He + She

by Michelle Warren

  “Red?” I sit up at this information. Watching her reflection in the mirror, I imagine her with slightly shorter red hair. I shake away the blurry image of another girl with red hair who appears in her place. She isn’t my Shea. Thank God! But it seems a cruel joke of destiny that Shea would want to do this to herself now, after yesterday—last night! Even if she does it without knowing what it means to me or how it would haunt me.

  She continues trimming. By the time she’s done, the length is just at her shoulders. She’s made it a little shorter in the back, and it does look great. Of course, she would look sexy in any haircut.

  “What do you think?” She crunches her damp waves with her hands, looking confident and happy.

  “I like it,” I manage to say.

  “Then why am I waiting for you to wink?” Shea settles herself in the bed next to me, her back pressed against the headboard. “You still have a headache?”

  I wrap my arms around her waist and nestle my head into the pillow she pulls onto her lap.

  “A little.” It’s not a lie, but I’m mostly still pissed at myself. That I gave in to the booze and not only took a drink, but then I took God knows how many more. Though parts are blurry, I remember most of the night. And after what Shea and I shared, I can’t believe that it’s upstaged in my mind by my major fuck-up. Self-destructive emotions are bubbling to the surface again, and I force them down.

  “You sure you’re okay?” She strokes my hair.

  “Never better.” I take her hand and press a kiss into the palm. I’m trying not to let this change our mojo, but it’s hard to hide the anger and disappointment when the don’t-fuck-up voice is still yelling at me.

  “There is actually something I wanted to talk to you about.” This is as good a time as any. I swallow hard.

  “Anything.”

  I clear my throat. “I got an e-mail from the company I interviewed with and they want a second interview. I’m one of three final candidates.”

  “That’s great news!”

  “It is, but I have to be back in San Fran on Monday, and at some point, I have to return home for my job.”

  There’s a long moment of silence and she lifts her hands. Body language always says so much, especially with Shea. Just like I originally thought, all that we have teeters on the edge of that same knife. What she says now will decide if we tip over, slicing us apart, or if we will stay balanced for another day.

  “You’ll do great at your interview,” she says and tentatively resettles her hand on my back.

  Behind the words I distinguish sadness, and there is for me as well. I can’t stand the thought of this ending so soon. Even now, after all we’ve shared, I don’t know if she’ll give up her game and finally tell me her real name when we have to part. Yes, I could tell her my name now, but that doesn’t guarantee she will contact me. We can’t go on like this forever, but I guess that was the whole point from the beginning. Her point.

  “I know you don’t want to plan anything, but I want to spend as much time with you as I can. I was thinking that we could drive back toward San Fran and maybe cruise some of the coast? I’ve heard it’s really beautiful.” I’m trying to turn this day around and make the most of our time.

  “I’ve seen photos. It is,” she adds in a steady but unenthusiastic voice, which makes me think I’ve lost her.

  Trying to show my sincerity, I sit up and grab her hands so she understands. “So, what do you think? It’ll be fun.”

  She looks around the room, as if she’s searching for the answer. When her gaze swings back to me, she finally nods with a smile.

  “Great! I’ll get ready and we can go.”

  I take my time getting ready, trying to joke and laugh with Shea, hoping our normal banter will reassure her, and that it will keep my anger leashed. To some degree it works, a little. I’ve pulled myself out of my own funk. Shea is more important than my stupid issues. I’ve started from day one before; I can do it again. I fight for the good thoughts that will move me in a positive direction. I can’t let my problems ruin us, or the small amount of time we have left. But most importantly, I want her to stay put. Even now, she could take off running. I hide the car keys in the ice bucket when she’s not looking, feeling more than a little paranoid, and I hope she doesn’t know how to jump-start a car, but knowing her, she probably does.

  When I step out of the bathroom after shaving and dressing, she’s sitting on the bed watching me. With her hands shoved between her pressed knees, her little bags are packed and piled at her feet. I step closer and see that her eyes are red-rimmed and her face flushed, most likely from crying.

  If she were a normal girl, or even my sister, I would ask her what’s wrong without a thought. But this is Shea, so I must be careful about everything I say, especially if it may be of a sensitive nature.

  I sit by her on the bed. “You in a rush to leave me or something?”

  “No, just ready to go.” Her answer is curt with no give.

  Oh shit. I’m in trouble. I rush from this point on, packing and checking the room for anything we may have left. I grab the keys from the ice bucket when Shea walks out the door. I hope when we get into the car, things will be better.

  When we step out into the hall, our crappy neighbor comes out at the same time. I’m surprised when it’s the older couple and not the couple I thought.

  Shea looks over at me. “Looks like you were wrong.” Her voice is level, bored even. This would have been the perfect opportunity for her to joke with me, tell me how much I suck. But instead, she darts down the stairs. Instead of having a moment of fun, somehow I’ve messed everything up just by being myself.

  A few minutes later, I check us out and carry all our bags to the car. I make sure I’m driving. With the convertible top down and the sun shining on us, I settle in and drive south, the same way we came. Today the traffic is heavy on the 101, so we don’t make it through the Golden Gate and down to coastal Route 1 until midafternoon.

  We don’t speak much. Honestly, I’m scared shitless about what I can even say. I try to joke in our normal ways, but nothing seems to stick. As the moments of silence pass, I tense with worry. My hands tightly grip the steering wheel, my arms locked and rigid. I stop at several outlooks, jumping out to shake myself out and take photos of the beaches, the rocky coast, the sea lions, and the zombie seagulls. Sometimes Shea joins me with her arms crossed, her new shorter hair blowing in the breeze, and sometimes she just stays in the car, listening to the radio.

  When I get back in after stopping at Half Moon Bay, I decide to just get out all my worries. I’m working myself into a frenzy.

  “Let’s just talk about it.” I turn to her after I shut the car door and settle the camera between us.

  She’s sitting in her seat with one knee bent while she leans against the door. She’s scratching her head, as if this is some kind of meditation to calm her. “Talk about what?” She doesn’t look at me.

  “Whatever it is you’re upset about.”

  “I’m not upset.”

  “Then why aren’t we talking and joking like normal?”

  She shrugs.

  “Did I do something? Please tell me.” I realize in saying this that I was a complete prick this morning and it was apparently contagious. I tried my best not to let it affect us. “I’m sorry for being a little off this morning. If I said anything bad, I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s nothing, okay? Just drive.”

  Fine. I jab the key in the ignition and start the car. This day is turning into complete shit. She’s not going to tell me until it just explodes everywhere, destroying this messed-up relationship that we’ve built. I can feel it and it makes me angry. We continue on our drive, but the farther we go, the less comfortable everything becomes. Every time I look over, she’s winding her hair around her finger in a compulsive way, looking over her shoulder at the cars behind us, and checking her side mirror.

  Chapter 46

  She

  M
y head is clouded and I don’t feel right. It may be because I’ve fallen for Hew and now that I’ve come down off my lust high, I realize that this will never work. I can’t be in love or anywhere near love because I still have my Bren-and-Luke issue to work out. And now I’ve just made it all worse by adding poor, beautiful Hew to the mix. God, I don’t even know his real name! He won’t want me when he realizes the truth, even if that is all a little hazy right now. In fact, I sense that Hew’s made up the whole second interview thing, just to get away from me. I don’t even want to think about it, especially after I gave myself to him in the vineyards, our room, on the floor, and on the room’s dresser.

  My stomach turns over and cramps, and I grab my side as Hew flashes me a look. He’s mad at me for not talking, for not laughing at all his jokes. Today, he’s acting like Luke. Mean Luke. I wish he would just get it without me having to explain myself. Every day before now, he seemed to understand me. How could I have been so stupid to think that I could do this? That this ridiculous friendship, or whatever we have, could work?

  I adjust in my seat, lean in, and look into the side mirror. The car behind us has been following us for miles, and I can’t help thinking that it could be Luke. He found me in Napa, though I don’t understand how. But then Hew had found me every time he wanted to. So how does that make sense?

  Just as I try to control my breathing, to calm myself out of this frenzy growing out of control in my mind, the driver in the dark blue truck behind us flashes their high beams. What do they want us to do? Hew is driving well over the speed limit. I look back over my shoulder. When I do for a second time they bang on the horn, and I can’t take it anymore.

  “Pull over!” I point at the next park overlook. Hew does as I ask and as soon as he pulls into a space near the rocky cliff where tourists are gathered, taking photos and videos of the Pacific Ocean view, I jump out of the car.

  Not surprisingly, the blue truck has followed us in. I don’t have to see the driver to know who it is—the only person who is psychotic enough to act this way, to find out who I’m with and hunt him down, so he can hunt me down. God knows that Luke’s government job gives him access to resources that would make regular stalkers giddy. Surveillance videos, e-mails, texts, bank statements—nothing is off-limits to him. Luke would only need to see Hew and me on a security tape to find him, and by extension, me.

  Luke steps out of the driver’s side of the truck and slams the door shut. He lifts his sunglasses on his head when he sees me, and crosses his bulging arms over his coral-colored shirt.

  “I told you that you can’t shake me, babe.” He clenches his jaw. “I don’t know why you can’t get it through that thick-ass skull of yours.” Luke steps forward with his long legs.

  “Why the hell can’t you just leave me alone?” I shout. “I don’t want anything to do with you. It’s over. It’s been over for a year!”

  Luke approaches like he always does—unconcerned with any of my feelings, and only worried about his needs. Selfish bastard.

  I step back from him, ending up at the edge of the overlook, near the ragged rocks. Up here the wind whips around the ridge of the cliffs, blowing my hair in my face. I look down at the ocean raging below. The way it churns in angry crests, breaking against the cliff, is exactly how I feel about Luke.

  I glance over to Hew, who is quickly shuffling out of his seat belt and jumping out of the car with a what-the-fuck-is-going-on look on his face.

  Luke grabs me by the arm and clenches it tight enough to break it. He has before, along with other bones, so I have to be careful. He shoves me around like a rag doll.

  Hew approaches us. He’s asking questions, acting strangely, but I just ignore him, trying to focus only on Luke. I need to deal with him before I deal with Hew, because everything seems to be combusting all at once and it’s just too much for me to compute.

  But Hew is demanding to be heard. I look to him.

  “Hold on. Don’t get so close to the edge, it’s dangerous. What’s going on?” he asks, waving his hands in front of him, beckoning us to come back. Isn’t it obvious what’s going on? Why is he asking such a ridiculous question?

  Maybe he didn’t realize that Luke is a real threat. I never explained the details to him, but he should get it now. As Luke moves us closer to the edge of the cliff, Hew reaches for my arm, trying to pull me back, but I twist away.

  “Stay back! This is my fight!” I scream. “This is between Luke and me!”

  “You’re goddamn right it is,” Luke says adamantly, and his confidence irks me.

  But now, seeing Luke this way, compared to Hew, I know Hew is the only choice here. I’ve been an idiot all morning, thinking that I wouldn’t be able to figure this mess out, but it’s easy to see that Hew is the only one I want and need. With that certainty in my heart, I turn to Luke, ready to end everything once and for all, and in any way necessary. He’s made me insane, messing with my mind and body for long enough.

  I muster all my courage, setting my jaw, clenching my fists, and readying my stance, calling forth all the feelings I’ve had this last week that make me stronger and more the person I was before Luke ever showed up. All the things Hew helped me remember. I’m a strong person, and I have the strength to get away from an abusive man.

  “Luke, you need to back off,” I demand.

  “Over my dead body, bitch.” He leans toward me, getting up in my face. Jaw set. Teeth gritted.

  At that word, Hew rushes in again, but I extend my arm, holding up my palm to tell him to stay back. I need to do this myself.

  “Hew is more of a man than you’ll ever be,” I tell Luke, gesturing to Hew.

  Luke gives Hew the look of death. The realization settles in Luke’s eyes—I’ve really and truly been with someone else. It’s confirmed now. He probably never even considered that since he’s so fucking full of himself. Immediately he steps toward Hew and I grab Luke’s arm, swinging him back to me. I’m not done with him yet.

  “Is this who you’re cheating on me with? You always were a little whore.”

  I latch on to Luke’s arm, unwilling for the two men to fight. “He treats me with respect and kindness, nothing you have ever shown without an agenda. So to answer your question, yes, he’s the one. The only one! I’m done with you!”

  With those words, I press both hands on his chest and shove him with all the anger that’s boiling over inside. He stumbles back, arms flailing at his sides to catch himself. On his face is a look of utter shock, because I’ve never stood up to him this way. Not with so much force. Not with physical force. I push him again before he’s steadied his footing, but this time harder because I need to let him know that I’m serious. This time Luke isn’t able to withstand me and gravity does the rest. He falls backward, sailing into the open air, right over the unprotected edge of the cliff.

  The moment it happens, I can’t believe what I’ve done. In shock, I step to the edge to see. My jaw drops and my hands clenching my screaming mouth as his screams fade into the thunder of crashing waves, several hundred feet below.

  He’s gone.

  I killed him.

  I just killed Luke.

  With that understanding slapping me in the face, my temperature plummets and I feel nothing but icy coldness. My blood rushes to my feet, leaving me feeling sick and weak. Black spots race in from every corner of my vision, stealing my sight. My knees give in and I lose my balance, equilibrium tilts off, and the world folds over on its side. The last person I see before I black out completely is Hew.

  Chapter 47

  He

  Shea jumps out of the car before I barely come to a complete stop.

  “Why the hell can’t you just leave me alone?” she yells. “I don’t want anything to do with you anymore. It’s over. It’s been over for half a year!” She continues shouting as she circles the back of the Fiat.

  I unlock my seat belt, open the door, and rush to step out, trying the figure out what the hell she’s doing—who she�
��s yelling at. She continues moving, now in front of the car, carrying on like a lunatic, waving her arms around and violently throwing herself from side to side, acting as though someone is attacking her.

  But no one is there.

  No one.

  Only Shea.

  My stomach turns into an acid pool, making me ill as I watch her act out.

  Seagulls cackle, gliding on the ocean wind, like they are laughing at her—at me. Maybe they’ve been laughing at both of us all week. Tourists including families and retirees edge away from her. They point and watch as she has what I can only describe as a delusional panic attack.

  I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Can’t believe that Shea is this broken, and I never even realized until now. Her strange behavior all this time slowly falls into place in my mind.

  I move to her, trying to bring her back to reality. “Shea, what the hell is going on? Who the hell are you talking to?” I look around her, determined to see someone, hoping for anyone to appear near her that would explain her bizarre behavior. But there’s no one.

  She moves all the way to the edge of the overlook, near the cliff’s edge, and with each second that passes, I’m even more worried that she’s going to hurt herself. Unsure what to do, I try a gentler approach. I inch closer, knowing that one wrong move could set off her time bomb.

  “Hold on. Don’t get so close to the edge.” I wave for her to return to me. “It’s dangerous. What’s going on?” My voice shakes with concern.

  At the right moment, I rush in and grab her arm, but she fights me and twists away only to move closer to the edge. She’s only a few steps away from certain death and my heart stops.

  “Stay back! This is my fight!” she screams at me. “This is between Luke and me!” She then pauses, listening, as if she believes someone is responding to her. That they are arguing.