The ferry bell echoed across the waters, and I watched as the ferry inched past me into its port. I may have still been breathing, but I had committed suicide six years ago—the suicide of my soul. I had cut it away and wasn’t really sure I could get it back. Or if I even wanted it back. Isn’t that why I had put it to rest in the first place?
What brought me to this crossroads anyway? Was it time playing out the way it does, through the cosmos? Was it the words of my headshrink rattling around now in the empty hole left by my soul?
Or was it Sam’s smile?
Chapter Eight
“Broken”
Lifehouse
Catherine
Too dark to see
Too numb to feel
The music’s far away
Nothing left is real
Can darkness turn to light
Like when day chases night
Or will it always be this way
Lost alone in empty space
Stars may line the blackest sky
But deepest hell can’t see their light
Crippled hearts
Never heal anyway
No sense in fighting
It all gets ripped away
Who runs this world
So full of agony
Liars say there’s hope
I won’t believe
Stars may line the blackest sky
But deepest hell can’t see their light
I walked into my classroom. Another professor had covered my classes last week, and I felt awkward now coming back—like everyone was going to be able to see through me—but I forced myself to push through it.
I set up my laptop and readied the projector for the morning’s lecture. While I did, I kept watching the door. Sam was always the first to class and today … if I admitted it, I wanted to see him. His ritual of asking me out for coffee and me rejecting him had become a part of my routine. I missed his self-assured smile, and I wanted more of it, like a pill that made me lightheaded and steady at the same time.
The buzzer went off and almost the entire class piled in before Sam and a beautiful girl with dark hair came in, talking and laughing like they were the only two people in the world.
Her name was Lexy Bordeau. She was one of the many girls that had tried to get close to him during class. Looked like she’d succeeded.
They sat next to each other at his regular table. For a moment I thought his eyes caught mine before he scanned the notes I’d written on the board behind me.
My chest constricted.
Sam North owed me nothing and I was the one who’d pushed away his friendship, so what the hell did I expect?
I went into robot mode and performed my lecture on the Holy Grail—solar energy. But the entire time all I could think of was how I was a pretty woman and did look young for my age. Maybe I could have even given Lexy a run for her money.
Wow! Did I just think that? The old heat of jealousy was something I hadn’t experienced in a long time. It had been shut off with the rest. But now, even though it hurt and I was irritated as Sam and Lexy were leaning into each other’s notebooks, I savored the lost emotion. Jealousy … my lungs squeezed, my heart twisted in envy. And I was dressed like an old schoolmarm, which hid every asset I still carried.
Oh my God! I couldn’t believe I was thinking this way! What the hell was the matter with me? So he had helped me when I got sick, that just meant he was a good guy. And he sent me get-well flowers—daisies. Big fucking deal.
Just get through the morning, Jolie! my inner voice commanded.
Oh shit! Sam was the only one to call me by just my last name. Great.
You know, though, it could be great, I thought. He had added something to my life. And if that was all Sam North was supposed to do, I could let that happen. I could allow that. Like a little gift I chose to accept.
The buzzer—finally! I was saved. The class poured out of the room while I busied myself, putting away my things before I went for lunch. Most of the students came over and stopped by my desk to politely tell me they were glad I was back. When it cleared out, Sam alone was standing by my desk.
“Good to see you back, Professor.”
“Thanks. And thanks again for helping me … and for the flowers.” I made my tone nonchalant and kept cleaning up.
“Good, you got them. I was worried about you. Thought you’d at least send me a text or an email.” He wasn’t scolding, he just sounded matter of fact.
“Yeah, I had my phone off most of the time.” All of the time. I knew I couldn’t deal with my mom again. I didn’t look at him.
Meet his eyes, I tried to persuade myself, but I couldn’t.
He started to turn a bit.
Please don’t go! “Got any performances coming up?”
“Friday night is a huge concert with five other bands at Fenix Underground.”
I nodded and tried to look at him when I spoke. “That’s great.”
“Would you like to come with me? I could pick you up at seven,” he offered.
Even if I entertained the idea of saying yes, the lights, the masses of people, the music. I immediately started to sweat.
“No.” It came out more harshly than I intended. “No, thank you. But I do appreciate you asking.” That sounded good. Businesslike.
“You have my number in your phone, I texted you a few times last week. If you change your mind, let me know.” And with that, he was gone.
I breathed in deeply through my nose and caught a hint of the musky aftershave he’d left behind. I savored that smell.
I had chosen what I thought would be the least suffocating goal on the list. The trick was not overthinking this. I walked into J. Crew and picked up a pair of vintage-style denim jeans and a simple black sports tee with white stripes on the sleeves, around the arms. I didn’t try them on, just grabbed the right size, paid for them and kept moving.
I thought about how good it would’ve been to think like Kate did, to meld into her fearless do-what-you-want attitude, but I was on autopilot, doing what Headshrink had said to. Next stop was for a pair of black Vans Surfs. That was harder.
In the store I began to think too much. I stood in front of the display rack and traced the black laces and the zigzagged strip of leather that was sewn onto the side of the shoe’s soft canvas. They were the same as the pair that had been my favorite before. I remembered screaming and throwing each shoe with all of my strength into the dumpster behind the Chinese restaurant, closest to Maverick’s beach.
I remembered that day vividly. It was a year after it all happened and my mom had said she was fed up with it, that I had to pull it together. She cried and yelled and coerced until I finally put on my Billabong wetsuit and left with my surfboard under my arm. It was a short walk to the ocean from home, and I sat in the hot sand and watched the waves as they came in. For a moment I had smiled, remembering how we’d sit out there, floating on our boards together, waiting for the perfect wave to catch to bring us back to shore. But seeing him there with me like that only made me see him dying all over again, and I would never get that image out of my head. It was burned there forever.
In that moment, I hated the ocean, hated the waves that made you feel immortal and invincible when you rode them. Hated that they couldn’t help us now. Hated that the world was going on, going on without him. In a fury, I stripped off the wetsuit like it was a dark, evil thing and, in my swimsuit, ran full force to the metal dumpster. Swearing and screaming I threw the wetsuit in first, then the board. Next came my shoes. I remembered the fiery heat of the blacktop burning the bottoms of my feet. The physical pain was like sweet, fresh water to my thirst and it took precedence, covering the agony of my soul. Physical pain became like grace. As the strong sun glinting off the blue metal dumpster blinded me and stung my eyes, I pummeled my balled fists into the side of the unyielding steel. I couldn’t stop. Maybe I never would’ve stopped. Sometime later, I felt strong hands pull me away from the only salvation I’
d felt in months. I kicked and screamed and tried to pull away and, as if they didn’t belong to me, I cackled when I saw my swollen, split-open, bloody knuckles. Streams of red trailed down both my forearms, patterning them with macabre, liquid lines, as if my veins had broken open and were now on the outside of my body.
That day had begun the first of my many stays at the psych unit of San Francisco General Hospital.
When I got back to my apartment I dumped the stuff from the bags onto the bed and stared at them. Just jeans, a t-shirt and a pair of shoes, right? I didn’t think I’d be able to wear them tonight, even though that had been my plan. But just buying them was exhausting, and all of a sudden looking at them was throwing me into an attack.
Doc said it was going to be hard … take some meds and feel it, she’d said. I went to my briefcase and broke an Ativan in quarters and took a piece. That was a good start. I decided to leave them there for now and get some food. I grabbed my briefcase and moved quickly out the front door with my heart slamming in my chest, as if to escape a demon that had come into the room.
Kells was ridiculously packed. Everyone was smashed in like sardines in a can. I weaved my way to the bar and found a couple of empty stools. I was wondering if I could really sit here until my table cleared out. Bella was tending bar. She was the nicest girl who worked here and even talked to me personably when she was waitressing.
I took a few deep breaths and tried to think it through. I felt like I was at a stalemate. Kells was my go to place, but I didn’t think I’d be able to stay with this many people. But what was worse, staying here and trying to get through it, or going home to ghosts?
“Hey, Bella. What’s going on?” I asked before putting in my usual order.
“New band.” She smiled cheerfully and poured me a beer from the tap. “They brought a lot of their own fans. Oh, and wait until you see the hot lead singer! He is seriously to die for.”
She set my beer in front of me and rushed off toward another customer that was calling for her.
Okay, a beer. I could start with that. If I had to leave, I would. I had some papers to grade anyway and that could distract me. I pulled the stack from my briefcase along with a pen and marker. The note came out with the rest of the stuff:
My Master Goal List:
1. Wear the clothes you used to like
2. Go to three places you’ve never been before in Seattle
3. Get drunk
4. Dance in the rain
5. Go to a movie
6. Get laid
7. Confide in one person even a portion of your story
8. Walk on the sandy beach with no shoes
9. Play your favorite music
10. Ride in a car
11. Drive a car
12. Go after something you’ve always dreamed of… something you tucked away.
You must do one item on the list every two weeks, so you’ll have something to report back to me.
I had read the psych books, I knew this was a recipe for getting one’s life back and putting trauma in the past as you moved on. I had numbered them 1 to 12 from the least hellish to the most hellish. At least I’d gotten halfway through number one.
Absentmindedly, I copied the words onto a separate sheet of paper. I wondered if I could get through them, and how many times I’d want to rip the list to shreds before I conquered what was required of me. I took out some loose-leaf paper and wrote the list on several sheets, until I had it memorized (plus I had back-up copies).
As I started filing the papers away into my briefcase, I heard the music from the stage start up. Usually when musicians started up they did a lot of talking and introducing themselves. This one just jumped into a hard acoustic song that was definitely not Kells’ usual, which would have consisted of mellow folk rock. This was a hot acoustic jam, screaming with sensuality—and the lead singer’s voice … the sound of it was incredible. I craned my neck to get a better look, but I couldn’t see anything from my tucked in position at the far end of the bar.
Halfway through the song, the band slowed the rhythm. “Hey, everyone! We are Chasing North!” a familiar voice boomed through the mic. I sat on my stool, frozen, silent—listening harder as the crowd erupted in rowdy cheers.
No. Way.
“We want to thank our friends and fans who came from all over the Seattle area and the University of Washington”—the crowd’s noise level went up a few more decibels, and the singer had to shout over them, even with his voice booming through the sound system—“for coming out tonight and joining us at Kells! And we want to thank the management for letting us come into their fine establishment. Most of you are used to our hard, pounding sounds, but tonight we’ve scaled down for a completely unplugged acoustic set.” The crowd responded with cheerful clapping and more shouting. “Now we’ll be playing several originals along with a few covers …”
The singer continued, but I wasn’t listening to his words anymore, only to the sound and timbre of his voice. I stood from the bar stool and, as if in a dream, worked my way through the room until I found a break in the crowd.
There was Sam North, standing center stage at the microphone, wearing a pair of jeans and a Ramones t-shirt cut off at the sleeves—his tattoos in full view. He was strumming a honey-colored Taylor acoustic guitar while he spoke and held the audience with his every word.
“You’re probably wondering what Chasing North is doing playing here when our usual venues are places like The Rising, Hell Bent and Fenix Underground.” Their fans yelled. Sam smiled adoringly back then lifted his hand to calm them. “I’ll tell you the truth, Kells’ owner, Jack, only agreed to let us play when he heard my story.” Sam smiled and turned to his bassist and began plucking out some chords.
“What’s the story, Sam?” someone shouted out, and it quickly became a mantra from the crowd.
I was immobilized.
Sam casually came back to the mic, still playing riffs up the neck of his guitar. “So, you want to hear the story?”
Everyone shouted a resounding, “YES!”
“Alright then. Like most stories and songs it all starts with a girl.” Every female in the crowd sent up a shrill scream. Sam laughed and finger plucked a Doors’ tune until they quieted. “I met this beautiful girl at school, she’s in one of my classes, but I can’t seem to get her to give me the time of day.”
At that, everyone started up again.
Mesmerized, I took a step backwards and hit a guy who was built like a brick wall.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, only barely turning to look at him before I stepped aside and kept my eyes on Sam.
“I see her every day in class and she has no idea what she does to me. We’ve only ever had one real conversation and now … well now I’m totally addicted and having severe withdrawals.”
The crowd shot out awwws and groans of sympathy, while a few women yelled out things like, “I’ll make you forget her.”
“She won’t come to any of my concerts, won’t have drinks with me, doesn’t return my texts or calls … I’ve asked her out till I was blue in the face—and a few other places.” The crowd laughed. “She keeps saying no like a broken record, so I decided if I couldn’t get her to come out on a date with me, I’d have to bring the date to her.”
He couldn’t possibly be talking about me … no way.
“That’s why we’re playing our unplugged session here tonight, because I know she loves Kells. Now before you think I’m being a stalker, let me assure you that I’m not. I know this girl is into me, I see how she checks me out when she thinks I’m not looking.”
The guys all howled out their approval.
Oh my God, I’m going to die.
“This lady is a class act and I’d do just about anything to get into her heart, even if that means just being her friend.” He shook his head. “She doesn’t want anything to do with me. But see she has the most turbulent storm going on in her ocean blue eyes and I’ll never be able to rest until I find out what
it is.”
“Dude! Is she here?” someone yelled out.
“Who is she?” another shouted.
“Can’t tell you that now, can I?” Sam’s eyes landed on mine for an instant, taking my breath away, and sending a shot of adrenaline through me. “This entire set is dedicated to this woman and this first song is my open invitation to her.”
He sang Goo Goo Dolls’ “Come To Me,” a beautiful song about love being the deepest kind of friendship, not letting the past hold you down no matter what was in it, and starting again.
I wondered if I blended into the crowd, only because I didn’t want to stick out, as every locked emotion of fear and passion and desire—the longing to be free, to live life, to feel my heart again and follow it—began to bubble up and cause pressure inside of me like lava rising to the surface. I shook my head and bit my lip against it, but it was coming. The tears streaked down my face. My eyes burned from my mascara, and I wiped my eyes haphazardly with the back of my hand.
He was singing it right to me, and if I let go of my fear and dark history for even a moment, I could feel what it would be like to hold his hand and to let him hold mine … even if it was just for now. That’s all I had was now—a moment by moment revolution in time.
Maybe it was his words or the sound of his voice? Maybe it was the way he’d held me up when my world tumbled and didn’t judge me. Maybe it was the words to the song and the music that I had cut myself off from for so long seeping back into my blood and waking me up. Maybe it was everything combined, but I knew in that second—in that very precious and precarious tick of a broken clock that hadn’t kept time for years, that had possessed me, never allowing me to move forward—that I finally felt the beat of my own heart.
True North Book 3 - Finding Now Kate and Sam Page 7