Time Exposure (Click Duet #2) (Bay Area Duet Series)
Page 3
Cora: I miss you too. Text or call when you get to your new house.
House is the operative word in her message. Because where my parents are moving us to is a house. Not a home. There is only one place I will ever call home. Wherever Cora is. She will always be my home.
Gavin: I will. Hopefully we’ll get there soon.
“Let’s go, Gavin.” Dad nudges me and tilts his head toward the plane’s exit.
I swipe my backpack from under the seat in front of me and shuffle out of the cramped seating. Once we deplane, I hang ten feet back from my parents. Let the throng of people separate us on occasion. Although my mom’s promotion is a good thing for her career and our family, I am beyond irritated with this whole situation. The only way to express my anger and frustration is to ignore them.
Is my logic juvenile? Yes. Do I give a fuck? No.
As we walk through the airport, Mom and Dad take turns peering over their shoulder every other minute. They have concerns, I get it. But where the hell am I going to go? Not like I can jump on a plane and leave. I have no clue where I am. Nor do I know anyone here. All my friends live in Florida. Every part of my life exists on the opposite side of the country. The one person that matters most, the one I left my heart with, is thousands of miles from here.
I grind my teeth so hard my jaw aches. The thought of making new friends sends a fresh wave of irritation through my veins. Feels as if I am entering kindergarten all over again. The new kid. In the middle of high school. Just before the school year ends.
Complete and utter bullshit.
We reach the baggage claim and wait like fish for bait. The metal carousel circles around a continuous loop. I lean against a far wall and watch as my parents patiently wait for our two pieces of luggage. Normally, I would wait beside them. Offer to help. But seeing as I hate this whole situation, I choose to stand here and go through my notifications.
Micah sent a text while we were in the air.
Micah: Let me know when you land bro. Can’t believe your gone. Who am I going to do stupid shit with now?
I type out a quick reply to him and tap send.
Gavin: Right? At least you know other people there. I’m a loner here. Fucking hate it.
My parents step up to me, but I keep my eyes on my phone as if unaware. How long can I avoid eye contact with them? At this rate, weeks seem probable. If I piss them off enough, would they let me go back to Florida? Maybe, but I highly doubt it. Micah’s parents would probably let me stay with them if we asked nice enough.
“Gavin, we’re leaving. Put your phone away. You can text your friends later,” Mom snaps.
Is she pissed at me? Good. Maybe a dose of her own medicine will do her some good. Because pissed is all I have felt since she told me we were moving to this shithole. Since the moment she told me I didn’t have a choice—or voice—in the matter. She didn’t even give me a chance to protest. Her word was the final say.
Fucking bullshit.
I follow in my parents’ wake as we exit the airport and my Dad hails a cab. After our luggage is crammed into the trunk, I slide in front beside the driver rather than sit with one of my parents. I have no animosity with Dad, but it seems only fair I treat them equally. After all, they are a team. And they made this decision together. Without me. Without taking any part of my life into account.
We drive away from the airport and I lean against the window, staring at nothing. I don’t care if this place holds good qualities. Mountains or celebrities or monuments. None of it matters. Because I don’t want to be here. An hour later, the cabbie parks in “our driveway.” He helps Dad get the luggage from the trunk before driving away a minute later.
I stay rooted at the end of the driveway and stare at the house I will never call home. A desert-colored Spanish-style house with vines growing up one side of the exterior. Large, grassy plants rest along the front edges of the structure; red rocks fill in the plant bed. The grass mowed with perfect precision. Sporadic large windows fill the walls with the occasional extended half-round window. A small iron gate encloses the driveway from the house to the set-back garage.
Nothing about this house resembles the home we left behind in Florida. This place feels like something to flaunt. A dollar sign. A pretentious badge of honor. Nothing about it could ever be homey. The core of it too frigid and formal. Too “look at me and the salary increase I just earned.”
My stomach roils at the idea of my family becoming snotty or ostentatious. Of throwing black-tie parties and drinking with our pinkies out and tilting our noses higher.
When did my parents become these people?
Several minutes pass before I decide to go inside. My parents nowhere in sight when I enter. No doubt they are wandering the property and making sure there is no damage. I scan the bare interior, the moving truck not arriving until the day after tomorrow. Fucking bullshit. We have to sleep on the damn floor until our shit arrives. Could we not even get air mattresses?
I walk down a hall and find the room Mom said would be mine. Once inside, I shut the door and lay on the tan carpet. No matter how many photos or posters I add to the walls, this room will never be mine. At most, I will only live here the next two years and then fly back to Florida. Back to Cora and Micah and everything I love.
I crawl over to the suitcase deposited in my room—probably by Dad. Unzipping the case, I riffle through the contents until I locate what I search for. Tucked between my jeans is a small wooden box. I trace my fingertips over the lightly stained grain, a tear slipping from my eye as I stare at my most prized possession. My favorite birthday present from my favorite person.
The box is about the size of a novel, but deeper. Cora used a wood burning tool and inscribed our names on the top surface as well as the date when we became official. Then she got artsy and added a beach sunset.
I brush my fingers over our names and the tears spill heavier. Not even a full day has passed and I can’t breathe. The constant warmth I once felt beneath my sternum is now cold and sunken and empty. Without Cora nearby, the world wobbles off-kilter. Revolves slower. Shifts to an endless night.
Flipping the small latch, I open the box and stare at the contents. Lose focus as the one person who means more to me than anyone else is just a memory in a fucking box. One by one, I pull each item from the box. One by one, I cry a little more. So many photos. Of us together—laughing, kissing, watching television. Of Cora by herself—some posed, some candid. Goofy faces, serious faces, expressions she reserved only for me. Drawings she did on napkins, scrap pieces of paper and other random types of paper. Some folded, some small enough to sit open in the box. Most she doesn’t even know I possess. Small tokens of her I kept since the day we met.
Pieces of her. Pieces of us.
I set the drawings on the fluffy carpet and spread them out so I have an unobstructed view of them all at the same time. Once I have them all spread, I go back to the box and take out the next items. Photos.
Polaroids and regular four-by-six printed images. Cora almost always had a camera with her everywhere we went. She kept it stashed in her purse or backpack, taking it out whenever an opportunity presented itself. Most of the photos on her camera—an older, thirty-five-millimeter film Nikon—were of places, things or other people. Every once in a while, I would snatch her camera and shoot pictures of her. And every once in a while, we were able to get someone else to take a photo of us together.
Sifting through the photos, I land on one of my two favorites. The photo is just of Cora. We were wandering along the trail in Walsingham Park and I had been holding her camera for a bit after she stopped to use the restroom. At the time, I had been walking ten feet behind her. Her eyes drifted up to the trees, searching for birds or squirrels. Or maybe she was simply admiring the trees—she did that sometimes, got lost staring at the trees. I lifted the camera to my eye and snapped the shutter, capturing her profile with the sunbeams haloing around her. She looked like a peaceful angel. My peaceful angel.
My second favorite photo was of the two of us. More like our silhouettes. In the photo, we stood side by side with an arm around each other. A friendly guy on the beach snapped the photo as the sun set behind us. It wasn’t noticeable to most people who glanced at the photo, but we were both smiling like idiots. Giddy after dating each other for six months. Just looking at the photo now makes me smile like a fool. A fool madly in love with his soul mate.
I set the two photos beside each other and stare at them a while. Go back to the time they were taken. Remember how I felt those days. How the sight of her made my heart swell and breath vanish. Tears drip from my chin and splatter on the photos. I trace my finger over Cora in each of the pictures.
Fuck. Two years away from Cora will feel like an eternity.
“Gavin?” Mom bellows from somewhere outside the four walls that will now be my room.
I ignore her call a minute as I continue going through the box. Get lost in the drawings and photos as tears continue to fall. But the moment doesn’t last long.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Gavin, didn’t you hear me calling you?” Mom asks. In my periphery, she stands in the doorway with her hands on her hips, staring at my profile and the scattered images.
After a moment, I lift my tear-stained eyes to hers. Yeah, I heard you. But I don’t fucking care. That is what I want to say to her. But I don’t. Instead, I lie.
“Nope.”
I don’t elaborate. Don’t give her anything to expand on. Because I don’t want to look at her. Don’t want to speak to her. And a second later, I go back to staring at the items in front of me. But she interrupts me again and I groan.
“Well, Dad and I were thinking we should go out and grab something to eat. Maybe see what’s near here too. Sound good?”
She is doing her best in a shitty situation she is aware upsets me. And I guess I should reciprocate and try not to be too much of a dick. I mean, is it really such a bad thing that she is good at what she does? That her boss deemed her better than others in her field. A good son would be happy for his mom. A good son would be proud. But every time I try to be happy for her, all I think about is how I drew the short end of the stick in this whole situation. How I had no say or alternative.
I may be sixteen, but shouldn’t my voice count in matters like this? Shouldn’t I have a say?
“Yeah, Mom. Can you give me a few minutes? I want to call Cora before it’s too late for her.”
Something new to deal with. Fucking time zone differences. Bad enough I don’t get to see her or speak to her regularly. Now I have to fight with the fact that our lives exist with a three-hour time disruption.
“Sure thing. Ten minutes. And then we’ll go.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
She gives me a sad smile then closes my door and walks off. Once she has been gone a few seconds, I call Cora.
She answers on the first ring. The moment I hear her voice, every live wire inside of me calms. Almost three thousand miles away and Cora still holds the balm to my heart. We talk nonstop for ten minutes—her more than me. She talks about Shelly hanging out with her and staying over at her house. How they have been watching Lord of the Rings on repeat and Shelly wants to kill her. This makes me laugh for the first time in weeks.
And then Cora becomes quiet. So quiet I wonder if she fell asleep. I close my eyes for a minute and picture her sleeping with me curled up behind her. Our bodies flush and my arms wrapped around her waist. Before I ask if she is still awake, she whispers into the phone.
“It hasn’t even been a whole day and I already miss you so much.” Her voice trembles over the line and I know she is holding back tears. I won’t tell her, but I saw her collapse outside my house as we drove away. She may have thought we were far enough away, but we weren’t. And the sight of her on the ground crying crushed me. The fact I couldn’t turn the car around and go to her, scoop her up in my arms and rock her to soothe the pain, kills me.
“Me too, baby.”
“I’m getting a job soon. Save up money so I can fly out to see you. Maybe by our anniversary.”
Hope filters through her words and spreads from her phone to mine. With it, I sense her warmth and a hint of gladness. Maybe that’s what I should do too. Find a job and save money. Teens don’t make much money, but earning something is better than nothing at all. Maybe I will call it my Cora fund. Both of us can save up to fly back and forth.
“That’s a good idea. I’ll do that too.”
Just as Cora starts talking again, Dad walks into the room and signals it is time to go. I nod and hold up a finger. He taps his watch and walks out, leaving the door open. Door open equals time is up.
“Gavin?”
“I’m still here, baby. Mom and Dad said I need to get off the phone. We’re going out to dinner.”
“Okay.” Her voice drops so low I barely hear her. And I wouldn’t be surprised if the second we hang up, she starts crying all over again. I will too. Because this situation is annoying and heartbreaking and fucked up. And I hate that I can’t hold her right now. Can’t press her against my chest and rub a hand up and down her back. Can’t promise her everything will be alright. Although, the prospect of getting a job and saving to see her again lights a fire inside me.
“I wish I didn’t have to.”
“I know. I love you.”
“I love you, too. I’ll call you in the morning.”
Seconds later, and with much reluctance, the call ends. As sad and frustrated as I am with being stuck in a situation I can’t reverse, hope flares anew for us. And we both hold on to that hope with every breath we take. Because hope is all we have.
But little do we know, things don’t always go according to plan. And life has a way of throwing curveballs. Curveballs that batter and bruise hearts.
Four
Gavin
Present
Something jabs me in the ribs as I roll from my side onto my back. I swipe my hand behind me in an attempt to remove said object. I pat and swipe and wave my arm. Whatever it is, it’s still there. What the hell? I dig near my ribs and after no success locating the source, I flop over, land on my back and groan. Not only am I being stabbed by some invisible foreign object, but my body is on fire.
I open my eyes and squint, feeling disoriented for a moment.
Never-ending blue, puffy white clouds and the morning sun brighten the sky directly above. In my left periphery is a tall oak tree, the limbs hang overhead while the leaves flutter in the slight breeze. To my right is a row of bushy grass plants. The smell of grass and earth and something floral hits my nose. Birds chirp all around. Squirrels scamper past me. And I swear I hear ducks quacking nearby.
When I roll to sit up, every muscle in my body reacts. My back stiff, neck throbbing, shoulders sore, eyes swollen. Like I partied all night and missed all the good parts.
Once I reorient myself and attempt to work the pain from my muscles, I squint at my surroundings. Adjust to the brightness and focus on what is in front of me. Gray siding, black trim and window treatments, and bushy shrubs.
Cora’s house. More accurate—Cora’s back patio.
I glance over to the driveway and notice her car is still missing. And the fact that she hasn’t been at home all night worries me in more ways than one. She was so upset when she left my side last night. She tried to fight it, but I could tell the dam was about to burst the second she left. I only hope wherever she is, she arrived safe.
If anything happened to her, if she got into a car wreck, I would never forgive myself. Wouldn’t be able to live with myself.
“Fuck…” I mutter as I stretch my neck and back.
I walk over to the stoop by her back door and make myself comfortable. There is no way I am leaving until
I know she is home and she is safe. Even if that means I sit here for hours. She may not want to talk to me right now, which I completely understand, but I won’t let her run away from this. From us.
Not when I just got her back. Not after all the strides we have made. The rekindling we have done. The love I saw in her eyes when she looked into mine. I refuse to lose her.
No matter what it takes, I will fight for her. For me. For us. No chance in hell I am letting this slip through the cracks. And although it took me far too long to come back to her—and under the wrong circumstances—I won’t throw in the towel now. Not happening. I won’t let her give up so easily either. Our lives may be in different places now, but one fact remains one-hundred-percent unchanged.
We love each other. Plain and simple.
And nothing or no one will steal the love we share from us. Never again.
I pull my phone from my pocket—again—and check the time. Ten thirty-five. Not only have I been awake and sitting by Cora’s back door for over two hours, I have been at her house for close to twelve hours. And she hasn’t.
Luna is probably freaking out inside looking for her Mom and her breakfast.
Slowly but surely, I start to freak out a bit too. By now, I thought she would be home. The fact that she isn’t, has me worrying more—about where she is and why she hasn’t come home. Elbows resting on my knees, I drop my head in my hands and groan. Please let her be okay. Not in some hospital getting treated for injuries because she couldn’t focus enough to drive.
But another thought crosses my mind. A thought that boils my blood and chills me to the bone simultaneously.
Who is she with? After our argument last night, would she go running into another man’s arms? And not just any man, but a man she trusts. A man she is comfortable with and confides in. Jonas.