Luke hadn’t understood her explanation of the zone until she’d likened it to sex. Then he’d totally gotten it.
Wish you were here.
The air shifted, warmed, as though Luke were standing beside her. And then the sensation retreated, quick as the tides.
Derrick sipped his beer. When he placed his hand on her shoulder, she stiffened, held her breath. “Hey, wanna lose the crowd?” he said. “I’ve got prime seats for the fireworks.”
“I’m, uh, here to see Hannah.” Over at the driftwood, Hannah and Jake were playing a mad game of tonsil hockey. Crazy, but Tessa wanted to dash over there, yank Hannah away from the lip-lock, and tell her she should have more respect for herself. Don’t give anything to a boy until he’d earned it. Know your worth.
Even nuttier? She wished she could switch places with Hannah. Go back six months to when she’d only thought she’d had problems. Back when she’d only had herself to worry about.
“Doesn’t look like she’d notice.” A chuckle danced across Derrick’s voice. Making fun of Jake and Hannah’s PDA or suggesting they make their own good time? He slid his hand from her shoulder, but his gaze held hers, sending a flicker through her brain: the image of kissing Derrick.
Right. What kind of nut job would want to kiss a pregnasaurus?
Luke would’ve.
He would’ve rested his head on her belly, awaiting the inevitable fetal gymnastics. He would’ve made his hands into a megaphone and, via her belly button, praised the baby for a job well done.
He would’ve wanted to keep their baby.
Derrick leaned in and pointed down the beach. “See those rocks over there? Best seat in the house,” he said, his voice turning singsong, and she could imagine him wowing a crowd, drawing them into his zone. “Closest to the action. Or we could hang with Hannah and Jake . . .”
“I see your point.”
They passed by the circle of kids, the rumble of conversations, girls slung across boys. A double row of brown bottles circled around a pyramid of silver-can empties, somebody’s idea of beach party art. How many of those empties belonged to Derrick?
His chest was broader than Luke’s, and his hips rolled when he walked. He looked dangerous, edgy, exciting. Just the kind of guy she would’ve gone for before she’d met Luke. Before she’d learned you couldn’t really judge a book by its cover. Multiple piercings and layers of makeup hadn’t made her confident inside. And Luke, with his short hair and pastel polo shirts, had given her the biggest challenge of all. Abby wasn’t the only person who yelled at Luke for his stupid stunt.
Edge of the rock wall, Tessa set down her bottle of water, and her hand went to her belly. Her gaze cut to the kids on the beach. She should go back.
Derrick placed a hand on the exposed skin of her lower back, and she startled. “Watch where I step,” he said.
She should say good-bye to Hannah. She shouldn’t—
“I’ll go slow,” Derrick said, and then took off, pushing Tessa to either follow in his footsteps or get left behind.
She climbed through the sepia-toned moonlight. Strange beach, uneven light, uncertain footholds. Her movements slid across the rock surface, fluid and gliding, the way you moved in a dream. Derrick jumped across a crevice, nailed a solid landing. Tessa mimicked his motion and underestimated the distance. Her toe caught in the crevice. Adrenaline raced through her body as she lurched forward and landed on her knees.
“You okay?” Derrick knelt beside her, his face inches away.
Tessa made herself smile when she really wanted to cry. “Nothing hurt but my pride,” she said, although she was sure her throbbing knees would disagree.
Derrick held out his hand, and she let him help her to standing. “Center of balance,” he said.
This time, she smiled for real. “Your sister?”
“Who?”
“When she was pregnant?”
“Oh, yeah. Definitely,” he said, but she couldn’t see his face.
Adrenaline from her fall lodged in her throat. “What’s your sister’s name?”
“Hannah.”
“That’s a weird coincidence.” Or the first girl’s name that popped into his head that wasn’t hers.What were the chances? What did she really know about Derrick?
What if everything he’d told her about himself was a lie?
Tessa had played that game before in high school. She and Dina had gone to frat parties at UMass and managed to convince half-in-the-bag boys they were eighteen-year-old French exchange students, instead of local jail bait. Then, when the attention had turned serious—boys scrambling for available bedrooms—they’d excused themselves to the restroom and run for their lives.
Tessa glanced back toward the beach, but the darkness had swallowed the circle of kids. Clouds moved across the sky, lacing the pink moon. The climb looked even steeper in hindsight.
“Take my hand.” Derrick was all at once standing beside her.
Long tan fingers, a hammered silver ring on his forefinger. Not Luke’s jewelry-free hand, with the broad knuckles, the smooth backs, calluses marking the spots where he held pens and pencils. When he’d touched her, he had the hands of an artist, memorizing through his fingers. But she’d seen Luke’s athlete’s hands propel him through lap swim at Boyden Gym, Luke’s early-morning wake-up workout. She’d watched from the sidelines, when Luke played pick-up basketball and stole the ball from much taller opponents. She’d felt his hand hold on for dear life.
“I won’t let you fall,” Derrick said.
But he already had.
“I need both hands for balance,” she said. A fact he’d already know if he knew about center of balance from his so-called sister. Wouldn’t he?
Slow, careful placement of her feet. Clouds that moments ago had laced the moon now obscured it. Just a tiny slip peeking above the clouds, as though the moon were rising at the horizon.
Derrick turned to her from a few rocks away, three more jumps and scrambles. “Almost there, Tessa!”
She inhaled the briny air, slid down a craggy boulder, and then climbed to where Derrick was facing the open ocean. She took half a step back from the edge, too late to escape vertigo.
About twenty feet down, stratified rocks jutted from the ocean in vertical layers, instead of horizontal, evidence of the plate tectonics she’d learned about in her fall earth science class. Maybe one hundred feet from the outcrops, it looked like a second set of vertical rocks pierced through the ocean, but it was really more of the same, the other side of a crack in the tectonic plate. In between, the ocean rushed in, further wearing away volcanic rocks, shale, and limestone.
She’d gotten an A on the final exam.
She clamped one hand on Derrick’s arm, the other across her belly. “Wow.”
“You okay? We should sit down.” He guided her to the nearest outcrop and then sat down right beside her, facing away from the ocean. His jeans rubbed her bare leg, and his cologne tickled her nose. Something pine and artificial that didn’t mix with artsy. Didn’t mix with Luke either, who never wore fragrance, artsy or otherwise. Luke smelled naturally yummy, as good as a fresh-baked blueberry muffin.
The rocks darkened. Derrick pointed to the left as the first firework shot into the night sky, sparked into a white chandelier, and curled to the ground. He crossed his legs and rested a hand behind Tessa. “Nice!”
Tessa and Luke had never watched fireworks together. They’d never sat along the Maine coast, like this, or even out on the UMass football fields, staring up at the fire and wonder. They’d never even camped out, or stood in the Orchard Hill Bowl after dark, and thrown their heads back, seeking the stars.
Purple fireworks whirred into the sky. Explosions sparkled, shook, and shimmered, like a sky full of stars.
Luke.
Derrick wound his arm around her and rubbed her shoulder.
Tessa held her breath and kept her face turned to the sky. If she didn’t look, she could ignore the foreign feel of his ring aga
inst her flesh and pretend he was Luke. Pretend she’d come to visit him for the summer, and he’d taken her here, to Head Beach because—
Derrick turned toward her, blocking the fireworks and, more importantly, ruining her fantasy. He brushed his long hair from his eyes. His gaze moved between her eyes and her lips, quickening her breath, because she was trying not to cry. She widened her eyes, refused to blink. Not much of a come-on. But Derrick angled his head and kissed her anyway.
If she closed her eyes, she could hide her tears and pretend Luke was kissing her. He tasted of beer, which Luke liked. And he’d grown his hair long on a dare, which she liked. They hadn’t seen each other in a week. That was why he was kissing her too hard. His teeth bumped hers. He’d never done that before. And right out of the gate, his breath came uneven and loud. He pulled at the hair at the back of her neck and then leaned forward until she was lying down, spikes of uneven rock pressing into her back. His fingers skimmed her breast. His ring brushed—
Tessa clamped her lips shut and shoved Derrick’s chest with both hands. “Get off me!”
“What the fuck?”
Luke had never sworn at her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she said.
“Relax,” he said. “It’s no big deal. C’mon.” He chuckled, and the sound grated across her nerves, cramped her stomach. “We were having fun. What’s the matter with you?”
“What’s the matter with me? What’s the matter with you, pervert! I’m pregnant!”
“Yeah? So? It’s cool.” Derrick edged closer. He touched the hair fallen across her chest, and she smacked his hand. “Geez!” he said. “It’s not like you can get any more pregnant.”
Her mouth fell open. “Are you kidding me? Just because—? You thought—? That’s why—?”
Derrick huffed. “Don’t get all snooty. You were into it. You knew where this was going.”
“No, I didn’t.” This wasn’t like the games she’d played in high school, leading college boys on only to run away. She’d grown up. She’d been in love with a college boy. Now she was all alone, and lonely. So. Freaking. Lonely. “I was just looking for a friend,” she said, her voice sounding more like a request than a defense.
Derrick edged closer, and he lowered his voice into the sweet range. “Tess-ah.” He dragged out the syllables, but he still didn’t sound like Luke. “We can be friends. Really, really good friends.” He trailed a hand across her hair, down to her shoulder, the red heart-on-his-sleeve tattoo heading for—
She clamped a hand around his heart. “It’s on the wrong arm.” She let out a laugh, skimming the top off the tension in her throat. “I figured it out.”
“What?” Derrick said, forgetting to sound sweet.
“The heart pun. Your stupid tattoo. A line goes directly from your heart to your left hand. Your left, not your right.”
Behind him, the finale lit up the sky with red, white, and blue fireworks, the whirring sounds constant and relentless. Derrick wrenched his heart—wrist—away from her. “My tattoo’s not stupid.”
“Sorry?” she said, although she wasn’t. Then she watched his stupid bowed legs take off across the ledge, jumping from rock to rock. She bet he wasn’t even a professional musician. Probably taught himself to play two or three songs so he could lure girls, put on a fake show. “Loser!” she yelled after him, but he was already gone.
The last firework popped and fizzled, leaving nothing but gray clouds hanging in the black sky. A cheer went up from the crowd on the beach, the sound far away and ocean-muted. She stood up and turned in a circle. Nothing but a sea of rocks in every direction, faint shapes marking the darkness.
“Oh, crap. Crappity crap.”
She sucked air, and it tangled in her teeth. Her thigh hummed, and she distracted herself by cradling her belly. “We’re okay. We’re okay. Calm down. I’ve got you. We’re getting out of here. It’s that way, I think.”
She sat down on the rocks and slid to the adjoining ledge. Then, arms out for balance, she stepped across a few more rocks. Step, sit, and slide. She repeated the process until the rocks angled sharply downward, reminding her of the beginning of the climb from the beach. But she couldn’t see the sand, not yet. No moon showed in the sky, nothing but a few stars, flickering weakly through the clouds.
“I wish you were here, Luke. I miss you so much,” she said, and the catch in her voice quickened her heartbeat. Her foot slipped on something squishy. What the heck? Seaweed at the edge of the beach? Yes! She inhaled, and her throat relaxed.
“I want to go home.” She leaped toward the beach, and her throat clenched around a too-long hang time, the ocean coming into focus.
She was falling into the crack in the stratified rocks, the tides rushing up to submerge her.
“Please, God,” she said, and the water swallowed her plea.
CHAPTER 19
Abby should’ve paid more attention to the cat.
Sloppy drunk with each other, Abby and Rob stumbled into the private quarters of Briar Rose. Abby’s legs shook, her thigh and calf muscles on fire from their run from Seawall Beach back to the Morse River Road parking lot, the love they’d made on the beach, and the plans she had for Rob once they broke through her padlocked-against-men bedroom door. She wanted to fling the chenille throw pillows onto the floor and tear off the coverlet. To yank down the top sheet and invite Rob into her sanctuary of lavender-scented cotton and firm support.
She wanted to free herself from safe, solitary confinement.
Abby took Rob by the hand and tiptoed through the darkened living room, fearful sound or light could break their love spell. One wrong move and—
Sadie dashed across her path, as though the cat were reenacting her long-ago Luke-inspired morning ritual of running in circles. “It’s okay, Sadie. It’s only Rob.”
“Only?” Rob wrapped his arms around her from behind and nestled his mouth in her neck, heating her skin all the way to her toes. She arched her back against him, and he slid a hand to her breast, making her wonder how the heck they were going to make it to her bed.
Sadie stared up at them and released three plaintive mewls. Then the gray tabby dashed back down the hall, continuing her nighttime exercise.
Abby scowled after Sadie.
What in the world?
Rob ran a thumb across Abby’s nipple, sending an ache to her throat, a pang between her legs.
She led him the rest of the way to her bedroom, and they stepped over the threshold. No big band music greeted them, no trumpet sounded. Just the sweet, peaceful feeling of rightness settling into Abby’s gut. “I think Sadie’s glad we’re home.”
Rob pressed her against the wall, the hard edge of his jeans rubbing between her legs. “She’s not the only one. Didn’t think I was gonna make it in my truck.”
“Thinking about me a little?”
Rob played with a lock of her hair. The seawater-coiffed strand crunched in his fingers. “Only thing I was thinking about.”
During Abby’s drive back, she’d replayed their love making, their love confessing, daring herself not to worry about tomorrow. In between the replays, she’d fantasized about a roadside ladies’ room. “Can you hang on a couple more minutes so I can freshen up a bit?”
“We’ll shower later,” he said, making her envision water running down his chest and sluicing across the perfect mounds of his firm buttocks.
Not helping the situation.
“Ladies’ room break?” she said, and Rob backed off so she could duck out from under his arms. She tossed her cell and truck keys onto the dresser. “Promise I’ll be fast.”
“Promise I’ll be waiting,” he said, arousal hooding his eyes.
Abby jogged across the hall to the bathroom, and skirted Sadie a second time. Tessa had probably gotten the old cat worked up with her extensive between-the-bathroom-and-the-bedroom getting-ready-to-go-out routine. All that opening and closing of doors used to bother Abby when Luke had been the offender. Now the
creaks and bangs meant she wasn’t alone.
Abby used the toilet, as fast as humanly possible, and washed her hands. She shook her head at her reflection in the mirror. Crunchy-tight curls framed her sweaty face. But her cheeks glowed, as if she’d spent hours under the sun rather than bathing in a river and moonlight. And she liked the contented smile on her face. Who knew how long this thing—love—with Rob would last? Her eyes moistened. No, she would not go there. She refused to waste time on sadness.
Abby blew her nose and threw away the tissue. Light reflected off something metal in the bin, and she bent to get a closer look.
Her thighs twitched and she sank to her knees.
With weak fingers, she picked up a silver razor blade. A replacement blade for a man’s shaver. Not the kind she used. Not the type Tessa would need for the pink disposables she left lying around the tub.
The kind of blade Tessa might use if she were cutting herself again.
Abby stood and examined the blade under the light. No blood showed against the sharp edge, but Tessa could’ve washed it clean, she could’ve started to cut and then—
Abby imagined blood oozing from a pale scar on Tessa’s thigh.
Abby tossed the blade back into the trash and ran into Tessa’s room. The bed was made, the room empty. Would Tessa cut herself and then go out for the night, as if nothing had happened?
How many nights had Abby spent fighting the darkness, only to get up, tie an apron around her waist and a smile on her face?
Abby re-played their last conversation in her head. Tessa’s distress over Abby’s admission she couldn’t marry Charlie. Tessa’s threat to keep the baby from Abby. And then, from between clenched teeth, Abby had retaliated with a riddle: A good mother always does whatever is best for her child.
Abby was definitely her mother’s daughter.
And the last time she’d seen Tessa, the girl’s face was lit with anger and confusion, similar to the way Abby reacted to Lily Beth’s fables and wordplay. The difference was Abby had never taken her frustration out on her flesh. “Poor baby,” Abby said, referring to Tessa.
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