A Season of Eden

by Jennifer Laurens

  “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  On the far out fantasy that he might kiss me, I waited a moment.

  His gaze dropped to my mouth and he touched my lower lip with his finger, gently lingering. “Still hurt?”

  “N-no,” my voice rasped. He smiled.

  “Keep that Carmex on it.”

  “I will.” My heart thudded at his touch. As if he knew my knees were melting, he kept his finger on my lip, drawing it slowly down to my chin before he put his hand back in the pocket of his hoodie.

  “Tomorrow. Redondo Beach. Five o’ clock.”

  Excitement stole my voice. I nodded.

  I got into the car and looked up at him.

  “Have a good night, Eden.”

  “You too.”

  I drove home with my heart pulsing joy through my body. James was the coolest, nicest guy I had ever met, the best of two worlds; a hottie that didn’t know he was a hottie. There was no way I was going to let anyone else know this. And no way was I going to let any other girl near him.

  I’d never been jealous. I’d never felt possessive. In my relationships, I’d been the hot one. The most sought after.

  I’d been a shopper at a boutique, picking and choosing what I wanted, when I wanted it. When I’d had enough, I moved on.

  At home, I walked in the house and found silence. It was nine o’clock, so I went to the garage door and peered out into the garage. Dad’s car was there. Uncertainty knotted my stomach.

  I went to his office and peered through the glass French doors. Empty. I checked out the family room next, and found him sitting on one of the big, leather couches, staring at the television. He was watching his and Stacey’s wedding videos.

  From the big screen Stacey’s face beamed like a celebrity on the red carpet. I hated these videos. They could have been titled the Stacey Show for all that Dad and I or anyone else was in them. I swear she’d paid the cameraman to film only her.

  “Dad?” He turned for a second to look at me but didn’t say anything. I walked up behind the couch to sneak a closer look at his face. Faint red rimmed his eyes, the only sign of what was going on inside of him.

  “Why do you watch this if you know it will hurt?” I asked.

  He didn’t reply.

  “She doesn’t deserve this, Dad. You’re so much better than her. And you can do so much better than her.” He didn’t say anything. “You’re not still mad at me, cause that would be totally lame.”

  Like a zombie, he didn’t move. Only his eyes blinked.

  I let out a sigh. I couldn’t believe he was pining away after the gold digger. I was glad she was gone, and hoped he would see her for what she really was sooner than later.

  Save himself hours of self-inflicted torture.

  I turned and headed upstairs, digging my phone out along the way. I dialed Brielle.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s me.”

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  Upstairs, I dropped the whisper I’d spoken in. “Dad’s being so lame right now.”

  “Because of Stacey?”

  “He’s sitting in a vegetative state in front of the TV

  watching his wedding video.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I can’t believe he’s sorry about this.”

  “Well, they were married, right?”

  I shut my bedroom door. “So?” Not once had Stacey been satisfied with simply being in the gorgeous house Dad provided. She asked him for new this, more of that. At Christmas, she gave Dad a watch or a new suit while she expected a twenty-thousand dollar bracelet and a trip to Dubai.

  I plopped onto my bed. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you, Brielle.”

  “I guess I just think, well, it’s nice when people can work things out.”

  “I don’t know, to me it’s so clear. I can see it for exactly what it was. I just can’t understand why he can’t.”

  Brielle didn’t say anything more. I didn’t like her silence.

  I wasn’t happy that she’d sided with Dad. But then maybe she had rug burns after being Matt’s doormat.

  “So, how are things with Matt?” I knew how bad regret would be for her when Matt dumped her. And I knew he’d dump her eventually.

  “Good. Fine. Good.” Her fake enthusiasm told me the circulation was already draining from their relationship.

  When she didn’t elaborate, I said, “Oh. Good. I’m glad.

  You guys hook up yet?” She paused and I continued, “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me. But if you want to talk about it, you can.”

  “That would just be too weird.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  We talked a few more minutes about other stuff then said goodbye. I’d just clicked off my phone when Dad opened my bedroom door and peered in. He hadn’t entered my bedroom for years, no doubt as uncomfortable being there as I was having him there.

  “Dinner, Eden.” He shut the door to avoid my reply.

  Stunned, I couldn’t move Dinner? He hadn’t asked me to come down and eat with him since I was fifteen.

  Numbly, I took the stairs down wondering what in the world we would talk about.

  Camilla had prepared lasagna. The deep baking dish sat in the center of the dining room table as if awaiting a large party. Two thrown-together place settings dressed one corner of the twelve-foot table.

  Dad was already sitting, hands clasped over his empty plate. He watched me enter and sit down.

  We both picked up our cloth napkins at the same time.

  I would have smiled at the coincidence, but the air was so thick with weirdness, I was having a hard time breathing.

  He gestured to the lasagna, which meant I was supposed to dish up first. I did. I reached for the salad bowl and scooped myself a small mound, then handed it to him.

  He handed me a soft garlic roll, then took one.

  There was no sound but the crunch of chewing. I started to sweat. I snuck glances at him, staring down at his plate, his jaw going round and round. He sat with his forearms poised on the table. His wedding band was still on his finger. I wasn’t surprised. His lawyer mentality wouldn’t give up easily.

  “How’s school?” His voice cut through the awkward silence like truth through a lie.

  “Fine.”

  “Graduation’s coming. You ready for finals?”

  “Dad, that’s three months away yet. Yes, I’ll be ready for finals.”

  “I can hardly believe you’ll be leaving for Santa Barbara soon.”

  He just got rid of Stacey, was he anxious to be alone?

  “I’m not going to USSB.”

  He froze a moment, then locked his courtroom glare on mine. “Why not?”

  “I’m still enrolled, don’t get jumpy. I’m just thinking about staying in town. Maybe USC.”

  “You hate SC.”

  Yeah, but it’s closer to home. And James. I shrugged.

  “Things change. So why are we suddenly eating dinner together?”

  His eyes steeled. “Things change.”

  We ate the rest of our meal in silence. Stacey’s presence had made us roommates and left us strangers.

  After I’d finished, I rose, ready to take my plate to the kitchen. Dad lifted his to me. At first I stared at it. When I could see he was serious about me taking his plate along with mine, I glared at him. His steady gaze was straight from the courtroom – all business, no b.s.

  I took the plate.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The next afternoon I raced home when school was over. As expected, no one was there. Camilla had come, started dinner, and left, her note on the granite counter with our menu.

  I let out a sigh of relief, still spooked after last night’s dinner with Dad. The impromptu family eating experience had stuck with me like indigestion.

  I changed from my jeans, tee shirt and hoodie into a gauzy skirt in milky white with a matching long-sl
eeved tee with Sweatpea across my chest. I pulled on my calf-high cream boots and sprayed on some perfume.

  I’d counted the hours all day, my concentration zapped by the excitement I carried inside. During Concert Choir, I’d passed out sheet music, sung, and collected the music when class was over like I normally did. I’d caught James glancing at me throughout class and refused to acknowledge our secret meeting with any hint of furtive eye contact.

  Now, I was in my car, speeding down the winding cliffs on Palos Verdes Drive North as if I was a race car driver.

  On the Esplanade, I inched along in traffic toward the Redondo Beach entrance, searching for James’ grey Toyota.

  My palms were wet, my heart was pounding. Spotted. I parked, got out and jogged across the street to the long declining cement ramp that led to the beach.

  At that hour of the afternoon, the beach was nearly empty. Rollerbladers skated the biking/walking path. A few dogs led their owners by the leash. Salty air tickled my nose and a light, cool breeze lifted my hair from my neck.

  Beyond the reach of the darkening Pacific, the sun hovered in golden red splendor.

  I scanned the stretch of beach for James. He stood near the edge of the ocean, barefoot, in a pair of jeans and the same red hoodie he’d worn yesterday. I forced myself to walk down the ramp, rather than run. At the bottom, I slipped off my boots and carried them, my toes digging into the cool, grainy sand as I crossed to him.

  “Hey.”

  He had his hands in the front pocket of his jeans. “Hey.

  Wow.” His gaze swept me from head to toe. “Another great outfit.”

  “Thanks.”

  We didn’t say anything for a moment. A chill of awkwardness chased down my spine. At last we were alone. What would we do with it? I couldn’t talk nonsense to him like I could with any teenaged guy, nonsense just to fill the air with noise.

  “Here we are,” I said.

  He smiled, looked at me and then back out at the sun.

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you want to be here?”

  “I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t.”

  I nodded, enjoying the wind blowing through my hair.

  I looked great with the wind in my hair. I sat down and extended my legs. His gaze locked on them, then shifted to my eyes. I grinned. He sat.

  Our arms brushed.

  His stretched out pose mirrored mine. He had great feet—finely sculpted foot bones and nicely shaped toes.

  “Nice feet,” I said.

  He laughed. “You notice everything.”

  “If we were at my house, I’d offer you a drink. Since we’re not, I’ll have to offer you the view.” I gestured to the choppy sea.

  “I don’t drink, so I’ll take the view. I used to come down here after school and de-stress.”

  “You surfed?”

  He laughed again. “No. Watched.”

  “I do that, too.”

  “The waves, the seagulls, runners on the beach, that kind of thing. The sound of the waves always calms me.”

  “I know what you mean. Off the back of our house is a seventy-five foot drop to the ocean. I like to stand there and listen.”

  His eyes met mine. “What’s your dad do?”

  “He’s a lawyer.”

  “Aah. That explains the house.”

  “Does the house scare you?” I brought my legs to my chest and wrapped my arms around my knees. The breeze had changed course and now my hair fluttered around my face. “Because it’s just a house,” I said.

  The green in his eyes flickered. He didn’t respond, but studied me without a smile. He looked back out to sea.

  “This feels strange.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I’m not worrying, I’m feeling it.”

  A fluttering of panic let loose inside of me. I was enjoying this moment, and wanted more of the same.

  “What do you do for fun?”

  He smiled at my obvious change of subject, and picked up some sand that drained from his fingers. “I told you, I’ve been out of things. School took all my time. Still takes all my time, now that I teach.”

  “You have to change that, James. Look at you. You’re far too…” His eyes locked with mine. My heart pounded faster. “You’re way too hot to stay isolated.”

  He barely smiled, like he wasn’t sure if he should believe my words. “You throw that word around pretty easily, Eden.”

  “Everybody does.”

  “Hasn’t it lost its meaning?”

  “Maybe.” I looked out over the ocean, feeling the air around us thickening with something I hoped was heat. “I guess it depends more on who’s saying it and who they’re calling hot.”

  His sharp gaze still had me pinned. “And that’s what it all comes down to, doesn’t it? How close can we get to the edge?”

  “The very,” I said, rising to my feet. I crossed toward the water racing at us from the ocean. He joined me, staying at my side. Moving closer to the rushing pull of tide didn’t ease the tension between us, it drew it to a head. I couldn’t help but feel like something was going to happen.

  James walked right into the licks. “There’s power in that beast.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Not the place to find yourself sleepwalking,” he said, and laughed.

  “No.” I laughed. “Do you? Sleepwalk?”

  He nodded. “Weird, huh?”

  “Like, how do you know?”

  “Mom found me one night walking down our street.”

  “No way! Alone?”

  “As far as I know sleepwalking’s a solo activity.” We shared a laugh.

  “Wild,” I said. It was just one more fascinating thing about him that intensified my draw to him.

  “I was seven.” He looked out over the ocean, the breeze ruffling his hair. “I’d been cast as Peter Pan in our neighborhood play. Mom came home late one night and found me ‘flying’ down the middle of the street.”

  “That could have been dangerous. I hope you live on a quiet street.” Knowing that he did, I hid a grin.

  “Yeah, I do, thankfully.”

  “How crazy. Do you still do it?”

  “Sometimes, usually when I’m under stress. I’ll wake up somewhere other than my bed.”

  I licked my lips, and it drew his gaze to my mouth. A warm tremor ran through me. His hands shifted in the depths of his pant pockets.

  I wanted to kiss him, right there on shore both of us holding onto each other for life and anything else we could hold onto before the tide swept us to sea. I took a step toward him, bringing my body flush with his. He didn’t move, but his nostrils flared a little, and his breath quickened. I held onto his flickering gaze, my feet sinking into wet sand, my breaths deep.

  He moved closer. In the distance, waves crashed violently, then hissed to our feet, soaking us with cold, foamy water. Thrill raced through me, paralyzing, freezing me with both fire and ice. His hands grasped the sides of my shirt, then slipped tight around my waist when he pulled me against him. His mouth pressed eagerly against mine.

  I wound my arms around his neck and our bodies pressed together. The breeze slipped around us, chilling my legs and I shivered. The response brought his arms around me completely, as if he’d felt me tremble and he wanted to warm me, or stop me from shaking, or both.

  I’d been kissed by a lot of guys but nothing so electric had ever bolted through my system. The hot, sweet, gentleness of his mouth moved over mine with surprising skill, lightly at first, then fast and hard.

  One of his beautiful hands slid up my side and touched my face. The move melted my knees. The urgency to hold onto him kept my arms locked around his neck, my lips chasing his.

  When both of his warm hands held my face, my heart and breath caught. He eased back, and I felt the cold, sea air singe my wet mouth. I looked up into his face.

  I didn’t know what to say. Words seemed not only insignificant, but silly and useless. I felt beautiful. Special. I wanted
to say thank you. I wanted to tell him everything in my heart. I wanted to wrap around him again and not let go. At the same time I felt fragile. How had he learned to kiss like that if he hadn’t been around? Had he lied to me?