Abby Road

by Ophelia London

  While blankly staring at pictures on the wall, I rambled on, speaking of how my team had flown to London early the next morning. “When Max told me what had happened, it was too late; we couldn’t leave. The fog, the stupid London fog. We were stuck there for days. I couldn’t get to my family, get back to Christian in time.” My watery voice broke. “I know it’s my fault he’s gone. It tore my family apart, and I can’t forgive myself.”

  With every labored inhale, my heart throbbed painfully inside my ribcage, like it was about to detonate. But I’d finally said it, purged those secret feelings and fears . . . to a stranger, a stranger I happened to be irresistibly drawn to. “What in the world would he think of me now?”

  Nervously, I looked at him.

  To my horror, Todd’s face was white, drawn tight, like he was in actual physical pain.

  I turned my head and slammed my eyes shut, feeling a brand new stab of regret. I knew nothing would be the same between us now that he knew the truth. Not that I blamed him. I should have left his house right then, before I contaminated anything.

  When I opened my eyes again, I was surprised to find Todd directly in front of me, blocking my way to the door. His expression was still pained as we stared at each other. After a long moment, he took a step toward me and unfolded his arms, wide open.

  Almost in a faint, I fell forward, not taking the time to figure out how he knew this was what I needed. Not space, not psychotherapy, not a triple cocktail. Just this.

  His strong arms wrapped around me, holding me up while my hands were pinned in front of my chest, fingernails digging into my palms. The tears really came then, fresh and hot. He rocked us back and forth. The louder my sobs, the tighter he squeezed.

  This guy, this man I’d known for two short days, who named his dog after a member of the Rat Pack, whose sisters nicknamed him Pockets, who’d been lost in the Andes for eighteen hours, who loved Frank Sinatra, Dr Pepper, and the Marines, he was the only person who allowed me to unload one suitcase of personal baggage, one corner of repressed feelings—all with no judgment and no blame. Nothing but his calming presence.

  For some reason, it was enough.

  After a while, Todd’s grip around me relaxed, forcing me to make a conscious effort to stand on my own.

  “I miss him,” I choked out. “So much. I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but I can’t stop. It never stops!”

  Before I got the chance to break down again, Todd pulled us to the couch, offering Kleenex and sitting in patient silence beside me until I composed myself.

  Then I talked—probably pretty incoherently—about my parents, my brother, my job. Molly, Hal, Max. Todd didn’t say much; mostly he just offered somber nods and dry tissues, and the occasional wisecrack that made me laugh.

  Out the window, the afternoon sun hung low, suspended between high noon and twilight, a deep yellow yo-yo on a blue canvas.

  “Can I ask you something?” Todd said.

  I sniveled, wiping my eyes.

  “Do you really think your parents blame you?”

  My throat constricted—that strangling snake.

  “Yes,” I replied. But then I heard Lindsey’s voice again. “Well, maybe not blame.” Even as I said it, though, I knew it wasn’t completely true. “Doesn’t matter—I blame myself, and I feel too guilty to be around them. It’s been a year.” I looked at Todd through my wet lashes, a Kleenexed hand covering my mouth. “Does that make me a horrible person?”

  One side of his mouth pulled back compassionately. “Of course not. We all have reasons for what we do and how we react. No one is allowed to tell us how to feel.”

  Another sob vibrated from my core. “Thank you,” I managed to whisper.

  We sat side by side in companionable silence, only the sounds of birds and waves and wind through the open windows. Another hour later found us in his kitchen. Todd built a sandwich while I balanced on a barstool. I was force-fed half the sandwich and a glass of milk, explaining that I was looking rather half starved and homeless.

  While I chewed, I took the time to compartmentalize my feelings again, to pick them apart, tuck them back into their corners, dealing with grief the best way I knew how. I’d mastered that trick from years of practice. It may have been a false calm, but by the time I finished eating, I felt much better.

  When we returned to the living room, that yellow yo-yo in the sky hung lower. I nestled onto the couch while Todd sat on the coffee table across from me. He held my sore foot on his lap, picking at the gauze contemplatively.

  “I’m sorry I ruined our day,” I offered. “Not what you signed up for, right?”

  Todd exhaled a chuckle inside his throat and gently squeezed my foot before setting it on the coffee table. Wordlessly he moved to the spot next to me. Despite the earlier drama, the moment our shoulders touched, warmth gushed into my chest. It was almost like I was lounging in a dentist’s chair, inhaling that wonderful, deadening gas, dulling my senses, calming frayed nerves.

  Todd pulled my focus when he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. I could hear him breathing, see his back muscles expanding and contracting. I breathed along with him, which relaxed me further, and I settled against the couch.

  “I know I’ve been stuck in my head the last hour,” I said to the short hairs on the back of his neck, “but what have you been thinking about?”

  He exhaled before sitting back. “Nothing much.” He sat back. “I’ll tell you some other time.” There was a quick flash of a smile before he turned away.

  My heart wrenched as I studied his profile. He seemed to be frowning—that brooding, pensive frown . . . with those lips. And I was lost in my own mind, thinking of our kiss on the beach, our kiss last night. How I loved the way I felt when he was near, when he smiled at me, looked at me, laughed with me, talked with me. Could he make me feel that way every day, I wondered?

  A buzzing from Todd’s pocket interrupted my pleasant reflections. He pulled out his cell, inspected the number, silenced it, and tossed it on the coffee table. “Anyhoo,” he said blankly. “Where was I?”

  “We weren’t talking.”

  From across the room, his house phone rang. “We’ll let voice mail pick up,” he suggested. “It’ll be my mother.”

  Really . . .

  “Ciao, mio caro,” came the smooth tones of a sophisticated Italian accent.

  “She’ll be reminding me to call my sister. It’s her birthday.”

  “I’m just phoning, dah-ling,” the accent continued, “to remind you to wish little Nichola buon compleanno.”

  “I called Nikki this morning,” Todd commentated over his mother, “and sent a Strip-o-Gram to her law office.”

  “Such a good brother.” I dabbed at the moist parts of my face with a new tissue.

  “Give us a call when you can.”

  “We spoke last night,” Todd said, shrugging.

  “I’ll give your love to Papà. Oh, and let us know how it goes with that new girl you mentioned last night. Did you see her today?”

  Todd chuckled tensely.

  “I hope you cleaned your house, and that you didn’t wear that awful shirt with the—”

  Todd flew off the couch, swearing as he lunged for the phone. “Sta zitta,” he hissed, attempting to drown out the voice mail.

  {chapter 15}

  “ALL TOGETHER NOW”

  “Pronto, Ma.” His voice was stressed as he spoke into the receiver. “Come stai?”

  The rest of their cryptic conversation continued in Italian. I recognized a couple of words but was clueless of their context, because Todd was speaking so quickly. His eyes moved to me a few times, flashes of a smile. After he hung up, he stood by the phone, one hand at the back of his neck.

  “Sorry,” he offered when he returned, looking slightly scarlet. He sat on the coffee table. “My father’s been across the pond for a week. She’s lonely.”

  I loved that he was blushing; it helped me feel a little less insecure about my similar tendency.


  “That’s sweet,” I said, wondering if my eyelashes had really just fluttered.

  “There’s blood on your shirt.” He tugged at the clothing in question. “You look like you’ve just murdered someone. Let me give you one of mine to change into.”

  He made a move to stand, but something in my expression kept him seated. For another few moments, it was quiet.

  Never had I felt so comfortable being with someone in silence, just feeling how my heart beat inside my chest, knowing he was near.

  Suddenly, Todd slapped his hands on his knees, and I jumped about a foot.

  “Okay,” he said in a nervously tense voice that made him even sexier, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to talk now. What I need from you, Abby, is to please just sit here.” He reached out, forcing my shoulders back into the couch. “And let me say a few things. No interruptions. Okay?”

  “I can’t leave anyway.” I smiled, flexing my damaged foot.

  Todd chuckled lightly, eyes rolling to heaven. But then, it was like his entire demeanor changed. First, his spine lengthened and straightened, and then his shoulders squared, all while an unmistakable expression of conviction took over his face. He wasn’t joking around anymore. Lieutenant Camford, USMC, in the flesh.

  Oh, baby.

  “A few months ago, I made a conscious decision to take more chances in life, not to fall back on that safe bet. I’m a Marine at heart. I deliberate strategically; that’s how my brain works.” He exhaled and leaned back a bit. At ease. “But while speaking on more tender subjects, you should also know I can sometimes be longwinded. I apologize for that in advance.”

  I was about to speak, but he lifted a hand, probably sensing that I was going to say something inappropriately sarcastic to lighten the atmosphere.

  “Abby. I really like you,” he stated, locking eyes with me. “And when I say you, I mean you, not Abigail Kelly the rock star.”

  “I’m hardly a rock star,” I mumbled.

  “I like what you’re about,” he resumed. “I like what you laugh at, what you cry at, what’s important to you.” My bones were beginning to feel all ribbony at his words. He tilted his head to the side, noticing my new expression. “The way you smile with your whole self. Like right now.”

  I couldn’t help grinning, though a bit self-consciously.

  He cleared his throat and adjusted my bandaged foot. “I told you to keep this elevated.”

  After another moment, he sighed loudly, as though frustrated about something. “I never knew I could have so much in common with someone like you. Yesterday was one of the most refreshing days I’ve spent with a woman in quite a long time. Lately my dating experiences haven’t been very positive.” His focus seemed a little strained as he looked away. The clock above the mantel ticked. “Like I was saying down on the beach, we’ve known each other only two days—barely enough time to start anything.” He was lacing and unlacing his fingers between his knees. “That being said, I have no qualms at telling you that I have a feeling about this. About you and me.”

  I swallowed, trying not to melt into a puddle.

  “I hope I’m not taking my delicate male braggadocio into my hands when I assume that you have a feeling about me, too?” He hesitated.

  I nodded.

  “Good.” He nodded in return, with a smile. “Because I think we’ve got something here.” His index finger made a little motion, pointing to me and then to himself. “I know we’re still pretty young, so it’s only fair to warn you.”

  The way he was grinning at me made his warning seem more like a delicious challenge.

  “I am looking for someone, Abby. Someone to be on equal footing with, someone to balance me.” He stopped again to chuckle at something private. “It’s pretty amazing that we understand each other so well. On some level, I feel like I already know you.”

  I wanted to tell him I felt exactly the same way. I wanted to say something, but I knew he wasn’t finished.

  “I see the drive and commitment in you. You’re loyal to a fault, and your passion for life shows in everything. That’s incredibly attractive to me.” He turned to look out the window. “Last night, you said you laughed more with me than you had in a year.” His lips smiled but his eyes did not, as if he were thinking about something else. “You don’t know how good it makes me feel that I can do that for you.” He didn’t go on right away, perhaps running the complexity of our scenario through his business-school brain one last time.

  “You’re interesting, Abby, and inspiring, and . . . well, I suppose that’s all I have to say.” He shrugged. “I just thought you should know how I feel before this goes any further.”

  He slapped his hands on his knees again, which was probably a signal for me to start talking. But I had nothing ready. Nothing, at least, as lyrical or poignant as his words had been. I’d grown lazy, too, used to having my responses written out for me, singing what was placed before me as my answers to the world’s questions.

  “Interesting and inspiring?” I couldn’t help repeating. “Is that what you were mulling about over the last hour?”

  “Maybe.”

  I laughed quietly, tucking some hair behind my ears. I may not have had a speech prepared, but there was one thing I was sure of, and the man sitting across from me should have been aware of at least that much.

  “I want to stay here,” I began. “I do. More than just about anything.”

  Todd didn’t so much as blink at first, but then he exhaled and dropped his chin. When he looked up, he was wearing a relieved expression. For the first time that day, he looked truly calm.

  “But,” I quickly added, “I suppose it’s my turn to say my just-so-it’s-out-there stuff.”

  “Please.” He leaned back. “I’m all ears.”

  As I took a moment, my gaze moved to the window. Gray clouds were blowing in from the west. It looked like rain was coming, which only meant the streets and air would be clean and refreshed in a matter of minutes. The great thing about tropical climates was that bad weather hits, but the effects usually improve conditions.

  I wondered if the same could be said for people.

  There was something more I needed to get off my chest. And I was totally dreading it. From miles away thunder rolled, as did the pit of my stomach when I began to speak. “Todd,” I said, looking down at my lap, already feeling ashamed, “if you want me to stay because you’ll get your picture in the paper, it’s not worth it. Being around me is more of a hassle than anything. Believe me.” When I looked up, he flinched, his brows angled.

  I knew it was an unfair thing to suggest, because there wasn’t a bone in my body that believed Todd wanted fifteen minutes of fame out of me, but that kind of thing had happened before. More than once.

  I ran one hand across my eyes, forcing myself to go on. “It’s just . . . nowadays, I don’t always know who my real friends are. I don’t know who wants me because of me or because of who I am.” I stared at the wall across from me, my voice growing louder. “It really, really sucks. Now it’s nearly impossible for me to trust any—”

  He cut me off by sweeping his hand through the air, rising to his feet, and grumbling in a foreign language that was unfamiliar to me. It wasn’t too difficult, however, to recognize the universal tone of swearing.

  “I don’t mean you, necessarily,” I amended. “I’m—”

  “Just . . . give me a minute, please?” he muttered. I couldn’t see his face, but his voice was strangled as he made his way to the red punching bag in the corner. He stood in front of it, staring, and then he took a few swift jabs. A few more. Soon he was whacking away at the thing like Mohammad Ali.

  “Todd?”

  “One more set.”

  I gasped, hoping his bloodthirsty tone wasn’t directed at me. I sat still, a silent countdown going on in my head.

  Finally, exactly twelve pummels later, he stopped. I was nearly blown away when he turned to me with a little smirk twisting his lips. “I’ve got this tem
per thing,” he said, scratching his ear with the back of his hand. “Which I’m working on.” He gave the bag a gentle tap. “Huh. A few months ago I would’ve torn this thing from the hook and smashed it through a window.” His smile flattened as he exhaled. “I’m sorry—that had nothing to do with you. Something about what you said.”

  “I’m sorry I said anything.”

  “Don’t be.” He reached one hand behind his neck, kneading the muscles. “There were similar problems with my last relationship. We were engaged, and she . . .” He trailed off, his shoulders slumping an inch.

  I, on the other hand, leaned forward. I was curious to hear about his ex, of course, but more so, I felt compassion for this man I’d just met but who I felt I already knew as well as anybody.

  While he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, I noticed how his stare sank to a lower point out the window, like he was reliving something unpleasant. And suddenly, it took everything in me not to run into his arms and promise that everything would be all right, promise that his ex—whoever she was, that greedy woman, that evil cow—would never hurt him again if I had anything to say about it.

  Almost as an answer to my undeclared promise, Todd spoke. “I know it’s not fair to drag baggage from past relationships into new ones.” Deep creases lined his forehead. “But my memory serves me far too well. That’s in my nature, too.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “My family,” he said, looking away, “has quite a bit of money. Some people enjoy taking advantage of that. I’ve been used before, too.”

  I blinked, finally understanding. More importantly, relating.

  “So I perfectly understand why you have to protect yourself.” He turned back to me. “We both do. And yeah, it sucks.”

  So we were in agreement. Fabulous.

  I looked away to stare at his bookshelf, forcing myself to read a plaque he had received from some entrepreneur group. Next to it was a framed document with the United States Marine Corps seal at the top.