Falling into Forever

by Tammy Turner

  He locked his azure eyes on the mother. “She does need a good home,” he said.

  A warm tingle pierced the woman’s skin. “Thank you,” she said to him, smiling. “Come on, Abby. Let’s go home.”

  The girl hugged the kitten tightly to her chest and skipped away from the guitar case, but then she stopped and turned. Racing back, she beamed at the kneeling man and kissed his forehead. “You’ve made us the happiest girls in the world,” she whispered. He bit his lip when the girl leapt away with Princess and skipped back to her mother.

  When she was gone, he said softly, “You have found your princess. Perhaps I shall one day find mine.”

  Just across the street, ten stories up in Park View Tower, Alexandra Peyton paced across the hardwood floors of apartment 10-C, impatiently waiting for her friend Taylor. The smacking of her black rubber flip-flops against the polished floor echoed through every room. Her mom, a biologist, was at work at Atlanta’s Centers for Disease Control. Her chunky bulldog, Jack, watched her lazily from his cushioned perch on the leather sofa.

  “Where is she?” Alexandra said, exasperated at her friend’s tardiness. But Jack merely rolled over without answering. “Why does it take her so long to get ready?” she asked him, looking down at her simple, basic uniform: dark-blue denim, cut-off shorts and a faded-red tank top.

  As she reached for her cell phone on the coffee table, the screen lit up with her best friend’s name and buzzed in her palm. “It’s about time, Taylor,” Alexandra said as she hit a green button on the keypad.

  When she took the call, Jack whined and hid his head under a pillow. “Calm down, little man,” Alexandra said, rubbing the top of the agitated bulldog’s head.

  She greeted the caller. “You said you were leaving your house any minute. That was three hours ago. Where are you?”

  “I’m outside,” Taylor’s voice sang through the phone.

  “I don’t believe you,” said Alexandra. She stopped scratching Jack’s fuzzy ears with her chewed, unpolished fingernails.

  “Look outside,” Taylor demanded.

  Alexandra walked toward the apartment balcony and threw open the glass doors. It was a brilliant day with a cloudless, blue sky, giving clear visibility. Once out on the balcony, she said into the phone, “I don’t see you, Taylor,” while she peered over the side of the railing. Grabbing a pair of binoculars from a plastic table beside her, she scanned the cars parked below on the bustling city street in front of her apartment building.

  “Where’s your Mustang?” asked Alexandra, suddenly seeing her friend sitting in a shiny, silver convertible, waving her hand in the air toward the balcony. Focusing the binoculars on the car’s front vanity plate (“ILUVDAD”), Alexandra knew there could be no mistake; it was her best friend, Taylor.

  “Daddy got rid of the Mustang after that last speeding ticket I got a couple of weeks ago. But this is so much better,” Taylor cooed into the phone. “Hurry up and get down here.”

  “Okay,” Alexandra said, putting down the binoculars. “Be there in a sec.”

  Walking inside, she turned to lock the glass doors behind her. She grabbed her packed duffel bag that was ready by the front door. Jack whined in anticipation when he saw her slide her keys from her purse.

  “I’m sorry, Jack. I wish I could take you, but Granny June’s mean old poodle doesn’t like bulldogs,” she told him. “I’ll be home in a few days, and Mom will be home from work in a little while. Promise me that you’ll be good for her.” He licked her hand as she patted his chubby belly. “Love you,” she said as she shut and locked the door.

  Taylor had already opened her convertible’s trunk by the time Alexandra had reached the Mercedes. Alexandra eyed the cramped trunk bulging with pink suitcases. “We’re only going to my grandmother’s beach house for a couple of days,” said Alexandra. “And there’s even a mall about an hour from her house if you’ve forgotten something.”

  “An hour?” Taylor gasped. “Are you serious? You told me she lived on the beach, not on a deserted island.”

  “Her house is secluded, but it’s not in the middle of nowhere,” Alexandra insisted.

  “An hour away from a mall is the middle of nowhere,” Taylor huffed as she slammed the trunk shut. “Anyway, I have to be prepared,” Taylor explained. “At least we’re driving there, instead of flying there. You should have seen my dad’s face when he got the credit card bill for my plane trip to Italy last month. The envelope was this thick,” she said, her arms spread wide. “When he opened it, he kept muttering about the baggage charges, and then this massive purple vein started throbbing on his forehead. I worried that he was going to stroke-out on me.”

  “He couldn’t have been too mad at you,” said Alexandra, tossing her lumpy duffel bag into the backseat, “or he wouldn’t have bought you this ride.”

  Taylor trailed her fingers down the side of the new car. “It’s sweet, right? He surprised me. But he said that I have to drive it this year and then all the way through college,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  As Alexandra’s fingers popped open the passenger-door handle, Taylor cut in front of her and parked herself snugly into the black leather seat. “You drive, girlie,” she said, tossing Alexandra the car keys.

  Alexandra hesitated to open the driver’s door.

  “Get in and drive,” Taylor ordered. “I have to touch up my pedicure.” She buckled her seat belt. “I totally smeared it trying on these sandals at the mall yesterday.”

  Alexandra smirked as she climbed into the driver’s seat and readjusted the rearview mirror. “This is nothing like my hunk-o-junk Jeep.”

  “I know,” Taylor sighed. “When are you going to put that thing out of its misery?”

  “Not soon enough,” Alexandra said, cranking the key in the ignition. “Traffic is going to be rough getting out of Atlanta this time of day,” she said over the hum of the powerful, precision-tuned engine.

  “Take it slow until you are used to her,” Taylor offered, but Alexandra had already punched the accelerator. With squealing wheels, the auto jumped headfirst into traffic.

  They did not go unnoticed. Across the street, the guitar player spied the girls as they raced away from the curb. He shook his head. With tan, muscular arms, he pulled the guitar away from around his chest. He tucked his raven hair behind his ears and patted the back pocket of his brown-and-green camouflage pants to reassure himself that her sketch was still safely tucked inside. After the silver convertible turned right at a stoplight and disappeared from his view, he tucked his guitar into the case resting at his feet.

  He also had not gone unnoticed.

  “He is so cute,” said Taylor, watching his figure fade from view in her rearview mirror.

  “Who is so cute?” Alexandra asked, trying to concentrate on the gnarled traffic.

  “That guy playing guitar,” said Taylor, turning around in her seat for a last look at him as their car sped down the street. “He couldn’t keep his eyes off you.”

  “I’ve seen him before,” revealed Alexandra. “He plays that guitar in the park every day. I always see him when I take Jack out for a walk.”

  “So why don’t you talk to him?” Taylor asked.

  “He’s a stranger,” Alexandra pointed out. “I’m not going to walk up to some random guy and introduce myself. What’s if he’s some kind of psycho or something?”

  “What if he’s not?” asked Taylor. “You’ll never know, will you?”

  “We might still make it to my grandmother’s house in time for dinner,” Alexandra said, trying to change the subject.

  “Cool,” said Taylor, suddenly preoccupied with rummaging through her bulky handbag for nail polish. “Check it out,” she said, pulling a CD case and bottle of pink polish from her bag. “Antonio sent this CD to me from Rome.”

  Horns blared as Alexandra barreled down the access ramp toward the interstate. Taylor’s long, blond hair whipped into her face and stung her eyes. “Maybe we should put the top up?�
� Taylor shouted.

  “No time now,” yelled Alexandra. “I want to get there before dark.” She maneuvered into the far left lane of traffic and pressed her right foot down harder on the accelerator. “Who is Antonio?” she asked.

  “He was my tour guide in Italy,” explained Taylor. “I told you about my dreamy Antonio. He must be in love with me. He sent me this CD so I can learn to speak Italian.” She popped a silver disc into the CD player and turned the stereo’s volume up as high as it could go.

  “Ciao!” boomed a husky male voice with a heavy Italian accent through the speakers.

  “Ciao!” Taylor repeated, giggling, as she brushed bright-pink nail polish on her big toes.

  Alexandra rolled her eyes and glanced at the rearview mirror. The smoggy Atlanta skyline fell further behind her as she sped east toward the South Carolina coast. Next stop, Peyton Manor, Alexandra announced to herself.

  “Where exactly are we going again?” Taylor asked, plugging a GPS into a socket in the dashboard.

  “Edisto Island,” Alexandra explained. “And I don’t need that,” she said pointing at the GPS. “I know my way with my eyes closed.”

  “I thought you said we were going to Charleston,” said Taylor, hesitant to unplug the digital navigator.

  “We’re going to be about an hour south of Charleston,” Alexandra told her, “where there are not as many tourists.”

  As Alexandra settled into the soft leather driver’s seat, she kept her eyes on the road ahead. She was looking forward to the feeling of sand between her toes. Her grandmother had been begging her to visit all summer. Granny June’s parents, her brother Joseph, and her husband Thomas Peyton had all passed on. So except for Patrick, the cook, Granny June lived alone in the rambling beachfront home. The estate had been built by the shipping fortune earned by Granny June’s father, a business that had been continued by her husband. It was a grand home, lodged between forest and ocean in the hamlet of Edisto.

  Alexandra was always welcome at Peyton Manor. June had the time and money to lavish on her only grandchild. But June could not give her the thing that Alexandra wanted most: the return of Alexandra’s father, an archaeologist, who had gone missing. Although Alexandra’s parents were divorced, she had spent a lot of time with her father, and they had formed a close-knit relationship. She desperately wanted her father to come home. But the FBI and Interpol had not contacted them in over a year with any new information about Jonathan Peyton’s disappearance. He had joined an archaeological dig in southern Germany to unearth a possibly thousand-year-old village. What happened to him after that, no one knew.

  In the two years since her father had vanished, Alexandra had visited her grandmother only once. The first Christmas after her father’s disappearance, she’d come to see Granny June, but it had been a sad time. Framed pictures and postcards (Granny June’s most treasured memories of her son Jonathan) hung on every wall; these pictures haunted Alexandra. To her, the house was a museum to her father’s life, not a home waiting for his return.

  Alexandra knew she had avoided a visit to her grandmother for too long; and as she drove, she thought of how badly she wanted to hug her Granny June and tell her that she loved her. As the passing miles of tall Georgia pines brought her closer to Peyton Manor, she swore to herself that she would take nothing for granted anymore. Her upcoming senior year, college applications, the prom—so much loomed on the horizon. She needed her dad, but she also needed to continue with her life.

  Driving with the wind in her hair, Alexandra thought of the last time she saw him. After her freshman year at Collinsworth Academy, she had visited him at Granny June’s house during summer vacation. The divorce had been finalized, and her father had just taken a sabbatical from his post as an archaeology professor at the University of Georgia.

  Her father knew that she feared the water, but he convinced Alexandra to spend the afternoon with him on the sailboat that Granny June kept moored at the local marina. A blazing sun and a strong wind beat against the two of them as they sailed out of the marina’s docks and into the harbor. Alexandra tried to keep up with her father’s shouts to jab and hoist, until she finally realized that it would be safer to keep out of his way and soak up the sun at the rear of the boat.

  When he anchored in the middle of the harbor, she listened to him tell her about his plans to travel to Europe for a research trip. A colleague and friend of his had stumbled upon the remains of a medieval castle and wanted him to assist with the excavation. As the boat rocked back and forth, Alexandra tried to concentrate on her father’s words, but she did not tell him about the sour feeling in her gut. She felt thankful for the wind that whipped her hair across her face and hid the tears welling in her eyes.

  Weeks after their sail through the harbor, while he was at the dig, her father sent her an email. He assured her that all was well with the excavation, but that he missed her terribly and wanted her to visit as soon as her Collinsworth schedule allowed. She never heard from him again.

  The FBI and Interpol had sent June Peyton a few updates in the months that followed until finally admitting that they had no clues—no leads at all. Alexandra’s father had simply vanished. As time passed with no verification of the missing man’s status, the family was left in limbo and found it hard to move forward. Without knowing if he was alive or dead, their loss was ambiguous and their grief was unresolved. Granny June had plastered her house with memories of him. Alexandra’s mother, Angela, although divorced from him, had the diamond from her wedding ring made into a small pendant necklace that she wore every day. As for Alexandra, she had not been able to listen to Taylor’s consoling words. Alexandra was unable to say goodbye, and it was beginning to look like the family’s uncertainty would last for years. Despite her persistent sorrow, she knew that she must move forward with her senior year, which was why she was making this trip.

  Alexandra had not set foot on the sailboat since her last day with her father, but Granny June had refused to sell it. Her father loved the ocean and enjoyed the boat, which he had named the Miss Alex. He had always told Alexandra that she reminded him of the sea. “You’re a force of nature, Alex,” he had said to her on their last day on the boat together. “You’re beautiful—deep and bold, like the ocean. Neither of you can be told what to do by a mere man like me.”

  As she remembered her decision to start to move on with her life, a gust of wind suddenly buffeted the open convertible and flipped her long hair into her face. She pried the auburn locks from her wet eyes. The Atlanta skyline lay miles behind the speeding Mercedes, and ahead stretched miles of open road.

  “You’re even quieter than usual over there,” poked Taylor as she slathered her thumbnail in glittery polish. “Do you like this color?” she asked, shoving her sparkling finger in Alexandra’s face. “It’s called Pretty Princess Pink.”

  “Suits you,” muttered Alexandra, as she swatted her friend’s hand away from her face.

  “Stop it, Alex,” whined Taylor. “You smudged it,” she said as she applied another layer of polish.

  “Arrivederci!” said the Italian voice in the car’s speakers.

  “Arrivederci!” repeated Alexandra as she hit the off button on the stereo.

  “Why are you being such a grouch?” asked Taylor, puckering her lips and blowing her nails dry.

  “Sorry, Taylor,” Alexandra grunted. “I was just thinking about the last time I was on my grandmother’s sailboat.”

  “Your grandmother has a sailboat?” shrieked Taylor excitedly. “You never told me that. Do you know how to drive it or whatever?”

  “No, but my Dad did,” said Alexandra.

  “Oh—um, okay,” Taylor stumbled over her words, realizing that Alexandra had been quiet because she had been thinking about her father.

  Alexandra kept her eyes on the road. “Tomorrow I’ll take you to the marina where the boat is docked. There should be lots of cute rich boys hanging around during the summer, just like at your dad’s country cl
ub. You’ll feel right at home.”

  “I can always count on you to look out for me, Alex,” smiled Taylor as she twisted shut the top of the nail polish bottle. “Are we there yet?” she asked, yawning.

  Alexandra pointed to a mileage sign as the convertible sped past it. “Charleston, one hundred miles,” she read aloud.

  “Yuck,” moaned Taylor, as she reclined her seat. “You’ll wake me if something exciting happens?”

  “I promise,” said Alexandra, glancing up at the totally blue sky. “Do you hear that?” she asked Taylor suddenly.

  “Hear what?” asked Taylor, her eyes closed. She snuggled against the soft, warm leather of the passenger seat.

  “It sounds like thunder,” said Alexandra. She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head and squinted at the sun, unsure of where the noise had come from.

  “No, I didn’t hear anything,” Taylor whispered as she drifted into sleep.

  “How do you put the top up on this thing?” asked Alexandra, but Taylor was already snoring beside her. “Never mind, I guess. A cold shower will do her good anyway,” Alexandra muttered to herself as she listened to her friend giggle and snort in her sleep.

  She thought that she heard her dreaming friend say, “I told you they’re real, Antonio. Let me show you.” Astonished, Alexandra veered into the lane next to her; but the sharp horn blast of a minivan focused her attention back to the road.

  “Sorry,” she mouthed at the angry woman in the van and waved as she regained control of the steering wheel.

  Slowing down, she carefully eased open the glove compartment. “What else did you bring for us to listen to, Taylor?” she asked, glancing at her snoozing friend. Alexandra tossed aside a wad of napkins to try to find any other CD besides Taylor’s Italian lessons. “A pack of cigarettes and more nail polish,” Alexandra inventoried. Disappointed, she slammed closed the glove box.

  She punched a button on the stereo, and it searched in vain for a clear station until a country twang echoed through the speakers. Alexandra turned up the volume to drown out Taylor’s dreamy coos for Antonio. She passed the miles singing along to ballads of broken-down pickup trucks and dirty women.