“Are you sure about this, Emma? You’re ready?”
I stare at my neat handwriting. It’s on the list so… “Yes. I’m sure.”
“Okay. Well, he’ll be happy to see you. Would you like me to go with you?”
“Thank you but no. I think I need to do this myself.”
That must surprise her as well. My confidence starts to slip, but I can’t afford doubt right now. The list is law. It has to be. Once it’s not…
“Oh. Well, okay.” I almost hear the cord tugging and snapping in her hand as she pulls at it. “I will get you the details.” And then, “You sure you’re okay, sweetheart?”
“Told you I’m fine. You were right. I need to fix things with Dad and come to terms with my past.”
“Yes, but…”
I’m freaking Wonder Woman when I assure her again I’m fine and hang up.
What they don’t tell you is how Wonder Women feels after she saves the world. When the triumphant glow wears off and the grateful crowd dissipates. What happens when she suddenly finds herself alone with her thoughts after the screen goes dark and the credits roll?
I flinch at the knock on my door. Harper pokes her head in and sighs when she finds me on my bed, staring at the ceiling.
“Guess we’re not going to the beach today?” The teasing fades from her tone as she studies me. Soon, the edge of my bed sinks with her weight. “Is this about Christian?”
I blink up at the boring white mural of my ceiling. “I told Gram I want to visit Dad.”
If I diverted my gaze to Harper, I’m sure I’d see the expression I missed on my grandmother’s face a few minutes ago. I fight the urge to present my list as an explanation. It’s my own form of crazy that keeps me sane, and it’s not fair to expect others to understand. I learned long ago that my lists don’t make sense to anyone beyond my head. Well, except to one person. I push the ache away.
“Damn,” she says, dropping beside me. The ceiling interests her now too, and we watch my confession dance against the stark backdrop as it floats in the space above us. “When?” she asks finally.
“Soon.”
“Why?”
Harper may play Blonde Barbie College Girl when she wants to, but she’s also the woman who’s brave enough to poke at the shadows inside me. Now, she tucks her arm around my shoulders when I turn my back to face the wall.
“What happened with Christian?” she asks softly. Only Harper would know these two landmines are connected. She knew before I did.
I close my eyes and breathe in air stained with confessions. “The only thing that couldn’t,” I whisper.
She squeezes her arm around me, melting some of the tension that sent me into hiding. Funny what lack of judgment can do.
“If you decide to go through with the meeting, I’ll drive you.”
I don’t say goodbye. I don’t say anything when I pack the few belongings I have and walk out of Nadeja’s flat after she leaves for work. It doesn’t even occur to me until later what she’ll think. Would she be angry I left without a word? Or worry that I was kidnapped or worse? I don’t know her well enough to have answered those questions anyway. That’s what happens when a connection is formed on the basis of utility. I needed to survive. She needed to feel like she was doing more than that. We both knew there was nothing beyond the now. Today the need to be free outweighed the need to survive.
I was sure to fill my stomach before I left, even stashed enough in my pack for the rest of the day. My prep will buy me a few hours of wisdom at least. Hunger does strange things to a brain that would otherwise err on the side of rational, and I need rational for now. At least until I’m far enough from the idea of Nadeja’s security to be tempted back.
Kozy asked me once why I’m always running. I said it’s because I crave adventure. Maybe he knew I was lying, but it’s not like you can tell someone you run because it’s better than being a victim. Stasis is the enemy, time and space locking together in a sadistic alliance that keeps you vulnerable to attack. So you keep moving, outmaneuvering those demons before they have a chance to sink in their talons. You keep fighting time and space by taking away its power. Freedom is in the retreat, and today I run. Today I belong nowhere.
I finally agree to brave the beach again the following day. It’s guilt more than anything that drives me to slip on a bathing suit and pack a tote. Guilt, and respect for my best friend who loves me but wishes I wasn’t me. Sometimes I try to pretend I’m not for her sake. Today is one of those days.
I spend extra time on hair and makeup, which feels silly, even as I primp in front of the mirror. Christian won’t be there, and even if he were, there’s nothing I could do to my appearance now that the beach won’t ruin later.
Christian. I push away thoughts of soul-deep eyes and magnetic puzzles.
My phone buzzes, and I glance down to find another message from Logan. It’s the fourth he’s sent since that fateful night. I haven’t responded yet, mostly because I don’t know what to say. How do you explain to someone that you weren’t dancing with him, you were not dancing with someone else? Yes, I cheated two men in one drunken moment. This is what happens when you stray from the lists.
Harper finally puts an end to my stalling and forces me into the car. Sun, sand, and waves—fixes everything, she says. Everything except directional abilities, apparently.
“Wasn’t that our lot?” I ask as we pass our typical parking space.
“Not today.”
My pulse starts to pick up. “Why not today?”
She tosses a mischievous smile and shrugs. “Thought you could use a change of scenery.”
I clamp my lips closed, fighting the tantrum bubbling in my chest. She means well, and I’m a mature adult. “He’s not going to talk to me,” I say, taking another approach. See? Rational Emma is in charge.
Harper glances over, mouth hanging open but not engaging. I can’t tell if her surprise is from the fact that I figured out her plot so easily or that I’m not freaking out about it. Neither expectation is particularly flattering. I look out the window instead.
We slow near my favorite location in Deepsilver, an oasis of palm trees nestled among the flashy high-rises, and I cast a curious look at Harper. In a landscape stained with development, this is the one place that feels pure. I’ve spent many afternoons on the benches reading, studying, and working on lists. With the beach just behind and fabricated temptations everywhere else, this boring slice of nothing is the perfect escape. Today, though, it has my heart pounding as Harper pulls into a neighboring lot.
“What are we doing? I thought you wanted to go to the beach,” I say.
“I do. You, however, need some time here.”
I study the small park, virtually empty except for the occasional local resident passing through.
She sighs and reaches for my arm. “Just trust me, Emma.”
My gaze flickers to hers before settling back on my oasis. What was I saying about being a mature adult? A few palm trees never hurt anyone.
“I suppose I could get some reading in.”
Harper squeezes my arm as I lean for the tote between my feet. She’s already out her door and grabbing her own bag from the back when I look up. “Great! I’ll be on the beach then.”
It still feels weird for us to split off in different directions, but I have to say, the prospect of a quiet afternoon with my palms and a book is definitely transforming the nervous butterflies into excitement.
I snake through the trees toward my favorite bench. It’s set back from the others, almost in the middle of the tiny forest and requires intimate knowledge of the sandy paths to reach it. Once I found it that first time, I knew I’d struck gold. I’ve never seen it occupied since. I’ll have no problem spreading my towel and getting lost in a novel until Harper messages me that she’s ready to go home. I kind of feel guilty for giving her a hard time.
I’ve just rounded the last bend toward my bench when I freeze. No way. Are you kidding me?!<
br />
He doesn’t see me, though. In fact, the way he calmly chews his food and studies the vegetation around him indicates he has no expectation of being interrupted. My heart is pounding again, thudding with too many emotions to sort through. He’s so beautiful sitting there, almost serene with a peace I’ve rarely seen in him. With the sleeves of his lifeguard hoodie shoved up and his legs stretched out, ankles crossed, he’s the picture of casual, and the anticipation from a second ago morphs into anger. Not at him, of course, but the woman (and probably his best friend) who set us up.
The first step of my retreat lands on a pile of debris, and I flinch at the loud crackle. He does too, and now we’re trapped when our eyes meet.
I clear my throat. “Um, hi.”
His back straightens, his legs pulling in until he’s stiff on the bench. It’s painful to watch the peace drain from his body. He flashes a quick nod of recognition before gathering his belongings.
“Hello.”
The familiar accent and deep resonance of his voice settles as an ache in my chest.
“You don’t have to go. I didn’t know you’d be here.”
He looks over again, and I take some solace in the fact that he seems to believe me.
“In fact, you’re the first person I’ve ever seen here. I didn’t know anyone else knew about this place.”
“I like the quiet,” he says. “I come for lunch.”
I nod and grip the tote strap around my shoulder. “Well you were here first. Please stay,” I say, motioning toward the bench.
He doesn’t respond, just continues to study me in that obscure way of his. There must be so much going on behind those flashing hazel eyes, and I swallow as I feel myself being sucked back in. I need to go. Can I go?
My feet won’t move.
“Actually, can I say something?”
By now he’s gathered the remnants of his lunch back into the bag and seems poised for flight. Maybe there’s surprise in the fleeting glance he gives me before focusing back on the path at his feet. “You don’t have to. I understand message.”
No. Clearly he doesn’t, and how could he? Interesting that I’m moving forward instead of backwards. One step, two, three, until I’m at the bench and lowering myself beside him.
He shifts to give me enough room to keep a safe distance.
“About what happened at the party.”
“I wish not to talk of this,” he says, moving to rise.
I grab his arm, and he stares at my hand on his wrist. “Christian, please. Just…”
His expression remains hard as he lowers back to the seat, and I pull away. My fingers tingle from the contact. Does he feel it too? Why do I have to be such a godawful mess? I pull in a deep breath before that familiar weight can derail the rest of the moment.
“I don’t have a good explanation for what happened. Nothing that will make sense to other people, anyway. I just need you to know that I’m doing you a favor, okay? We were getting so close—too close—and it’s better this way.”
Is that rattle in my ears the sound of pumping blood or a fractured heart? I’m doing the right thing. The safe thing. The only thing. I don’t expect him to understand. No one would, like I said, and—
“I know. I agree. I tell you I understand.”
I look over, shocked, and yes, the expression staring back at me is sincere. Softer than I expect, his eyes reflect my pain compounded with his own. He lets me look for a long time. Too long because soon what’s right, what we both understand, starts to feel wrong. We look away before that can happen.
“Then you understand why this isn’t about you,” I say finally, unable to look at him. “You understand how amazing you are. That if I were anyone else, I’d be chasing you down.”
I look then, watching as he processes my words, blinking back a reaction in unison with me. After an interminable pause, he nods with a weak smile. “And if I were anyone else, maybe I stop running.”
Emotion closes my throat. Tears building low and deep beneath the barrier I’ve spent years constructing for just these types of moments. I bolster it now, locking it firmly in place to protect both of us. When I finally shift back into control, I rest my hand on his. We study the point of contact for a moment, neither of us moving.
“Good luck, Emma,” he says, gently pulling away.
“Good luck, Christian.”
He stands with his lunch bag and nods a goodbye.
Harper glances up at my approach, the smile freezing on her lips. I blink back tears and adjust the tote on my shoulder.
“Can we just go?” I ask quietly.
She bites her lip and starts packing her belongings.
Chapter Eleven: Cold Shower Connection
Harper never asks about what happened with Christian. Not after the look on my face when I found her on the beach, or the silent tears in my eyes as we drove home. She doesn’t bring him up again, actually, and I’m grateful as I prepare for my next trial.
28. Set up a meeting with Dad.
“You’re sure about this?” she asks for the tenth time today.
I nod on instinct now, relieved my subconscious has taken over which frees me to numb the rest. Harper thinks I don’t notice the concerned looks she keeps tossing my way from the driver’s seat. Four hours into the nine hour drive and I’ve counted at least twenty-three. A fair number, I suppose. I add the latest one to the tally I’m keeping on page eight of my notebook. Page seven is a list of the license plate states we’ve seen and page six documents the songs we’ve heard on the radio. Page five is my favorite and contains an alphabetical list of exit names, one for each letter. So far I have sixteen of the twenty-six letters complete.
Exit 49 Valley Mill Drive. Do I have a V? I scan the list and relax into the rush when I get to fill it in. Make that seventeen of twenty-six.
“What are you writing over there?” Harper asks.
“Just working on a project.”
“For school?”
I give a noncommittal shrug and tilt my notebook to further shield her view. She doesn’t seem to notice when she reaches for the volume button to turn up the Limelight song that just came on. I turn to page six and jot down “Jonas.”
Harper belts the lyrics along with their lead singer, air-rave-dancing with her non-wheel hand when the groove drops into the dubstep vibe. I can’t help but crack a smile and turn to page nine. At the top of the blank page I write: Gift Ideas. After numbering and listing the few important people in my life, I write “Limelight tickets” next to Harper’s name. I’ll have to see if they’re playing in the area again. They played Smother last year but we weren’t able to score tickets.
She’s still seat-dancing when I look over and catch her eyes. Her grin widens with mischief just before she grabs my wrist to force my hand—literally. She waves it with hers to the beat until my resistance doesn’t stand a chance. Soon Jesse Everett’s voice is blasting full volume through the jeep’s open windows as we dance and shout along with him.
“Traitor, faker, promise-breaker…”
We exchange another look through the music, and a swell of emotion rolls through my chest. Gratitude, love, respect—Harper may be a lot of things, but among them is a woman whose sunshine I’ve come to need in my life. She’s my best friend, my anchor, and the only one who can coax me into car-dancing on the way to visit my father in prison. I chuckle at the absurdity of it all when the song fades into the intro of an inferior replacement. Harper turns the volume back to safe levels, and I sigh back into my shield of lists.
Another rush of nerves erupts in my stomach on my brain’s return to the familiar. My knee bounces beneath my notebook shifting it up, down, up, down, up, down. I can’t write when it moves like that, and a second current of tension washes through me.
What are you doing? You can’t do this! Why are you doing this?
“Run, Emma!”
I stare out the window, my body rigid in the sat. My jaw aches from the unconscious clench, and m
y fingers nearly crush the pen in my hand. I close my eyes and try to focus back on the music but this song isn’t the all-consuming energy of the last. Without music or lists, I start a silent count. Not ideal, but the numbers are better than the thoughts, the pound of a heart that’s not strong enough to face the life it gives. I count those beats. One. Two. Three. Four. Five…
“Emma? Emma!”
I blink awake. How did I…? Harper looks concerned, and when I glance out the window I realize we’re at a rest stop.
“What’s going on?” I mutter, straightening in my seat. I’d been slumped against the door and my neck cramps at the adjustment.
“Run, Emma!”
The flash comes fast and hard, but it’s closer than usual. Recent.
Screaming. So much screaming.
I close my eyes, which only makes it worse.
“You must have been dreaming or something,” Harper says, eyes saturated with fear for me.
I want to tell her I’m fine. That this is different than the other times. I even open my mouth for the words to come, but she gets silence instead. Then shaking. Then erratic breathing and oh god.
“Emma, hey.”
She reaches over for my hands and tugs until I face her.
Air is heavy and stale now. Too much for my lungs. Too little maybe. I don’t know. I don’t know anything except that I can’t breathe and there’s so much blood and I ran and he was still there holding the gun and the screaming. Oh god the screaming.
I clench my eyes shut.
“Emma, you have to calm down. Breathe with me, okay?”
I nod. At least, I feel my head moving, then stopping, then moving again. I can’t tell which direction.
“Breathe with me, Emma.”
Breathe. So easy for most people.
“You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”
The familiar voice continues counting through the cloud, and I try to focus on the cadence. Slowly my body starts to relax, melting into the rhythm. The burning in my limbs fades and the color around me returns to normal.
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