I smirk. “Ew. Now who’s sounding like a romance novel?”
“I’m not saying there’s no such thing as a happily ever after. I’m just saying that sometimes you have to take the crooked path to get there. And what does taking a crooked path entail?” His eyes pop as he waits for me to answer.
“Farm girl grit?” I bark.
He nods. “Yeah, girl.”
“I don’t have any energy for grit. I can’t compete with the hundreds of people for the internship. I can’t compete with a girl carrying a baby.”
He scrunches his face and tilts his head back and forth. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”
I stick my tongue out at him.
“Okay, Mags. You sit here and let the world revolve for a few days. I have complete faith that everything will work out and you’ll come to your senses.”
When I hear the waves again, I struggle against them, knowing it means that Frank has to leave. “Stay with me,” I beg.
“Go get it all, gritty farm girl.”
He smiles. I run for him, but he fades away as my eyes flutter open.
* * *
Although Mr. Smith left me the number for his car service, I decide to spend my time at the house. Thanks to his previous night’s call to his housekeeper, everything I need is right here—the beautiful sparkling pool, a lovely private beach, a spacious deck, a fully stocked fridge, and finally, a bar. I wiggle into my bikini, grab my phone and my reading tablet and walk to the pool to start the only tasks on my calendar today—reading and tanning. I turn my face to the sun and sigh as I inhale the salty smell of the Atlantic. Grit, schmit. I like being a runaway.
I debate about beverages for thirty seconds before deciding to make myself a margarita. During spring break, Rodrigo taught me how to mix his special blend, and I’ve since perfected the act. The pool bar has everything I need.
The latest novel in my favorite romance series pops up as a new addition in my tablet library. With a sip of my icy drink, my butt comfortably in the lounge chair, and my device in my hand, I can’t help but love life. What’s not to love when you have only yourself to please?
I’m lost in my novel when my phone beeps with Dave’s special tone. I bite my straw and watch the phone vibrate across the glass table next to me. Three rings. Do I answer? Four rings….
I put down my drink and pick up, but I miss the call. Probably for the better.
Dream Frank was wrong. There’s not going to be a happily ever after for Dave and me. There can’t be. The only happily ever after I will have is with myself. The sooner I realize it, the better off I’ll be.
Dave
When Amber returns from the restroom, I hang up my phone. I knew Maggie wouldn’t pick up, and even if she did, what would I say? As much as I’d love to hear her voice, I can’t make things right.
Amber points behind her. “I can go if you need to make your call?”
“No, no. It’s okay. I can call later.”
We’d had a nice stroll across the Yale campus. We’d started with small talk. Tuck’s freshman weight gain (Amber attributes it to too much beer), Suzi (they met during a summer tour of the campus and hit it off), and Dolch (he was the first one she told about the pregnancy, and he was super-supportive). Lunch was quiet, and we’re content resuming our walk.
Now that we seem more comfortable though, I start to ask her questions about the baby.
“What’s the official due date?”
“June 19th.”
“Are you nervous?”
“Scared out of my mind.”
“Are you going to keep the baby?”
She twists her hair in her hands. “I am. My parents will help.”
I shrug. “I’ll help. Once I break it to my parents, they’ll help too. They’re good people.”
Her eyes dart to mine, and she raises her eyebrows. “You don’t have to. I mean, I don’t want to ruin your life or anything. Your mom is in politics. What if she thinks I’m scandalous?”
I shake off her question. “My mother wins that seat every election. She could set a nursery school on fire and still they’d vote her in.”
Amber’s eyes pop, and I realize what I’ve said. “Fuck. I’m sorry. That was super insensitive.”
“Maybe I should keep him out of nursery schools.”
I laugh. “No. He needs to be smart.”
She smiles. For a second, I picture Amber and me walking a little boy into a preschool. I gulp and start to sweat. This is eighteen years. Preschool, homework, high school. College. This baby, this woman next to me, and whatever I do to support them will be the focus of the rest of my life. A week ago, I was dreaming about touring with the band for the summer and having sex with my new girlfriend. Now I’m thinking about paychecks and preschools.
Amber seems comfortable about the pregnancy. Then again, she’s had months to come to terms with it. Is she worried about giving up her dreams? I take her hands and turn her so we’re face to face. “Look. I know I’m not exactly ideal partner material. We barely know each other. But you have a life too. You deserve to get your degree. It shouldn’t be all on you. And I’d like to get to know you better.”
It’s not a lie. I’d like to know who the mother of my baby is. Is she the girl I screwed around with that first night at the dorm, or this sweet pregnant lady strolling through New Haven with me?
Her face tenses, and a second later, she cries. “Oh, Dave. You are the sweetest. I’ve made such a mess.”
She throws her arms around me and sobs, her big belly, our baby, pressed against my hips. I run my hand over the back of her hair. “Stop. It’s going to be okay. I promise. You know, Frank came to me in a dream last night.”
She stiffens and pulls away. “He did? What did he say?”
“He said, and I quote, ‘Everything will work out with Amber.’”
She sways back and forth, and I’m afraid she’ll pass out. I grab her elbows. “Steady. Are you okay?”
Amber is one of the many residents of Sheridan who had a hard time coming back after the shooting. Now of course, I know she was pregnant at the time, but since the dorm reopened in January, she’s been in and out sporadically. I’d hardly seen her the past few months.
When she focuses on me and straightens up, I let go of her. “You good?”
She shakes her head. “I…I can’t talk about the shooting… Frank….”
“I understand.” I remember the fire alarm that day, walking out of the dorm. I never walked in the same way again.
I lead her to a bench, and we sit. She’s still a little shaky, so I sling my arm around her, resting my hand on her shoulder. She touches it. “Thanks.”
“You keep thanking me. Here I thought you’d beat me for knocking you up.”
My attempt at a joke works, and Amber grins. We sit in silence, watching the people walk by. Mostly older folks trickle past, probably for the alumni event.
A woman who looks to be about my mom’s age stops when she sees Amber. “Oh, look at you! Congratulations! Do you know what it is?”
“It’s a baby!” I exclaim in an excited voice, attempting a joke.
Amber smacks me and smiles at the lady. “It’s a boy.”
“A boy. How wonderful!” I squeeze Amber’s shoulder. “May I?”
The woman looks at Amber with wide eyes and touches her belly.
“Perfect! You’re carrying just like you should be for a boy. You’re about six, seven months?”
Amber huffs and looks at me.
“About eight months,” I say. “Due June 19th.”
“All the best, honey. Enjoy it while they’re young. They grow up and then get nasty.” She gives me a dirty look, scrunching her nose.
Amber notices and her eyes pop. “Well, okay then. Thank you for that tip.”
The lady scurries away, and I chuckle.
Amber sighs. “I get that all the time. People want to touch me. It’s kind of gross.”
I grimace. “I can’t imagi
ne everyone taking liberties with me that way. So if we said it was a girl, would it still be wonderful?”
“Right?” She laughs and turns to me. “You tell people you’re having a boy, and they’re like ‘Thank God!’ Are girls so terrible?”
I smirk. “I like girls.”
“I know,” she says, rolling her eyes.
She turns to face forward and rests her head on my shoulder. It’s so different from when Maggie did the same at the Statue of Liberty. Amber’s head is heavy. Her shampoo smells like vanilla. It’s all wrong. It makes me miss the strawberry scent of my Magdalena.
When I get back to the hotel that night, I pick up my phone. No messages. I hit her contact so I can see her picture. I stalk her social media. I miss her. I’m afraid I’ll spend the rest of my life missing her.
Chapter 25
Maggie
After my lovely day, I fall asleep and decide to do the exact same thing again the next morning. Why switch up perfection? I’ll sit on this deck until someone makes me leave.
As the day wears on, I’m so lost in the world of my awesome book and my third or fourth…or fifth…margarita that I don’t realize the sun is setting until I’m sitting in the dark. Sometimes, all I need is a good story to take me out of real life. Life is so much easier when you’re disconnected from the world.
My head swirls as I stand to stretch. I nearly have a heart attack when I turn and there’s a man on the deck.
I drop my glass and scream.
The man steps into the light. Except it’s no man. It’s Winston, the heart-destroying-man-boy I used to date.
“Sweet Jesus, Win,” I half yell, half slur. I smack him as he approaches. “You scared the life out of me. What’s with you sneaking up on a lady like that? Collin would never do that.”
“Who’s Collin?” He looks around.
I stomp my foot, right into the broken glass. “Ah-ah-ah!” I grab my foot and flop backward in hopes of landing in my lounge chair. Why did I ever stand up off of you, precious lounge chair that I adore?
Winston’s outstretched arms try to catch me. When the lounge chair breaks my fall, I hold up my foot. “Ah, it hurts.” I feel the throbbing as the blood trickles over my ankle.
Win grabs my heel. “Oh shit. You’re bleeding. Come inside and let me look at that.”
When I try to focus on him about twenty Winston faces loop before my eyes. I drop my face in my hands to stop them. “Oh fuck, I think I’m drunk.”
“You think?” Winston steps over the broken glass and reaches for my hand. “Have you been drinking all day? Who’s Collin?”
“Collin? I dunno.” Then I remember. “Oh, he lives in there.” I point to my tablet.
Winston rolls his eyes. “Oh, one of those guys.”
He pulls me up, and I stand on my good foot. Then he turns around, and I jump on his back, piggyback style. Automatically, like I used to do at camp. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He’s one of those fictional guys you’re always comparing us to.”
Secure against his scrawny back, I rest my chin on his shoulder, my chest pressed against him. “Trust me. There’s no comparison.”
That he can even lift me surprises me. I’m fairly certain I weigh more than him. He carries me inside and backs me onto the kitchen island. When I scoot my butt and I’m settled, he lets go of me. The cold air conditioning reminds me I’m almost naked. Besides my bikini, I have Dave’s beads wrapped around my wrist. I’m not ready to give them up yet.
He flicks on the light, and I shield my eyes. “Ah!”
When he walks back to me, he grabs my ankle, lifting my foot for inspection. He lets it go and moves to the sink, grabbing some paper towels.
He stands in front of me and lifts my leg, dabbing at the injury. I flinch when he hits the spot with the glass, and a bolt of pain travels up my leg.
“Sorry.” He looks up at my face. “Let me clean it.” His eyes travel down my neck to my chest.
I cross my arms over it, suddenly feeling exposed. “What are you even doing here? You couldn’t respect that I needed space? You had to hop on the next flight and mosey down here because you—” I push his forehead with my index finger, “—can’t respect me, like, ever.”
He ignores my comment and moves to the sink again. When he returns with another towel, he wipes the blood off my ankle and my calf. For some reason, his tenderness annoys me. Where was that for the months we were together? Where was that when you dumped me after we had sex on Valentine’s Day, my favorite day of the year?
He doesn’t hear my thoughts. He’s all about business as he examines my foot. “There may be glass in there. Do you have tweezers?”
I yank my foot away from him and consider kicking him in the jaw. “If you knew me at all, you’d know the answer to that question. Of course I have tweezers, you birdbrain. You never saw me tweeze my eyebrows? Like every freaking day we were together for like five freaking months?”
He stops with the first aid and stands in front of me, crossing his arms over his chest and mirroring me. “Let’s take care of your foot, and then we can fight, okay?”
I scrunch my face. “Dave calls you the Buddy Holly dude.” Dave. I sigh remembering him playing his guitar for me. He was so cute, and he was mine.
He shrugs. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Tweezers?”
I circle my finger, and he spins around, positioning himself for me to hop on his back again. I scoot forward, wrap my legs around him, and then stretch my arm over his shoulder pointing. “Go that way.”
I lead him to the bedroom, and he squats to drop me on the bed. While he scours my makeup bag for the tweezers, I stretch and shut my eyes. The pillow feels like heaven, cradling my spinning head.
Win returns and makes me lie on my stomach so he can get to the sole of my foot. “Stay still,” he orders.
He pokes around until the shard comes loose.
“Ouch.” I kick my leg back, making contact with his forearm.
“Ow,” he says.
I sit up on the bed next to him. “Why are you here?”
He pushes his glasses up his nose then rubs his arm where I’d kicked him. “I have many different answers to that question. One, I wanted to be with you. Two, I wanted to make sure you were all right. Three, Dave told me he was going to break up with you, so I wanted to make sure you were okay. Four—”
I grab his arm to stop him. “Hold up. He told you he was going to break up with me?”
Win nods. “Yeah.”
“Why would he tell you?”
“I guess he wanted to make sure I knew so I could get you back.”
I lift myself off the bed, putting my weight on one foot. “You’re full of shit.” I stagger away, dizzy but careful of my foot injury. “It’s cold in here, and I need another drink.”
He follows me outside with a broom and dustpan from God knows where and has to stop me from stepping in the glass again. “Go sit on that side.” He points to the opposite end of the deck then takes my arm to turn me.
I twist out of his grasp and go to the pool bar instead. I can’t quite figure out how to operate the blender since the buttons seem to be moving around. The words labeling them are blurry. Instead, I grab two beers from the fridge.
Winston sweeps the glass into the dustpan. When he joins me at the bar, I push a beer at him.
He grabs the bottle opener and pops it open. “You’ll let me stay?”
I hold up a hand. “Not with me, so don’t get any ideas. There are plenty of rooms in this place.”
“I remember. Spring break was fun, even though we weren’t speaking.”
“Which raises the question. Why are you here and speaking to me now? I didn’t ask for that.”
He takes a gulp of his beer, keeping his gaze on me. “I miss you when you aren’t around. You’re my oldest friend, you know.”
I roll my eyes. “I know. You keep reminding me.”
He ignores my quip and points the bott
le to the water. “Want to go out on the beach?”
The moonlight glows over the ocean, and yeah, I do want to. So I stomp past him instead of answering. We walk to the edge of the porch and down the stairs to the sand. It’s cool and dry, and irritates my glass cut, but I don’t care.
We follow the path lit by the moon. Soon, we’re at the water’s edge. The waves crash in front of us, and the ocean flows over my feet.
I jump back. “Ah! The salt. The wounds. Rubbing salt into old wounds!”
Win sighs and bends into piggyback-loading position. I hop on.
“Sorry. I didn’t think of that.”
I wrap myself around him. “You never think of me.”
“Not true. I always think of you.”
“Bullshit.” As he walks me up the beach, I remember my dream. “Frank was here today.”
He stands me up at the deck stairs, and I sit on the bottom step. I sense his stare and look up at him. Even in the dim light of the moon, I can read his shocked expression.
“I’m not crazy,” I add. “He came to me.”
He sighs. “Okay. What did he say?”
“He said that…” What did he say? “He said that sometimes happily ever afters aren’t as easy as they seem in the books.”
Win grins. “Was he talking about us?”
I laugh. “As if. No. Me and Dave.”
Win sighs, looks back toward the house and then back at me. “You know what I think?”
I hold up my free hand. “I know, I know. You don’t like Dave. He has secrets, blah, blah.”
“Yes. And maybe Frank meant us. That glitch I’ve mentioned. And Dave? Well, now you know the secret.”
My jaw drops. “You knew? About Amber?”
His shoulders slump. “I found out. I tried to warn you.”
For the second time in a week, I tell him, “You’re an asshole.” Then I march back up the deck stairs, away from him.
He follows. “I’m sorry, Maggie. I knew it was all happening too fast between the two of you. That’s not how it’s supposed to be.”
She Wants It All: Sheridan Hall Series, Book Three Page 24