All She Wants

by Anna Cruise

  Tomorrow. I swallowed and screwed the cap back on to my water. “Really? You've blown a radiator belt on a deserted stretch of highway in Mexico before?”

  He grinned. “Not quite. But there's always the potential for something to go wrong. Hurdles and obstacles.”

  “Bigger than this?”

  “Bigger than this,” he said.

  Part of me seriously doubted that. Being stranded on a desolate beach in a foreign country seemed pretty huge to me.

  As if on cue, my phone started ringing. I stared at my bag for a minute, surprised I was actually getting reception, before reaching inside. It was Sheridan. I swiped the screen.

  “Did you survive?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “The Neanderthal. The Yeti.” Her voice was loud and I immediately lowered the volume, hoping Stuart hadn't heard.

  “Oh. Yeah. Everything's fine.”

  “Is? As in, currently?” She paused. “Oh my God. Are you with him right now? Annika!”

  “Stop.” I stood up and brushed the sand off my shorts. I walked toward the water, my feet kicking up a spray of sand.

  “Tell me what's going on,” she demanded.

  “It's not what you think.”

  “Bullshit. The banquet was two days ago. Why are you still with him? Did you sleep with him?”

  I ignored her last question. “I'm on a mission trip with him.”

  Silence. Then, “What?”

  “A mission trip. To Mexico. He'd scheduled a visit to Ensenada. You know, to coincide with his speaking engagement. I came with.”

  “I think I must have the wrong number...”

  “Shut up,” I told her. My feet hit the water's edge and the cool water felt good on my toes. “He wanted volunteers.”

  “He's hot, isn't he?” she asked. “He cleaned up well, right? And that's why you're there? Even though official sorority business is over, that doesn't mean you can sleep with him. You know that, right?”

  I didn't want to tell her that I'd almost lost count how many times I'd had sex with him. “It is a volunteer trip,” I said, enunciating each word. “I'm handing out books, not blow jobs.” Of course, that hadn't been the case last night, but I wasn't about to share that with her.

  She sighed. “Okay. So you're still there? In Mexico?”

  “Yeah.” I took another step into the water and the remnants of the waves lapped at my ankles. “The car we're in broke down so we're waiting for it to be fixed.”

  “Where exactly are you?”

  I spun around and looked toward the highway. “I dunno. Somewhere between Ensenada and San Diego.”

  “Do you need me to come get you?”

  I hesitated. I was done with Mexico. Done with what it had done to me. It made me uncomfortable, made me feel things I wasn't used to feeling, things I didn't know if I wanted to feel. I could tell her yes. Yes, come get me. And she would—she'd drive her sporty new Camry right across the border and pick me up. Of course, I'd be indebted to her forever and she'd use every opportunity to hang it over my head and try to guilt me into doing things for her, but I was okay with that. Because I knew how to say no to her.

  “Annika?” The connection was staticy now. “You still there?”

  My gaze shifted from the highway to the beach. Stuart was still sitting where I'd left him, his water bottle dangling from his fingertips. The afternoon sun glinted off his hair, weaving strands of gold through his thick, brown locks.

  He wasn't watching Brynn and he wasn't looking at his phone or the freeway or the ocean.

  His eyes were locked in on one thing.

  Me.

  “I'm still here,” I said. “And I'm okay. More than okay.”

  THIRTY

  “Why aren't you eating?”

  I glanced at the hot dog impaled on the stick I was holding. “Because I'm sick of hot dogs.”

  Stuart smiled. “There are a few tamales left over.”

  I shook my head. “No, thank you.”

  Brynn rolled her eyes. “Why do you think everything is going to kill you?”

  “Why do you even care what I think?”

  She frowned and said nothing, just finished her tamale and tossed the corn husks into the fire. It had been an hour since I'd talked to Sheridan and told her not to come rescue me, and we were sitting around the fire. Not that we needed one yet—it had to be at least eighty degrees, the sun directly over the ocean, beating down on us. Stuart had repositioned the tent, turning it into more of a canopy to try to shield us from the sun. I knew my nose was sunburnt, could feel the telltale sting already. But I wasn't about to ask Brynn to share her sunscreen.

  She wiped her hands on her shorts, then leaned back in the sand. “That was delicious.”

  I stared at the phallic-looking piece of meat on my stick. I made a face and took a bite and told myself I wasn't ever eating a hot dog again.

  Stuart ate the last bite of his tamale and stood up. He'd stripped off his shirt and his browned shoulders had a reddish tinge to them. He adjusted the visor on his head. “Mother Nature calls,” he said, grinning. He ambled down the beach, heading out of view.

  I squirmed in the sand. I hadn't gone to the bathroom since the morning, when I'd stopped over the toilet in the convenience store. One diet Coke and bottled water later and my bladder was about to burst.

  “Why don't you join him?” Brynn asked, her eyes roving over me. “You can empty one tank and fill another, all at the same time.”

  “Jealous doesn't look good on you,” I said. I looked down my nose at her. “Actually, nothing does.”

  She stiffened. “I am not jealous.”

  I studied her. “I think you are.”

  “Jealous of you?” She smiled and rolled her eyes. “Please. You're the least likeable person I've ever met. There's nothing to be jealous of.”

  “No?” I asked. I glanced down the beach, toward Stuart's retreating back. “Even though I have something you don't?”

  “I don't want that,” she said, frowning.

  “Remember how you said I was mean? Vulgar?” I stood up. “Well, I know what you are, Brynn I-don't-know-what-your-last-name-is-and-I-don't-fucking-care.”

  Her frown deepened.

  “I am,” I told her, nodding. Her face screwed up in confusion and I clarified. “Mean and vulgar. I absolutely am. But you? You're a liar.”

  THIRTY ONE

  I avoided Brynn the rest of the afternoon. It was easy to do. She complained of a headache and re-set up the tent so she could sleep it off. I was disappointed it was just a headache. Food poisoning would have been better. Or maybe Ebola.

  I'd caved and found a spot to use the bathroom, the opposite direction of where Stuart had gone, up behind one of the cliffs. I'd come back and parked myself near the camp site, not next to the tent but nearby, halfway between it and the water. I was laying on my stomach, mostly to keep my face and burnt nose out of the sun and I'd turned on my phone, music playing softly from the speaker.

  “Mind if I sit with you?” Stuart asked.

  I lifted up on my elbows. “Of course not.”

  He plopped down next to me, close but not touching. He had a paperback in his hands.

  “You're gonna read?” I ask.

  “Not a lot else to do,” he said, grinning. “Unless you want me to try my hand at catching fish. With my bare hands.”

  “I think I'd like to see that.”

  “Too bad.” He stretched his legs out in front of him and opened the book. It was a dog-eared copy of something, the cover creased and well-worn.

  “What are you reading?”

  He flipped the cover so I could see.

  “Mountains Beyond Mountains?” I smiled. “Don't tell me you're a mountain climber, too?”

  “Hardly. It's a book about Paul Farmer. A doctor living in Haiti.”

  “Let me guess,” I said. I twisted so I was on my side, facing him. “He saves peoples bodies instead of their minds and souls.”

&n
bsp; “Exactly.”

  I picked up a handful of sand and let it trickle through my fingers. “Is that the next step for you?”

  “I'm not a doctor.”

  “Well, no. But you're not a librarian or an English major, either and you've sort of dedicated your life to improving world literacy. So far, anyway.”

  “True,” he said. “But it's easier to stick a book in a kid's hands than it is to treat them for tuberculosis or AIDS.”

  “And that's what he does? The farmer dude?”

  Stuart nodded. “So, no, I don't want to be a doctor. But it's just nice to read about other people out there, trying to make a difference. And his work is life and death. Way more important than anything I'll ever do.”

  “I don't know if that's completely true.”

  “Book,” he said, waving it in the air for demonstration. “Or life. I can only offer one.”

  “Put in those terms, sure.” There were grains of sand embedded under my nails and I tried to dig them out. “But you said yourself that giving a book is like giving a kid a new life. An escape. And that sounds pretty important, too.” An image of the two kids from earlier in the day flashed through my head and I blinked my eyes a couple of times, trying to erase it.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I guess you're right.”

  We sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the tinny music coming from my phone.

  “Are you glad you came?” he asked.

  “What?” I asked. “You mean on this trip?”

  He nodded.

  “Sure. Of course.”

  “Even with the dog food? And the camping? And the lack of toilet facilities?”

  I shrugged. “Well, that stuff has sort of sucked...”

  He laughed. “Fair enough.”

  “But, no,” I said. “It's been...” I paused. Fun wasn't the right word. Tolerable sounded like I'd just endured a trip to the dentist. “It's been an experience.”

  “I'll take that,” he said. “And I know you didn't want to come—”

  “That's not true.”

  “Sure it is.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “It's not like you put a gun in my mouth and forced me to drive you to the border. And then dragged me across.”

  “No, but I know the reasons you decided to come.”

  “Oh?”

  He nodded toward the tent. “Her.”

  I rolled my eyes. “She's a bitch.”

  Stuart bit back a smile. “No, she's not. A little overzealous, maybe. But her heart is in the right place.”

  Guys could be so incredibly blind. The only thing she was overzealous about was her bitchiness. I toyed with telling him the things she'd said to me, the way her smile morphed into a sneer every time she opened her mouth when we were alone. But I didn't want to talk about her. I didn't even want to acknowledge she was there.

  “And your family,” he said.

  I flashed back to the scene at my mom's birthday party. “I came because I wanted to,” I said stubbornly.

  He stared at me and the sun bathed his face in light, his brown eyes almost honey-colored. “You wanted to come? To do this?”

  I swallowed. No. I really hadn't wanted to come at all. He'd been absolutely right about the reasons I'd driven to the edge of the United States and walked across the border. The thought of a guy I'd slept with spending alone time with bitch-face had been the initial reason. And then my sister's comments had solidified the deal.

  So maybe I hadn't wanted to come for the right reasons. Not initially.

  But I thought back to the the afternoon spent in the cafeteria in the school. And to earlier that morning, handing out more books. And being devastated—furious, even—when we'd run out.

  Those were the right reasons for coming with.

  And I didn't know why but I was feeling them.

  All of them.

  THIRTY TWO

  The bright beam of a flashlight woke me up. A face peered down at me and I stifled a scream.

  “Shh, shh.” It was Garcia's voice.

  I sat up and looked around, completely disoriented. The fire in our makeshift fire pit had died, the driftwood a small pile of smoking embers. Stuart was inside the tent, presumably asleep. He'd asked if I wanted to join him inside and, when I'd said no, he asked if I wanted company where I was sitting. I'd shaken my head no to that suggestion, too.

  It wasn't that I didn't want to spend time with him. But our conversation from earlier had rattled me—enough so that I'd basically spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in a funk. After a few failed attempts at conversation, Stuart had gotten the hint and left me alone.

  “What are you doing here?” I hissed.

  “Car,” he whispered. “Is fixed.”

  “The car?” I straightened, hugging the thin blanket to my chest. “Already? What time is it?” He stared at me blankly and I tapped at my wrist, miming a watch.

  “Ah,” he said, nodding. He held out his wrist to show me. He pushed a button on the side of the timepiece and the screen glowed green. Eleven o'clock.

  I sat up and crawled on my knees to the entrance of the tent. I unzipped the flap. “Stuart?”

  He groaned and shifted under the blanket he'd draped over himself. “Mmm? What?”

  “Garcia is back. With the car.”

  He popped up immediately. “What?”

  “He fixed the car.”

  Brynn stirred, moaning a little and even though it was dark, I could make out her form on the opposite side of the tent, a good two feet between the two of them. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Stuart fumbled with his shirt, pulling it over his head. He crawled out of the tent, his hair standing on end.

  He spoke to Garcia in Spanish and I tuned them out.

  The car was ready. And we were leaving.

  Relief washed over me. I needed to get the hell out of Mexico and back to reality. I needed to take a shower and put on a decent outfit and call Jake Abernathy or some other guy in my contacts and do my best to forget everything that had happened the last few days.

  I needed to get back to being me. Having fun. Hooking up. Enjoying life. Not worrying about anything or anyone.

  There was just one problem with that, though, the whole 'getting back to me' bit.

  I wasn't sure I knew who I was anymore.

  THIRTY THREE

  “So,” I said, sticking my key in the ignition. “Where to?”

  We were back in San Ysidro and it was just shy of one o'clock.

  Stuart stretched out in the passenger seat next to me. “I was hoping you'd have an idea. Since you live here.”

  “Are you going straight to the airport?”

  He looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure there aren't any flights in the middle of the night.”

  “Okay.”

  “And I doubt there are any rooms at the pier,” he said. “So you can just choose a hotel. Close to the airport, if that makes things easier. I don't want to inconvenience you.”

  I bristled at his words. Inconvenience me? He was talking to me like the last few days had never happened. That we hadn't spent our days together. Or our nights.

  “Why would you be an inconvenience?”

  “I dunno,” he said. “Because I've pretty much monopolized your entire life.”

  “I made the decision,” I said, my voice laced with anger. “To hang out with you. To go with you to Mexico. And to sleep with you.”

  “Whoa. I wasn't trying to start a fight.”

  “Well, you are.” I glared at him. “You didn't say a single word to me on the drive back. And now you're telling me that you don't want to 'inconvenience' me. Whatever the hell that means.”

  “I didn't talk to you because you acted like you wanted to be left alone,” he said. “I tried, remember? You blew me off.”

  “No, I didn't.”

  “Yes you did. On the beach. You didn't want company. So what am I supposed to think when we go from talking and jok
ing with each other—not to mention having sex—to you ignoring me? I just figured I'd run my course with you.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that you got what you wanted,” he said.

  I backed out of the parking space. “You have no idea what I want,” I told him.

  “No?” he asked, his eyes blazing. “Tell me, then.”

  There were a million things I could have said. I could have told him what had been eating at me while I sat alone on the beach. My confusion over what had happened and how it was making me feel.

  “What do I want? I want to sleep in a bed,” I said instead, choosing the safer route. “I want coffee in the morning. And I want a fucking shower. That's what I want.”

  He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, his lips a tight line. He stared at me. “Fine,” he finally said. “That should be easy enough to get.”

  I pulled out of the parking lot and turned left on to the service road. We were two lights away from the freeway that would lead us back to San Diego.

  “You sure you don't want me to drive?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Would you mind stopping somewhere before we get on the freeway?” he asked. I looked at him. “I need a bathroom.”

  There was a gas station on the corner and I veered into the parking lot. He opened the door, then looked back at me. “You need anything while I'm in there?”

  “No.”

  “Okay.” He stepped out and closed the door. “Be right back.”

  I dropped my head to the steering wheel and closed my eyes. What the hell was I doing? I'd been the one to end our conversation on the beach, to dismiss his invitation to come into the tent or to stay out on the sand with me. It had been me. All me. His reaction made perfect sense. I was the one who was all kinds of fucked up.

  I straightened and dug my phone out of my bag. The battery was at ten percent so I plugged it into the car charger and quickly punched in a number.

  Sheridan answered sleepily. “Everything okay?”