Never Stop Falling

by Ashley Drew

  “How often do these projects come your way?” Cori asks.

  We’ve been on the road for more than an hour now, and I swear, the magazine I’m shooting for couldn’t have picked a better day for me to get the photos they need for their upcoming California Coast issue. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the Pacific so blue, perfectly reflecting the cloudless sky above it.

  “I get a few offers every month, but I don’t have much free time to do many of them. I kind of have to pick and choose, which I guess makes me lucky, considering how difficult it is for most full-time photographers to get work. If I could do them all, I would.”

  Cori removes her sunglasses and brings them to the hem of her top, wiping away the smudges on the lenses. My eyes venture away from the road for a few seconds to follow her movement, and they catch sight of the smooth skin beneath her cut-off shorts. Instantly, I scold them, and they’re back on the road where they should be.

  “Most of the gigs I book are local, since running a business doesn’t make it easy to do jobs that require a lot of travel time. Man, you’ll never believe some of the jobs I’ve had to turn down because they required me to be away for weeks at a time. I even got offered a gig in Morocco. Can you believe that? Fucking Morocco, and I turned it down. That one was tough.”

  “That would have been amazing.”

  “Hell yeah, it would have. I wanted that one so badly. That one rolled in right after I took over the bar,” I tell her as a little pang of regret gnaws at the back of my mind. “But you know what they say. Everything happens for a reason, right?”

  Cori looks at me with adoration in her eyes, and I know she can see the very thing I feel. “I admire your passion, Nick. Granted, I’ve been away for a while, but your love for getting behind that lens clearly hasn’t changed. I also know your integrity, and your family means everything to you. I’m really proud of you.”

  My mouth curves into a smile. I love how I don’t need to explain myself to Cori. It amazes me that even after how much time has passed, she still gets me.

  “What about you?”

  “Me?”

  “You didn’t make me do schoolwork on Saturdays for nothing,” I tease. “So is teaching now a forgotten thought?”

  She slouches in her seat, brings her feet up, and perches them against the dashboard. I divert my eyes away from the road again and sweep them over her perfectly toned legs, which could very well send us off these cliffs and down to our deaths if I don’t start paying better attention. Then again, the sight of Cori’s long legs before death doesn’t sound like the worst way to meet my demise. Clearing my throat, I force my eyes back on the road.

  “I applied for a position at a high school in the city,” Cori says, placing her sunglasses back over her eyes.

  “That’s awesome, Cori!”

  “You should have seen the disappointment on my dad’s face when I told him I didn’t get it.”

  “Man. Sorry to hear that.”

  “Why are you sorry? I got it.”

  Confused, I turn my head repeatedly from the road to Cori until she explains, “I couldn’t stand seeing how happy the idea made him, so I told him they didn’t offer it to me, nor was it something I actually wanted anymore. A part of me wanted to disappoint him the same way he’s disappointed me. Only, I’m pretty sure he takes the cake for the mother of all disappointments,” she scoffs.

  “Man.” I shake my head, smirking. “Those school boys have no idea what’s in store for them. Where were you hot teachers when I was in high school?”

  She grows quiet, simply smiling at my remark, one that I sort of now regret saying because let’s face it, those are the types of comments I really shouldn’t be saying.

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions yet. I haven’t officially accepted the position.”

  “Wait, this is what you want, right?”

  She brings her feet back to the floor, resting her elbow against the door and planting her head in the palm of her hand. “I don’t know what I want anymore,” she confesses as she faces forward and stares straight ahead through her dark shades.

  My mind reels over her admission, and I wonder if we’re still talking about teaching. Before I can ask, she pulls her shades away from her face, and I can see her staring at me out of the corner of my eye.

  “Will you do me a favor?” she asks, turning her body toward me and pulling one leg into her chest, her sunglasses gripped in her hand.

  “I don’t know.” I hesitate, smirking. “Will it involve you making me look like a killer clown again with your mom’s makeup?”

  She giggles her cute little laugh. “It hadn’t crossed my mind, but now that you’ve brought it up, the idea sounds quite intriguing.” We laugh in unison before she continues, “On a serious note, if you ever get one of those freelancing offers again, whether it’s Morocco or France or Timbuktu, call me. I don’t know everything there is to know about running a bar, but I’m pretty good at what I do. I’ll fly out here and keep an eye on the old place for you. Deal?”

  I’d be lying if I sat here and said she no longer had an effect on my heart the way she did before, because I can feel it hurling itself against my chest, one hard slam after the other. I’m not sure if it’s her offer, or the way the wind tosses her hair, or the sun kissing her flushed cheeks, or that stunning smile spread across her gorgeous face. Maybe it’s all of it. Whatever it is, it sure as hell is affecting me. In a way it really shouldn’t be. And that worries me.

  And despite me knowing that scenario would probably never play out, for obvious reasons, I still answer and nod, “Deal.”

  We reach the Bixby Creek Bridge and pull off to the side of the road. Except for another car and a couple taking pictures out on the lookout point, there isn’t anyone else in sight.

  As I get out of the Jeep and round the back to gather my camera and equipment, Cori walks to the edge of the cliff to take in the view. She stretches her arms above her head and then bends down, feet shoulder-width apart, stretching her legs as she twists her body toward each one. Although I try not to look, I can’t help but notice those legs of hers. Perfectly long. Perfectly toned. Simply fucking perfect.

  Son of a mother. Why did she have to wear those jean shorts today? Sweatpants and a sweatshirt would have been good, covering every trace of her skin, but who am I kidding? She’d look just as gorgeous wearing that, and I’d still be caught in this struggle.

  I heave a sigh, and that’s when I notice the man checking Cori out while his wife or girlfriend or whoever she is has her back turned. He doesn’t even try to be subtle about it. A smug smile appears on his face, and it takes everything in me not to walk up to this asshole and sock that smile right off of it.

  Okay, sue me. Maybe I’m being a hypocrite, that I’m no better than this guy because I’m practically doing the same thing—admiring Cori in a way that neither of us should. The difference between us? He probably sees her as nothing but an image for his fantasy bank, locking it away for a rainy day, or when his girl won’t put out. The thought alone makes me sick. He doesn’t appreciate Cori the way that I do, in all her beauty, inside and out. She is more than some pervert’s fantasy.

  “Great view, isn’t it?” I shout, staring him down from behind the Jeep and relying on my willpower to keep me from pummeling his ass. My question catches him off guard, his face turning beet red. He quickly diverts his eyes, probably hoping the woman hadn’t noticed his silent indiscretion.

  “Hell yeah it is! This view is amazing,” Cori answers as she spins around, beaming from ear to ear, completely unaware of the situation.

  The guy kicks at the rocks and dirt beneath his feet, probably embarrassed that he got caught, and returns to his girl’s side, placing an arm around her shoulders as they head back to their car. Good fucking riddance.

  I switch my gaze back to Cori who is in awe of the gorgeous scenery before her, and I can’t blame her. Mother Nature certainly didn’t disappoint today, brushing prismatic perfection across h
er canvas: the crisp blue of the ocean, the sunlight cascading down the sky, the deep greens nestled along the cliff tops.

  “Nick, hurry up and come look at this!” she beckons. She twists in her stance to get my attention. “It’s incredible.”

  The ocean breeze tosses her hair, and she uses her fingers to pull away the strands from her face, revealing the blissful and radiant smile they try to hide. And I must say, that smile of hers definitely gives the sun a run for its money, regardless of how brilliantly it shines. She’s loving everything about this view.

  And so am I.

  By the time we reach Pfeiffer Beach, the midday sun has climbed to its peak in the sky, and we find a spot on the beach to settle in for a break. I come prepared with a big blanket and a picnic bag stocked with the essentials: Brie and crackers, prosciutto and salami, grapes, apple wedges, and Cori’s favorite snack duo, Hot Cheetos and cream cheese. I thought about a bottle of wine but changed my mind for two reasons: one, I’m working. And two, this isn’t a date, and a bottle of wine would have made this feel like a date. So, I had to go with the second best thing—grape juice boxes.

  “This entire spread is right up my alley,” a pleased Cori approves. She plops down on the blanket and sits Indian-style. “Honestly Nick, you didn’t have to go out of your way to do all of this. I would have been totally content with the Cheetos and cream cheese. You know me too well.”

  I take a seat across from her, opening up the pack of juice boxes. “First of all, I didn’t go out of my way. It’s the least I could do for dragging you along with me. As for the Cheetos and cream cheese, I took a gamble on that one.”

  “Oh yeah? How so?”

  “I thought your taste buds might have grown out of that combo, that city life perhaps turned you into some sort of food snob, but my instincts told me otherwise.” I remove the small straw sticking to the back of one of the juice boxes, puncture it into the hole on top, and hand it to her. “In other words, I figured you’d still have the palate of a fifth grader.”

  Cori giggles as she takes the juice box and waves it in the air for a toast. “And proud of it!” She takes a sip and winks at me.

  “Out of curiosity, do you watch Sex and the City?” I ask, my lips curling into a skeptical half-smile.

  She scrunches her nose with a curious look in her eyes. “Totally random question, but no. I may be the only one who doesn’t. It’s just my opinion, but I think that show is lame.”

  I beam, celebrating my silent victory with an imaginary fist-pump into the air.

  “And for the record, I am having the best time. So thank you for dragging me along with you. I really needed this.”

  I get the feeling not much dragging had to be done on my part. Picking at the cheese and fruit, I contemplate bringing up the situation with her father. Talking about it may put a damper on Cori’s good spirits, making me hesitate to ask her about it.

  But I know the situation is hurting her. I also know that Cori does what she wants, and deep down, she wants to reconcile with Henry.

  “As much as I’d like to think your interest in accompanying me today had everything to do with me, I sense a little bit had to do with avoiding your dad. I take it things aren’t going well?”

  In one effortless motion, she flips her sunglasses over her head and pops a grape into her mouth. “Is it that obvious?”

  “It’s obvious you’re avoiding home, so I can only assume why. Plus, you haven’t said much about it, and I would like to think that if things were looking brighter between you two, that, you know...you’d share it with me.”

  Maybe I’m being presumptuous in thinking Cori would share everything with me like she used to. After all, we haven’t really spoken in six years. If you want to get technical, then it’s more like five. That is, if you count the last few months of thoughtless communication, the flat, detached e-mails, the one-phrase instant messages, the elicited one word responses, the missed phone calls with no voice messages. But take six years out of the equation, and easy and effortless sum up our friendship. It still makes perfect sense.

  “Nick, you would be the first person I’d tell everything to.” Instantly, her eyes flutter from mine down to her hands, and I know exactly why. That ring on her finger is a reminder of why I can’t be the first person she shares everything with. Talk about a reality check.

  She grabs the bag of Cheetos and opens it up before saying, “Needless to say, it’s still pretty awkward. Our conversations are empty. And as much as I want to, I can’t bring myself to have a real talk about what’s happened between us. It’s like my heart knows what it wants to say, but my head is keeping the words lodged in my throat.”

  “The old head and heart struggle,” I point out. I know a thing or two about that.

  “I hate how they talk to me and ask questions about my life like nothing ever happened. That just because I’m here means I’ve forgiven my dad.”

  “Maybe he’s afraid of rehashing the past. I can only imagine he’s still torn by what happened between you two, and he doesn’t know how to approach it or how to fix it. Now that he’s got you here, he doesn’t want to mess it up. He doesn’t want to let you go.”

  Until now, I hadn’t realized how much Henry and I have in common.

  “I guess it just pisses me off that everyone seems to be able to move on with their lives without even looking back.” Staring blankly off to the ocean, she pulls a Cheeto out of the bag and stuffs it into her mouth.

  A part of me wonders if she’s only referring to her dad.

  The other part of me wants to reach out and brush away Cori’s hair from her face as a light, sea breeze gently tosses it.

  “I do have to give my dad credit for trying, because he really is. And Jamie, too. I’ve been nothing but a cold-hearted bitch toward him, and he’s still cordial with me. To tell you the truth, I feel pretty shitty about it.” She leans back on the palms of her hands, digging them into the sand behind her.

  I pick up a juice box, puncture a hole in the top with the straw, and sip it. “People find ways to justify their pain. Jamie is yours. You may not like hearing this, Cori, but I’ve had a few conversations with him, and he’s not a bad guy.”

  “Great. You drank the Kool-Aid, too, didn’t you?” she questions with a sarcastic roll of her eyes.

  “Kool-Aid?”

  “It’s the only explanation why everyone is ‘Team Jamie.’ My mother included.”

  “Your mom is amazing.”

  Cori grows quiet as she looks off to the distance and allows my acknowledgment to settle in. The sun beats down around us, its warmth evident in her rosy cheeks and lightly toasted skin, and it’s these little moments of stolen glimpses of her that I look forward to.

  “She is amazing. But just because she’s forgiven my dad doesn’t mean that I have. He hurt me, Nick,” she laments, her fingers raking the sand as she sits up and brushes the tiny grains from her hands. “He really fucking hurt me.”

  “Are you ashamed of him, Cori?”

  Confusion settles in the deep V of her brow. “Why would you ask me that?”

  Shifting my weight forward, I lean my forearms over my knees. “Not long after you left, I’d gone to see your dad, see how he was doing. He asked me if you were ashamed of him.”

  “You’d gone to see him?”

  I never planned on disclosing this detail to her, but I don’t see any reason in keeping it from her now. Between Cori and her mom leaving, and my parents keeping themselves at a distance in the weeks thereafter, I felt sorry for Henry. All in a single day, he lost friends, a wife, a daughter, and quite possibly, any trace of self-worth he may have had left in him.

  I had also gone to see Henry because he was the only other person who knew what it was like to miss Cori, but that part doesn’t make it into my explanation.

  “I’ve never been ashamed of him, Nick,” she says, her eyes glossy. “Resentful, yes, but never ashamed. In spite of it all, he is still my dad, and no matter how much I
resist, I still…” she trails off, but it doesn’t take a genius to complete her thought.

  A suction of air echoes through the box as I sip the last of my juice. I catch Cori staring at me, now with playful eyes. “You know, it’s difficult to take a grown man seriously when he drinks out of a kiddie juice box.”

  I grin. “Always a kid-at-heart. Got no shame.”

  “How do you do it?”

  I look at her, confused. “How do I do what?”

  “I could feel like complete shit, and you always know the right thing to say or do to make me feel better.”

  The answer is simple. “I know you. But it probably also helps that I’ve got Freud and Erikson and Jung and all those guys, and their tools, at my disposal. Who needs a therapist when you have me? Plus, I’m free,” I joke.

  Pulling at a piece of prosciutto, Cori neatly places it on top of the cracker and brie stack she’s made. She shoves the entire concoction into her mouth, her tongue darting out and licking away a tiny smear of cheese from her bottom lip. Her full, bottom lip. I quickly force my eyes away from her mouth because even watching her eat makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong.

  “Ah yes,” she mumbles after taking a hard swallow. “The psych major. How can I forget?”

  “You say it like that’s a bad thing.”

  “Well, I always assumed you would go for the art degree. You always talked about it.”

  I can see the discussion about her dad is over. At least for now, it is.

  “I planned on it, all the way to junior year, but then I figured I didn’t need some professor or textbook telling me how to see through a lens. You either have an eye for it or you don’t. So I chose the next best thing,” I say as I stand up from the blanket, dusting the sand from my shorts.

  “Psychology? Seems a little random, no?”

  I look out to the horizon behind Cori. Keyhole Rock sits off in the distance, unbothered by the rolling waves crashing up against it. A sly grin spreads across my face as an idea comes to my mind.