The Runaway

by Jennifer Bernard

  “And what’s the finish line?” Dr. Geller—Mark still thought of him that way after all these years—sounded amused by his description.

  “Marriage? I don’t know.”

  “Do you want to get married to Sophie?”

  “I want to move forward with my life. I’m almost thirty. I feel stuck, like some kind of hamster on a wheel.”

  “It’s common for trauma survivors to feel that way. Maybe you should go easier on yourself.”

  “Thanks for saying survivor, not victim.”

  “You are a survivor, and you know it. Sometimes you need reminding. What you went through isn’t something anyone can just shrug off. You survived, and you’ve even thrived. You own your own business. You’re successful. You’ve come so far. You’re healthy, you enjoy your life.”

  For some reason, Gracie flashed through his mind. “I’m not sure I do,” he said slowly. “Enjoy my life, that is. Not as much as some people.”

  “Are you referring to anyone in particular?”

  “Yes. No. Just…a new cashier. A girl I hired. Just about any little thing makes her happy. I let her stay on my boat and she nearly cried from joy.”

  “She’s staying on your boat? That seems significant. I don’t think you’ve ever allowed anyone to stay there, have you?”

  Mark leaped to his feet and walked across the living room to stare into the courtyard. Sophie’s condo was part of a complex that included a swimming pool. Two girls were lying out on lounge chairs, their backs to the sun. Two California blonds who could have been Gracie.

  Except that Gracie was…Gracie. Like no one he’d ever known before.

  He turned back to face Sophie’s apartment. Polished hardwood floors, a cozy purple couch with big floppy pillows that often ended up on the floor, random pieces of clothing that Sophie had strewn across the room. This was most definitely Sophie’s place, not his.

  He hadn’t left a single mark on it. So to speak.

  “It’s not significant. Not at all. She was sleeping in my stockroom because housing is so expensive around here. It’s nothing more than that. Not everything means something just because you’re a therapist.”

  “Have it your way.”

  “Can we change the subject? Can we talk about you for a while? And don’t say I’m deflecting.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Does that ‘hmm’ have special meaning?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing. Inside joke.”

  “Why don’t you tell me more about this Gracie?”

  “No. I’m not going to talk about her. I want to talk about Sophie and how I’m moving forward with my life. When have I ever flown across the country to meet a girl’s parents before?”

  “I have to say it’s a first.”

  “There. Isn’t that progress?”

  “Yes, I’d say so. What inspired this?”

  Mark picked an armchair and sank into it. Why were all of Sophie’s pieces of furniture so floppy? They were so comfortable that he couldn’t get comfortable in them. Which, of course, made no sense. “Actually, it was Gracie. Something she said. I took it as a challenge.”

  “Hmm.”

  He ground his teeth together, but luckily this time Dr. Geller didn’t push it. The doc knew him well after all these years.

  “Anything new about him?” Mark asked, his tone shifting.

  “No. Status quo.”

  This was part of their arrangement. Mark didn’t want to know anything about the man who’d held him captive as a child. But he did want to know if there was something he should know. Dr. Geller kept an eye on local news reports for him. If anything jumped out, he investigated. If anything seemed worth passing along to Mark, he did so.

  It had only happened once so far, when the man—Mark didn’t even like to think his name out loud—had been arrested for a DUI. Nothing had come of it, but Mark had liked thinking that he was in jail, at least for one night. He’d slept better that night than he had in years.

  “Anything else on your mind?” Dr. Geller was asking. “Have you talked to your parents lately?”

  “No,” Mark said briefly. “I think they like it better that way. I know I do.”

  Sympathetic silence from the doctor. That was one thing about his therapist that he truly appreciated. The man didn’t judge him. If he said he was angry at his parents, he didn’t preach unity and harmony and all that crap. He just listened.

  They hung up shortly after that, and Mark did what he always did after a phone therapy session. He put on his running shoes and went for a pounding, punishing run down the boardwalk that followed the coastline. He ignored the gray ocean on one side and the busy traffic on the other. Pavement, feet, sweat, a blister—that was all he focused on during these runs.

  One other thing, so automatic he barely gave it a thought. He always brought a hundred dollars in fives and tens with him. Every time he passed a homeless person—the woman resting on a bench next to her shopping cart, the Vietnam vet muttering to his own sleeve, the man selling oranges—he gave them some money and a word of encouragement. “Hang in there…looking good, Stan…thanks for your service…” That kind of thing.

  Because he knew more than anyone how life could shift direction in a flash, and how hard it was to cope with the aftermath.

  The effort of his run helped clear his mind from the ghosts that always surfaced after those conversations. Sometimes he thought about calling a stop to the sessions. And maybe someday he would.

  But for now, even at the age of almost thirty, he still needed them. They kept the nightmares at bay and enabled him to have a productive life. The last thing he needed was something else stirring up the demons.

  Or someone else.

  The thought of Gracie skittered through his mind. Something about her brave innocence and jaunty smile tugged at his heart in a way he wasn’t used to. She brought out his protective side and his relax-and-enjoy-life side all in one fell swoop.

  Let it go, he told himself.

  He knew what this attraction was all about. Every time he tried to get serious about a woman, he sabotaged it. This was the same old hamster wheel all over again. Maybe, instead of ruining another relationship, he should keep his focus where it belonged—on Sophie.

  His attraction to his odd, quirky, beguiling, intriguing new cashier was just a distraction. Don’t fall for it.

  Above all—don’t fall for Gracie.

  7

  All the MTV reality shows in the world couldn’t have prepared Gracie for Sophie’s brother’s party. It took place at a multilevel beach house with an infinity swimming pool and a Jacuzzi. The place was packed with dancing bodies—girls in bikinis or tiny sundresses, the guys in board shorts to show off their tats. A DJ blasted music from inside the living room, but giant speakers sent the sound all the way out to the pool, and beyond that, to the beach.

  Sophie was already bopping to the music as she dragged Gracie toward the stairs that led to the swimming pool deck.

  “Now remember, I’m your wing woman. That means I won’t leave you unless you tell me to.” She winked at her. “Since I have a boyfriend at the moment, I’m not here to do anything but flirt. Besides, everyone here is too young for me. But they’re perfect for you. Mark would kill me if anything happened to any of his employees, so here are the rules. No more than two drinks—I know these guys, they make them strong. Never, ever, leave your drink unattended. If you do, just pour it out and get another one. Don’t go off anywhere alone without telling me first. Promise me.”

  Gracie felt like crying. All she wanted to do was go hide somewhere on her own. She thought longingly of her peaceful berth on the Buttercup. That was where she wanted to be, not here with these complete strangers. Sophie was being nice in a big sister-ish way, but she was no replacement for Isabelle.

  Isabelle.

  “I have to make a call,” she said in Sophie’s ear. “You go ahead, I’ll catch up in a second.”

  “Didn’t I just
tell you not to go anywhere alone?”

  “Without telling you first, yes. I’m telling you. It’s just a quick phone call.”

  “Fine, whatever. You have my number?”

  Gracie held up her phone as proof. Sophie nodded, then reached forward to adjust the artfully messy updo she’d created for Gracie. Gracie’s hair was naturally messy, but not stylishly messy. She hadn’t even understood the difference until Sophie went to work with her styling wax.

  “You aren’t backing out, are you?”

  Was that an option? One look at Sophie told her that no, it wasn’t. “Of course not. I’m super-psyched to be here.”

  “Good, because you look great, and I want to show off my skills. Five bucks says Ian asks you out tonight.”

  “Couldn’t you just give him three dollars to ask me out? Then you’d make two bucks.”

  Sophie stared at her for a moment, then laughed. “You’re odd, aren’t you? Well, some guys like that kind of thing. I gotta go find Ian, I’ll see you in the fray.”

  “Okay, sounds fun.”

  No, it didn’t. It sounded more like joining a battle. And what did she mean by “some guys like that kind of thing”? Talk about a backhanded compliment. Gracie fled down the beach to the ocean’s edge, where the thumping of the bass didn’t reach all the way into her bones. To her right, up the shoreline, she spotted the lights of the Ocean Shores Marina. How she wished she was there, snuggled up with Mellow the yellow cat and her sketchbook.

  She dialed her sister Isabelle’s number.

  “Gracie! I was just thinking about you.”

  “You were?”

  “Are you all right? Where are you? I hear strange sounds in the background.”

  “I’m at a party. Well, near a party.”

  “Near a party? You hate parties.”

  “That’s why I’m only near it. I need a pep talk. All I want to do is go home.”

  “Then come home! We seriously miss you. Lyle and I are heading to Albania soon, and I’d love to see you before we go.”

  Lyle, Isabelle’s fiancé, had always believed he was an orphan, but he had recently learned that his mother was still alive and living in Albania. His story was so crazy that Gracie often thought about telling him about her own situation.

  But she didn’t want to put him in an awkward position, and she wasn’t ready to drop this particular bombshell on her sister and brothers yet.

  “No, not that home.” With a start, she realized that she’d referred to a dilapidated houseboat that wasn’t even hers as “home.”

  Weird.

  “The one here. The boat.”

  “Oh, okay.” She could hear the disappointment in her sister’s voice. “Pep talk. I can do that. What sort of party is it?”

  “Lots of drinking. Dancing. There’s a swimming pool.”

  “You love dancing. Why don’t you forget about everything else and just dance?”

  Gracie thought about that. Yes, she did love dancing. But she didn’t dance the way the girls at this party were dancing. They could have been stars in a music video.

  “I guess I could do that.”

  “Gracie. Honey. You sound miserable. If you don’t want to be there, just skip it. Go do something else. Sketch a seagull. Talk to a random person who wants to tell you all their troubles. You aren’t required to go to a party. Listen, you’ve spent a lot of your life in the mountains surrounded by nothing but birds and trees. It’s no wonder a beach party would be kind of a culture shock. Baby steps, Gracie. Baby steps.”

  Isabelle meant well, but the more she talked, the more irritated Gracie became. Sketch a seagull…was that all she was good for?

  “I’m not a little girl anymore, Izzy. I can handle a party.”

  “Of course you can. I’m not saying that. I just want you to—”

  “You just want me to be the same old Gracie. The hermit who doesn’t like to leave the lodge.”

  “What’s wrong with the same old Gracie? I happen to love my baby sister.”

  “Well, I can’t be your baby sister forever.” In fact, she literally, technically, wasn’t Isabelle’s baby sister anymore. “I’m living on my own now, I have my own job, my own place to live.”

  “Yes, but this is all new for you. I’m just saying—”

  “That I can’t handle it?”

  “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to offend you. If you want to have fun at a party, go for it. Just don’t let anyone put anything in your drink, and make sure you have a buddy system, and—”

  “I know, I know. I will. Bye, Izzy. Tell everyone ‘hi’ from me.”

  Gracie ended the call and headed back to the party house. Much as she loved Isabelle, she had to do this on her own. She’d always admired Isabelle, who’d left the lodge after many loud battles with Max and gone straight to med school to become a doctor. Not just any doctor, but a trauma surgeon who worked with Doctors Without Borders in danger zones all over the world.

  Basically, she was the opposite of Gracie. How many times had she wondered why they were so different? Now she knew. They didn’t have the same DNA.

  And apparently her DNA wasn’t too fond of crowds.

  She squared her shoulders. Screw her social anxiety. Screw everything she thought she knew about herself. Right now, she was a blank slate. She could be anything in the world. What if her mother had been a stripper? Maybe Gracie had latent twerking talent she’d just never known about.

  Only one way to find out.

  Mark could hear the party from all the way down the beach. Ian lived at “The Party House,” as all the locals called it, for obvious reasons. He didn’t get along with Sophie’s brother at all. The kid spent too much time stoned and not enough time studying for his massage therapy degree. He also surfed a lot, which Mark didn’t mind, and cheated on his girlfriends—a fact that he knew but Sophie didn’t.

  But he couldn’t tell Sophie because she was fiercely attached to her brother, and Ian was always looking for a good reason to hate him. Actually, he didn’t even need a good reason; any reason would do. Mark had offered him a job once, and that had sparked a week-long sulk about Mark’s lack of respect for the art of massage.

  Normally, he would never go to one of Ian’s parties. But he couldn’t help worrying about poor Gracie. Did she have any idea what she was getting into? Sophie would be no help. She might go in with good intentions, but one sip of tequila, and she’d be partying just as hard as the rest.

  How had he ended up with such a dedicated party girl? When they first got together, he went to parties with her, but she always accused him of standing in the corners being standoffish and ruining her good time.

  “It’s a good thing you’re so sexy when you stand,” she used to say. “That’s the only saving grace.”

  “How is that even possible?”

  “I don’t know. But you pull it off. You could try smiling now and then, too. For me?”

  But his attempts at faking a good time had failed, and she’d banned him from escorting her to parties anymore.

  Beautiful Sophie, with her glossy dark hair and throwaway wealth. She was generous when it suited her, impatient with anything boring, addicted to her phone, self-indulgent when it came to sick days and decaf lattes, the kind of girl who’d never had a car payment or a bill she couldn’t quite cover. She owned an entire dresser full of old makeup and a closet bigger than his boat.

  He had no idea what she saw in him. Everywhere she went, men noticed her, and if she smiled at them, they bought her a drink, or tried to get her number, or asked her to dance.

  And yet, she’d asked him out, not the other way around.

  He’d been invited to dinner by the owner of a yacht who wanted to pick his brain about buying a catamaran. He’d been earnestly explaining the differences between hull shapes when a drink had appeared before him, with a note speared through the little plastic sword.

  “Hi, I’m Sophie, and I think you’re cute. Join me?”

 
She’d smiled at him from across the room, and that was that. She’d dictated the pace of their relationship ever since.

  “It’s time we went to bed together, don’t you think?”

  “Hell yes.”

  “I’m thinking we should go away to Cabo for Christmas. What do you think?”

  “I can’t leave the marina—”

  “Mark, you know what they say about traveling together. That’s how you really know if you’re compatible.”

  They hadn’t gone to Cabo, and he still didn’t know if they were compatible. Maybe he’d find out when they went to Connecticut.

  But if they were compatible, would he look forward so much to her spa days and the nights she had to work late? Would he wonder if she was taking selfies in her head while they had sex?

  Didn’t matter—every relationship had issues. And he wasn’t going to screw this one up like all the others.

  He took the stairs two at a time, stopping only to help a girl who clung to the railing, looking as if she might vomit over the side.

  “You okay?”

  “Hey, you’re cute. What’s your name?” she answered, swaying like a spinnaker in the wind.

  “Do you want me to call you a cab?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I mean an Uber.”

  God, he felt old.

  “Why? This party’s sick. Bye, boy!”

  “Bye.” He kept going, civic duty complete. On the main floor of the house, so many people were packed so close together that the air itself felt sweaty. Pausing at the edge of the crowd, he scanned the mass of heads for Sophie’s raven-wing hair.

  And, to be honest, Gracie’s blond pixie head as well. He felt responsible for her. He didn’t trust Sophie in a situation like this. She’d be too busy having fun to remember that she was supposed to look out for Gracie.

  He spotted Sophie first, all the way across the room. She was hanging out with the DJ, wearing a glow stick as a crown and swaying back and forth to the music. She waved at him and blew a kiss. He mouthed “Gracie?” at her, but she shrugged and turned back to the DJ.