“She’s a good girl,” he slurred. “But you on the other hand. You waltz in here this summer, randomly meet Alex at the Grill. Then you,” he made quotation mark symbols in the air, “‘hire him,’ to be your Driver. And the next thing we know is that after four years of being shut down? Alex is seriously falling for someone. Some sweet little ‘Aw-shucks I’m-just-a down-on-her-luck girl’ that none of us know. He’s got his pick of any chick in L.A. And he’s falling for a girl from bumfuck, Wisconsin. Really?”
My temper flared from his insinuations but I kicked it back down. “Jackson. There’s a serious misunderstanding happening here. I’m going to find Alejandro. We’ll leave. And then maybe, we can figure this all out tomorrow. Okay?” I backed away from him, turned and walked toward the house.
But Jackson lurched behind me, grabbed my arm, twisted it hard behind my back and spun me around. He shoved me back against a thick hedge. I screamed, but he clamped his hand over my mouth. “You just waltz in here, mess up all our lives and think that’s okay. That it’s fine? It’s not fine. It’s not okay.”
And I realized—Jackson was messed up—and not just a little. Hopefully not completely ’round the bend. But enough that I needed—“Help,” I screamed at the same time as the fireworks ripped through the sky and exploded overhead.
I saw Nathan in the distance on his cell, jogging toward the mansion’s front gates. God, if I could just get his attention. “Hel—”
Jackson clamped his hand over my mouth. “I don’t want to hurt you, Sophie. I just want you to go away. Forever. Could you just go away forever? And our lives can return to normal.” Red, white and blue fireworks pierced the layer of smoke from the fire that hovered heavy in the night sky.
When Nathan ripped Jackson off me and we both stumbled. “Jackson! What are you doing?” Nathan asked. “Take your hands off her, now! Alex will kill you.”
I shivered and hugged my arms over my chest. Jackson sprawled on the lawn just a few yards from me. Was it true about Lulu and Alejandro? Had I screwed things up for her? For them? I had this sinking realization that quite possibly, someday, I’d be the girl in the wheelchair.
If I stayed with Alex, I’d be a constant reminder of his excruciating past. Everything he was trying so hard to leave behind would be shoved in his face. Every time he’d look at me, every conversation, every time he touched me he’d be transported back to that awful time when he grew to believe he was a monster.
Jackson lumbered off. “Sophie just tripped. I was trying to help her. Guess you called that one wrong, Mr. Driver.”
Nathan scowled, shook his head and asked me, “Are you okay?”
I nodded. I felt like a poisonous cocktail was pouring down through my body just like that smoke from the fire. It was worse than the bad trip from the plant medicine. It was killing one hope and one dream at a time then moving on to the next.
“You need to get your act together, Jackson,” Nathan said.
Jackson waved ‘goodbye’ over his shoulder and kept weaving.
My cell buzzed and I plucked it out of my purse. It was a text from Mom.
“Sophie,” Nathan said. “I’m on my way back to the Westside for a Driver thing. I’m calling Alex. He’ll come get you. Everything will be fine.”
I tapped the box on my phone and read the text—
Nana had a stroke. She’s not well. Come home tonight. I love you Sophie. Mom.
My knees felt weak and I plopped my ass down on the ground. “No. Everything’s not going to be fine,” I said. “I’m going with you, Nathan. You can drop me wherever on the Westside. But I need to leave. Now.”
“But—what about Alex?”
“What about him?” I pushed myself to standing. Walked past Nathan, past the security guards, the valet attendants, the late-arriving partiers out the mansion’s front gates. I turned right and strode down the side of the road next to Pacific Coast Highway. I stuck my thumb out in the universal sign that I was looking to hitch a ride.
This couldn’t be happening. It simply couldn’t. My shoulders felt numb. Ice water coursed from my heart down into the rest of my body. Maybe this was just a really bad dream.
A car horn beeped repeatedly and an Escalade veered in front of me and parked, the engine running. Nathan jumped out of the driver’s door and strode toward me. “What are you doing? You can’t hitchhike down PCH at night? You’ll get plowed over in a heartbeat or a whack job will pick you up and kill you.”
“I have to get back to my place.” I said.
“I already texted Alex. Twice. He’s on his way.”
“I can’t wait for Alex. I can’t wait for anybody.” I kept on walking past his Escalade.
“Fine,” Nathan said. “I’ll catch major shit for this. But fine, I’ll drive you.”
* * *
Nathan drove me back from the party in Malibu to West L.A. At first he tried to ask questions. “Did Jackson hurt you?”
“No.”
“Did you and Alex have a fight?”
“No.”
“Anything you want to share? Get off your chest?”
“No and no.”
Because, how do you tell a guy you barely know about a person you’ve known forever? Out of all the words in our language, how do you pick the ones to describe the woman who recorded your very first steps with a clunky video camera? The angel with a huge heart who attended your ballet recitals in kindergarten, every horrific grade school play, each volleyball tournament in high school? How do you tell an acquaintance that my Nana had a stroke, is in a coma two thousand miles away, and might not make it.
Me? I couldn’t find the words. So I didn’t even try. I just told Nathan my address and I stared in silence out the window the rest of the trip back to the Westside.
He dropped me in front of my apartment. “Do you need anything else?”
I shook my head. “Thank you,” I said. “Go yank that person’s keys away.”
Nathan smiled at me from behind the wheel. “You’re a sweetheart, Sophie. I hope you and Alex can figure it out.” He peeled away from the curb.
* * *
I fed Napoleon. Marched into my bedroom, hauled my suitcases out of my closet, placed them on my bed and unzipped their tops. I yanked clothes from my closet as well as the chest of drawers, and pitched everything into my suitcases. Grabbed the framed photos of my Nana, Mom and the selfie shot of Triple M and I, rolled them in clothing and stuck them in my traveling bag along with my laptop and everything in my desk.
Next stop the bathroom. It took me five minutes to fill a few zip-lock bags with liquidy things and shove that in one suitcase, as well. Hauled a few things to the trash.
I looked around the apartment. It was empty of my presence except for some food in the fridge and cabinets, as well as shampoo and bubble bath I was leaving behind in the bathroom. I called a cab. Wrote a note for Cole, included a spare key. I told him to take the food, that I had a family emergency and that I’d be in touch. I stuffed the note in an envelope and shoved it under his doormat, the edge peeking out.
I called the airlines, booked something last minute—red-eye, with a connection through Chicago to Milwaukee—and argued with the operator for the family emergency rate. After several heated rounds, she and I agreed on an exorbitantly priced faire accompanied by a case number that I could re-open and attempt to re-negotiate the price, after I got home to Milwaukee. I hung up and cursed her. I shoved Napoleon inside the cat carrier as he complained loudly.
I dragged my large suitcases out to the curb. Walked back to my front stoop and grabbed Napoleon’s cage, my purse and my carry on.
Cole’s door popped open. “Hey—what’s going on?” He was dressed in crisp Polo cotton men’s pajamas and cradled Gidget in his arms.
“I’m going home. It’s an emergency. I can’t talk about it. I left you a note and a key.” I pointed at the envelope sticking out from under his front mat. “Take all the food and beauty products in my place.”
; “Oh, thanks,” he said. “Are you coming back?”
“Shit if I know.”
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’m sorry…” his eyes widened as he and I both spotted Alejandro’s Jeep burning rubber down our small street and screeching to a stop at the curb.
“Uh-oh. You need help, just yell. For someone. I guess.” Cole jumped back inside his place. Slammed the door. Shut his windows. Then peeked out the side of the curtains.
Alejandro hopped out the driver’s side and strode toward me. He was dark and brooding and didn’t look happy. “I got a text that Jackson was a dick to you at the party. That he might even have tried to hurt you. I showed up ready to kick his ass, but he was gone and you were too. Then I got a text that you’re walking down PCH—hitchhiking. The third text was that you didn’t want to wait for me. That Nathan was driving you home.”
I nodded. “That sounds about right.”
“What the hell is going on?” He pointed to my suitcases.
“I’ve been thinking, Alejandro. I’ve been thinking that you are finally getting over the worst thing that ever happened to you. A nightmare moment that crushed you. Tonight, I realized, I would always be part of that. I will forever be the girl who makes you remember that you once believed you were a monster.”
“That’s not true.” He paced in front of me. “You brought me back to life. You made me laugh again. Smile. You made me think that tomorrow would be a fun adventure instead of a tunnel of darkness.” He grabbed my shoulders. “Why Sophie? Why do you think you could undo me?”
“Because, Alejandro. I have MS. And MS is a stupid, mean disease. Someday, I might be in a wheelchair. And that’ll put you right back in that tunnel.”
“That’s not true! I’m bigger than that.”
I saw the cab turn onto my block. “You are bigger than that. Which means you belong to the world. You belong to every single soul that needs your help, because you’ve never forgiven yourself. Your mind and your heart and your entire life is still with that girl who died the night you drove over the cliff.” I shook my head, pulled away from him and lifted my hand up in the air so the cabbie would see me.
He pulled over to the curb, behind the Jeep.
“I want you to forget about me, Alejandro.” I said. “We had an amazing story that lasted for one magical summer. But you’ll never belong to me.”
“But I do. I do belong to you Sophie. And our story doesn’t have to end.”
“Our story’s complicated,” I said. “Complicated stories usually end badly.”
The cabbie was out of the car and regarded me, curious. “LAX?” He asked.
I nodded. He popped the trunk, started grabbing my bags and hoisted them in.
“You can’t go,” Alejandro said. “What we have isn’t that complicated. It’s real and it’s simple. What we have is love.”
I willed myself not to cry. Not to lose it. Forced myself not to tell him about Nana. Because if I did? He’d come back to Wisconsin with me. I gazed at him, under the streetlight, the moon shining high behind him. He was my dark beautiful angel without the wings. He was my Alejandro.
And I had to let him go.
Chapter Twenty-six
I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Whoever writes the fairy tales never tells you that eventually the magic ends. Cinderella grows older, develops bunions and can’t wear her slipper,” I said. “Snow White eats apple pies instead of just apples and loses her girlish figure. The Prince cheats on her. Sleeping Beauty develops insomnia and gets addicted to Ambien.”
“You and I are not a freaking fairy tale.”
I stepped into the cab with my purse and Napoleon in the car carrier. “Drive,” I hissed to him. “Now!” I shut the door.
The cabbie shook his head as he peered back at me. “Lady, I can’t.”
“Of course you can,” I said.
“Look behind you.”
I swiveled my head and saw Alejandro standing directly behind the cab, one foot on the bumper. “If you’re leaving, I’m coming with you.”
I wished with all my heart that he could.
“Meter’s ticking, lady.”
And I realized one way to get rid of him.
“Hang on,” I said, and grabbed my purse. Opened the cab door. Stepped out and walked the few feet toward Alejandro, my heart banging against my ribs like those fireworks exploding in the night sky. “I forgot something.” I fumbled through my bag and pulled out my checkbook and a pen. “We had a deal. I was supposed to pay you for your services. I’m so sorry. I temporarily forgot.” I filled in the date out the check as my hand trembled. “Alejandro Maxwell Levine. For—Driving services. How much do I owe you?” I gathered all my false courage and gazed up at him.
His face turned crimson. “You’re freaking kidding me.”
“No. You rendered a service. I always pay my bills. So, how much should I make this out for?”
“I don’t want your money.”
“Okay then.” I signed my name with a flourish. “I’ll let you fill in the amount.” I ripped the check out of the book. “You can text me the total later. Try and keep it under fifteen hundred, okay? I think I’ve got enough to cover that.” I handed it to him.
He took it, gazed at it for a second as his eyes turned to ice and his face hardened. “This is how much you owe me.” He ripped the check up into pieces, dropped them. They fell to the ground as he turned and strode toward his Jeep.
“We’re just a dream, Alejandro,” I hollered after him. “And eventually you’ve got to wake up from a dream.” I got back inside the cab and shut the door.
Alejandro screeched off. The cabbie pulled away from the curb. I waited until we had rounded the corner before I started sobbing.
* * *
My mom had texted that she’d pick me up on the curb under the Great Lakes Airlines sign in Milwaukee’s Mitchell Airport Arrivals section. I hadn’t slept a wink on the flight and was freaking exhausted from worry and sadness. The sun had already risen by the time we landed. I carted Napoleon and my carry on bag off the plane and walked toward baggage claim. I passed Security. That’s when I saw her.
Mary Martha Mapleson held two large cups of Starbucks, waiting for me. We spotted each other and we both froze. Tears streamed down her face. And I knew the worst had happened.
* * *
We didn’t have a funeral for Nana. We had a party.
We held it in the activities room at her most recent home at The Seasons Assisted Living Center. We served cupcakes, an assortment of deli meats, as well as a cheese and cracker plate. We had two punch bowls: one was gently spiked with a touch of vodka, the other was just punch.
We decorated a table with an assortment of framed photos of Nana throughout her life: as a chubby blonde toddler with meticulous ringlets and a huge smile. As a young woman wearing red lipstick dressed in a fashionable suit, her arm draped comfortably across the arm of a well-suited man, who was my grandfather. A photo of Nana, joyous, holding my mom when she was a newborn. A candid shot of her and five-year-old me at my ballet recital. The last picture was a group shot of Nana with her new girlfriends from the Assisted Living community. They all wore makeup, were decked out, held their cocktails toward the camera and smiled.
Our party—or should I more accurately say—Nana’s going away gig—had a big turnout. Mom had to leave in the middle to make a run to the liquor store for more vodka. The spiked punch was popular. The Seasons’ choral group delivered an X Factor worthy rendition of Michael Jackson’s “Man in the Mirror.” I don’t think there was a dry eye in the house.
Everyone wanted to share a memory with Mom and me. They’d pull us aside and confide a moment they treasured about Nana. We even had a Sophie Marie Timmel Book of Memories left out on one of the dining tables and encouraged folks to write something. Most of them did.
The event went by in a flash. At the end, Mom and I were exhausted. As we cleaned
up the room with the help of Triple M, I paid attention to Mom to see if she was okay, or losing it. I think she was somewhere in-between, which seemed pretty normal.
Triple M took out the large Hefty bags filled with trash. The dishes were washed, dried and returned to their cabinets. Mom and I carefully took down Nana’s pictures, wrapped them in towels and placed them in a box. “She was so beautiful,” I said and started crying.
My mom hugged me. “Yeah she was, sweetie. A force to be reckoned with. Which is why I named you after her. You’ve got her spirit. Her drive. Or as she recently liked to say, her ‘chutzpah.’”
* * *
Two weeks passed since that awful night I left L.A. I heard from Blue, but didn’t have the heart to call her back and tell her my sob story. Cole called. Apparently someone had already moved into my former apartment and replaced the see-through curtains. He was having a difficult time spying on them and was peeved I’d moved out for good.
I heard nothing from Alejandro. I gathered my courage and called him a couple of times. I even left a few messages. He never called back.
But I did hear from a representative for the USCLA stem cell study. They weren’t all that pleased that I’d missed several appointments. I contacted them and told them what happened. They were polite, but insisted I get my butt back there for a clinical check in. I agreed and booked my plane reservation.
Mom and I visited Nana’s plot to check the installation of her headstone. She was buried in a cemetery on the top of a relatively steep hill overlooking Lac LaBelle. She always loved the lake. It seemed fitting she would get to gaze upon it for eternity.
Mom and I held hands and watched the workers cement her simple headstone into the ground.
The Story of You and Me Page 23