travis make out?” She smiles but stops when I don’t.
“I need to leave,” I tell her.
“Why?” she asks, concern in her voice.
I come up with something to tell her. “I think I started my period.”
“Oh, well, there’s no bathroom here. You want me to take you?”
“Please,” I say.
Travis walks up. “What’s wrong?” he asks me when he sees my face. I’m sure I look distressed.
“I’m fine,” I lie. “It’s just late, and Mama usually goes to the bathroom a few times a night. She may check in on me.”
He tilts his head. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks in a low voice, and I know he means with what just happened, but honestly, I’m not okay right now.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
He frowns. “Okay.”
On the way home, I ask Jennie to stop at the store to get us a drink. When she walks inside, I put my hand between my legs and pull it up in horror. My heart drops to the pit of my stomach, and my pulse quickens, painfully aching against the skin on my neck at the sight of the blood. I know women bleed when they lose their virginity, but this much? Instantly, I grow more worried.
I jump into the shower as soon as I get home and hand-wash my jeans. With tears in my eyes, I crawl into bed with more worries than a young girl should have. Thinking about pregnancy and blood. This can’t be normal. Anxiety takes over my body until I finally come to the decision I’m going to tell Mama I want to go back home to Georgia. After I’ve made my decision, I cry myself to sleep.
The sound of the train bellowing down the tracks and shaking the house wakes me the next morning. As I stretch my arms and blink my eyes open, last night hits me like a ton of bricks. I’m a woman now, and I’m fucking floating. All my worries disappear, and I think about Travis. I jump out of bed and go to the bathroom to check myself. The bleeding has stopped, and I decide right then—if I’m pregnant, so be it. I love Travis, and I know he loves me. We can get through whatever together.
The smell of bacon drifts through the house as I walk on air into the kitchen.
“Good morning, Mama,” I say as I kiss her on the cheek and grab a piece.
“Wow, someone’s happy this morning,” she replies.
I smile. “What’s not to be happy about? I have a great job, I live at the beach, and…” I think about Travis. “Life’s just good.”
––––
“What are you in deep thought about?” Cynthia asks, pulling me from my reverie.
“Just thinking about our conversation last night,” I say to her.
“You mean about losing your v-card?” Maggie asks.
“Yes. Maggie, I was thinking about when I lost my v-card.” I roll my eyes. She sure has a way of putting things so they sound impersonal.
“What?” she says. “It’s what you were thinking, wasn’t it?”
“But do you have to say it so tactless?”
“What other way do you want me to say it, woman? Shit, we all know what v-card means. We’re all women here.”
I shake my head and take a sip of my piña colada.
“We’re going to take a little break now,” the singer says. “Be back shortly. Enjoy the drinks and grab some barbeque.”
“There’s a bunch of cute boys here,” I say to Cynthia, trying to change the subject.
She shrugs. “I’m not here for cute boys.”
“Oh, to be young again,” Maggie says wistfully. “I’d be behind one of these tents here with my tongue in one of their mouths.”
I gape at her. “Jesus, Maggie.”
“Well, it’s true,” she says with no shame.
“You know, Maggie. I’d love to know about when you lost your v-card,” Cynthia chimes in after she takes a sip of her beer.
“My first time was in the back of a pickup with some lowlife who couldn’t figure out where the hole was,” Maggie says, exasperated.
Cynthia and I burst out laughing. “Good Lord, woman,” I say in disbelief, although I don’t know why. Maggie says whatever is on the tip of her tongue.
“It’s true, and it lasted about one minute,” she throws in. “How about you, Cyn? When was your first time?”
Cynthia looks over at her with blinking eyes.
“Your first time?” Maggie repeats.
Cynthia’s expression is blank, and she looks back in front of her and mumbles, “Nothing special.”
We both look at her.
“No details then?” Maggie says.
“Nothing really to tell. It happened, and then it was over.” She picks at the label on her beer, and I take it she doesn’t want to talk about it.
“Was it anyone here?” Maggie asks.
“No one here,” Cynthia confirms.
“You’re telling me you haven’t slept with any of these cuties?”
“Maggie.” I scowl. It’s obvious the girl doesn’t wanna talk about it. How can she not see this?
“Look at her, Charlotte. She’s beautiful. How has she not snagged one of these good-looking boys around town? I bet they wanna bang you like a screen door during a hurricane.”
Cynthia smirks.
“You really have no filter,” I tell her as I try to stifle my laugh.
“I’m just being honest. I remember being young—all those hormones running through you. I know it had to be worse for the boys.” She shrugs and crosses her legs. “I’m sure they were jerking that thing several times a day.”
I almost spit my drink out as Cynthia leans back, open-mouthed, releasing a fit of laughter. I don’t know how this woman ended up being my best friend. We are total opposites.
“So, what gives, honey?” Maggie keeps going. “Why haven’t you got yourself a boyfriend? Are you into girls?” Maggie asks. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with that if you are.”
“No, I’m not into girls,” Cynthia says, trying to compose herself. She wipes under her eye and sniffs. “I lost my v-card to a boy. I’m just not interested in anyone.”
Maggie holds her hands up in a backing off manner. “Okay.”
She takes a big sip of her drink, and then she says, “I just hope you didn’t have the no hole finding experience like me. It makes a hell of a difference when it’s someone you care about. If I could go back and let it be my Robert in that pickup, God knows I would,” she says sadly.
“What happened to your husband?” Cynthia asks, taking the conversation away from her. I don’t blame her.
“A heart attack took him a few years back,” Maggie replies. “But thankfully, we had many, many years together.”
I sigh quietly, thinking how time is so precious to some, yet so unappreciated by others. It’s easy to forget how fragile life is, until you know you only have so much of it left. To enjoy the small simple things in life that matter the most, like holding hands and small kisses that mean nothing but everything all at once. The way your loved ones smell…that distinct scent only they have. I can’t even remember his smell anymore. I breathe in and try not to cry. Sometimes I miss him so much, it literally p
ains me.
“Well, shit, I didn’t mean to make you sad,” Maggie says, reaching over to touch my hand. I flip mine up and squeeze hers.
“You didn’t make me sad. If anything, you two have made me extremely happy lately, and I’m grateful you got me out of my house to enjoy this beautiful night.” I look up at the stars and sigh. “Travis would have loved this. The only thing missing,” I say, looking back at them and making sure no one else can hear, “is the weed.”
Cynthia laughs.
“That can be arranged,” Maggie retorts. “I know a guy.”
“Oh no,” I counter quickly. “Once every so many years is quite enough.” We all laugh, and I love the way it makes me feel. Sometimes God takes, but thank goodness for those times He gives.
Chapter Eight
“That’s cheating,” I tell Maggie as she picks up her golf ball and drops it into the hole.
“Well, it’s hot as balls out here, and I’m in need of a cocktail.”
“This was your idea,” Cynthia says as she wipes sweat from her brow.
“I know, but I didn’t realize you two sucked and it would take all day.” She props her golf club onto her shoulder and walks to the cart.
“You’ve played with us before,” Cynthia calls after her. “You know we suck. You’re just upset Frank isn’t out here.”
Maggie looks back at her. “You’re damn right I’m upset he isn’t out here. The man said he would be. Why can’t men just be honest?” She shoves her golf club into her bag and hops onto the front seat. “Let’s go. Happy hour is starting.”
I shake my head and grab the golf ball from the hole. Maggie has been seeing Frank off and on now for a few months, and sadly he chooses when they see each other. Cynthia and I climb in, and Dale Jr. stomps on the gas pedal.
We’re seated at the bar, and I sip on a glass of sweet tea while Maggie and Cynthia have the happy hour special. Cynthia fans herself and moves her hair away from her neck.
“That’s some scar you’ve got there,” Maggie states as she reaches out and rubs her fingers across it. Cynthia pulls away.
“How did that happen?” Maggie asks with a crease in her brow.
I know Cynthia told me it was from a bike accident, but I’m still not sure if that’s true, and when she says, “I don’t want to talk about it,” and drops her hair, I’m even more curious.
“Why not, Cyn?” I counter.
Cynthia exhales and puts her drink down. “Please don’t call me that. My name is Cynthia.”
Maggie lifts her eyebrows at me as Cynthia grabs her polka dot bag from the bar. “I’ve got to go. I promised Marty I’d pick her up from the airport.” She gets off her stool and puts her bag over her shoulder.
“We didn’t mean to pry,” I say. “We’re just concerned, is all.”
“Well, don’t be,” Cynthia snaps. “I’m fine.”
We watch her walk off, both of us staring at her back.
“Wow,” Maggie says. “You had to be nosy, didn’t you?”
I look over at her. “Are you serious? You’re the one who asked.” I exhale, and Maggie huffs. I take a sip of my tea and bite my bottom lip, studying the rows of liquor bottles on the bar. “Something happened to her.”
“No shit,” Maggie chimes in.
“Don’t be a smartass,” I say. “I’m serious. I mean, it’s been more than a few weeks now that we’ve been hanging out, if you count when she was following me around. Don’t you find it odd that she wants to spend all of her time with two old ladies? She has no boyfriend, no other girlfriends that we know of.”
“Well, she is writing a story about you,” Maggie points out.
I smirk. “True.”
Maggie sighs, and after a moment she says, “Time is a thief, Charlotte. We’ve reached that age where the big man upstairs takes more than He gives. So if the girl wants to hang out with us, I’m not questioning it.”
I hold my hands up in surrender. “Okay.”
––––
I lightly knock on the door of the quaint beach house, taking in a dying plant on the front porch and some boards that need a fresh coat of paint as the door opens.
“Can I help you?”
I turn to look at the woman before me. She’s gorgeous in gray shorts and a white T-shirt. Her blonde hair is pinned carelessly onto her head, and she wears no makeup.
“Hi, I’m Cynthia’s friend, Charlotte.”
“Oh, yes, Ms. Charlotte. I’ve heard a lot about you. Come in. I’m Marty.”
“Please, just Charlotte is fine, and I hope it was good.” I laugh.
She smiles. “Of course. Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thank you. I’ve come to see Cynthia. She left my friend Maggie and me upset yesterday, and I wanted to make sure she was okay.”
“I’m sorry. She isn’t here now. She did seem quiet last night on the way home, though,” she says, grabbing her glass of wine from the counter. “Please, have a seat,” she tells me.
“Oh. Well, I’m afraid my friend and I overstepped,” I say as I sit down on the comfortable looking sofa.
“How so?” she asks, taking a sip from her glass.
“Maggie noticed a scar on Cynthia’s neck that I noticed the other day and Cynthia told me she got it from jumping a ramp as a kid. Now, I don’t know, but Cynthia doesn’t seem like the kind of person who jumps ramps.”
Marty gives a small smile. “No,” she agrees. She sighs and rubs her arm. “Charlotte, I wish I could tell you more, but I’m afraid this is something Cynthia herself will have to open up to you about. My niece has been through a lot, and she’s very private.”
“Seems we have something in common,” I say.
She smiles. “I understand she is writing a story about you?”
“She is. I’m a very private person, too, but this girl has come into my life and opened my eyes…if you will.”
“Cynthia is a very special young woman.”
“That she is,” I agree. I scan my eyes over the small living room and notice a photo on the TV stand. It’s a man and woman and Cynthia.
“Are those her parents?” I ask.
Marty’s eyes follow mine. “Yes. My brother and sister-in-law.” She sighs and rubs her finger over her glass. “I didn’t get to spend as much time with him as I would have liked to.”
“Time is a funny thing,” I say. “It doesn’t wait for us to figure things out, does it?”
“Sadly no.”
“Have you been living here long?” I ask.
“Eh, longish. I used to never stay in one spot, but after Cynthia’s parents died and she came to live with me, I had to take some time off work to be with her. Plus, I wanted Cynthia to feel like she had a permanent home, so I bought this place for us to always be able to come back to.”
“I couldn’t imagine losing my parents at such a young age.”
“Me either and she took it hard. We went through some rough patches, but I think she’s doing better.”
“Yeah,” I say, but really, I’m not so sure. Of course, I don’t know how bad it got back then, but I know Cynthia isn’t the happiest young woman, and I’d bet my life it has something to do with losing them. I rub my hands over my jeans. “Well, I guess I better get going.” I stand. “Thanks for inviting me in.”
“You’re welcome anytime. A friend of Cynthia’s is a friend of mine.”
Chapter Nine
I park my car after I get home from the grocery store and make my way to the front door. I can taste the sea salt coming off the Carolina shore, and my toes ache to feel the sand. I haven’t spoken to Cynthia much over the last few days, only short conversations on the phone when she wants to know more details about parts of my story we’ve already discussed. I must admit, though, I miss the girl.
Walking inside with an arm full of groceries, I lay them all on the table and take out my ingredients to make a red velvet cake. I turn on the country station on my TV and listen to some music while I go ab
out putting everything together. Mama always baked in our home, and I try to keep something homemade and sweet in my kitchen also.
After the cake is in the oven, I set my pig timer and then change out my shoes for sandals. I make my way to the bathroom to grab my current Janet Evanovich book and snag a Heath bar from the candy dish before I go plug my dying cell phone up. Grabbing my floppy hat from the coat hanger, I push the screen door open, and the phone rings.
“Well, shit. Someone would call now,” I huff and let the door slam shut behind me. “Haven’t had a phone call all day, but as soon as I’m walking to the beach, someone wants to speak to me.”
“Hello,” I say after I slide my thumb across the screen and see that it’s William.
“Hey,” he replies. I smile, feeling bad I got annoyed when it’s my son who called me. Moving from the table, I take a seat in my recliner. “What are you up to?” he asks me.
“Oh, I was just about to step out and sit under my umbrella. I got the new Janet book Elizabeth sent me.”
“Good. She’ll be glad to know it showed up,” he says.
“Yes, tell her it’s a funny one. Stephanie Plum is at it again.”
“Who’s that?” he asks me.
I laugh, remembering, unlike his wife and me, my son doesn’t care for reading. Elizabeth is actually an author herself, but William has only heard what she’s read to him. She doesn’t mind, though, because he helps her with the business part of being an author.
“It’s the main character in the book, but never mind. Tell me how work is going,” I say. My production assistant son tells me all about life on the current set he is working on and complains about Atlanta weather. I laugh, remembering how those hot and humid Georgia summers can be. While he’s talking to me, his Great Dane squeaks his chew toy, and I hear Elizabeth tell him to drop it.
“Mom, I’ve got to go. I just saw Dottie run across the front yard. She’s escaped the fence again.”
“Oh Lord,” I say. “Love y’all.”
“Love you,” he says before he hangs up. Looking over at the table beside my chair, I smile at the photo of my son and daughter-in-law. They were just married in the picture—
If I'd Known Page 8
