by Jamie Beck
“Yes, it was a mistake. Never play with people you don’t really know unless you’re sure you can get what you want.” His hazel eyes turn so icy they look blue. Then he lets go of my hand.
Unaware I’d been holding my breath, I release a quiet whoosh. Maybe I hid the truth, but I didn’t have a malicious agenda.
“There’s something wrong with you, Levi. You’re paranoid. I didn’t come here tonight to torment you.”
“Really? You wanted to hang out even though I’m so unpleasant and all? Rude, sarcastic jerk, actually, if memory serves.”
Although astonished he recalled my cutting remarks, I stammer, “I’d hoped you’d changed, but you’re still . . . unkind.” I pick up my cooler and stomp toward the back door. When I hear him snicker, I whip around to face him.
“How’s that funny?” I fume.
He examines me silently, infuriating me more.
“Seriously, tell me. What’s so entertaining, Levi?”
“You amuse me. It’s like I’m watching someone punch into the wind.”
What a shame God poured a dark soul into such a beautiful container. My head droops and I behold him, not in resentment, but in sad resignation.
“You keep finding humor in bringing me to my knees. It’s not enough that I left New York and came to a strange town with no friends, no job, and no idea of what to do next. Of course I had to end up next door to the one guy in the world who made me feel the smallest I’ve ever been made to feel in my life.”
His brows shoot upward after that remark. His abashed expression gives me the courage to continue. “I was horrified when I first recognized you this morning. But then, to my surprise, you seemed human. When you didn’t remember me, I’d hoped we could write the past off to immaturity and become friendly neighbors. Apparently my judgment really sucks. Since we’re stuck here together for the time being, let’s do our best to ignore each other from now on, okay? Thanks for dinner.”
I yank the door open and step into the darkness before pulling it shut behind me. I’m trembling; whether it’s from the chilly breeze or the confrontation is debatable. I run down his stairs and back home.
His back porch light goes dark as I open my own door and lock myself safely inside. I set the cooler down, wrap my arms around my chest, and blow out a long breath. How’d I walk into that situation? Walk? I forced my way in on him.
It’s disappointing to find him to be as elusive and cold as I remember. Why’d I even want to spend time with him? I hate knowing I subjected myself to someone so hurtful just to avoid being alone.
Wait until Jill hears this tale. She’ll really think I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. I hear my mother’s voice echo the words I doubt you’ll find a man more suitable than Rob.
CHAPTER SIX
Levi
Jesus, Lindsey’s an emotional basket case, suggesting I did something wrong tonight. She’s the one playing games: pretending not to know me, forcing me to cook for her, prying into my private life without invitation, calling me paranoid—and then acting indignant when I called her on her own behavior. She chose to leave her friends and family, and she sure shouldn’t expect me, or anyone else, to fill in those gaps for her. I’m no babysitter.
She made her choice, now she needs to deal with it.
I practically attack the pots in the sink, all the while twisting and tilting my head and neck to loosen up. My shoulders are drawn tighter than suspension cables.
She’s still a princess, assuming people owe her something. Everyone at home must kiss her little neurotic ass. Well, I sure as hell won’t coddle her. It makes no difference to me what she does, where she goes, or if she figures out her shit or not. I’m not about to hold her hand while she cries.
Of course, tonight her velvety hand felt good beneath my own. My eyes squeeze shut in dismay at my finding one second’s pleasure in that exchange.
After cleaning the kitchen, I turn on the TV to find Shawshank Redemption playing on cable. Great movie, although I’d never stoically accept punishment for something I didn’t do, the way Andy Dufresne did. But I respect how he keeps his cool, structures a long play, and frees himself. He’s a real leader.
My temper’s too quick to lead. That, and I don’t trust anyone enough to rely on them. I’ve seen too many people burned, by my pop and others. My mama? Well, if you can’t rely on your own mama’s love, what’s it say about people—about love?
I bet Lindsey trusts everyone. She must, or she wouldn’t have come here after I humiliated her years ago. Maybe putting herself back in the line of fire with me makes her brave. Brave or stupid. Maybe brave people are stupid, because smart people don’t sign up for pain twice.
Made me feel the smallest I’ve ever been made to feel. My chest tightens. Christ, I can’t believe I hurt her so deeply in Florida she recognized me on the spot. The funny thing is, I’d wanted to kiss her and more that night on the beach. It’d been a struggle to follow through with my ploy to piss her off. Those eyes of hers . . .
Leaning my head back, I stare at the ceiling. Guilt leaks from my conscience and slowly drips into my gut. I didn’t set out to punish her tonight, either. Only meant to protect myself. After all, she did pretend not to remember me. Who knew she hadn’t been planning to sucker punch me?
So, maybe she’s a nice girl. It doesn’t matter, because I’m not interested in complications. Unfortunately, I can’t shake the vision of her trembling lip and misty eyes when she ran off tonight.
Ah, hell. I snatch a sheet of paper from my desk and dash off a note. Grabbing an envelope and tape, I wander over the cold beach to her deck. All of the lights are off downstairs. I consider knocking on the glass but decide to tape the note to her back door instead.
When I return home, my house seems unusually cramped. I need to go out to blow off steam and take my mind off the evening—off Lindsey. Why not ride my bike up to Duke’s for last call.
It’s a Monday night, so the bar’s nearly empty when I arrive. I’m alone for about five minutes before I’ve got company. Two young girls send me a drink, so I oblige and join them. One is from Texas, the other from central California. Two more blonde Barbie dolls, like so many others. They’re a little too young—college seniors—and sexually aggressive flirts. Before I finish my beer, they suggest a three-way. That’s some kind of wet dream for many guys, but not my style. I’ve never had a steady girlfriend, but I’m also not a dog willing to bed anything, at any time, any place, and any way.
An alluring image of Lindsey wearing shorts and Converse sneakers emerges. I shake my head in surprise. Disturbed, I thank the coeds for the beer, then push off to go home.
The thick fog dampens the air—gray air to match my mood. Sweeping my hair away from my eyes, I fasten my helmet and start the ignition. I love this big red bike, so powerful. The day I bought it was a fine day. Shifting into gear, I begin rolling through the parking lot. The horny coeds spill outside and wave to me while they walk to their car.
I’m humming to myself and pulling onto the PCH when a shadowy figure startles me. Snapping my head left, I see an oncoming vehicle materialize from thin air. In motion slowed to the microsecond, the front end of a speeding van with broken headlights hurtles toward me.
My thoughts scatter in a million directions. My heart pounds with the rhythm of conga drums, but my body’s frozen and uncooperative while my ears throb with the roar of white noise. I gun my bike, but I’m not gonna make a clean getaway. Holy Christ, I’m about to die.
When I wake up, flashing red lights swirl around me. I vomit, and the stench makes me want to vomit again. Searing pain overwhelms me. I’m afraid to look at my body, certain it’s scraped to shit and has bones poking out of my skin. I’ve no sense of time while a blur of activity, lights, and noises whirls around me. My head feels as foggy as the night air. Paramedics fit me in a brace and carefully load me onto a gurney. From inside the ambulance, I witness an officer talking to the girls from the bar.
I overhear ano
ther cop question a paramedic about my blood alcohol content. Great, are they hoping to pin this on me? Is the damn driver injured, or worse? Will I end up in jail? I didn’t have more than three beers counting the ones I drank at home. Jesus, I’m still nauseous and every twitch feels like a blade slicing up my spine. Unable to focus, I start to close my eyes, then everything turns dark.
I come to again under the bright lights of a hospital emergency room. People bombard me with questions, seeking information. I’m so damn confused, I can barely answer. A doctor tells me I suffered trauma to my spine and they need to operate—something about spinal fusion. Bile rises in my throat again. Am I paralyzed? My blood freezes. Instinctively, I flex my feet. Hot relief floods my veins when my toes move. Damn, I think I’m crying.
I try to concentrate on the details of the proposed surgery, consent, and next of kin, but everything’s fuzzy and jumbled. The lights are too damn bright. Unintentionally, I slip back to sleep.
I awaken again before the nurse preps me for surgery. Trembling with uneasiness, I scan the sterile environment, which seems devoid of any smell. I’ve never had an operation before, and this one might leave me in a wheelchair. Everyone tells me to relax, talking to me as if we’re friends, but I don’t know these people. What if something goes wrong? What if I end up paralyzed? What if I die? Will anyone care?
I’m exactly like Pop—alone, unclaimed, and loved by no one. Almost thirty-one years old and this is all I am, all I have. Although I acknowledge it’s not much, I don’t want to die.
I stare at the ceiling and take deep breaths. Despite my solitary lifestyle, I’ve never felt so completely isolated. The doctor instructs me to count back from ten, so I begin.
“Ten, nine, eight, seven . . .”
Lindsey
It’s taking me a while to fall asleep. Levi’s a porcupine, prickly and defensive. What made him so suspicious? He’s an enigma, too, with his expensive beach house but apparent lack of education or career.
His living room housed hundreds of books on its shelves, and he’s not the type to display them for show. Does anyone even visit the guy? From what I can tell, he’s a loner. I remember he kept to himself in Florida, taking his breaks alone while reading or smoking. At least he appears to have quit his cigarette habit.
For his many faults, he sure cooks well. Potting his herbs . . . What guy does that? Yet despite his many flaws, something about the air of sorrow around him tugs at my heart. He’d deny it or blame it on his father’s death, but I think it goes deeper. Something in his life caused him to be so quick to distrust and so content to be alone. Regardless, I’m sure I’ll never learn his secrets.
Unlike Levi, most of the people in my life are conventional and homogeneous. My parents sequestered me in posh schools and clubs to ensure my life would remain whitewashed, and I dutifully followed their plans. The results were rewarding at the time. Now I’m not so sure.
After college, I met Rob at happy hour through a friend of mine who worked for him at Goldman. During our conversation, we discovered our mutual love of tennis, both of us having played competitively in high school. I recognized in Rob everything I’d been coached to prize. Ambition, intelligence, good looks. He’d fit neatly into my schooled vision of the future, so when he’d asked me to join him the next day for tennis and lunch, I agreed without much consideration.
During the next three years of dating, family vacations, parties, and promotions, we rarely spent free time apart. Our romance culminated in a sweet and simple proposal on a fall day in Central Park. The betrayal scorched me and flew in the face of everything I had understood about him. I doubt I’ll ever truly trust him again. Thank God the STD test results came back negative today.
Despite our problems, in many ways our relationship defined me, and without it I’m adrift. My throat aches from remembering everything we shared. Tears sting my eyes.
I drag myself from the comfort of my bed for a glass of water. Red and blue lights slip through the small bathroom window and dance on the ceiling. Seized with curiosity, I peer through the glass to Levi’s driveway and see a police car parked in front of his home. Did he get arrested? Perhaps he’s a drug dealer. It would explain his wealth and why he’s tight-lipped about his career. Meddlesome, I know, but I can’t resist investigating.
Wrapping myself in a robe, I clutch it tightly against my chest to brave the windy night. As I make my way outside, the cops turn from Levi’s door and walk toward their squad car.
“Excuse me, officers, is there a problem?”
One of them approaches me. “Ma’am, do you know Mr. Levi Hardy?”
“Yes, why? Is he in trouble?”
“There’s been an accident. He wasn’t entirely conscious at the scene. We’re trying to determine whether he has any family, or anyone here, to be notified.”
My knees soften upon hearing the dark intonation of the officer’s voice. Is Levi dying?
“Ma’am, do you know if he has a family?”
Dazed, I finally respond. “He doesn’t live with anyone. His father died recently, but I don’t know much more about his family. He’s not originally from California. He’s from the Southeast, but I don’t know where. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful.”
“Okay, ma’am, thanks. You can go back inside.”
I’m cemented in place and shivering, watching him amble away. “Wait—can you tell me what happened?” I need more information. “Is he alive?”
“He was alive when we arrived, but his body’s pretty broken up. Witnesses report a dark van or SUV without headlights came out of nowhere and clipped his motorcycle. He was thrown onto the pavement and his bike’s totaled. Unfortunately, the other driver fled the scene.”
The graphic brutality of the officer’s description arrests my thoughts.
“Do you know where they took him?”
“Santa Monica UCLA Trauma Center,” the cop offers.
“Okay, thanks.”
“Good night.” He nods politely before returning to the other officer and driving away.
Once inside, I lean against my front door for a minute. My imagination projects vivid pictures of Levi being thrown from his cycle, his body splayed across the highway like an abandoned rag doll. Did he have any forewarning? I hope not. It would be too awful to suspect you’re about to die.
Shaking my head to erase the ugly images, I move to the living room to locate my phone. Of course, I’m not family, so I doubt the hospital will provide me with information. In fact, I only now learned his last name.
This recognition causes me to return the phone to the counter. There’s nothing I can do tonight except pray. His friends or family should step in, assuming he has any. Why do I care? He’s done nothing but insult me at nearly every turn. Yet, in each encounter, I sensed a better man hiding beneath the layers of contempt and distrust. Then again, maybe that’s just what I want to see—an inside that matches his beautiful outside.
Torn by conflicting emotions, I pour myself a glass of wine. The minute it passes my lips, I feel the sedative effect take hold. Please help me forget Levi and Rob, at least long enough to relax and sleep. Standing motionless with my wine, I stare at nothing in particular.
Life’s unpredictable and ever changing. Last week, the unthinkable happened to me and rearranged my world order, throwing my life into total disarray. But by some remarkable coincidence, it led me to this house, located next to Levi. Now his life’s been horribly altered, too. Am I a bad-luck charm, or is there some mystical purpose to my being here with him?
It makes no sense, I know. Yet, in this moment, it makes perfect sense to me. Maybe I’m desperate to attach meaning to these recent painful events in our lives.
When I clear my thoughts, I notice something taped to my living room slider. A chill ripples through me. Who trespassed on my porch? I race to turn on the outside lights. After confirming nobody’s there, I unlock the door and remove the envelope. Inside it, I find a handwritten note.
Lindsey,
I’m sorry I made you feel small, then and now. In both cases, your unreserved nature made me uncomfortable. In retrospect, maybe that’s just what folks from New York do—barge in, I mean. Anyway, I see you’re a nice girl trying to meet new people, so I apologize for doubting your motives. However, I’m not someone who collects close friends, so the “polite-but-distant neighbors” plan is probably best. Let’s put tonight, and the past, behind us.
Levi
I reread his missive several times. Is this his idea of an apology? He’s basically calling me pushy. In truth, thanks to my lack of filter, he isn’t the first to accuse me of “barging in” with unsolicited advice and opinions. He’s right. I’ve always imposed my company on him.
Why am I drawn to him, aside from the obvious physical appeal? And even so, why’s he so disinterested in friendship with anyone, not only me? Well, it’s immaterial anyway, since he’s instructed me to butt out. I toss the note on the dining table and shut off the lights. Based on our obvious incompatibility, I should keep my distance.
It’s almost one o’clock now and I’m desperate for sleep. I want to call Jill, but it’s after three in her time zone, and this isn’t an emergency.
Despite my vow to disengage, I can’t stop wondering if Levi’s alive. The thought of him inspires a stream of confused responses. We’re not friends. I barely know him, but it sickens me to imagine his untimely death. Please, God. Don’t let him die.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Levi
Groggily, I open my eyes and survey the hushed, dim recovery room. When it dawns on me that the surgery’s over, I wiggle my toes. Once again, tears of relief dampen my eyes. I’m thirsty as hell, but when I attempt to reach for the call button, my arms feel weighted down.
Seeds of alarm sprout due to my lack of control over my own body, let alone my circumstances. A deep, primitive fear of being powerless emerges, making my heart race.