Love Like Crazy

by Megan Squires

  My hair swirled around us, tickling my skin like feathers. He brushed it away with one hand, but clung tightly to my neck with the other like there was the possibility of me floating away from him without being tethered down securely. But this floating sensation was familiar. It was how I felt every time our lips touched. Being under the waves and the water only increased that tenfold.

  Lincoln’s other hand stroked against my bare arm, and that, coupled with the bubbles that rose up around us like fizz, caused every part of me to prickle with sensation. Our mouths met once more, briefly, just as the need for air took over and Lincoln pulled me up and we burst through the still surface, gasping the cold air into our begging lungs.

  I shivered against his skin and he gripped my body, dipping back under until the water covered our shoulders.

  “That was all kinds of awesome,” he smiled knowingly.

  “Took my breath away.”

  “Well, that was a given.”

  Water dripped through my hair, dotting my face. Lincoln swept his thumbs across my cheeks to blot them away, though they came spilling down faster than he could dry them. It was such a nice alternative to crying, how he typically wiped away my tears.

  I could get used to this whole underwater kissing thing.

  But then, when he wrapped his arms around my shoulders, folding me into his slick chest as his arms curled around me nearly twice, he brought his head down, about meet my lips again, and I realized that out of water kissing was just as incredible.

  He was tentative as he lowered his mouth to mine. The frigid air had chilled my lips, so when his mouth finally pressed down, shockwaves of heat spread throughout my body. My eyelids slipped shut in response, my eager lips surrendered, and a groan escaped from deep within my throat, an uncontrollable rasp working its way out.

  I don’t know how I sensed it—maybe I was just that in tune with Lincoln—but I could feel his eyes on me, even with mine shut. It had been instinct to close them initially, just like he’d said, but it was curiosity that pulled them apart. Our eyes met at once, and he gave me a shy look that made the pit of my stomach warm and tingly. He closed his eyes briefly—slowly—as though to trick me into thinking he’d actually keep them that way, but when he opened them again after just a few seconds, my gaze was still locked on to his.

  “I like watching you when I kiss you,” his whispered against my mouth. His words were hot and damp on my lips. “I like the way your eyelids flutter, even when they’re closed.”

  Saying that left me no options. I couldn’t close them for fear that they’d do nothing but twitch, and I couldn’t keep them open because all they begged to do was to slip shut and slip further into the moment.

  But then I saw stars, which threw me because although everything about this was intense, I really hoped I wasn’t about to pass out. I needed to stay in this and soak it all up.

  But then those bright, startling lights shot across my vision again, blinding and brilliant.

  “What was that?” Lincoln whispered. His arms straightened out as his hands clamped down on my shoulders, tossing me back from him. Wind rushed through the open space between our bodies. I shivered and my scalp stung at the roots of my hair. The whites around Lincoln’s eyes grew wider, encasing his irises with panic. “Did you see that?”

  “The lights?”

  “Yeah. What was that?”

  His breath puffed out in suspended clouds, and suddenly another glaring stream flooded the wilderness, illuminating everything in a stark wash of light. It swung back and forth like a pendulum and pulsed like a strobe, and it played tricks on my eyes and my brain.

  “A flashlight,” Lincoln murmured loudly. “Someone’s here. Come on, we gotta go.”

  With our hands gripped together, we raced through the water to the shallow bank, stumbling and splashing all the way. My knee hit a fallen log as we fumbled in the dark, trying to locate our clothes under the tree where we’d left them, and I felt the hot spill of blood trickling down my leg. I bit my bottom lip to dull the pain as more stars shot through my eyes.

  “Who’s out there?” A voice, deep and commanding called down the ravine. It echoed against the trees and crater of the lake. “Come out and show your face!”

  Lincoln shoved my balled up shirt and pants into my chest. “Put these on. Quickly.”

  Then he hurriedly unfolded them and held out each leg for me to step into like I was a toddler, but I crashed to the ground, unable to secure my footing or balance. Not caring that he was still standing in his underwear, drenched and equally disheveled, Lincoln slunk my shirt over my head and then rushed to yank my pants up and onto my hips while I still sat crouched on the ground as I struggled with the zipper and button.

  “Who do you think it is?” I panicked, my voice unstable with worry.

  “Not sure.” His hands felt around for his own pants and shirt and he made quick work of pulling them on. “Whoever it is, they don’t seem very happy about us being here.” He rummaged around some more. “Shoes... shoes. I definitely had some of those.”

  A dog barked loudly, followed by a bone-chilling, predatory growl that scraped down my spine and pulled up the fine hairs on my neck.

  “What the—?” Lincoln breathed. His mouth was inches from me as we cowered behind the log that split my knee open just moments earlier. He pressed his index finger to his lips, then swiveled around to peer over our barricade, indicating that I stay hunkered down.

  “Come out with your hands up!”

  My mouth dropped open. “The police?”

  “You have to the count of three!” the voice boomed.

  “In fairness, you said you wanted a little fun tonight.”

  I scowled. “This is not at all what I was envisioning.”

  “This is your final warning!”

  “I don’t think we really have much of a choice.” Lincoln’s palms were pressed to the bark like he was readying to stand. Or run. I couldn’t figure out which. This was too unbelievable to comprehend. “Things are about to get exciting, Eppie. Hands up.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  Metal gripped against Lincoln’s wrists, braceleting them in two shiny handcuffs.

  “Officer Marlin, there has obviously been a gross misunderstanding.”

  Like they do on those cop shows, the police officer—a big bear of a man with a uniform that looked too similar to a superhero’s costume with all of his bulging muscles bound underneath—patted the top of Lincoln’s head before roughly ushering him down and into the back seat of the patrol car.

  “I honestly hope so, kid.” He sounded sincere enough. Much less gruff and alarming than earlier when he was yelling at us in the forest. “I really do.”

  “I promise you, Trudy’s all mine.”

  I stood outside the cruiser, wishing for the first time in my life that I could be the one sitting behind that partition.

  “Unfortunately, a stolen vehicle report has been filed, and because of that I have to take you in.”

  Lincoln leaned forward. His head dropped onto the barrier in front of him, his eyes slowly closing. Exhaustion draped across his face. “This makes no sense.”

  “Eponine, you can have the passenger’s seat.”

  The ride back into town was practically unbearable, what with the soaking undergarments that made it appear as though I’d peed my pants and was possibly lactating, too, and the fact that Lincoln was about to be arrested while Officer Marlin continued to make small talk with me in the front, mildly less criminal-feeling, space of the vehicle.

  “Marty and Cujo will wait for the tow truck, then head back into the station.”

  My brows shot up to my hairline. “Cujo? Seriously?”

  “He’s more bark than bite. Promise. Sweetest canine we have on the force.”

  I groaned. “How was it even necessary to bring him out there? What kind of threat are two kids and a VW camper? I don’t get any of this.” I knew that rolling your eyes at the authorities was cliché teenage rebe
llion, but I couldn’t help it. They somersaulted in my head freely. I was fed up with this insane run-around and the fact that he didn’t seem to be listening to Lincoln and his assertions, and I couldn’t keep my body from expressing that, even if I’d wanted it to, which I didn’t. I was all about the angst.

  “What’s going to happen?”

  I turned around to see Lincoln, slumped in his seat, head still downcast, murmuring into his shoulder.

  Officer Marlin eyed him in the rearview mirror. “You’ll stay overnight. They’ll set bail and hopefully you have someone that loves you enough to post it tomorrow.”

  My empty wallet mocked me.

  “I don’t know anyone with any kind of money.” Frustration was heavy in Lincoln’s tone. He let his hair fall over his eyes, hiding him like a curtain. “This is literally the craziest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  I nodded over to the officer, validating Lincoln’s comment. “It’s true. Lincoln and I are well acquainted with crazy and this easily takes the cake.”

  Officer Marlin’s head swiveled on his thick neck. Pretty sure steroids had a little something to do with his glaringly ill-proportioned body type. “I’m just doing my job, kids. I can name about forty other things I’d rather be doing tonight than chasing down two skinny dipping teens.”

  “Oh.” I shook my head fast. “We weren’t skinny dipping. Just in our underwear.”

  The policeman shot me an incredulous look. “O-kay,” he drew out into two separate words. “That’s different.”

  “I care too much about her virtue to thrust my nakedness upon her just yet,” Lincoln said.

  It actually required me biting down on my knuckle to keep from bursting out with laughter. Lincoln had just used both thrust and naked in the same sentence, and that was too much for me to handle. My poor finger was definitely left with a mark.

  “Strange,” Officer Marlin noted. He had a wide, dark brow that lacked any arch, and when it seemed like he was thinking hard, it lowered over his deep-set blue eyes. “But you don’t care enough to keep from running around in stolen vehicles with her.”

  An annoyed huff flew from Lincoln’s lips. “Like I said, it’s not stolen. I’ve paid for Trudy in full, every last penny.”

  “Kid, I don’t make the rules, I just enforce them.”

  We were paused at a traffic light, just two blocks from the jailhouse. I remembered my mornings on the way to school—how exposed I’d felt as I trudged that familiar path, when all of my other peers drove. This was slightly worse for Lincoln, I assumed. Being paraded around town in the back of a cop car was definitely more of an exposition. Thankfully, Officer Marlin had been kind enough to keep the lights and sirens off. Still, humiliation was the only appropriate response here.

  “One night in the slammer isn’t going to ruin you,” Officer Marlin said. And I knew that to be true. In this life, I figured, it took a hell of a lot to actually be ruined. I’d had my share of attempts, but nothing ever got me to that point. Being damaged wasn’t the same as being ruined. Damaged things healed. Ruined things were just, well, destroyed. Neither Lincoln, nor I, would ever be in that category. We were not the easily destroyed type.

  Officer Marlin was right. Twenty-four hours from now, Lincoln’s bail would be met and this weird misunderstanding would be behind us. On to other things.

  “Your dad can get you out,” I asserted after racking my brain for options to help us out of this predicament. “Your parents must have the money.”

  If Lincoln had appeared defeated before, this look was one step further than that. What was worse than defeat? Surrender, maybe.

  “I really don’t want to involve them in this,” he sighed heavily. He looked out the car window, a blank expression held on his face. “It’s better if we leave them out.”

  “Well,” Officer Marlin interrupted, apparently feeling like he was a welcome contributor to the conversation. Wasn’t sure where he’d gotten that impression. “I think you’ll have a difficult time leaving them out since they’re the ones who filed the report.”

  “Is someone coming to get you?”

  My head sprang up. Officer Marlin stood in the doorway, the glow from inside the station backlighting him. I could see gnats swirling around in the cool night air as they flew in disoriented patterns, bumping into one another like flecks of dust in the sky. I felt like those stupid bugs. They were completely out of sorts, just like me.

  “Um, yeah,” I answered, finally. “I have a friend picking me up.”

  As if on perfect cue, that old, black Datsun turned into the lot from the main thoroughfare in town. It crept close, hugging the edge of the sidewalk with its whitewall tires, until it lined up with the bench I sat upon.

  “That’s him,” I motioned as I stood up and the vehicle slowed to a stop.

  Phil got out of the car and walked its perimeter with quick strides to unlock and open my door. I never figured he was capable of transparently disclosing his true, inner assessment of a situation, but the glare he shot Officer Marlin was anything but inconspicuous. Go Philly.

  “Goodnight, Eppie,” Officer Marlin tipped his head my direction. “Sir.”

  Phil was having no part in the pleasantries. Barely before he even got the door closed again after returning to his driver’s seat, he peeled out of that parking lot, wheels screaming against the uneven asphalt.

  “Calm down there, Philly,” I teased, but my knuckles were white as they gripped the dash to steady myself. I expected to see rubber physically burning when I glanced out the window.

  He glowered at me. “Do you mind explaining what in Sam Hill is going on here?”

  My throat tightened. “Are you upset with me?” This was an unwelcome first. I was used to my dad’s escalating anger, but this wasn’t something I was accustomed to when it came to Phil. He was always so steady, always so consistent in temper and tone.

  “No.” Phil’s mouth cinched, then relaxed. “Of course not with you. No, Eppie.” He let his heavy foot fall off the accelerator to ease up speed as we approached a red light. His frame slouched, mostly in the shoulders. “I just want to know what sort of parent intentionally sends their own son to prison? A son like Lincoln. I just don’t get it.” He swung his head my direction to offer a sympathetic look that made his eyes appear wet with moisture. Phil’s stormy mood was so unpredictable that I was tempted to ask if he was possibly menstruating. He was that out of sorts. “I’m sorry, Eppie. I didn’t mean to make you think you did anything wrong. I’m just so damned sick and so damned tired of all of these irresponsible parents who don’t understand how damn lucky they are to have such great kids. To have any kids, at that. It’s a damn shame.”

  “And that’s a lot of damns.”

  The light flickered green and the car began to move.

  “The way I feel right now is worthy of a lot of damns.”

  There are people in this world who are the askers: the ones who excel in questioning and digging deep. They enter a conversation with a readied icebreaker and follow up comment. They draw out of people, where others drain. These are the types of people you want to be surrounded with because it simply feels good to be in their presence. Even the most humble of persons would admit to the swell of pride when in the center of their attention. You leave feeling better about yourself, and about the world in general.

  Phil is that person, by nature and occupation.

  The complicated thing about people such as Phil is that while they fill entire conversations with questions and inquiries, the end results in little knowledge of just how Phil, the man, might be doing. In a relationship, when one person is often the asker, the other is typically the answerer.

  It was time for me to start asking the questions.

  “Hey.” I reached over to swivel the volume control down to zero. Quiet blanketed the small car. “You okay?”

  I knew it wasn’t much, but figured it was all I needed.

  “No.” Phil’s bottom teeth tugged his mustach
e into his mouth. “No, Eppie. I’m not.”

  I knew little of Phil’s personal life. I mean, I knew he was a middle-aged bachelor, but that he once desired a family. He spoke of this on rare occasion. But his reaction to Lincoln’s arrest? His accusations and assertions about undeserving parents? This was different. This was a glimpse into a part of Phil’s life that had been hidden under a professional surface and a let’s talk about you glaze.

  I was going to get past that. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  The role reversal felt strange, odd and unnatural. But this was consistent with the day’s events, so I wasn’t certain why I expected anything different, truly.

  The jailhouse was only a few miles from Lincoln’s duplex, and though we’d completed our drive, I’d just initiated our conversation. I wouldn’t be exiting the vehicle any time soon and Phil knew that. His thick hands clicked the key out of the ignition and the car hissed when it shut down in the driveway, and creaks and pops followed every few seconds as the engine cooled off. Fumbling with his aviator glasses tucked into the collar of his Hawaiian shirt—unbuttoned two more buttons than was necessary so that wiry gray tufts of hair peeked out—Phil busied himself, but only temporarily.

  Then he took a breath and told me his story.

  “We’d only been married two years,” he began, his gaze forward. “Tabitha.” He looked at me suddenly, startlingly. “That was my girl’s name—”

  I nodded, encouraging more out of him. “Your wife’s.”

  “No,” he quickly corrected. “My daughter’s.” He played with the arms on his sunglasses, snapping them open and closed alternately. “She was just six months old. Cora—that was my wife’s name—she’d taken her to the store that morning to pick up more diapers. I was supposed to get them on the way home the night before, but I’d just been assigned to this new case and had been doing research and left the office much too late to remember anything other than the familiar route from my building to my front door. Diapers weren’t on the agenda.” I couldn’t believe I’d never known. Even worse, I couldn’t believe I’d never even asked—that I’d never asked about the life Phil led apart from the segments that intertwined with mine. Why had I just assumed that I’d always been at the center of it when he’d obviously had his own story?