I thought it was a pretty benign question, but so far, nothing I’ve asked has been the right thing.
I turn the steaks and then try again with something even simpler. “How do you like your steak cooked?”
“Medium rare is great.”
“Cool,” I say. Uncomfortable or not, I promised myself I’d figure out what’s really going on with Shayna so that I could try to help. She’s just going to have to let me in a little.
I keep my eyes on her, gauging her reaction and say, “If you go up to the rocks over there,” I nod my head in the direction of the mound of rocks. “You can get a decent signal, just in case you want to call home or something.”
She tips her chin high and narrows her eyes like little razors, slicing deep and making me want to crawl off to lick my wounds.
“I don’t want to talk to my parents. No matter how often you feel the need to continue to bring it up.” She crosses her arms over her chest and hugs herself tightly. It contradicts the anger in her eyes—in reality, she looks scared.
I experience my own version of panic when I think: what if she took off and didn’t tell a soul? What if she’s got an entire search party after her while she’s sharing steaks with me at the ocean?
“I’m not trying to upset you Shayna, I’m really not. But you showed up on my doorstep—”
“I thought it was Quinn’s place. If you didn’t want me around, I would have left, Carter. You told me—”
I shake my head. “I’m not saying I don’t want you around. I’m just—I’m trying to understand how a girl winds up across the country with no notice, no place to go—you’ve got to give me something, you’ve got to help me understand a little.”
She takes a deep breath. “Do you have any beer or anything? Of course you do, right? Who comes camping without beer.”
Shit. I spent forty minutes in the store this morning before I finally came to that same conclusion: that’d it look suspicious if I didn’t at least grab some alcohol. I was just playing my odds she wouldn’t ask for any.
“I—I do. It’s in the back of my Jeep, I’ll grab it.”
“That’s okay. I’ve got it.” She stands up and brushes the sand from her tiny shorts.
“It’s unlocked,” I call over my shoulder as she walks past me. It’s probably better that she get the beer anyway— if my hands never touch it. Because it’s only been sixty-three days since I’ve had a drink, and I still want one every second of every damn day.
Shayna comes back smiling and plops back down in her spot happily. “How’d you know hard cider is my favorite?”
“Lucky guess.” But it wasn’t. I did assume she’d probably like it because it’s syrupy sweet and most chicks dig that, right? Mostly though, I grabbed it because I think it tastes like ass and though I’ve slurped down worse when I really wanted a drink, my hatred of cider beer at least set up a tiny barrier between me snatching a bottle and drinking it.
She twists at the bottle before frowning and handing it to me. “Can you open this?”
I suck in a breath before I twist the cap off and hand it back to her, but still, when I breathe again I can smell the beer across from me as if it’s a soaked rag of chloroform under my nose. It’s strong and I know I shouldn’t breathe it in, but I can’t help it. The sweetness isn’t as off putting as I’d hoped. Instead of turning up my nose, the smell is invading my nostrils, sliding down my throat where it leaves a fiery burn in its path.
Shayna takes a few long pulls from the bottle and I watch her lick the last droplets from her bottom lip. Like I needed another excuse to taste those lips.
“Can I do anything to help?” she asks.
“Huh?”
She widens her eyes, knowing I’m not paying attention. “With the food. Is there something I can do?”
I shake my head to clear it. “Oh, no. It should be just about ready.”
“Good,” she says. “I’m starving.”
We eat in near silence which is only slightly less awkward than having Shayna stare daggers into me for daring to ask about her family.
I’m clearing the last of our trash and Shayna is starting on her second beer when she says, “It’s been months since I’ve had a drink. Maybe even longer.”
That stops me dead in my tracks.
“Why?” I ask. “Gave up drinking?”
She shakes her head. “I gave up basically everything. Here, sit.”
She pats the spot on the sand next to her and I sit down. The smell of the ocean air on her skin is stronger, more intoxicating than the smell of the remains of her beer in the glass bottle. Shayna next to me is a salve to my burning need for the booze. Sitting next to her, I’m no longer thirsty.
“What do you mean you gave up everything?”
Shayna smoothes the fabric of her shirt down and then stares at it, avoiding my eyes. “It’s sort of a long story.”
I motion around the empty camp site. Nothing but crickets and waves crashing and stars. Not another soul around for miles. “We’ve sort of got all the time in the world, doll.”
“Right,” she says softly. “I guess we do.”
She peels the wrapper on the beer bottle for a few minutes before finally saying, “I think you’re right about something, Carter.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that?”
“I think this may be the only sane place left on earth. I don’t remember the last time I felt so relaxed while I was still basically sober.”
I so know that feeling. It’s why I spend so much time out here, but I can’t exactly tell Shayna that.
“It’s nice, right?” Is all I say.
“I feel like… for the first time in a long time, I made the right decision. That maybe coming here wasn’t the stupidest thing ever. At least I hope it wasn’t.”
“I think everyone needs a break.”
I watch her take another sip of her beer, I can’t help it. She notices. “Do you want one?”
“No,” I say firmly. I work my neck back and forth. “No, I’m okay. Thank you. Why… why’d you start drinking?”
“Ah, digging deep tonight are we, MacPherson?” she teases. “Good thing I’ve already had a couple or I might not be so apt to answer your questions.”
“You don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to.”
“I actually like it. I like the taste. But I didn’t start with drinking,” she says. “The first time I did anything was smoke pot… after my cotillion.”
“Sounds classy,” I joke. “But that’s not what I asked.” I reach over and brush a strand of blonde hair that matches the color of the sand out of her face. She leans into my palm for the briefest second before straightening back up.
“Before that. What changed to make you go from typical minister’s daughter to…” I let my words drop off. I was going to make a joke, but stop myself short. I wish I could take back the entire statement.
Shayna looks down at the sand. “I know what you’ve heard about me—what they say…”
“That’s not—I wasn’t going to say anything about that. I was going to make a stupid joke. It was… stupid.”
“It’s fine, Carter.” She waves me off. “I’ve dealt with the comments most of my life. Since middle school at least. And up until that point I was the typical minister’s daughter.”
“So what changed?”
“Isn’t that just what kids do? I mean, why did you start drinking? It’s not all sinister or anything.” she tries to smile, to downplay what I’m asking—maybe I’m pushing too much, psycho analyzing her the way I feel at meetings. But I know there’s more to this girl. There’s more to why she does what she does and who she is.
Shayna closes her eyes.
“I guess I’ve always felt different in some way. Like I didn’t fit in. But in seventh grade, that’s when everything went to hell. That’s when I perfected the game—when being someone else became my favorite past time. It’s so stupid, but when my small circle of friends—girls from church, g
irls that lived on my street—they all turned against me—because isn’t that what you do in middle school? At least with girls, I think that’s pretty normal. There was no reason really. I didn’t steal anyone’s boyfriend. I didn’t break any cardinal rule of middle school friendship. They just decided one day they hated me. We were at recess and they handed me a piece of notebook paper then ran off, leaving me standing alone. They’d taken a vote, “Who wants to still be friends with Shayna?” it read. There was only one ‘yes.’ To this day I don’t know who the yes was, but they’d given their answer loud and clear by leaving me on that blacktop alone.
For the rest of the year I felt alone. I never resorted to eating lunch in a teacher’s classroom or the bathroom or anything, but I’d sit with whoever let me. I made small talk and picked at my food while my old friends laughed. It wouldn’t have been so bad, but I never quite felt like I fit in at home, either. I didn’t believe the things that my parents did as fiercely. When my parents asked where all of my friends were on weekends, I couldn’t tell them. I was afraid they’d assume that I did something to lose all of those good girls as friends. So I’d have Mom drop me off at the mall, telling her I was meeting everyone there. Instead, I’d wander around for hours by myself.
I acted out. I wasn’t very nice to people, and really, what difference did it make? I had so few friends that it’s not like I had anything to lose.”
She opens her eyes and looks startled, like she hadn’t realized she’d been speaking the words out loud. That she just confessed something to me she maybe had never told anyone before.
Shayna twists a thin leather bracelet around her wrist.
“So that night at cotillion, when they offered me a hit, I went along with it. It wasn’t a big deal at the time, but I kept doing it—I kept doing everything because—because it was like I had something to prove. And that was that I didn’t need anyone. I was fine alone.” She gives a low laugh that isn’t amused and says, “So what if I had to dull my senses in order to even spend time in my own head?”
I inch in closer. We’ve been playing this game for two days. See how close we can get without crossing a line. Close enough to feel something, but not too close that you risk putting a crack in a wall. Not close enough to risk opening yourself up. I feel myself failing at the game now. “You’re not alone.”
“Oh yeah?” she says. “Wait till I’ve overstayed my welcome at your p—”
I press my index finger to her mouth. “You can stay with me as long as you want, Shayna.”
The temperature is dropping and she shivers next to me. “You cold?” I ask, already jumping up to grab a blanket. I wrap it around her shoulders and stoke the fire a little before sitting back down.
“Well thank you. I really appreciate that. Once Quinn gets home and I can visit with her, I guess I’ll take off after that. I don’t really have a plan, you know?”
I chuckle, wondering if she’s already trying to push back. If I already got too close.
“I sort of figured that part out. I’m serious though, you’re welcome to crash at my place as long as you need. I’m gone all day for work so it’s not an imposition at all.”
“Thank you, I may take you up on that. Just until I figure out my next move, of course.”
“Of course,” I nod and Shayna flashes the first real, dimpled smile of the night.
“That’s really nice of you, Carter, seriously.”
“Hey, that’s what you do for friends, right?”
She purses her lips and gives a quick nod. “Friends. Right.”
“I’ve got to ask, and you don’t have to answer Shayna, but what was the catalyst? What made you leave?” I half think it was some douchebag guy who stomped on her heart, but it seems like it may be more than that.
Shayna laughs. “In a way? Your sister.”
I swallow hard and shake my head in disbelief. “Did Quinn tell you to take off? That is so damn typical.”
“No, no, not at all. I just know that since she left Georgia—since she escaped the image that everyone back home had of her, the talking behind her back, the rumors… she’s been doing so well. It sounds stupid, I know, I just wanted a shot at that, too. I didn’t want to play by the rules of anyone else but myself.” Shayna traces shapes in the sand with her finger.
“I get it,” I say.
“Do you remember last Christmas Eve?” she asks. She pulls her knees to her chest and rests her chin on them. “I mean, do you remember what we talked about?”
“I do,” I say. I remember every word of it, and have wondered if she did. She fell asleep before we really got to talk about anything yesterday. I mentioned that I’d found the word to describe it. She quickly changed the subject and went to bed, so I’m treading lightly here.
“So you remember how I said that I’ve always felt out of place and never really understood why? How I feel like I’m constantly seeking refuge in places outside of myself?” A flush creeps across her cheeks and even though I know it’s likely because she’s embarrassed to be admitting it again, the color makes her look freaking sexy as hell. I imagine what she’d look like after I kissed her the way she deserves and needs. If I’d be able to make her feel less alone. If I left her cheeks and neck red and raw if she’d still try to hide her real self, or if she’d finally let go.
“I remember all of that. You still feel that way?”
“And then some.”
“Is that why you came out here?”
“Carter, after you dropped me off that night, I should have gone to bed. It’d already been a shit night, you shot me down—”
“Hey, easy. I didn’t shoot you down, doll. I just didn’t think it was what you needed at the time. I wanted to—” She rocks back and forth and I can see the shape of her ass peeking out from those tiny cut-offs. God, I wanted to let something happen between us. “It just—it wasn’t the right time.”
She half rolls her eyes at me. “Whatever. The point is, I’d been rejected. I felt like shit and I went to the pool house since my parents had company and drank some more.”
She’d already had a pretty fair amount of booze when I left her that night, I want to lecture her about drinking too much, but it’s not my place and I’m the last god damn person on earth who should be moderating alcohol use to others.
“Okay,” is all I say.
“I got trashed, ruined my parents party and then I went to bed.”
It sounds like a rough night, but I’m not really following with how that lead to her showing up in Southern California months later. “Sounds like a pretty crap night.”
She nods her head slowly. “I decided to go and apologize later on, and heard them talking. They weren’t mad anymore, they were… scared.”
“Because you were caught drinking?” I ask. Shayna is still technically under the legal drinking age, but at least she’s out of high school now.
She shakes her head. “They were scared that I’d turn out…” she tilts her head as if she’s weighing her words carefully. “They didn’t want me to turn out like my parents.”
“Wait,” I say, holding my hand up. “I don’t understand.”
“My Mom and Dad, the mom and dad I’ve always known at least, were talking that night about how they didn’t want me to end up in trouble like my real parents. The ones they adopted me from.”
“So, you’re adopted? And you never knew?”
She gives a small nod. “I just found out that night. I wasn’t supposed to hear.”
“But you told them you did right, Shayna? You talked to them about it?”
She stares back at me, wordlessly, her eyes glassy with tears. I do the only thing I can do which is pull her in close and kiss the top of her head. “You haven’t told anyone?” I ask.
“No,” she says into my shoulder. Her body heaves and her sobs become heavier. I had to push. I had to fucking push. I was stupid enough to think that whatever she was hiding was something that I’d be equipped to handle, but this—I’v
e got nothing.
She cries until the arm of my t-shirt is wet and streaked with black makeup, but I don’t give a shit.
She pulls back to wipe her face and says, “That’s not why I came though. After I heard them, things became… complicated.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. It’s a useless thing to say to her but I don’t know what else to say or how to fix this. “I can’t believe you’ve kept that to yourself for this long, Shayna. Why not tell them you knew?”
“You don’t understand,” she says. That’s an understatement. “If I would have let on that I knew, it would have changed things between us forever. They’d never treated me like a junkie’s kid before.”
“That’s because you’re not.”
She ignores me and says, “If I acknowledged that that’s what I was… I was afraid that that’s exactly what I’d become in their eyes. So I did what I had to do. I got my act together. I enrolled in school, I stopped drinking. I was in early at night. I dated the right guys.”
I cringe at the mention of another guy with her even if it’s not my right to. She’s mentioned over the last few months going out and I never pry—it’s not my business, I have nothing to offer her, but damn it gets under my skin. I can’t count the number of nights I’ve laid awake at night wondering what she’s doing—if she’s with another man.
I guess I know a thing or two about keeping secrets.
“How many dates are we talking about?” I ask. I try to make it come off as a joke, but I don’t know if even the thick layer of sarcasm can hide the jealousy.
Shayna perks up a little and grins. “So many. Dull. Boring. Dates.”
She leans in closer again. I can feel her sweet breath on my face. All I can do is focus on that mouth.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, my words tangled in my throat.
“Does the just friend’s thing still apply?” she asks.
It’s still not the right time. I forced her to open up. Made her get emotional. I shouldn’t give in but dammit she’s so close. I can feel the heat radiating off of her warm skin.
“Shayna, are you sure you want to start something?”
She answers by running her tongue along my bottom lip. Teasing me. Torturing me. She parts her lips and I grip her sides and pull her onto my lap, crushing my mouth onto hers. Finally. I kiss her hard until I swear I’m tasting blood. She slides her tongue lightly on the roof of my mouth and I lose it.
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