by Jolene Perry
Amber’s face pulls back and our eyes lock.
“Wow.” I’m pathetic. That’s all I could come up with?
“Yeah. Wow.” She scoots off me and slides back to her side of the car, keeping as much of her touching as much of me.
I keep her hand in mine. “Thanks for today.” I’m officially an idiot.
“Thank you.”
The second we make it to the parking lot, she’s kissing me again. And then again as I stop behind her boat.
“Wanna follow me home?” I ask. Kissing her like this all night sounds pretty perfect to me.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She hugs me even more tightly, which makes me want to spend another night with her.
“Okay.”
She climbs onto her boat and I notice every movement, the way her legs easily push her up the ladder and the way she steps across the back deck. One last wave and she’s inside.
What a long, long, crazy day.
Twenty-One
I feel strengthened, fortified, after my evening with Amber. My computer hums to life, and I’m determined to get through some emails today. Determined. Dad sits across from me with his cup of coffee and scrambled eggs. He’s working on edits of another of his novels.
I start at the beginning. I open a file for notes from my friends, notes from the Today Show people and NBC, lawyer and accountant stuff goes in another file. I create one from Mom’s manager who’s sent a million.
Now. Where to start?
Mom’s friends. The people who are my friends, who I know are worried about me, who I barely spoke to at services in New York or Arlington. Flashes of both those days hit my chest like machine gun fire—hard, fast and unrelenting. My breath hitches, and I open the first one. It has to be done, right? I’ve built up some good defenses over the past weeks, or however long it’s been. I’m ready. I can handle it. And now I sound like some shrink or something.
The letters blur together one apology after another.
…so sorry about Liv, she was so loved…
… can’t imagine anyone with more life in them…
… if good people never died, your mom would live forever…
… she was the most amazing kind of person…
…she was working hard, Antony. She believed in the things she reported. She loved what she did, but not nearly as much as she loved you. Her biggest fear in sending you to your father’s was that you’d feel deserted there. She wanted you to know him more than anything, and it gave her the chance to do something she knew you’d love, knew you’d be proud of. We all loved your mom. I don’t know anyone who didn’t…
Don’t cry. The stupid generic sentiments don’t hit me, but the last one did. She didn’t desert me. She wanted me to be proud of her. Me of her. How crazy is that? Her smiling face hits me again and again. I can’t make it go away. Can’t push it down. It’s all coming to the surface and shit, there’s nothing I can do to stop it. The pain is searing, ripping at me like it hasn’t since I sat staring at that damn metal coffin. The fucking thing gets her instead of me. Why did this have to happen to her?
Dad’s arms are around me from the side. Am I crying? My body’s convulsing, shaking in the sobs I’ve been holding down. I feel like a baby. A five-year-old. But no five-year-old could feel this. Feel this much. It’s like I’m being torn apart, unable to breathe, unable to speak. My knees come up, as if shrinking myself will shrink the pain. Only it doesn’t shrink it. Instead the more the tears fall and the more I shake, the looser everything inside me becomes and the more it all needs to be poured out.
He doesn’t offer me a drink this time. I’d probably throw it up anyway.
“You’re okay, Antony. Your body needs this.” His voice is quiet.
How can my body need something that’s shredding me this way?
There’s no telling how long Dad and I sit together. But for the first time I get that he really loves me. Loves me as a son. We’re not strangers anymore, we’re different, but not strangers.
I hope that shitty moments keep coming with realizations that preserve my sanity.
- - -
I feel hollowed out. Caved in. Something. Something that makes me only a shell of Antony. I need alone time. I start up the dock, and Amber’s standing behind her boat.
Her eyes widen as she sees me. “Antony.” She steps forward, touching my arm. “Are you okay?”
“No.” No part of me is okay. “I just need to be alone for a bit.”
She takes another half-step toward me but stops. I’m amazed I noticed. It’s like I’m both in and out of my body at the same time. Putting my arms around her right now would be dangerous. I’m like a rickety pile of bones—one wrong movement and I’ll topple into worn out old pieces.
“Alright,” she whispers.
I reach out and touch her cheek. Her shattered ice blue eyes stay focused on mine. “I’ll be back in a bit. Heading to Point No Point Beach.”
She’s nodding as I turn and force my legs to move. They still feel like someone else’s legs, cause I’m only half here.
- - -
The beach is empty. Just me. Well, and Dad’s Prius. And the chained load of Mom. The sky is grey and darkening quickly, both with incoming rain and night. The wind is cutting and the tide is all the way out, so far that the sand has turned back into small pebbly rocks. Mom would love this place. I knew it the first time I came here, and I feel it again now. She’d sit with me and point to the whitecaps, the ferryboat, the gulls barely making any headway in the strong wind.
Soak it up, Antony. She’d say. Every experience is a once in a lifetime experience, because no matter how hard we try, nothing’s ever exactly the same as it was the first time.
I suddenly wish I’d had her cremated. She’d never been to this beach before. She would have liked to be buried somewhere new. Like on another adventure. Right now I’d love that. Spreading her ashes would be like setting her free. Like part of her is caged up inside me, and there’s no way for me to let her go. It feels impossible—as if my chest, my head, my body, won’t relinquish her, even though I know I need to. I need to. She’ll always be a part of me. There’s no way I’ll ever forget her, but I’m still hanging on to too much.
Why did I leave Amber behind? Maybe she’d know what to say or what to do. How to pound it out of me.
How do I bring Mom here? How do I let her go?
I walk into the wet sand. I should write something. Something good, impressive, meaningful.
Nothing comes.
I’m standing here, willing something to come. Something worthy of Mom. The only mom I’ll ever have. The best mom in the universe and I can’t come up with something to write.
I suck in a deep, long breath. Focus. Mom. Simple. I step to a small pile of driftwood and get a stick.
The tide’s starting to come back in. I write in big letters.
Miss You
Simple. Just for her. Tears drop down my face. I never thought I’d ever have this much crying in me. Ever. I walk around to the top of my large letters to sit on the edge of the dry sand. The wind and harsh clouds both feel as if they’re beating into me. I wait. It feels etched into my brain, under my chest, onto my soul. My teeth start chattering, and I wrap my arms wrap more tightly around me.
The waves touch the bottom of the letters, and I jump to standing. My heart frantic. No, wait. I’m not ready. But there’s nothing I can do. My chest sinks. My gut caves in until I’m sure I’ll puke. This was a damn stupid idea. What the hell was I thinking?
I run to the bottom of my message, but that doesn’t stop the waves. My shoes get soaked with the next one. No, no no! I’m not ready! The tide’s coming in too fast. There’s nothing I can do. I’m helpless. Just like I was when she sent me here. Just like I was when she died in that plane, and just like I am now. Get a grip, Antony. They’re just letters in the sand.
I see a flash of blond out of the corner of my eye.
Tears of relief come. I don’t eve
n care that Amber’s here to see me cry. She’s here. She doesn’t hesitate, stepping into the cold water. The bottom half of the letters are gone. Her arms wrap around me from behind, and she holds me.
My arms cross in front of me so my hands can take her hands. Our fingers slide together. She’s so warm.
“It’s coming in too fast,” I explain.
“It’s okay.” Her face presses into me. “You’re okay.”
“I’m not ready.”
“No one’s ever ready for this.”
“It’s just stupid letters,” I whisper.
Amber’s arms tighten around my waist.
Let her go.
And I do. The last bits of my lettering is erased by a frigid wave that soaks us to our knees. Amber doesn’t move, doesn’t waver. The tears are hot on my cheeks, but it’s like this steel cage that’s been trapped in my chest starts to dissolve, loosen. It’ll be slow, but it’ll happen.
“You’ll be okay.” Amber’s arms tighten. “I promise.”
And in the freezing cold, as the last bits of my message to Mom are soaked up by the ocean, I believe her.
Twenty-Two
“I sent the first few chapters of your book to my literary agent,” Dad says.
“What?” I take another long drink of coffee. I feel hung over from my day yesterday. From crying with Amber in the sand, soaked and freezing. From letting some of Mom go. It’s left me feeling raw and hollowed out, but lighter. I’m actually going to be moving forward now.
“My lit agent. It’s not what he reps, but he has a good friend he wanted to pass it along to, if that’s okay.”
“Uh…”
“Did you not want it to be published?” Dad asks.
“No. I mean, yeah, I did. He liked it?”
“He loved it. Then he teased me about being the commercial fiction writer I am when my son’s sure to win awards.”
“Holy Shit.”
Dad peers over his glasses as if in warning.
“Sorry.”
“Can he pass it along?”
“Yeah.” I’m stunned. In shock. Someone loves my writing. Someone who doesn’t know me.
“Good.” Dad smiles. “It’s a nice way to make a living.”
“Guess so.” I nod and look at our surroundings.
“You never thought I made much, did you?”
“I…”
“I don’t make what your mom did, that’s for sure. But I’m a saver, always have been.”
“Oh.”
“You’ll far surpass me, I’m sure. Not that it’s about money.”
“You’re on an Oyster, Dad. And I’m starting to learn that’s kind of a big deal.”
His grin is proud. “You got me there.” His eyes go back to his computer.
“Lit agent. Crazy. Thanks, Dad.”
“I’m so proud of you, Antony.” Our eyes meet again. And the thing that hits me now is I’m looking into Dad’s eyes for real, they’re the same brown eyes as Mom’s, but really, the same brown eyes as mine. I wonder how much more we have in common.
- - -
Five emails a day. Ten if I really want it. This is what I tell myself. It’s been three days since my day at the beach. Amber’s cramming for her finals. I don’t take home-school classes that force finals. I’m pretty much done with school. Dropping a few tears is part of email and mail and all that, but I’m surviving it. It’s not searing like it was. It’s almost like resignation, or maybe that love’s so mixed in with the sadness that it feels different.
Dad’s voice mixes with Amber’s on the back deck. I close the computer. Today I’ll be done with five.
I watch Amber through the crack in the door as I sit at the table. She’s talking with Dad in her light bubbly voice. She’s wearing what she always does, but her hair looks shinier or something, and I think she even might have put on some makeup. I can see her lashes from here.
“You two have fun.” She waves as Dad steps off the boat and meets Lynn on the dock.
Our eyes catch through the door, and like a moron, I’m frozen to the spot. This isn’t like me at all. I don’t freeze around girls. Especially not ones I like. Especially not ones like…well, Amber is how I was going to finish that, but I guess she’s the only girl who has made me freeze.
“Hey.” Her voice is soft, smooth, sexy even. Amber can be sexy. I just don’t think she ever means to be. Maybe that’s part of the appeal. She steps easily down the steep stairs, closing the outside door behind her.
My heart starts hammering. Hard. What’s different? Amber and I have hung out loads of times.
“Cat got your tongue?” She smirks.
She’s definitely wearing makeup, and my eyes go from her face to her throat. She has a nice neck. Long and slender like the rest of her. She swallows twice.
“Does anyone say that anymore?”
Her cheeks warm to a soft pink. “I think I just did.” But her voice doesn’t have the sarcastic bite I expect.
“Where did our parents take off to?” I ask.
“Movie, in Tacoma.”
“In Tacoma?” We have hours. Half the night.
“Yeah.” The whisper barely escapes her lips.
And there’s no way she isn’t thinking the same thing I’m thinking. We’re alone, and she wants to be here.
I drop my pencil, stand up, and now I’m looking down on her. The warmth of her radiates and touches me before I touch her. This is so intense, like a movie or something. Maybe now I’m supposed to keep it this way.
Our lips touch and it’s electric, hitting me hard. Our kiss deepens as I slide my arms around the curve of her waist.
She breaks away, the sound of our breathing between us and nothing else. Our faces are close. Her hands still clutch the back of my shirt. Her eyes are down, and I want to kiss her everywhere. Her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks, her soft lips.
“What’s different?” I ask because something’s different.
“I just…” her eyes drift toward the ceiling. “When we were at the airport, Hélèna…”
I hold in a chuckle. “Going to tell me now what you two talked about?”
“She said you loved me. She said that I should loosen up, that you’d take good care of me, and that I shouldn’t be so afraid of first experiences.” Amber’s eyes finally meet mine. There’s something like determination on her features, but she still manages to look soft, kissable.
And the warmth of it spreads through my chest. Love. “She had a couple things right. My throat starts to close up, but I need to get it out. “I probably suck at taking care of people, but I want to take care of you. Though, I can’t imagine you needing anything I have to give.” My mouth is open, but how do I make the words come?
Everything about Amber is soft, vulnerable. This isn’t something I’m used to seeing from her. Her mouth is soft, her eyes, even her body is relaxed as she stands. Watching. Waiting for words to come from the guy who loves his words so much. And now to say the most important thing, he can’t find them.
“I love you.” This is the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done in my life. More life-changing than anything I’ve ever done with any other girl. Ever.
She takes the last small step until she’s standing between my legs as I lean against the table, her arms slide around my back and our faces come together. We stand, still for a moment. Long enough for me breathe in the fresh scent of her, the faint smell of her minty toothpaste.
Her eyes blink frantically for a few moments, enough that I know she’s trying not to cry. I’m sort of amazed I have this affect on her. “I love you,” she whispers.
I try to memorize her face, her smile, every feature. This is the most real, un-horrible moment I’ve ever been in the middle of. “I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”
She snorts, such an Amber thing, and her eyes look down.
“I’m serious.”
“Right. I’ll never believe that, not after seeing Hélèna.”
“For you to fall in love with the girl next door?” Her blue eyes find mine again. Nothing but tease sparkling in them.
I try to hold in my smile. “I don’t know. But, she’d love you.”
Amber’s arms tighten around me.
“Stay here tonight. I’ll tell your mom anything. I’ll say that I saw Mom on TV or something and didn’t want to be alone, even though it’ll make me sound like a total wimp.” I can’t imagine her leaving me tonight.
“It won’t make you sound like a wimp. It’ll make you sound sensitive.”
I laugh. “That’s girl talk. It’s okay. I don’t mind sounding like a wimp. Not for you.” I trace the side of her tanned face.
“You want me to stay?”
“If you kiss me.” I smirk.
“Just one?” Her lips are close. So close we almost touch.
“Maybe a few more than one…” I press our lips together, but she laughs.
And man, feeling this much makes me miss Mom, but now I know there’s more. I also don’t mind that they’re mixed. Every time I think about Mom it’ll be mixed, and that’s okay. I believe there’s more. More life, more love, more to look forward to. And even this, with Amber. It’s a first for me cause I’ve never been in love before. Not even close.
Twenty-Three
I’ve finished the work for my senior year, and graduation is a bit anti-climactic, but at least high school’s over. Seems like a good time to finally sit down with the stack of real mail and start opening. There’s a lot to go through. They each used to feel and look like a weight. Now they’re a challenge—something to conquer and take care of.
I open the attorney’s first. It’s exactly what I expect. It all comes to me. All the millions she’s kept stashing. The apartment’s mine. The car’s mine. It’s all mine. I feel the way I knew I would. I don’t want any of it. I want Mom. But the knowledge that I don’t get to have her, doesn’t hit as hard as it did a week ago.