The Way We Were : A second chance romance (Take Me Home Series Book 2)

by SJ Cavaletti

  And Jasmine did that. Which played by the rules of my book. Still, it annoyed me. I wanted her to be a little less perfect, so when she pointed out my imperfections, I’d have a rebuttal.

  “Spina bifida,” RB replied. “I can actually walk a little bit with crutches or a walker. But mostly it’s easier and faster in my chair.”

  She must have responded with some facial expression because I heard no more. Then she came into view, hopping on the horse in front of me like it was a beginner wave.

  The entire ride over to GnarlyWheelz, my body creaked. The thoughts inside me ached like a ninety-year-old arthritic lady. Seeing Jasmine’s adept body. Her hula hips, her strong capable arms, her incredible balance topped off with the beauty of an island queen.

  All I could think about was that if Jasmine and El had never hit it before, they probably wanted to. She fit in with this new age lifestyle he loved at Uyu. She was outdoorsy and into nature. She seemed smart and was sociable. She could walk.

  El always told me it didn’t matter if I could walk. That he was in love with my spirit and we were smart enough to figure out how to still have fun. He’d pointed to tons of adaptive inventions for everything imaginable. I could still do just about everything we ever loved. And even though our breakup was over something much bigger and harder to overcome than paraplegia, and I was the last person to be a martyr, once in a while, those mean thoughts consumed me and I believed he was better off with someone able-bodied. And if anyone was able-bodied, it was Jasmine. Every single inch of her.

  GnarlyWheelz wasn’t far from Vertical Soul. In less than ten minutes we saw the half-pipe and it was no wonder that we’d missed it before. They decorated it to look like an immense wave and had done such a good job its function hid within the art.

  Jasmine set to work unloading RollerBunny and Simone grabbed my chair and with all the extra hands, we soon greeted Dig Deep, who had noticed the chariot and came over to comment.

  “Dang? The chariot. I heard about this thing.” He looked at me with his youthful, nineteen-year-old eyes, “You made this?”

  “Didn’t make it. Just the design.”

  “Rad.”

  “It takes one to know one.” I pointed to his halfpipe. “That’s beautiful.”

  Jasmine interrupted us and looked at, “Dig Deep, right?”

  “That’s me.”

  “Braddah, I have watched so many of your YouTube videos,” she gushed. “This is so awesome to meet you. I teach people, lots of kids, surfing and skateboard back home in Hawaii and they all love you. And if they don’t know who you are, I make sure they find out. You really inspire people.”

  And of course she knew Dig Deep and yet again was every disabled person’s perfect ally.

  “Thanks.” He might not have blushed with another fan, but his face bloomed like a goddess had just complimented a mere mortal.

  “Can I get a selfie? The kids will go mental.” She pulled out her cell from her hip purse, expecting him to say yes.

  He gestured for her to come close, and they took a photo. It would have been cute, but Dig Deep was supposed to be my people. Now they all belonged to Jasmine. And even though this should have been her most lovable characteristic, her ability to make friends with anyone, anywhere, that, too, was supposed to be my most likeable trait.

  Photo op done, Dig Deep offered Jasmine a first go.

  “I kind of came here to watch you but then again, don’t really want to go after you. If you know what I mean.”

  She looked at the half pipe. Then, they fist bumped like old pals and said no more. Jasmine wasted no time heading out on her board and within less than a minute she’d climbed up and dropped into the halfpipe. Her black mane caught the wind like a witch's cape and she swooped and soared as elegantly as Harry Potter in a game of Quidditch.

  Maeve and Simone watched, mesmerized, and though I didn’t want to admit it, I too couldn’t have been more impressed.

  Finally, she finished all her tricks I didn’t know the name of and landed on two feet, back on the platform, graceful as a bird landing on a branch.

  I looked over at Maeve and Simone, thinking I needed to quickly get involved in their conversation. But they wandered away from the half-pipe, chatting about something more serious. If I knew Simone, it was work. She wasn’t good at shutting off and she had that furrowed brow look she wore along with her Diane von Furstenberg shift dress in the office.

  The next thing I knew, Jasmine stood next to me.

  “You were incredible. I’d love to be able to do that.”

  Instantly, I regretted saying that as I’d learned over time, people automatically assumed I meant I wished I could walk and therefore do said activity. But really, it had nothing to do with my view of the chair and everything to do with a sheer lack of trying. Dig Deep was proof.

  Jasmine didn’t respond the way other people did. No sympathy. She simply said, “Thanks.” Taking it like the compliment I meant it to be.

  Dig Deep was now at the top of the platform and dropped in to the halfpipe. His arm strength, his courage… it was something to behold. And it was guys like him that had made me realize five years ago that my life wasn’t over.

  It was just different.

  Jasmine read my mind. “Humans are so incredible. I mean, we can overcome, persevere… do anything, you know?”

  She watched in awe and admiration. Then, without taking her eyes off Dig Deep, she said, “Liz, I need to say something to you. I’ve been hanging on to it like a hot coal.”

  Her body stiffened, like someone was pouring concrete into her mold. Then she turned to me and looked me squarely in the face. “If you hurt El. I’ll hurt you.”

  “Jas!”

  I turned around to see that Maeve and Simone had wandered back to watch Dig Deep, and Maeve was only a foot behind me. She’d heard what Jasmine said.

  “You can’t say that!” Maeve interjected again.

  “Why?” Jasmine asked, speaking to Maeve. “Because it isn’t cool to tell someone in a wheelchair that you’ll kick their ass? I don’t care. I mean it.”

  She turned to me again, “Don’t hurt him.”

  Maeve, clearly at a loss for words, just said, “Jas!” again.

  I should have felt more shocked, but somehow, I kept my composure and turned around to Maeve, “It’s fine.”

  I turned back to Jasmine. “Listen, I’m happy that you care about El. That’s really sweet,” I said, passive aggressive as all hell. Knowing it would come across as condescending. “You think this was just some ordinary break up? And I’m just another mean girl?”

  My nerves heated, simmering. I tried to keep myself level, but my cheeks stung as she stood in front of me, her arms crossed. I took a deep breath because I was too old for a catfight.

  I closed my eyes, bit my bottom lip and when my body was off the boil. I looked at Jasmine again. “This breakup wasn’t like anything you’ve ever seen before, Jasmine. We didn’t grow apart. We didn’t cheat on each other. We experienced a tragedy that no couple should ever face. And it tore us fucking apart.”

  I thought I was calm when I spoke, but I was still an eight out of ten. My voice cracked, and a sliver of sadness crept into my words. I wanted to be strong, but this admission made me feel anything but. Still, I spoke to her sharp, serious face with every ounce of strength I could find. “I lost my legs, my life and my love all in the blink of an eye.”

  An agonizing lump lodged in my throat. Saying these words out loud to someone made it all too real again. I swallowed, to no avail. It stuck. And much as I wanted to have a civil conversation with El’s friend, the only way to not cry was to let anger take over.

  “If you think you’re the worst thing I have to get through, Jasmine? You’re not. So I admire the friendship and loyalty you have for El. That you want to protect him from me. But you really need to protect him from himself. And I’d take any beating from you or anyone else if it would actually be penance for what’s happened. I kno
w I hurt him by leaving. I get it. But I had no other choice. And that’s something I hope you never understand.”

  Jasmine’s eyes had grown wider throughout my oration. This grand speech crashed into her in a way she hadn’t expected and for a moment, she was speechless. Everyone was. Simone said nothing. Maeve was a porcelain statue.

  Finally, I saw Jasmine’s chest rise with a cooling breath. “Liz,” she paused, looked at the ground, blinked quickly, then looked at me. “I can’t say I’m sorry. I’ll never be sorry for looking out for my family and friends. I just… I have a story, too. We all do, right?”

  I nodded. She tapped her skateboard into the earth. Recollecting. Letting her memory become speech.

  “So El was one of the first people I ever met at my first ever Uyu,” she said with her piercing onyx eyes. “His motorhome and ours ended up on the same random misfit campsite. I had just been through something at home. I didn’t really want to be at Uyu, and neither did El.

  “Because he just broke up with you I came to find out. Anyway, we spent a lot of time together that first year. We went to temple together, me with my long list of demands for the Gods, El with a simple index card and all it said on it was…” she flew her hand across the air between us as if the words would be revealed in the space between us. “Liz. It just said Liz.”

  My gut writhed, thinking of El that first year, only months after I left him high and dry in Seattle, writing my name on a piece of paper in the middle of this desert. Still dreaming of me. Tears climbed up my throat and sinuses, but I stuffed some cotton in it.

  Jasmine went on. “And then, the next year. You know what he wrote? Again. Liz. Then the next. And the next. And the next and now you’re here. And…”

  She shook her head, squeezed her eyes shut and pinched her face together like a child wishing on a star. Opening her brown, almond-shaped eyes, I saw nothing but love. “I just want you to give him what he wants. Whatever your name means to him, I just want you to give him what he wants. Life is too short to keep wasting our prayers on the same goddamn thing.”

  And suddenly, this woman before me, who moments ago seemed like an immature teenager, spoke words wiser than any I’d said to myself in the past five years.

  Life is too short. I knew that better than almost anyone else and yet here I was, hanging on to a pain I was too scared to face. Destined to live my entire life haunted by its presence. And only I could do something about it.

  What I didn’t know was if I could promise Jasmine what she wanted. I didn’t know what El’s prayer meant. Knowing him, it could have been several things. He would always wish me well. Maybe he wanted to get back together. Maybe he wanted me to succeed. Or maybe he wanted us to finally be in the same place at the same time so we could face the things that needed to be said once and for all.

  “Jas…”

  “No,” she interrupted. “I’m sorry. I actually am sorry. I… I just really care about him and I guess in a way you’d become a villain to me. The one who represents my friend’s pain.”

  “I get that.”

  “I guess it just built up and what I said was… it didn’t take into consideration that you’re human, too. That maybe you were hurting as well.”

  I had. I did. I was.

  I leaned forward and took her hand in mine. “I wish I could promise you I’d fix everything. I wish I had the power to take it away but I’m not sure I do.”

  She squeezed my hand. “Yeah. I get it.”

  Maeve came closer. “Shit. Glad that’s over.”

  But it wasn’t for me. It may have been for Simone. For Maeve. Even for Jasmine. But for me?

  The pain was as alive as ever.

  26

  Elias

  Present Day

  Uyu

  * * *

  It was dusk.

  Jasmine and Maeve rolled back into camp on Liz’s chariot. Immediately I knew something went down. Jasmine’s typically powerful eyes, full of confidence, only glanced at me sheepishly instead of making the usual intimidating contact. Liz’s too-happy-to-be-true permasmile, now replaced with something pensive. Maeve’s face, also a giveaway because she smiled little and yet now, a tight, small grin like a plastic baby doll’s sat on her lips. Compensating for something.

  Gossip. Damn it. They’d had a trip to the ladies’ room together.

  Koa was playing his ukulele in a lawn chair outside his motorhome and with his instrument still in hand, got up and sauntered over to the art car.

  “Jas, was it wicked?”

  She hopped down from the chariot and said, “Sick. Not super big but watching Dig Deep in person? You should’ve come.”

  “You needed some girl time.”

  No, you should have gone, Koa. I should have gone.

  Jasmine turned back and waved at Liz and Simone. “Thanks, my ladies. See you tonight? Eight?”

  Tonight? They’d made plans?

  Simone also jumped off the chariot and said, “I’m going to walk for a bit. Have some time to myself so see you guys later.”

  Maeve asked Simone, “Eight? Yeah?”

  “Yup. Eight sharp,” Simone said, leaving the rest of us with a wave.

  Apparently, some sub-crew within my crew had formed. And even though I wanted this, for everyone to like Liz as much as I still did, something about the whole situation was fishy.

  I expected Liz to give us a wave and tell us she’d be back at eight, too, but she looked at me. “Want to hop on? Do some sightseeing?”

  Suddenly, all eyes were on me. Even Koa and Drake looked at me as though they knew something I didn’t know.

  “Sure.” I took a horse on the chariot, telling my nerves to fuck off and my stomach to stop being such a bitch. Ugh.

  Nausea cramped my guts when I realized Liz and I would be alone and sober. My excuse for not speaking last night was that we’d been drinking.

  Putting on the greatest acting show of my life, I took a cowboy stance on the bucking bronco and put one arm in the waving everyone off like the Lone Ranger. “I’ll see you all at eight!”

  Jasmine let off a foreign laugh I struggled to translate. Liz powered up the motor and started driving, waving politely.

  We weaved through several streets to get to the big open expanse of Center Camp. A slight wind swept at the dusty earth like the invisible bristles of a broom. The horizon looked hazy.

  “You want to go anywhere in particular?” I asked.

  “I kind of wanted to see the outer perimeter? See if there’s anything there.”

  “There usually isn’t.”

  She ignored me, looking out into the distance as more and more space formed between us and anything else. Art was concentrated near the city and the campsite, and the further out we went, the fewer people and the fewer things to see. I glanced back at Liz, but pretended to look at something behind her. She wore a look of unnecessary concentration. There was no road to stay on. No map to follow. And yet, she focused on something, not in the distance but more likely within.

  The gossip.

  The girls would want to know. I knew women well enough. They loved the details. They would have asked. What was El like when you dated? How did you meet? Tell us how you broke up. How big is his dick?

  My stomach, destroyed by its own acid, gnawed at me from the inside out. We had to talk. Then, as if out of nowhere, with absolutely nothing around it, a red dot in the distance became a rectangular structure, became something I could focus on apart from my nerves.

  “What’s that?” I asked, looking at the red thing in the distance.

  The structure was a lot smaller than typical Uyu art. Liz aimed the chariot right at it.

  “Let’s go see,” she said.

  As we approached, the rectangle became a phone booth. We pulled up next to the thing. A London-style old red phone booth from the pre-cell phone era when people used public phones and the yellow pages.

  Liz parked the chariot ten feet away. There was no one and nothing around for
what felt like miles and the visibility reduced by the minute as dusty haze thickened around us.

  “Random,” Liz said, looking at the phone booth.

  “Everything here is random. Making it normal to be random.” I hopped off, grabbed her chair, and pushed it open.

  Liz lowered her seat and scooted to the edge. But I jumped up and took her in my arms. By the look of the weather, we didn’t have long. There was a shift in the wind, in the amount of dust in the air. Sirens sounded within that the weather wouldn’t be good for long.

  “Thanks,” she said, putting her head on my shoulder like me holding her in my arms wasn’t only functional.

  It wasn’t.

  It was.

  God, I still loved touching her. My hands were all over her skin as she donned only a bikini and a skirt made of a flowing fabric so when I picked her up, it parted and the tops of her thighs sat on my forearms. Her skin was still as soft as I remembered it. Like she bathed in butterfly milk.

  Swiping left on my dirty thought, I jumped down carefully and put her in her chair. We went over to the phone booth, which looked like a replica of ones I’d seen in London. Or maybe was the real deal. It was a fire engine red, its side made of multiple panes of glass. But instead of Victorian writing announcing “Telephone” it read: “Phone to God.”

  Liz chuckled. “Phone to God, eh?”

  “Yeah. Only at Uyu.”

  It was so obvious what to do and yet a completely foreign idea that either of us would get in and have a chat with the Almighty. Comical but scary. Would either of us actually ask anything that mattered? No. We were both too calculated. And yet, I thought this whole experiment could pose an incredible segue into the conversation we needed to have.

  But what words would I ask? Hey God, should I, or shouldn’t I?

  Suddenly, as we waited there, hesitating, the phone rang. Startled out of our inner thoughts, we looked at each other with wide eyes.

  “You get it,” Liz said, “I can’t fit in the booth anyway with my chair.”