At the end of the walkway, David held his hand out to her. She extended hers, which fit perfectly in his, as though it belonged there. Warmth radiated from her hand, up her arm, and through her chest. The thrumming energy between them intensified and the tether seemed to grow thicker and stronger.
David folded his other hand around hers. “I’m so sorry for involving you in my problems.”
“You didn’t do anything but help me.”
He squeezed her hand before he let it go and walked off toward his truck.
“Good night, Cara.” He didn’t look at her again as he climbed into the truck’s cab.
“Good night, David.”
She watched him drive off, then slowly walked back to the house. Her mom didn’t call for her when she stepped inside. She stopped in the family room doorway anyway.
Her mom looked at her head-on. “Is there anything else going on I should know about?”
“No.”
“You know you can tell me if there is, right?”
“There’s honestly nothing to tell.” Cara sighed. She couldn’t help but wish there were.
TWENTY-ONE
On Cara’s eighteenth birthday, Garren sat beside her in front of their lockers during lunch and pulled a special offering from his bag. He opened an ivory bakery box to display two cupcakes topped with whipped, snowy frosting and glittery, crystalline sprinkles.
“Happy birthday, Cara.”
“Wow. They look fake.” Her words almost sounded rude. But the cupcakes really did look too good to be real. She gave him a hug. “Thanks for thinking of me.”
She lifted one of the treats from the box and unwrapped its delicate liner to uncover the soft, white fluffiness beneath. Her teeth sank into the moist dessert. The cake tingled on her tongue and the sweet frosting felt smooth against the roof of her mouth. This beat the apples, no question.
“Tell me about last night,” Garren said before he bit into his cupcake.
He had to be asking about what happened with David, not about the vandalism to her car, or he would already have mentioned seeing it. She told him what had happened, explaining that David suspected that Amber was responsible and how he brought her home to talk to her mom.
“David’s right. You shouldn’t walk alone at night. You never know what someone might do.”
She finished her cupcake and brushed off Garren’s exaggerated concern along with the crumbs in her lap. “I thought you would’ve seen the damage to my car when you left the parking lot last night.”
He didn’t look at her as he added both their cupcake wrappers to the bakery box and placed the box back in his bag. “I’m not happy about it. I would have stopped it, if I could have.”
* * *
The previous year, on Cara’s seventeenth birthday, when Rachel had been her normal, affectionate, boisterous self, she’d given Cara balloons and a card and had made a fuss at school. Today, she didn’t offer her so much as a glance. If demons really were plaguing Rachel, whatever Ms. Clark and her mom might have done to try to help her evidently hadn’t worked. No matter what was going on with Rachel, though, Cara refused to let it ruin her eighteenth birthday.
The highlight of the school day was when David wished her a hearty “happy birthday” as she got up from her seat at the end of journalism class. His announcement roused a chorus of “happy birthday”s from Mr. Cutter and her classmates. She turned to smile at them, then walked over to where David stood at the front of the room.
“Have fun celebrating with Garren and your mom,” he said. He sounded as if he wished he could come.
She wanted to tell him she wished he could come, too. But she just smiled and said, “Thanks.” She looked him in the eyes and he held her gaze, sharing a brief moment of warmth with her.
In the student lot, Garren waited for her by her mom’s Outback. Cara’s car was in the shop, so her mom let her drive the station wagon. But Garren wouldn’t have known that she was driving it that day. Unless he saw her arrive in the morning …
Garren missed nothing. Maybe that should make her nervous. Yet, for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to feel spooked by him.
“Thanks for letting me join in your birthday celebration with your mom.” He pulled her to him for a gentle hug. “I’ll see you soon.”
* * *
Early that evening, Garren arrived on Cara’s doorstep holding eighteen white roses. The flowers weren’t wrapped in tissue or cellophane, nor accented with baby’s breath or other greenery. They were free of thorns, in perfect bloom, and not one petal, leaf, or stem revealed any flaws. The cool, smooth petals smelled sweet and rich, like the ideal rose fragrance perfumes and lotions failed to capture.
Cara’s chin trembled. This was the sweetest gift any guy had ever given her. “Thank you. They’re unbelievable.” The roses appeared every bit as unreal as the apples and the cupcakes.
Garren kissed her cheek. She accepted the flowers and ushered him inside.
“Where did you get them?”
“Same place I get the apples.”
“And that source remains a secret?”
“Yes. Sorry.”
No surprise there. “Will you ever be able to tell me?”
He nodded. “Soon, hopefully.”
Glad to get a promising answer, she didn’t push.
In the kitchen, she arranged the roses in a vase of water. Garren carried the flowers for her through a short house tour until they reached her bedroom, where she had him set the vase on her desk. He only gave her room a cursory glance, as he did all the rooms in the house.
When they reached the family room, Cara’s mom stood in front of the love seat. She’d taken the day off work to cook Cara’s meal of choice—this year it was her grandmother’s goulash—and to otherwise prepare for Cara’s birthday celebration and for Garren’s first visit.
Her mom greeted Garren with a tentative smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Thanks for including me. I think it’s special that you and Cara usually celebrate your birthdays together.”
Her mom smiled broadly at him and took her seat. She continued to observe him as he sat beside Cara on the couch. Cara opened the stack of gifts her mom had piled on the coffee table: a much-needed new wallet to add to her backpack, an ebook reader loaded with several titles from her favorite authors, and a new outfit.
Garren’s smile stretched widely across his face as Cara gushed over her gifts. She got up and hugged her mom, who pulled a small, white box from between the cushions of the love seat. Cara took the box and opened it to find a set of car keys resting on top of a light layer of tissue paper.
For a moment, she just stared at the keys. Then her mouth fell open and she snatched them up and rushed to the garage. Garren followed behind her mom.
Cara flipped the overhead light switch on. There, reminding her of a little bullet, sat an icy silver Honda Fit.
She clasped her hands together, then turned to give her mom another hug. “I definitely wasn’t expecting this. Thank you!”
“You’re welcome. With the police working on their investigation and the insurance company wanting me to wade through an abyss of paperwork, I figured we should just have the Civic painted and sell it.”
Cara was thankful some good came out of the situation with her car anyway.
* * *
While Cara, Garren, and her mom ate goulash and cake and ice cream, her mom kept sneaking glances at Garren, whose attention seemed centered on his food. No doubt the analytical wheels were turning in her mom’s psychologically oriented mind. Cara wanted to tell her to stop staring. But she knew her mom didn’t mean to be rude. It was just her way.
“Are you up for a ride?” Cara asked Garren when he’d finished off the last of his cake.
She was anxious to drive her new car and to get out from under parental scrutiny. Though her mom obviously hadn’t witnessed any of the signs of attraction she’d been looking for.
Garren rose from t
he table and picked up his plate. “Let me help clean up, and I’d love to go.”
Her mom stood and held her hand out for his dish. “Thanks, but I’ll handle it. You two go ahead.”
Garren followed Cara back to her Fit. The car was a few years old, but the dealer had detailed it to perfection. They climbed onto the soft gray seats. Cara breathed in the freshly cleaned car smell, knowing it would soon be gone, overtaken by the scents of the sea.
The garage door opener from her Civic was already clipped to the sun visor. She pressed its button and the door lifted. Once she’d figured out the car’s controls, she headed for the scenic byway.
Garren kept quiet as she drove. She started to speak, but he pointed at the windshield. Rolling her eyes, she pressed her lips together. She couldn’t complain out loud. More than anyone else, Garren had a legitimate reason to consider her a bad driver.
Halfway to their destination, she noticed a red sedan behind them. She flashed back to the parking lot at Liberty Charters, that morning before she fell overboard, when a red Jetta had almost run into her Civic. It was dark out now, but Cara caught a few glimpses of the car under the streetlights they passed. The candy apple red shade was the same.
Cara glanced at Garren, her heart speeding faster than her Fit. He didn’t appear to be looking in the side-view mirror or to have picked up on anything unusual. She pulled into a spot under a streetlight in the parking area above the beach she’d chosen.
The red car drove by slowly and light reflected off its rear. It was a Jetta, but it had California plates. The windows were tinted, so Cara couldn’t see the driver, who drove on at a normal pace down the highway.
Garren came around to open her door. He still didn’t give any sign he’d noticed the red car. They walked to the seawall and gazed down at the waves crashing against the rocks below. The chaotic water calmed her.
She was driving a new car no one would recognize. No one had intentionally followed them. She was just being paranoid.
TWENTY-TWO
The next morning, after an hour of not being able to concentrate on either Scrabble or a book, Cara responded to an inner urge to walk to the beach. A bright ball of yellow sun burned in a vibrant blue sky. She made her way down the hill and, when she came to the sand, she had to look away from the glare of sunlight reflecting off the water’s surface and focus farther down the coastline.
So much for looking for the grays.
Waves poured onto the wet sand below the drier strip where she walked. She concentrated on the soothing sound of the water trickling toward the shore. No wind blew, but crisp air nipped at her nose and cheeks.
A good number of people roamed the beach in front of Surfseekers Resort—families and couples, and groups of teens. One person sat as far away from the water as space would allow, in a batch of driftwood that had gathered against the high wall beneath the resort. Cara often climbed onto that piling to look for the grays.
She might not have taken a second look at the person on the driftwood, if the crop of dark hair hadn’t caught her attention. The guy’s elbows rested on his knees and he hid his face in his hands. Anticipation hummed in her belly.
Moving closer, she recognized the hair, as well as the lean frame and, finally, the hands. His fingers were thick and strong and she remembered they were soft to touch. His fingernails were always neatly clipped. Maybe it was a strange thing to find attractive. But as she stood directly in front of him, she knew the hands were David’s.
The problem was, she didn’t know what to say. He had to sense someone standing in front of him, yet he just sat there with his hands covering his face. If he could see between his fingers, he had to know it was her who stood before him.
He didn’t greet her.
Panic poked at her. He might not want to associate with her outside of school, especially after all that had just happened with Amber and the vandalism to her car. But she couldn’t walk away.
“You’ve come to my favorite beach,” she said, glad her comment sounded soothing, yet not foolish.
His fingers slid down his face and he moved in slow motion as he sat up straighter. Whatever was bothering him, she wanted to sit next to him, to console him. But she didn’t dare move any closer.
“It’s my favorite beach, too.” Weariness weighed down his words.
“What’s wrong?” she couldn’t help but ask. She didn’t want him to think she was pretending not to notice his distress. They did enough pretending.
He scratched at his jaw. “I had an argument with my dad.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”
He raked his fingers through his hair, then rubbed his hands over his thighs. “My mom died a few years ago. I miss her, but it’s worse for my dad. He gets lonely when I’m not around. He wants me to move home.”
“And you don’t want to leave?” Please don’t leave.
“No…”
“Well, at least you know you’ll sort things out with your dad eventually. Parents don’t give up on their kids, right?”
His lopsided grin spread across his face. “Right.”
She glanced at the spot next to him on the log, then back down the beach, not sure if she should stay or go.
“Where are you headed?” he asked.
“I was just taking a walk, trying to look for the grays. I’ll probably go home now.”
He stood and brushed sand from the back of his pants. “Do you mind if I walk with you?”
A huge grin broke out on her face before she toned it down into a close-lipped smile. “I’d like that.”
Walking along the water’s edge with the sun behind them, they were able to survey the water.
“I’m always looking for whales on the water now,” he said, remaining close enough to her that passers-by would see them as a couple.
Cara fought the urge to lean into him. “Most of the time you’ll be disappointed.” Unless you don’t see transient orcas. Then you’ll be glad.
“It’s still fun to look.”
She caught a quick glimpse of his lopsided grin.
After a few anxious moments of silence, she said, “I’m looking forward to seeing the newspaper issue.”
“Me, too. It’ll be the first one I had a hand in.”
“And probably the only one you’ll get front-page photo coverage in.”
He grimaced. “Did you really have to put my picture on the front page?”
“I did. And it’s a great picture.”
A new pink splotch appeared on his cheek.
They reached the stairs that led to the street nearest hers and she stopped. “I gotta head up now.”
His eyes held hers, striking a spark of heat within her.
“Thanks,” he said.
She wasn’t sure what he was thanking her for. “Anytime,” she said, worrying that another time might never come.
She thought he would leave then, but he placed his hands on either side of her face. His gaze dropped to her mouth and the heat in her chest flushed up to her lips. His face leaned toward hers and she closed her eyes as she waited for his kiss.
His soft lips touched her forehead. And then he was gone. She opened her eyes to see him jogging off down the beach.
TWENTY-THREE
The first issue of the Seaside Journal came out on Halloween. David’s photo appeared in color in the online edition and in black and white on the front page of the printed paper, alongside Cara’s feature. Crossback’s and Bobbi’s photos, together with her update on her closest encounters with the grays to date, covered the bottom half of the page.
For the first time in her high school journalism career, the credits on the front page declared her the newspaper’s editor. She’d wanted Garren’s name printed as the layout editor, but he’d been adamant that the credit be given to the sophomore-in-training. She saved one copy of the printed newspaper in a hatbox on her closet shelf and kept another copy in her nightstand drawer.
* * *
Halloween night, Garren stood on Cara’s doorstep in a black suit and tie. She’d requested that they dress in formal wear rather than costumes for the dance. A group of miniature ghosts, witches, angels, devils, princesses, and superheroes trailed behind Garren. Her mom greeted him and ushered him in before loading the kids up with candy.
Cara stood in the entryway wearing the new dress her mom had purchased for her: a black velour short-sleeved minidress, which she wore with a black bolero cover, black suede heels, and zirconia stud earrings, along with a coordinating bracelet and necklace. A small black clutch held her phone, money, and touch-up makeup. Earlier, she’d curled her hair, pinned most of it up, and let large tendrils fall. Her makeup job was thorough, complete with cranberry lipstick. The Rachel she used to know would have been proud of her effort.
Her mom handed her Garren’s boutonniere, which consisted of a single white rose. Garren slipped a corsage on her wrist before she pinned his flower to the lapel of his suit. The rose she wore made the one she gave him look half dead.
She was curious to find out whether the rose in the corsage would have anywhere near the miraculous life span of the eighteen he’d given her for her birthday. After two weeks, it wasn’t unheard of that the roses were still alive, but the flowers remained as pristine as the day she’d received them. Even though Garren seemed so opposed to the occult, her only guess was that he must have used some sort of “white” magick to affect the flowers. She couldn’t bring the issue up around her mom, but she made a mental note to question Garren about it later that night.
Cara and Garren left while the trick-or-treaters demanded her mom’s attention. Garren drove them down the byway to Above the Waves restaurant, overlooking the waters of Anchorage Bay.
Inside, a friendlier hostess than Lori led them to a window seat. Garren pulled Cara’s chair out for her, and she sat and gazed down at the sea below. The dark water was lit by bright white mounted lights.
“The filet mignon and salmon both sound good,” Garren said, perusing the menu.
Those were two of her top choices, too.
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