by Mila Gray
I order two more burgers, a nonalcoholic beer, much to Will’s ribbing, and another Bud for him. He’s way over the limit, so I’ll drive him home after this. “How you feeling about going back?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I’ll feel great about it if I make it home alive and with all my limbs attached.”
He’s nursing his beer and looking glum, and I want to throw my arm around his shoulder and tell him not to worry, that he’s going to be fine. But I don’t because I know the words will ring hollow. He’s seen so many friends die in combat, so many return wounded. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, wishing there was something I could say. A part of me always feels like a coward because I joined the Coast Guard, not the marines or the army, and the chances of me seeing active combat are low. I also joined as an officer, making my way straight from college to officer candidate school. Will started at the bottom as a private, and though he’s made corporal, that’s as far as he’s likely to go. He could go further—he’d make a great officer—but Will sees his time in the military not as a career but as a prison sentence. This deployment is his last before he can get out, and he’s counting down the days until freedom.
He clinks his beer against mine. “To staying alive,” he says.
“To staying alive,” I repeat, saying a silent prayer that this isn’t going to be the last time I see him, then cursing myself for even thinking the thought. It’s bad luck.
Will’s phone rings as he downs his beer, and he pulls it out of his back pocket, immediately frowning at the name on the display. “Who is it?” I ask him.
“My mom,” he answers. I can see the concern on his face. It’s late for her to be calling. “Hello?” he says, picking up.
I watch him go stock-still, and I feel a growing sense of unease. His expression has turned stony as his fist slams down on the bar and stays there, tightly clenched. “Okay, I’m on my way,” he says into the phone before hanging up.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“He’s out.”
There’s only one thing that means. His dad is out of prison. “I thought he got eight years?” I say, absorbing the news with the same amount of shock as Will.
He shakes his head. “Yeah, turns out that means three, with good behavior.”
I swear under my breath. “Is your mom okay?”
Will shakes his head. He’s reaching for his keys, on the bar. “I’ve got to go.”
I stand up. “Why? What’s happened?”
“He’s found them. My dad’s found them.”
“What did he do?” I ask.
“He set fire to Zoey’s car. At least that’s what they think. Their apartment caught fire too. There’s smoke damage. They’re okay, but they’ve got nowhere to stay.” He looks at me then, and for a fraction of a second, I see the little boy I used to know: the kid I became best friends with after we both ran to stop an eighth grader from beating up little Randy Meisterburg. “I don’t know what to do,” he says.
I put my arm around his shoulder. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”
He nods at me.
“Come on,” I tell him, steering him toward the door. “Let’s go.”
ZOEY
Will keeps looking at me in the rearview mirror, and I keep looking away, staring out the window, tracking the sun as it rises over the desert and makes the sky bleed red. Cole is lying on my lap, fast asleep. I stroke his hair, wishing he were always this still and at peace. Kate is asleep too, in the row of seats behind me, curled up in a ball, her phone clutched tightly in her hand.
My mom is sitting up front. Will’s driving, but it’s Tristan’s car. When he and Will arrived at Chrissy’s, I was busy trying to wrangle Cole and Kate into leaving and didn’t say much to either of them. I have little to say to Will anyway.
Tristan is beside me in the car, and Cole has stretched his feet out across his lap. I reach out and try to pull them off, but Tristan smiles and shakes his head. No worries, he mouths.
I look away, too embarrassed to hold eye contact. Back when we all lived in Scottsdale, back when things were bad, he was a constant visitor to the house. He knows everything about my family. Will’s told him. And I think he even saw some of it with his own eyes.
I remember one time opening my bedroom door, thinking that it was Will knocking—that he had heard me crying—and finding Tristan standing there instead. He didn’t say a word, just stepped into the room, wrapped his arms around me, and held me while I sobbed against his chest. I think he was about fourteen. I must have been eleven. I don’t even remember why I was upset, only that I was crying so hard I could barely breathe—great hacking sobs erupting out of me. Does he remember that day? How he distracted me by telling me the plot of the movie Alien?
When I cast a surreptitious look sideways at Tristan again, it’s hard to believe he’s the same person who held me in his arms back then. He’s so different now, so grown-up in a way that makes me feel weirdly uncomfortable and also makes me want to keep staring. The last time I saw him he was fifteen and gangly limbed, all jutting elbows and knees with skinny shoulders and a concave chest. Now he’s the opposite. Over six feet, with shoulders broader than Will’s. His biceps aren’t even flexed and they’re filling out the arms of his T-shirt. He’s got dark brown hair like Will’s and the most unusual color eyes: a caramel brown speckled with amber flecks.
He looks like a marine too—with his physique and the way he carries himself—but I’d be surprised if he was. Tristan was an honor student with a clear path to college. His parents were rich and successful. I think his mom worked in marketing for a big outdoor clothing company and his dad was a professor of something. I mean, if anyone was bound for an Ivy League college and then a successful career, it was Tristan. And then there’s the car he picked us up in—an expensive Lexus SUV. I remember he was always obsessed with cars. And with baseball. And that he could eat more food than I’d thought was humanly possible.
I want to keep looking at him, marking all the changes, but he senses me and looks over. I turn quickly away and study the desert beyond the car. But now it’s my turn to feel him looking at me. It makes my stomach screw up into a tightly knotted ball and my face flame hot. I’m torn between happiness at seeing him again and mortification at him seeing us like this. I hate that we need his help.
“Are you hungry?”
Tristan’s holding a protein bar out to me. I shake my head, then instantly regret it. I’m starving. But for some reason I’ve said no and I can’t walk it back. I think it’s because I don’t want to take anything more from him. It’s enough that he’s driven all this way to Vegas, and now we’re driving all the way back to wherever he lives near San Diego to stay somewhere he’s found for us.
“Are you sure?” he asks. “Twelve peanuts, three eggs, and two dates died to make this. And it’s delicious.”
I look at him. He’s giving me a one-sided smile, and it reveals the deep dimple in his left cheek. It triggers a memory of him. How he was always trying to make people laugh, cracking jokes and playing the fool, anything to raise a smile. I know that’s what he’s trying to do now, but I’m not in the mood to laugh.
“I’m fine, thanks,” I tell him, and chastened, he places the protein bar on the armrest between the two front seats.
“Well, it’s there if you want it later,” he says.
As I stare out the car window at the mountains rising in the distance, I have to fight back tears. How is it possible we are on the road again, with nothing save the clothes we’re wearing? I don’t know exactly where we’re going, or how we’re going to survive when we get there. I start to fret about all the details—how I need to call the coffee shop where I work and Cole and Kate’s schools to let them know we’re not coming back, and how I need to cancel all our utilities and …
“You’ll like it,” Tristan says.
I swipe at the tear rolling down my cheek and turn toward him. Is he talking about the protein bar?
�
�I mean Oceanside,” he explains, “where I live. You’ll like it.”
I know he’s trying to make me feel better, but he could tell me we were moving to a mansion in Hawaii or a penthouse on Fifth Avenue and it wouldn’t raise a smile, because what he doesn’t know is that it could be the farthest place on earth, the most protected place on earth—hell, it could even be Mars … He’ll still find us. And when he does, then what? It might just have been better to stay in Vegas, in our smoke-damaged house with no windows or door. At least we would have known the confrontation was imminent. Now I’ll just be looking over my shoulder the whole time, not knowing when it’s coming.
“My landlord has a spare unit,” Tristan says. “It’s across from mine; this couple who were renting it just moved out. It’s small, but it’s nice.”
Across from his? He’ll be there, a voice in my head tells me. He’ll be close by. I’d be lying if I said the knowledge didn’t make me feel relieved.
After a little while, I sneak another look in Tristan’s direction.
“Is the apartment near the beach?” I ask him.
Tristan grins at me. “Yeah, it’s right by the beach. You can hear the waves crashing if the windows are open.”
Wow. It feels wrong to smile given the circumstances, but then, looking at Tristan and finally daring to meet his eyes, I can’t help myself.
TRISTAN
Zoey’s leaning against the door, frowning slightly in her sleep. She holds Cole in a tight embrace, as if she’s scared he’ll escape somehow while she sleeps. I’m a little hesitant to wake her, but I reach out to tap her on the shoulder. She startles awake in fright, shrinking back against the car door. For a split second, I see the terror in her eyes before she remembers where she is and the fear fades.
“We’re here,” I tell her.
She looks out the window, rubbing her eyes, and then shakes Cole awake. “We’re here,” she says to him quietly.
Cole stirs, and I brace myself for the oncoming typhoon. The kid’s a handful, though Zoey seems the most able to cope with him, or perhaps she’s the only one of the family who tries. Their mom seems to have checked out, though that’s hardly surprising.
Zoey looks like her mother—the same hazel-colored, almond-shaped eyes and curly brown hair. The same flawless skin, though hers is splashed with freckles. Zoey’s taller than her mom, and slender, though it’s hard to tell what her figure is like because she’s wearing such baggy clothes and because I’m trying really hard not to perv. Like, really hard.
It didn’t just take me by surprise when I saw her again. It almost knocked me off my feet. I don’t know why, but I was expecting her to look the same as she did the last time I saw her, six years ago—a short, skinny kid with freckles—but instead I walked into that apartment and found myself face-to-face with a girl so stunning she literally took my breath away.
I can’t stop staring at her lips and the cute gap between her two front teeth, which I get a glimpse of when she very occasionally smiles.
Kate, who has barely glanced out the window to look at their new place, looks like their dad, with paler skin and reddish-brown hair that’s taken on an electrified look after a night spent tossing and turning in the back of the car.
“Did they find him?” Kate asks me, a twinge of hope in her voice that pains me to have to quash. She’s talking about the cat they had to leave behind. She had been hysterically crying about it when Will and I arrived last night at their aunt Chrissy’s. Her face is still tearstained.
“I haven’t heard,” I tell her. I put a call into the fire station last night to ask them to check and am still waiting to hear back. “I’ll let you know as soon as I do,” I reassure her.
We climb out of the car—everyone stretching and yawning. Kate looks around with a scowl on her face, and Cole rubs his eyes. “Where are we?” he demands, glowering at the apartment complex in front of us.
“You’re going to stay here for a while,” I tell him, glancing at my watch. The landlord, Robert, told me he’d be by around two to meet his new tenants. I’ve already explained the situation to him—waking him up at one in the morning to beg him to let them have the place, which he had marked for renovation. He was reluctant at first, but Robert’s a good guy, and as soon as I mentioned that they were fleeing a domestic violence situation, he agreed. I threw in a couple of sweeteners, too—telling him I’d help with the renovations if he gave them a six-month lease, enough time to get them back on their feet.
I look over at Zoey’s mom, Gina, wondering if I did the right thing. She looks like a lost child, and Will has to put his arm around her and steer her toward the door. The apartment is part of a complex of eight. Their block of four faces two other duplexes, making a little square with the front side facing the street. They’ll be in one of the upstairs apartments. I live directly opposite but on the ground floor.
“The key’s in the lockbox,” I tell Will as we all pile up the stairs. I give him the code, and he opens the door.
Cole pushes inside first. “Where’s the TV?” is the first thing he asks.
Zoey winces apologetically and gently admonishes him.
“I don’t know if there’s a TV, but we can sort that out.”
Zoey frowns at me, her mouth tightening—the only indication she’s annoyed. “You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s no problem,” I tell her.
Will sat his mother down at the little Formica table in the kitchen area. I go over to the window and pull back the curtains. “Look, you can see the ocean.”
Cole comes running, skidding to a stop beside me, eyes wide with wonder at the glistening strip of blue in the distance. It’s the first time I’ve seen him lost for words. Kate, too, has come over to look, her phone hanging limply in her hand. I think I see a slight softening of her perpetual scowl, but I might be mistaken. I look at Zoey, who stands beside me, so close our arms are almost brushing. Her eyes seem to blink back tears. “Are you okay?” I ask quietly.
She darts a glance my way and then gestures at the apartment. “I don’t … I mean … I don’t think we can afford …” A blush rises in her cheeks.
She’s talking about the rent and the deposit. “It’s fine,” I reassure her. “It’s handled. We can talk about it later.”
A little furrow appears between her eyes. I know she wants to ask how, but before she can, Cole tugs on her hand. “Can we go to the beach? Can we?”
She smiles a little at his excitement, and I can see how hard she finds it to say no to him.
“Okay,” she says, looking at me as though for permission. I realize in that moment she could probably ask me anything and I’d agree to do it, just on the off chance she might smile.
“Is there a pier?” Cole asks.
I nod. “Yeah, there’s a pier.”
“Does it have an arcade? And a Ferris wheel?” he asks, his eyes widening with excitement.
I shake my head. “No, but you can fish off it.”
“Fish?!” he exclaims. “Cool. Can we do that now?”
I shake my head. “I don’t have any equipment. But we can do it another day.” I gesture to Will. “I’m going to take these guys out to the beach and for some lunch.”
Will nods. “I need to stay here with Mom and make some calls.” He means to the police. He needs to find out what the deal is with their father and his parole rules. He needs to alert them to their suspicion that his dad set the fire and also try to get some local services to help out with resettling his mom and siblings.
Zoey turns to Kate. “Do you want to come?” she asks her sister.
Kate shrugs, nonchalant, her expression still stony, but there’s a glimmer of excitement in her eyes and she hurries after Cole.
“Don’t you have to go to work?” Zoey asks me as we head out the door together.
I shake my head. “I called in and took a personal day.”
She frowns again, and I wonder what I said or did to cause it.
I stand asid
e to let her go ahead of me down the stairs, my eyes tracking her movements. I don’t know if she feels my gaze because she turns and looks at me over her shoulder. I flush and clear my throat. “How do you feel about trying the best burger in Oceanside?”
ZOEY
It’s so loud, like a living creature—wild and untamed. There’s something both terrifying and electrifying about the scope and scale of it. I try to pinpoint the exact place where the sea meets the sky, but they blur into one brilliant blue expanse.
Cole has raced to the water’s edge and is already throwing off his sneakers in a wild dash to dip his toes into the water. Kate, trying to seem cool and nonchalant, is not far behind him. I smile as I watch them, tucking wind-whipped strands of hair behind my ears. Tristan keeps looking at me out of the corner of his eye, and I worry it’s because I look like a mess, but I don’t have a hairbrush or a toothbrush or even deodorant, so there’s not much I can do to fix that. I wrap my arms around myself and try not to shiver as the wind picks up, spraying salt water against my bare arms and face.
“Are you cold?” Tristan asks.
I shake my head.
“You’re shivering,” he says, and he pulls off his sweater and gives it to me.
I shake my head. “No, I’m fine,” I tell him, but he keeps holding it out to me, and now he’s smiling, revealing that deep dimple in his cheek.
“Come on,” he says again. “You’re freezing. Either that or you’re really excited.”
I lift my eyebrows at him, puzzled.
“My mom’s dog shakes like that every time he sees a ball.” He sees that his joke has fallen flat and hurries on, clearing his throat. “Not that I’m saying you’re like a dog.” Another pause. “You should really take my sweater,” he says.
Reluctantly, I do. “Thanks,” I murmur. For a moment I just hold it, feeling too awkward to put it on. It’s warm from his body. It feels too intimate to actually wear it.