by Sarah Ready
He looks back. I’m about to yell at him about keeping his eyes on the darn trail when he trips on a root. He twists and slams to the ground. He hits the dirt and skids on his side along the trail.
I can’t stop running in time and my feet get tangled in his legs. I land on top of him.
The air is knocked from me. I roll to the dirt and try to pull in air. Little stars dance in my eyes and my lungs ache for breath. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I draw in air. Thank the Lord.
Liam props up on his elbows and looks down at me with concern.
“You alright?”
His jerk mood seems to have dissipated with the fall.
I shake my head and relax back into the dirt. “Give me a minute.”
He lays down next to me and we stare up at the leafy canopy. There’s a squirrel on a tree limb that looks down at us and chatters. After a few twitches of its tail it scatters away.
“Sorry I was an ass,” Liam finally says. He clears his throat and looks over at me.
I shake my head but don’t say anything for a moment. Then, “What was that all about anyway?”
He props his hands under his head and gazes up at the sky. Finally, “I don’t want you to think I’m more than I am.”
He’s tense and I suddenly understand. He’s warning me that he’s leaving and he doesn’t want me to get too attached. Or to make this more than it is.
I sigh. How did this get so complicated so quickly? He was supposed to be a guy that would help Bean have her wish come true. He wasn’t supposed to be anything more.
“Believe me. Two weeks ago, I poured whiskey on your drunk head. I’m not going to think you’re more than you are.” I pucker my lips. That tasted like a lie.
“Yeah, but sometimes, the way you look at me…” He stops and turns to look up at the sky again.
My cheeks burn with embarrassment.
He props himself up on his elbow. “I don’t know what to think. I just want to make clear that all I want out of this is to get back to Hollywood.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t want any misunderstandings.”
“Got it.”
“Sometimes I think you’re picturing me as your daughter’s substitute dad or your fantasy husband. I can’t be that.”
I push up and scramble back away from him. “What’s wrong with you today?” An angry bloom fills my chest. I lash out. “I’ve already had a husband, Liam. And he was a helluva better man than you’ll ever be.”
Tears sting my eyes. I stand up and start down the trail. Away from him.
He jogs after me and catches up. I keep running and don’t speak. Running has always been my way to soothe anger, fight fear, and keep moving forward. I use it now.
A half-mile from the road the trail widens. Liam runs next to me.
“Hey,” he says.
“What?” I snap. Enough already. Yes, I’m getting too attached. Yes, I’d be ecstatic if my daughter weren’t dying and I had a husband who loved me. He doesn’t have to rub it in.
He slows down and then stops running.
After a few steps, I stop and turn. “What?” I’m tired and I want to head back home. I have to shower, eat, spend some time with Bean, and get to work by nine.
He looks at me and I try not to look too pissed off. Unfortunately, what makes me most angry is I realize he’s right. I’ve been idolizing him, thinking of how much Bean likes him, how he makes her happy. How he might make me happy.
I wasn’t thinking of what he wants.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“For what? You were just telling the truth.”
He shakes his head and starts to speak, but I cut him off.
“Do you want to know something?”
“Okay,” he says. He steps closer. I avoid his eyes and instead look over his shoulder at the green and brown of the woods.
“Bean would love it if you were her dad. There’s nothing that would make her happier. And that would make me happy.”
I catch the slight shift in him as his shoulders stiffen. It hurts. I close my eyes against it and continue. “Why would I tie myself to a man I met only a few weeks ago? Why would I fantasize about something that can never exist? It’s not real and it never will be real. You might not know it, but I do. I’ve accepted it. Bean may not grow up. I may never see that. I already know this. I already know.” It sits heavy on my chest every hour of every day.
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop it. Don’t…I don’t need a husband, or a father for Bean. I need a hero. Okay? I need you to be a hero. Effin’ Liam Stone.”
I finally look up at him and realize he’s been watching my face. “Okay.”
“No matter how you think I’m looking at you, or how much you think I want you, I don’t. Because it’s not real.”
“Okay.” Something changes in his expression and then something shifts in him too.
I look at him, and he stares at me. His dark stubble lines his jaw and his eyes search mine. There’s something unspoken here between us. This quiet awareness that both of us are too scared to admit. Neither of us makes the first move. But the tension between us grows thick and heavy. His eyes flick to my mouth. My lips tingle under his gaze.
“You don’t want me,” he says.
“No,” I say.
His eyes stay on my lips.
“Not for a husband.”
“Never.”
“Not for a substitute father.”
“Not at all.”
“You just want to train.”
“That’s right.”
I swallow as his eyes go darker and his lids lower. His hands curl and my skin tingles as I imagine him touching me again.
“There’s nothing here,” he says.
“Nothing at all.”
He studies me for a moment. The only sound is a woodpecker tapping at a tree. I stand still under his gaze. Then, “I have to kiss in my movies.”
We’re both crazy. There’s no other explanation. Because I’m not surprised at all that he said this.
I nod, and it feels like I’m moving through syrup, the air is thick and sweet. It’s only natural that he’d mention kissing. His eyes go heavy and dark as he watches my mouth.
“I might need to add it to my training. Kissing.”
“Mmmhmm,” I say.
“Because you don’t want me. There’s no risk of misunderstandings.”
“Not at all,” I say.
He leans forward and I lean toward him.
“How would I do it, if we were in a scene together?” he asks.
I look at his mouth, the dip in his lower lip, and his strong chin.
I clear my throat. “You’d put your hands…”
He steps only inches from me and I feel the heat coming off him. “On your shoulders?”
“This isn’t a junior high dance,” I say.
He smiles and I tilt my head up to look at him.
“You’d put them on my hips.”
He reaches down and presses his fingers into the curve of my hips. “Like that?” he asks.
His palms spread out and he rocks me closer. “Perfect,” I say. My voice is throaty and I sway toward him.
“Then what?” he asks.
“Then you’d brush your lips over mine. Lightly. Just a taste.”
He bends his head down and runs his lips over mine. I open my mouth to him and lick at the salty flavor of him.
“Like this?” he whispers.
“That’s right.”
“Now what?”
I trace my lips over his and he pulls me closer. “You open my mouth with yours and—”
He doesn’t let me finish. His lips close over mine and he teases my mouth open. He sucks on my lips, and runs his hands over my hips, and sends his tongue into my mouth and I’m breathing hard and my hands are on his bare shoulders and I’m not standing anymore but pulled up against him and I wrap my legs around him and I’m…he carries me over to a tree and pu
shes me against it. Then he starts to move over me and I’m pressed between the tree and the hardness of him.
I kiss him and kiss him and kiss him like I’ll never ever kiss anyone ever again. My fingers dig into his shoulders and I can hear little noises and I realize it’s me. He tugs at my hair and pulls me in closer and reaches one hand up to run it along my ribs and up toward my breast and he almost there. Then his hand curls up over the bottom of my breast and his hand rests on me, he flicks a finger over a nipple and I cry out into his mouth. He captures my cry and presses harder into me, takes my mouth like he’ll never let me go. I don’t want him to. I don’t…he yanks his mouth free, jerks back and drops me to the ground.
My knees buckle, and my legs nearly give out. My head swims, but I manage to right myself. I pull in a hard breath. My heart pounds and I try to reorient myself. But the whole world is skewed now and I can’t find north.
I look to Liam. His back’s turned and he’s breathing hard.
What happened?
What the heck was that?
Liam still hasn’t turned around. The heat that poured through me is gone. I rub at my arms.
A hawk screeches overhead and I’m pulled back into reality.
I have work in less than an hour. I’m a widow scrambling to keep my head above water and get my sick daughter to her treatments every week. I also want to give my daughter her one dream. Which doesn’t include me making a fool of myself for a temperamental movie star.
“Alright then.” I say, and I’m proud because my voice is normal. “I think you’ve got it down.”
Understatement.
He runs a hand through his hair and finally turns to me. His cheeks are red, but otherwise he looks exactly the same as he always does. Except, well, more toned. He’s more toned by the day.
“Ginny—”
“Training’s done for the day.” I say. “I don’t think we need to do that again.” Then I run past Liam. I don’t want to talk about it. About that kiss.
It only takes three minutes to finish the last half-mile.
“I have to get to work,” I say. I’m out of breath from the fast half-mile. I reach for my car door. I know it looks like I’m running away, but I don’t care.
This morning got away from me and if I ignore it maybe we can go back to the way things were.
“I’ll see you tonight,” says Liam.
“No.” I shake my head. “You don’t need to. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
He puts his hand on the door to my car to stop me from opening it. “We’ll have dinner.”
My face must betray my shock.
“Not a date,” he says. “I have another lesson for Bean.”
Oh. Right. Right.
“Gotcha.” I close my eyes and try to push away all the reactions I’m having to him. Just to make things clear between us, I say, “I’m not looking for a husband.”
I wait for his reaction. When he doesn’t have one I say, “Or a substitute father.”
“Yeah.”
“We shouldn’t have kissed,” I say, although that tastes like a lie. Especially since I’d like him to lift me up again and start where we left off.
He doesn’t argue.
In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all. He just looks at me with the strangest expression on his face.
I drive off. But it feels like I’m still running.
11
Liam
I show up at Ginny’s garage door entrance at six o’clock. I knock and clasp the bouquet of daisies in my hand. They’re a little scraggly and weedy looking, but Centreville doesn’t have a florist. So I spent a half-hour wading through the tall grass on the side of Route 511 collecting the daisies that grow there. I’m more nervous than I was before my first audition, and I don’t know why. I just want to apologize. Flowers in hand.
This morning, I was feeling things for Ginny that I don’t have any right to feel. I’m not a good bet and I’m not sticking around. At first I thought that Ginny was the one with all the baggage and that was the reason I wanted to avoid her. Now I realize she’s dealt with her past, it’s me that can’t move forward. In fact, I want to head back to the past and live in it. Hollywood, here I come.
The door to Ginny’s garage apartment remains shut. The flowers are starting to sag. I knock again then use my sleeve to brush at the sweat dripping down my face. The full sun glares down and the black pavement of the drive is hot.
“Eww. Is that loser giving Ginny flowers?” Someone makes gagging sounds. My neck prickles with embarrassment and I turn around. It’s that little bully Redge. He’s with the teen Finick and Heather. I recognize Heather from the day she came by the trailer. She’s wearing a tight dress and high heels. There’s a sneer on her face. Then she notices the flowers in my hand and the fact that I’m standing at Ginny’s door. Her eyes narrow.
“Ha,” says the man with them. He has a long narrow head with a sharp chin, pleated pants, tassel shoes, and a gold watch. He slaps Redge on the back. “Good one, son.”
“Stoney,” Heather purrs. They walk up to me. Heather looks at the flowers in my hand and smirks. “Looking for someone?”
I don’t want to say anything that could be misconstrued. I get the feeling that there’s no love lost between this family and Ginny.
The man looks between me and Heather and finally seems to realize that Heather and I have met before.
“Heather, you know him?”
Heather gives a little smile. “Stoney and I used to work together. He was an actor.”
Comprehension lights in his eyes and he slaps his thigh. “Oh, right. Ha ha. You’re the has-been hero. That coo-coo comic guy. The wash-up everyone makes fun of.” He chortles and little Redge snickers. Then he leans toward Heather and says under his breath, “Didn’t you say he was a drunk?”
My jaw clenches and a little lead ball settles in my chest.
He turns back to me. “I’m Joel Wilson, mayor of Centreville.” He holds out his hand to shake. Then he realizes the bouquet of daisies are in my right hand. He gives me a hard look.
“You’re not bothering Ginny, are you?”
“What?” I’m sort of shocked with his sudden turn from put-downs to hostility.
He points to the door. “Ginny. She’s like family.”
“She’s not family,” says Finick. He’s been trying to ignore us all up to this point.
Joel doesn’t pay any attention to him. “I don’t want to hear you’re bothering her. She has enough trouble.”
Heather sighs and rolls her eyes. “My word, Joel. Enough with the protectiveness over Ginny.”
“I’m hungry,” says Redge.
Just then the front door of the house opens and the pickle grandma pokes her head out. Her eyes widen. “Clark, they’re here,” she shouts back in the house. Then she sees me and she looks to the sky and shakes her head. “Ginny,” she shouts through the door, “that superhero fella is here.” Then she steps onto the sidewalk and gestures for us to come up to the house. “Come on, y’all. What are you doing standing out in the heat? You’ll wilt like…why do you have a handful of weeds?”
She’s looking at the wilted daisies. Half the petals are gone and the heads droop down. Redge starts to snicker again.
Finick lets out a long sigh and moves past to get into the air conditioning of the house.
“A kiss first, Finick,” says the grandma. He slumps his shoulders and gives her a peck on the cheek. “You too, Redge,” she says. After she’s had all her hugs and kisses she stands on the porch and crosses her arms over her chest.
I’m not sure if she wants me to kiss her too. I smother a laugh at the thought. Just then Bean runs out the door.
“You’re here,” she shouts. She barrels into my legs and gives my waist a tight squeeze. “I’m so excited. What’re we doing? Where are we going?”
I grin and pat her head. When I look up, Ginny’s standing on the porch watching the two of us. I think my heart must be in my eye
s because who can’t love Bean? But I see my words from earlier today in Ginny’s gaze. No misunderstandings.
I wait until Bean disentangles herself. Then I step back. “It’s a surprise.”
“Oh, boy. Mama says surprises aren’t my forte.”
I hold back a smile. “Well, one thing about superheroes is we have a lot of patience.”
“Hmm.” She considers this then seems to discard it because right away she asks, “But where are we going?”
I grin.
“You’re not going anywhere until you eat your dinner, Beatrice.”
“But, Grandma, maybe Liam is taking us to dinner. Are you taking us to dinner?”
“Well—”
“It’s family dinner night,” Bean’s grandma says. She gives Ginny a pointed look, then she strolls into the house, leaving the door open behind her. I can feel the cold chill of the air conditioning.
Ginny steps down. “Sorry, I forgot about the dinner. I’m sure you don’t want to join us, we could—”
“I’d love to.”
“What?”
“I’d love to.”
Bean jumps up and down and cheers. “Hooray. Then we’ll go on the surprise. And I bet I’m gonna learn to fly.”
“Are those for me?” asks Ginny. She’s looking at the flowers in my hand.
I clear my throat and shift uncomfortably under her steady gaze. “I um—”
“Wanted to say you were sorry.”
“Exactly,” I say. I smile and hand her the bouquet. “They’re not much. I mean, they don’t mean anything. Just sorry.”
She smiles. “It’s alright.”
“Come on, Liam. We’re having pot pie with real venison. Finick always says that’s disgusting ’cause eating venison is like eating Bambi, plus deer have ticks, but Grandpa says kids gotta eat venison or they’ll turn out wimpy, and then Heather says if Finick doesn’t like it he can go hungry then Finick says—”
“Well, you might as well come in,” Ginny says.
Bean keeps on talking, giving me the history of venison pot pie as we head toward the dining room. The dining table has a lace table cloth on top and fine porcelain china. Bean’s grandma is hastily arranging another place setting for me.