The Girl in the Mirror (Sand & Fog #3)

by Susan Ward

  “No. Never. If you give up on who you are, you give up on us, and I won’t let that happen.” I take her face in the spread of my fingers and lift her chin to look into my eyes. “Those things you think are your weaknesses, those are your strengths. They saved you, Krystal. Now use them to save us.”

  Epilogue

  “Krystal”

  One year later

  Jacob stands at the top, hands propping him as he leans between the rails and stares down at me.

  “Come on, Krystal. You can do this. If you want to be with me you’ve got to come here.”

  I’m almost sure I’m glaring at him. But really, why does every place on this earth have a beach with stairs built into the cliffs? Even one-mule Olga Village?

  “I went to the beach that way. Isn’t that good enough for you?”

  He laughs. “You climbed it yesterday. You can climb it today. If you can do it without whining, I’ll carry you back to the house.”

  “Not funny, Jacob. I don’t whine.”

  He crinkles up his nose. “You do a little, babe, but I’m not complaining. How’s your thigh? We pushed this run today.”

  “It’s good.” Surprisingly, that’s the truth. “A twinge now and then, to be expected, but it carries me where I wanna go.”

  His hazel orbs turn lush and he does that little grab of his lower lip with his teeth that is so adorable—Jacob being dorky sexy.

  “Then carry yourself up here. Now.”

  I stay on the sand. “Carry me up there if you want me.”

  “Oh, I want you.”

  He trots down the steps and lowers in front of me with his back facing. “Climb on. We’re doing this piggy-back style.”

  I erupt into laughter. “How come?”

  “Don’t ask. Just do.”

  I settle on his back and take hold around his neck, and he sprints back up the stairs.

  I notice a couple ahead on the path. Into his ear, I whisper, “Did you see how they looked at us? Like we’re too old to behave this way. So embarrassing. Maybe you should put me down now.”

  “Not embarrassing. Romantic.”

  I trail light kisses across the back of his neck. “Romantic, huh? This was the best you could think of to get me into bed?”

  “No, it was the fastest way I could think of to get you home and into bed.”

  He turns down the path to Jane’s house. I swat at a tree limb to keep it from hitting us.

  “Is your sister home yet?”

  “No,” he says, heavy with meaning. “Why did you think I wanted you to hurry?”

  “Oh—you should have just said that. I would have come up the stairs on my own.”

  When I start to laugh, he begins a galloping bounce beneath me.

  Unceremoniously he drops me on our bed, then kicks closed the door behind us. I stare up at him, and heat moves through my veins and elsewhere. He pulls off his shirt before settling on his knees beside me and slowly easing up my sports top.

  “Did I say”—I suck in air as he rolls a nipple in his fingers—“that you could touch me?”

  “No, and I didn’t ask. Didn’t have to. The way you looked at me gave it away.”

  He does a light tug, twirl, and blow that I feel between my legs, my back arching as my fingers curl on the blankets. How does he do that? Give me only the faintest touch and fill me with shuddering waves. Damn, he’s turned slow hand, slow everything into an art form.

  My lids drift closed as his fingers dance across my flesh—featherlight and asking—then the touch of his lips alternates with his caresses.

  He undresses the top half of me and his face lowers as his hand moves to my thigh, grazing leisurely upward, closer, then to my sex, but stops without touching me there. The tongue gently twirling in my mouth shoots tremors down my body and when I arch up, wanting the feel of him everywhere, he retreats.

  Oh fuck.

  My eyes fly open.

  He brushes back the hair from my face and waits.

  Even with the frustration pulsing through me, I laugh. “Stop teasing my body and get on with it.”

  He circles my navel with his tongue then pushes in, tickling, and lifts his head. “No, no hurry.”

  I start tugging at his shorts and he makes little moves so I get them off him. “Please, baby, I want you now.”

  Through frantic kisses and hungry hands, we undress, and I let out a ragged moan as he enters me.

  “Oh, baby, that’s good,” I whimper, wrapping my arms and legs tightly around him.

  Too soon we come apart and lie breathless together, smiling.

  His arm tightens around me, molding my body into him. I ease up on his chest. “That was strange, but it worked. I love you again.”

  He laughs. “Good, because I know you didn’t mean it when you yelled at me on the beach.”

  I make a face. “I didn’t yell. I got a little boisterous.”

  He starts lifting wayward hairs from my face. “Why?”

  “Because you just did it without asking me.”

  “I can undo it if you want me to.”

  I shake my head. “No, I haven’t thought it through yet.”

  “Babe, we’ve been here a year. I’m pretty sure Jane’s ready to get rid of us, there isn’t enough room in this house, empty is an understatement when we talk about my bank accounts, and I need a job.”

  “That doesn’t mean we have to go back to California.”

  “California is where the jobs are, babe. I’ve got an interview next week with a friend of Jared’s. Are we going to move back or stay? Yes or no?”

  I make a frustrated shudder. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  He sits up. “We’ve procrastinated long enough. We’ve been discussing this for weeks. Do I make the call?”

  Sighing, I drop back on my pillow dramatically. “Fine, call. Tell my folks we’re moving back in for a while. I guess we’re moving to So Cal.”

  He leans in and kisses my nose. “Stop pretending you’re upset. We’re only moving because you said it was OK.”

  I pull his head down and give him a kiss. “I love you. I know it’s the right move for us, Jacob, and that I’m ready to go home. But believe it or not, I think I’m going to miss the island and Jane.”

  He smiles. “Really, the island? Our one-mule town? Our Olga’s Day Festival, with the entire town having to show up in the parade so there is one. No, not buying that, Krystal. But I’m glad you said that part about Jane.”

  “I am going to miss Jane.” I bounce, making the mattress squeak. “And definitely this bed. It’s very special to me. What if we lose our mojo without this bed?”

  He laughs, raking back his hair as he shakes his head at me. “We better not. Or I’ll have to ask Jane to send it.”

  “I’m pretty sure she’d be happy to since I think she’s fed up from hearing it. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.”

  “Stop it. That gets me horny.”

  I watch him go to his dresser and rummage through a drawer for clean clothes. “To make sure we’re on the same page: we’re leaving in two days and I can call Jack and tell him we’re going to stop there on our way down the coast to Pacific Palisades.”

  “Yes, Jacob, we will stop at Grandpa Jack’s.”

  “How come Jack writes old-fashioned letters?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just something he sometimes does instead of e-mail. Did we get one?”

  “Yes, to both of us. Opened it on the way home from the box. It’s on the nightstand. Interesting letter. Advice of some kind. Can’t figure it out yet. I’m going to hop in the shower before Jane gets home.”

  I pull on my panties and his sweaty t-shirt forgotten on the floor, and sort through the junk Jacob’s got piled on the table while I wait my turn for the tiny and only bathroom in the house—won’t miss that about Orcas, no, sir.

  There it is. Snail mail. I like that Grandpa Jack still writes letters.

 
I lean back against my pillow and pull the paper from the envelope. No salutation. My grandfather’s bold printing leaps off the page.

  There are religions that believe every agonizing moment of your life you will go through more than once until you get it right. I’m not a wholehearted believer in any faith or philosophy, but time has pretty much confirmed that maxim for me. We do go through the agonizing moments over and over again until we get them right. But that’s not the result of a divine being or some superior master plan. It is the inescapable flaw of human existence.

  We live the same moments and they end the same way, only to be repeated, until we change. We have to change the road we’re on and the journey we are making.

  But the trick isn’t to change who you are; it’s to change how you use who you are to better your life and the lives of those you love.

  Love, Grandpa Jack.”

  Wait.

  That’s it?

  I frown, disappointed that it’s over, and confused.

  I turn the page just to make sure I didn’t miss something on the back and started reading halfway through.

  No that’s it.

  No context.

  Why did Grandpa Jack go to the effort of writing and mailing this? I go to the top and begin reading again.

  * * *

  “Jacob”

  After Krystal disappears for her turn in the shower, I grab my phone and go out onto the porch.

  I hit the button and listen to it ring while I make the swing move.

  “Yes.”

  I automatically tense, which I shouldn’t, since things are good with Alan and I’m pretty sure that it doesn’t mean anything when he answers the phone like this.

  “It’s me—Jacob.”

  He laughs. “Yes, I know.”

  I take in a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “Krystal and I have decided to move back to Pacific Palisades. Here’s the plan. We’re leaving on Thursday, we’re stopping over in Santa Barbara to visit with Jack—” Oh fuck, it’s harder to ask than I thought it would be. But then I’ve never asked for help from anyone directly, and of all people, my father-in-law. Especially not having any of them visit for a year. It was what we needed, but I’m not sure that one went over well. “That part about anything we need still stands, right?”

  “You’re family, Jacob. Tell me what’s going on and what you need. That’s how it works.”

  Damn. Alan’s being gracious and for some reason that makes me more nervous. There’s no way I can say it now. Out of nowhere, a snippet of Jack’s letter rises in my head—the trick isn’t to change who you are; it’s to change how you use who you are to better your life and the lives of those you love.

  Why am I remembering that now?

  I’ve got problems here; I’m talking to Alan, about to ask for a handout and a room.

  He says we’re family.

  Jesus Christ, I won’t ever get used to that.

  Taking in a deep breath, I start to talk without thinking of the words. “I’m unemployed. My savings are gone. We’re doing really well. We both are ready to come back to California and I want this change to be good for my wife, but I’m not certain if it’s the right plan or how to keep us moving in the direction we need. Krystal still has some anxiety, little panic attacks—fewer, shorter, less frequently—and she’s worried about being around the family. I think she’s ready. She’s not sure. But we’re eight weeks’ pregnant, I have an interview in LA, and we’d like to stay at the house with you until we can find our own place. I love your daughter…and, oh, I’m bringing my sister, Jane, for a visit.”

  I can hardly get air into my lungs by the time I finish, and Jesus Christ, why is Alan laughing?

  * * *

  “Krystal”

  One week later

  I stare out the window as we pass beneath the high metal arch of Hope Ranch and end of the first leg of my trip home. The winding road is bordered by vivid green foliage and trees, sycamore and eucalyptus, their spicy scent blending with the ocean breeze. Familiar things and scents all around, the things I always associate with Grandpa Jack.

  The small flutters in my stomach build. Mixed with the excitement and happiness, unfortunately, are the anxious churns in my stomach, the ones that warn my emotions will roil soon.

  This is ridiculous.

  It’s Grandpa Jack and Linda.

  I love them and I’m disappointed because I’d hoped it wouldn’t be this way.

  Jacob’s hand covers mine. “You doing OK, babe?”

  I nod then look in the backseat at Jane.

  Our eyes lock. What I’m feeling is mirrored in Jane’s answering stare, and some of my discomfort wanes.

  “This will probably sound weird. I’m a little nervous, Jacob. It’s a been a year. And now that we’re here I kind of feel like I don’t know what I’m doing or where we’re going.”

  Jacob’s eyes lock on me in a tender hold before they shift back to the road. “No. Not weird. I get it. One step at a time. That’s what we’re doing. I’m not sure where our life goes either, Krystal, but I do know it starts here.”

  He’s right, but my insides churn faster as we pull into the driveway and park in the loop in front of the house.

  We walk up the pavement to the front door.

  Jacob rings the bell and while we wait for it to be answered he drops a kiss on my head.

  The door opens.

  Not who I expected since we’re at Grandpa Jack’s.

  My eyes go wide.

  My dad. And if Alan’s here, that means my entire family is here. Mom and all my brothers and sisters. No way it’s just Alan in there. Not by the sounds flooding out of the house.

  “Sunshine,” he says on a low, raspy breath, but he doesn’t grab me in a hug as he used to, unsure and waiting for me to make the first move.

  Tears burn my eyes and fill my throat.

  I can’t move. I can only stare. The emotion coursing through my veins makes anything else impossible. God, I’ve missed my dad, more than I knew until now seeing his face.

  Jacob squeezes my hand and looks up at my father. “I’m unemployed, my savings are gone, we’re pregnant, but I love your daughter and I’d like to renew my vows with her today.”

  What?

  Renew our vows?

  My dad’s black eyes fill with a smile.

  I turn to Jacob, my heart in my throat, and before I can get out word one, my dad says, “Welcome to the family, Jacob…again.”

  Two hours later, my family is all around us and we exchange our vows at sunset on the cliffs above the ocean where Grandpa Jack married Linda, and my mother married Alan.

  Us, my family, and Jane.

  In the right way for our second start.

  “I now pronounce you still married,” Jack says.

  Jacob kisses me, and my family claps as they move from their chairs.

  As we walk to the patio for our reception, I say, “I can’t believe you did this.”

  Jacob smiles with that happy, guy-got-something-right expression. “I love you, Krystal. And I’ve always felt bad your family and Jane weren’t with us when we got married. But I’ve got to confess, this was your dad’s idea. Alan said that if I wanted our marriage to last forever I should marry you on Jack’s cliffs in Santa Barbara.”

  I bite back a smile as we continue to the party.

  No, that wasn’t my dad’s idea—it was Grandpa Jack’s—no matter who suggested it. But there’s no reason to correct Jacob. Or to tell him we were married forever already.

  ~The End~

  Most of my books are free in Kindle Unlimited. For all my current and future releases follow me on my Amazon Author Page or visit my website:

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  Continue The Sand & Fog Series:
<
br />   Broken Crown

  The Girl of Sand & Fog

  The Girl in the Mirror

  Ethan (Releasing Winter 2016)

  Eric (Releasing 2017)

  The Girl of Leather & Lace (Releasing 2017)

  Or read the Parker Saga in its entirety starting with The Half Shell Series (The story of Alan and Chrissie), the Affair without End Series, and the Sand & Fog Series:

  The Girl on the Half Shell

  The Girl of Tokens and Tears

  The Girl of Diamonds and Rust

  The Girl in the Comfortable Quiet

  Broken Crown

  The Girl of Sand & Fog

  The Girl in the Mirror

  Ethan (Releasing Winter 2016)

  Eric (Releasing 2017)

  The Girl of Leather & Lace (Releasing 2017)

  One Last Kiss

  One More Kiss

  One Long Kiss

  One Forever Kiss

  The Locked & Loaded Series:

  Dillon Warrick Books:

  Pistol Whipped

  Take Down (Winter 2016)

  Graham Carson Books:

  The Manny

  His Man (Releasing Summer 2016)

  For the Love of Ella (Releasing Winter 2016)

  Skyler Mathews:

  No is the New Yes (Releasing Winter 2016)

  Releasing 2017: Madison Rowan in The Girl of Sun and Sand (Sun & Sand Series Book 1)

  EXCERPT

  Chrissie Parker and Alan Manzone

  The Girl on the Half Shell

  The Half Shell Series Book One:

  The room is so quiet it is deafening.

  I find Alan on his bed, casually reclined against a stack of pillows, dressed only in flannel pajama bottoms, and reading—of all things—the Wall Street Journal. There is a fire lit, the silver candlesticks flicker with flame, the bedcovers invitingly turned down as if in preparation for some sort of romantic scene. But he is focused on the Journal.

  He doesn’t look at me and I feel stupid hovering by his door, so I start to wander around the bedroom, trying to still my frantic pulse. It’s a good thing that it’s an interesting room, otherwise my deliberate study would seem silly.