Kimber

by Sarah Denier

  The faint image of a phone forms in my mind as it rings. I reach for it but I’m incapable of actually touching it. The more it rings the more annoyed I become until eventually, I’m awake. I’m not the only thing pulled from my sleep though, the ringing has followed me. I rub my eyes and roll over to my nightstand.

  Unknown, the caller ID displays.

  I hit ignore and cover my head with a pillow. Within a yawns time the phone rings again. I fling the pillow off me. Again it’s unknown. Annoyed, I hit speakerphone and answer it.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello Kimber, It’s Wyler Reed.”

  I sit up and grab the phone. How horrible is it that I completely forgot about him?

  “Hey, how’s the leg?” I ask recalling how gruesome it had looked with a stingray’s barb sticking out from it.

  “Intact.” He says with the sound of a smile in his voice. “When I woke up this morning I found your number on my hand. I was really out of it yesterday. I don’t take too well to pain pills.”

  “You weren’t too bad. It’s good your feeling better.”

  “Yeah. Thing is my leg is out of commission and I can’t drive my Jeep. So I thought, since I’ll have to eat sometime today maybe I could do it with you. My treat.”

  I pull the phone away from me and look at the time. Eleven forty. I mentally note to start going to bed and waking up at an adult hour.

  “Ok. Give me a half hour.” I say then hang up.

  Wishing I had asked for an hour, I shower, moisturize, pull on a summery spaghetti flora romper, slide my feet into white sandals and braid my hair to the side.

  I briefly wonder how good of an idea this was but quickly rationalize that if Wyler Reed where trouble…well, with my track record it be too late by the time I found out. But what am I going to do, never make a new friend again?

  I have a moment of OCD as I, again, triple check every lock to make sure it’s secure.

  I arrive outside Wyler’s apartment surprised to see him standing out front crutches and all. I pop the trunk and get out to stand beside my car. Curiosity fades into a wide grin as he crutches his way over to me.

  “What?” I ask, trying to hold back a smile.

  I know what he is thinking. My lack of high horse rich bitchiness always surprised people once they discovered what I drive or where I lived. Wyler was currently experiencing this.

  “Nothing.” He says smiling so bright it illuminates his almond eyes. He laughs to himself as he ducks down into the car.

  “Where to?” I stretch the seatbelt across my chest and click it into its holster.

  “I know this place on fourth Street where we can sit outside.”

  “Great.” I put my car in drive, check for oncoming cars and pull out onto Central Avenue.

  As I drive, Wyler talks about some crazy dream he had and how he thought, at least twice, he went to the fridge for water but never really left the couch. He tells me how he took painkillers before for an old hockey injury. He hated them back then as much as he does now. He tells me that he was born in Florida but moved to Ann Arbor Michigan at age five. He spent four years at the University of Michigan before moving back home to Florida after graduation. I spin the math in my head, making him twenty-two or twenty-three depending on his birthday. Currently he had taken up an internship and enrolled at Eckerd College for his master’s degree in biomedical science. It sounds like something only ridiculously smart people could do.

  The restaurant resembles a neon themed tropical paradise. Decorative fake palm trees double as outside water misters.

  We seat ourselves outside at a neon orange picnic table with a large yellow umbrella. Mile markers, totem poles and a couple of fake parrots decorate outside and around the bar. In the background, Bob Marley confesses to the shooting of the sheriff but not the deputy.

  The menu is mostly sandwiches and salads with tropical names like Jamaican me blue burger, fried Polly chicken sandwich, and crackin’ coconut salad. I love it! I especially like how Libby refers to herself as our waitress and not a server. I never liked that term. It seems so demeaning, like for the next forty-five minutes she’s our slave, running to and from the kitchen obeying our command. Please.

  I ask for a blackened chicken caesar wrap and Wyler orders the Polly chicken sandwich.

  “Ten more of these and I’ll have broken ground on repaying you.”

  I fiddle with my braid, smile and politely decline. I know I vowed to stop being the martyr of good deeds since they go unnoticed, but sitting across from Wyler, I’m glad I was finally in the right place at the right time.

  “I’m just glad you called. You were really out of it when I left yesterday.”

  He grits his teeth and laughs. “Probably made a real ass out of myself.” Though it’s not a question, I can tell he’s curious if I feel the same.

  I prop my elbow up on the table and lean my head against my hand. “No, not an ass.” I tease.

  “As long as I didn’t cross a line, or get you in any trouble with your boyfriend.” His right brow arches.

  Inside a part of me silently groans, my throat tightens and under my jaw itches. It might not be a bad thing for my body to start physically rejecting relationships. It’s not that I don’t find Wyler appealing. In fact he’s got this sexy man thing going on, with his short curly hair, mysterious almond eyes and what I’d assume is a ridiculously high IQ. But the most appealing thing about Wyler is that he’s nothing like Leo.

  I race for a way to sidestep his question but Libby comes to my rescue as she delivers our food.

  Since I am less inclined to talk about myself Wyler leads our conversation. I learn that not only is he ridiculously smart but he’s also hilarious. My abs feel like I’ve done a gazillion crunches by the end of lunch.

  He challenges me to a game of miniature golf, which I love because I can’t play the real game. I take him up on the challenge and talk some smack on how I’ll wipe the course with him. He’s a good sport about it and dishes it right back to me. But the best part is how he uses his crutch instead of a club and still kills the course.

  “You have the box set of Harry Potter?” I joke as I scan through his stack of movies.

  I hesitated when he asked me over but since I was having such a great time I decided it was ok.

  Wyler stands in the kitchen swallowing Ibuprofen instead of painkillers. “Well, now you know my nerdie secret.” He smiles and tosses me a bottle of water.

  “Liking Harry Potter doesn’t make you a nerd.” I taunt.

  “Alright, if you think you can do better, let’s see whatcha got?”

  I step over to the couch, fold one leg under me and sit facing him. “I used to wear braces.”

  “Braces? That’s what you’re offering up?” He throws back his head and gives a hardy, Ha!

  “Because I sucked my thumb.” I stick my chest out, saying it all proud like.

  He looks derisively at me. “How long we talking?”

  “Long enough for a few teeth to grow in crooked. My mom tried all those extracts and nail polish things, but they didn’t work. I didn’t have to wear them for long but I have a permanent retainer because of it.” I lean forward, open my mouth and show him the retainer behind my bottom row of teeth. “You can’t be a nerd without a retainer.” I smirk

  “Lifetime of nerdness, hard to beat.” He mocks. “Explains why you’re single.” He takes a drink of water. “You evaded my question at lunch. Psych one-o-one.”

  “You profiling me now?”

  “You didn’t talk about yourself once at lunch. You’re either not a girl, or just guarded. I’m putting my money on the latter.” He says it so casually, without judgment or eagerness to fix me. But even his relaxed tone can’t suppress the pressure inside me.

  Everything involving Leo, including the real reason for my mother’s death, has to stay locked behind my teeth. I rub my forehead and shrug my shoulders.

  “Look, I don’t believe in chance, it’s against scien
ce,” I laugh at the irony, “but I have an opening for a friend. There’s an application around here somewhere.” He smiles and flicks my kneecap with his fingers.

  “Ok, but I expect holiday pay.”

  Chapter Twenty Four

  THE NEXT FEW days fall into the next couple of weeks. I introduce my new friend Wyler to my old friends at Tiffany’s birthday party. I thought the guys might be harsh but they seemed to adopt Wyler into their little gang.

  “Leo’s grandfather died. He’s in New Zealand.” Mike D. says informing me of the cover story either he or Leo made up. It’s a sorry excuse and one that I will not use. I mean really. Could they not come up with nothing better than faking the death of someone who is very much alive?

  Karma anyone?

  Days after her birthday, Tiffany, Amber and I exhaust every waking moment with last minute wedding details. Since the wedding will be a small and intimate affair Tiffany decided to make the aisle decorations and table centerpieces.

  Amber and Mike plan and execute a perfect unisex bachelor party.

  The wedding ceremony begins with organized chaos and ends with elegant beauty. There isn’t a dry eye as Tiff and Tommy read the vows they wrote to one other. And I’ll never forget the way Tiff glowed as she was announced for the first time as Mr. and Mrs. Tommy Graham.

  Having lost our previous miniature golf bet, Wyler, dressed to the nines in a dark gray suit and shiny metallic blue tie, accompanies me to the dance floor. He dances like a white scientist, swaying back and forth, snapping off beat. I shoo him off the dance floor, ending his misery.

  The more time I spend with Wyler the more ambitious I become. “You can’t achieve something without risking something”, is what he always says.

  Day by day I find myself seeking positive change. So much so that I do what I promised my mother I would. I enroll at Saint Pete College. Wyler helps with my admission papers and since I haven’t a clue what I want to be he suggests something most freshmen start off on, business management. I highly doubt Wyler sat through business management his freshmen year.

  On our official nerd night, a.k.a Tuesday, I grab the popcorn as Wyler starts the third season of The Big Bang Theory. It boggles my mind how sometimes he gets the quantum and nuclear physics jokes and I just laugh because it sounds funny.

  I like how smart he is and that no one can see it. People always turn strengths into weaknesses. On the outside, he looks like he could be anything from a club promoter to someone pinched behind a desk in a drab office drowning at the water cooler. He always has a little stubble on his face, wears a University of Michigan hat almost all the time and hits a hockey puck around his living room floor when brainstorming. He’s just…mellow.

  “Hey, have you ever watched Labyrinth?” I plop down on the couch and place the bowl of popcorn between us.

  “With David Bowie?” He shoves a handful of popcorn in his mouth.

  “Yeah. It’s like, a classic. I used to love it when I was little.” I pop a piece of buttery goodness into my mouth.

  My cell phone rings.

  “The Last Boy Scout, that’s a classic.”

  “You mean like, Boy Scouts of America?”

  I reach my left hand over the arm of the couch, blindly fumbling around inside my purse.

  He laughs at my ignorance. “It’s one of the most quotable movies of all time.”

  “Why is it guys remember quotes? You forget just about everything else, except a great one liner.”

  I find my phone as my missed call becomes a new voicemail. I don’t recognize the out of state area code. Normally I never listen to voicemails, hence the reason no one leaves me any. This one however has been marked urgent.

  “We have the superior hippocampus ‘cause you guys have, boobs.”

  “Yeah, I’ve never seen a camp for hippos’ so I’m going to assume you’re answer is really just based on boobs.” I smile and take pleasure in teasing him with my genius word play.

  He clears his throat, to probably keep from laughing, and nods his head in an official manner. “Your hypothesis is without fail.”

  “Such a shame, and here I am thinking you’re immune to the sensuous pleasures in life.”

  I shrug my shoulders and give him a dumbfounded look before breaking into a smile. If I’ve learned anything from being around guys it’s that nothing, ever, trumps boobs. Arguing anything other is a moot point.

  He’s already thought of a comeback but before he speaks in his defense, my phone rings in my hand. It’s the same out of state number as before.

  “Yellow.” My lame attempt at mocking the way Wyler answers his phone.

  “Kimber.” Lena’s voice comes across urgent and distraught.

  I shift to the edge of the couch. “Lena. What’s the matter?”

  “He’s missing.” Lena whispers in an apprehensive rush.

  I jump to my feet. Beside me Wyler stands, concern growing on his face. I’m highly aware of how he’s studying my reaction. I’ve kept him in the dark and away from the reach of my past. Other than happy child memories I’ve said nothing of the days that existed before we met. Now it all threatened to fall apart. I need this small remnant of normality.

  “I need a second.” I say sliding the phone down to my shoulder.

  “Yeah, absolutely.”

  I close the front door behind me and place the phone back up to my ear. My shoulders rise and fall as I try to compose myself for the unknown.

  “What happened?”

  “I honestly don’t know. I didn’t see anything.” I hear the tears in Lena’s voice.

  “Well, where are you? I mean, there could be a power outage or just a language barrier or his cell is probably dead.”

  “No. It’s not possible.” She says eager to dismiss my theories.

  “Then tell me what is possible. This doesn’t just happen. He’s a grown man.” I try to control the anger seeping through my voice.

  “Leo’s family council warned against dealings with Alexandria and her family. They said if he decided to see Alexandria in Egypt he would do it without their support. Obviously he didn’t listen.”

  I close my eyes, clench my teeth together and swallow down the urge to be sick. “When’d you last see him?” She’s silent. So silent that I look at my phone to see if the call was dropped. “Lena?”

  “Eight days. It’s been eight days.” Her voice trembles.

  A frigid grip tightens around my throat muffling my shock. It was not a couple unanswered phone calls or a handful of hours gone by. It’s been over a week. Instantly my mind goes to a dark place, speculating the possibilities and volatile things that could have occurred in a week’s time.

  My eyes sting with hot tears. The horrible image of Leo, lifeless as he lay on my living room floor, Luke kicking his body, replays in my mind. A guttural sob escapes through my lips. This can’t be happening.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I whisper.

  I wipe the tears from my eyes and reject this daunting reality. You can do this, you don’t have a choice.

  Dread crawls over my skin. In my best attempt to look unfazed and normal, I run my fingers roughly through my hair. I can’t waste borrowed time. I jump up from the stoop and run back inside.

  “Hey, I’ve gotta go. I’m real sorry. Can I get a rain check?” I keep my eyes down avoiding his glare.

  “Sure. Is everything ok? Anything I can do?” He shadows my movement.

  I reach for my keys inside my purse. I want to tell him there is a way he could help. He could transform into a Nephilim. Even better, he could be as pure as Leo and all my problems would be solved but that isn’t going to happen. Wyler being a Nephilim would be the worst.

  Then I have a wild idea. There’s too much to lose involving Wyler and the chance of outing my secret. But there is someone Leo might have told.

  “My friend got into a jam. I can handle it.” I wish I felt as sure as I sounded. “I’ll be gone for a few days. I’ll call you when I’
m back in town.” I force a reassuring smile across my face and b-line it to my car.

  I doubt I’m thinking clearly by the time I reach Tommy’s shop. It’s one in a row of rented out and glorified space units where he tricks out and rebuilds motorcycles.

  I park off to the side and walk to where I hear metal grinding metal. If I have any hope in finding Leo, it rides on the premise of Tommy knowing or being a Nephilim. Preferably one of the good guys.

  I find Tommy in his shop grinding down something I’ll never know the name of while some other guy sands the paint off a gas tank. I’m just about to call Tommy’s name when I’m yanked by the back of my arm.

  “Hey!” I protest.

  “What are you doing here?” Mike asks.

  I’d ask him the same but from his monkey suit it’s obvious he’s working with Tommy.

  “Leo’s missing in Egypt. It’s been eight days.”

  He doesn’t react at first but when he realizes it’s no joke, his brow creases with concern that soon washes away.

  He lifts his hat, wiping the sweat from his eyes. “And you came here to do what, rat us all out to Tommy? Go home.”

  I stand back, baffled by his callous regard for his friend. What is it Amber sees in him?

  “Go? It’s Leo!”

  “Exactly. If he can’t save himself what are you going to do?”

  If I look hard enough I can see the infliction deep in his eyes.

  “Mike, help me help him.” I counter his step back with a step forward.

  He fixes his hat back on his head. “What part where you confused about when I said I’m Switzerland? My hands are tied.”

  I close my eyes and clench my fists. I can’t accept what he says.

  “You have to help me, Mike. I know, it’s risky, but he needs you. We can get in and out without anyone knowing you left Switzerland.” I plead.

  “This recon suicide mission you’re planning,” he pauses, “our world doesn’t work like a fantasy. There’s a hierarchy for a reason and Half bloods don’t get in the way of that. Besides, if they’ve had him for eight days, you’re eight days too late.”