I’d been too nervous to find a place to hide and watch the action, but by the time the cork popped on our third bottle of champagne back at Reefside that evening, I thought I had the whole story. The short of it was, the plan had worked perfectly. June was charming and completely convincing as the college employee who pulled Peyton from her classroom. State trooper Mel had apparently put the fear of God—or jail—into the girl. And William and Walter had played good attorney, bad attorney, using the perfect amount of push and pull until Peyton handed over her phone and the only copy of the video was downloaded onto the newly purchased iOS drive and then deleted, along with all of her other content.
The single gaffe had come when Mel called William by the name we’d used for Walter. Peyton questioned it, but William had smoothly covered by telling them that “even the court clerk makes that mistake from time to time.”
From beside me, Mel scowled at the reminder of her mistake, her sulky tone almost ruining the celebration. “You’re the one who forgot the damn money.”
Part of the plan had been to charge Peyton with two hundred dollars in “fees,” an amount which would double what Beck had made during her extra work. I waved dismissively, practically giddy as I held the cork from the previous bottle. “That was icing on the cake. We got what we really needed.”
Wanting to overcome her resentment as they teased about her goof, I reached for Mel’s knee, giving it a squeeze. “You were wonderful.” I gestured at them with my glass. “All of you. I can’t thank you enough. Honestly. This was absolutely perfect.”
Everyone began talking again, rehashing their roles in the Colossal Coed Caper, as William had dubbed it. June tapped my shoulder. “When are you going to tell Beck?”
“More importantly, how am I going to tell her?” I replied, my celebratory mood turning to unease. “I mean, what if Beck is in love with that girl and wants to make up, to forgive her?” The words tasted strangely ashy in my mouth.
“Too bad, so sad,” Mel sang. “Spike is all yours now, Em.” I began to protest, and she laughed. “Oh wait, that’s right. I forgot. You don’t want her. You just don’t want anyone else to have her.” Disregarding my pained gasp, she stood, taking June’s hand. “Come on, baby. Let’s go look at some dirty videos.” She wiggled the iOS flash drive.
“Mel, no.” She could say whatever she wanted about me, but I couldn’t stomach the idea of her watching illicit images of Beck. I rose, reaching for the device. “Not that video.”
“Why the hell not?” She held it behind her, out of sight. “I paid for it, didn’t I?”
I hated it when Mel got this way. She was a loyal friend who’d pulled me from my self-absorbed world on many occasions. After financing this whole adventure without questioning my motives, she’d turned into the egotist whose own wants were paramount, leaving nothing but malice for anything standing in her way. Once her focus turned to I, me, and mine, anyone else’s feelings were a distant whisper. To my surprise, June came to my rescue.
“Emily’s right, babe.” Her voice softened. “We wouldn’t want other people looking at our videos.” The W’s looked away as she leaned into Mel, whispering something that was clearly intimate. She pulled on Mel’s arm and slipped the flash drive from her hand. Handing it to me, she murmured, “Let’s go visit some of our own greatest hits instead, okay?”
And just like that, the party was over. I thanked the W’s again, and we said good night. Most of the buzzy thrill I’d felt earlier was gone, but a pleasant feeling of satisfaction remained. I had good news for Beck, and though I wasn’t exactly sure why it mattered so much, it did. I would figure out how to tell her in the morning.
The walk from Reefside to the Guest House was becoming as routine as if I’d stopped off at my neighborhood grocery, and I smiled when I found I was still holding a champagne cork. I put it in the found jar alongside the metal and the matchbook.
* * *
As it turned out, I didn’t tell Beck, though I truly intended to. I woke early, anticipating her morning arrival, but the scooter engine had barely shut off before she came rushing up the stairs, shouting my name and waving her old phone. Heads close, we puzzled over the “unexpected” message from Peyton offering a sincere sounding apology and a promise that no video would be posted, along with a rather touching good-bye. Beck was incredibly happy, and I decided anything I could say about the Colossal Coed Caper would only diminish her joy.
“Will you miss her?” I asked, still feeling that odd twinge of insecurity over what we’d done.
Beck’s expression was unusually tough to read, and she looked at me for a long time before she spoke. “I’d rather have a constant friend like you than a sometime fake lover like her.”
I was so relieved, I felt as if my insides inflated. We smiled at each other for a moment. Then she said, “You have to come see the kittens. They’re getting bigger, and they’re really fun to watch.”
Watch? Did they do dramatic reenactments of significant historical events or perform interpretive dance to popular show tunes? I sighed dramatically but let myself be taken downstairs to the dusty garage. Beck flicked on the light, but they’d clearly heard us coming and were ready for breakfast.
She called, “Morning, babies,” and the noise level increased to what I imagined feeding time at a zoo would be like. Their repetitive, plaintive meows sounded like desperate cries, but once they were fed, they went relatively still, the complaining replaced by contented purrs. I could see none of them had missed a meal recently. The multicolored, plump little furballs were obviously eating well out of their weight class.
“Is the mother still around?” I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d abdicated her responsibilities since Beck was doing such a good job.
“Oh yeah. She’ll be by to eat at some point.” She pointed, and I saw another bowl of food on part of a bookshelf the greedy babies couldn’t reach. Yet.
Beck finished her duties and came to squat by my chair. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” she said, sounding serious.
“Thinking about what?”
“Which of these kittens you might like best.”
I stood. “Oh no. You will not get me to keep one of these beasts. You can forget that noise right now.”
Beck waved her hands placatingly. “Not to keep. Just to play with while they’re here.”
“Why would I want do that?”
“Come on.” She eased me back into the chair. “You have to admit they’re cute.”
I shook my head. “I don’t do cute. I’m a horror novelist.”
“Horror romance, isn’t it?” She grinned. “That means you have a soft side buried in there somewhere. And I know the perfect gal to bring it out.”
I raised a brow. “Oh, you do, do you?” The greedy pack had finished eating, and one or two were quietly cleaning themselves while the rest were flinging their fluffy bodies wildly at each other or at some unknown enemy among the ruined furniture. While it was true that they weren’t quite as bad as I made them out to be, and I did have to laugh when two of them approached each other with samurai-style wrestling moves, I had no desire to get any closer.
Beck had other plans. She moved among them for a moment before returning, holding a sleek white kitten who was eyeing me curiously. “This is Sugar. I named her that because she’s sweet. She’s the quiet type who can usually be found reading in the corner or doing tai chi alone.”
I would have laughed, but she deposited the kitty on my lap, and I was afraid it would scratch me if I moved. “Beck…”
“Relax, Emily. Pet her. Like this. Gently but firmly.” She ran her hand across the cat’s head and side and tickled her under the chin. Sugar bowed beneath her touch, and I felt a kind of electricity, as if Beck were touching me instead of the furry creature in my lap. “Try it,” she said, oblivious to my reaction. She took my hand and placed it on Sugar’s back, where the motor of her purring added to the odd thrumming inside me.
I jerked my hand away, and the kitten gave me a look. Her startling green eyes appraised me coolly, and I wondered if she found me lacking. You know how to pet a girl, I thought, chuckling to myself at the thought. Beck was watching, so I moved my hand carefully along Sugar’s delicate frame. Her fur was softer than I expected, and after a few seconds, she settled into my lap like we’d done this before. I was stunned.
What I hadn’t told Beck was that, in my experience, animals didn’t like me. Strays that would eat out of other people’s hands would run from me. The lion at the zoo who had lain for hours in the sun, entertaining my eighth-grade class, had abruptly gone into its private area when I’d approached. Even house pets, for whatever reason, wouldn’t come around me or would only tolerate my attention for a few seconds. Eventually, I’d given up and decided I didn’t like them either.
I ran my fingers to the tip of Sugar’s thin tail and back onto her head. She rubbed her chin against me, closing her eyes as if it was the best thing she’d ever felt. I admired her perfectly formed but delicate body. “She’s small.”
“She’s the runt,” Beck said softly. “Probably the last one born. I used to have to feed her separately because she ate slowly, and the others would get her food.”
“But she’s okay now?” I asked as she began kneading the leg of my shorts. There was a sharp point of claw every now and then, but it didn’t really hurt.
“Yeah. She’s okay now.” I could hear the smile in Beck’s voice, but I didn’t look over. “She likes you.”
Yeah, right. I knew where this was going. I dropped my hand. “Please take her,” I said, still not looking at Beck.
“Sure.” She moved to us. “Come on, Sugar. Go play with your brothers and sisters.”
The cat made a tiny meow in protest, reaching toward me with a dainty paw. I looked away as Beck put her on the ground. “Hey,” she said, her voice light as she led me toward the door. “Would you mind if we looked in on the metal supply in the next room? I’m starting to feel like working again, and I want to remember what’s in there.”
Beck puttered around for a while, talking to herself about the various pieces. I settled on a small patch of grass in the shade and watched, feeling pleased with myself, as if her progress toward this prize was my own. The day wasn’t too warm yet, and there was a nice breeze coming off the ocean. After a few minutes, I stretched out on my back, enjoying the few fluffy clouds drifting by. I had a strange sensation like I’d done this before, though I couldn’t imagine when. I closed my eyes and envisioned Abby lying on my right, pointing at a cloud. I hadn’t pictured her this way since I was eleven, that horrible year after she’d been taken. There had been several frightening months in foster care where her pretend visits were my only comfort. After my Aunt Sharon came to claim me, I’d believed she would be my savior. That was my last encounter with belief or saviors.
“That looks like a kitten,” my imaginary Abby said. I saw no resemblance in the cloud’s shape, but I certainly wasn’t going to tell her that. A sound to my left distracted me. I turned and opened my eyes. Sugar meowed softly from close to my face. “Abby,” I whispered. “Is that you?”
Sugar pushed her fuzzy cheek against my chin, purring loudly. I reached out a tentative finger. My sister would have loved this kitten. She’d had such a kind and loving heart. Nothing like me, I thought, choking back tears.
“Beck,” I called, trying to keep my voice low so it wouldn’t startle the cat, though she seemed content to rub against my hand. I heard an answer from inside the garage, though I couldn’t make out the words. “That white kitten is out here.”
“Huh?” After a few seconds, her head popped out from the doorway. “Oh, hi, Sugar. It’s okay. They’ve all been out a few times, but Mama always rounds them up again. She doesn’t think they’re ready for the great outdoors, but a few minutes while we’re here won’t hurt. We’ll put her in when we go up.”
I sat up, feeling unnerved. “Are you getting hungry?”
“Yeah, kinda,” she answered absently, still looking into the garage. After a few more seconds, she looked back as if seeing me for the first time. “Oh, Emily. I’m sorry. I dragged you out of the house without warning, didn’t I? I’m a terrible guest. Let me fix breakfast to make it up to you.” She stepped out and began to shut the door. The loud squeaking sound made Sugar jump, and she scooted into the other garage door.
“WD-40,” Beck muttered to herself, slapping her own leg sharply. “I told you that last time.”
I stood and went to her. “Beck,” I said softly. “There’s been a lot going on since last time. You need to give yourself a break on the WP-120 or whatever it is.”
“I just get so mad at myself when I forget stuff like that. It’s what stupid people do.”
“Everyone forgets things, Beck. It’s perfectly normal.”
Her words were the slightest bit hesitant. “I thought we had rejected normal.”
“True,” I agreed. “I should have said, all users of HD-75 forget things from time to time.”
“WD-40.” She pronounced the name slowly, sounding almost like a commercial. “It lubricates, penetrates, and protects.”
I opened my mouth to make a smart remark like “Exactly the attributes you want in a girlfriend,” but thought better of it. Beck must have thought I was confused because she added, “It makes things work more smoothly and not make noises like that.”
“I see.” I took her arm, walking her slowly toward the stairs. “Perhaps they would like to sponsor your first showing.” I gestured as if reading a banner. “WD-40 presents: The Wonderful Works of Beck Reynolds.”
She leaned into me lightly. “I’m terrified at the idea of a show. What if people don’t come? Or what if they do, but they say terrible things about my work? What if it’s all a flop, and I’ve totally been wasting my time making trash?”
“You can’t think like that,” I said firmly. “Listen, I’m always nervous before a signing, and I’ve done quite a few of them. I’m still scared I’m going to make mistakes when I’m reading, and I worry they won’t like my story.”
“Really?”
I nodded. “The worst part is I usually can’t eat that day, and I get even shakier when I’m hungry.”
We’d reached the foot of the stairs. “Is that a hint?” There was a twinkle in her eye that made me grin.
Normally, I kept my inner Southerner at a great distance, as some New Yorkers would think that accent marked me as stupid and an easy target. In this case, I was careful to exaggerate my drawl, not wanting her to think I was mocking her. “Heavens above, Beck Reynolds, I wouldn’t dream of suggesting anything so impertinent.”
The smile on Beck’s face faded, replaced with a slight frown, making me suspect her word of the day practice hadn’t gotten to that one yet. “Race you,” she said before I could think of what to do, and dashed up the steps.
She made us lovely omelets, and I supplied the coffee. We both ate hungrily, with scant conversation, and she made short work of our dishes, though I offered. Having noticed that she cast repeated glances downstairs, I asked, “Did you want to do some more in the second garage?”
“Yes, if you don’t mind.” She looked at me hopefully.
“Of course I don’t mind, silly. You can go in there anytime you’re here. Once you get your W-2 on that door, I probably won’t notice.”
Beck laughed. “WD-40, Emily,” she repeated carefully. “W-2 is for taxes. Even I know that.”
I looked at her for a moment. “Would you do me a favor, Beck?”
She nodded solemnly. “If I can, I will.”
“You can do this, I’m sure. Will you please try not to talk badly about yourself? For example, don’t say things like even I know that or accuse yourself of being stupid. It makes me sad to know you think less of yourself, because I don’t. I think you are an exceptional person.”
She looked away. “But the thing is, those thoughts are already in my head, and they just come out sometimes.”
“I know. I know how it is to have bad things in your head. But you have to let them go. Or make them go. Don’t live with them as if they are the truth.”
She looked back at me. “Is that what you do?”
I took in a breath. “Not very well, most of the time. But I’ll try harder if you will.”
She looked into my face for what seemed like a long time before holding out her hand. “Deal.”
We shook. Not letting go, she leaned in and kissed me on the cheek, a quick, soft peck. “And I think you’re exceptional too,” she whispered in my ear and walked out the door.
I was standing in the same spot, trying to figure out how to react, when I heard the second garage door squeak open. Unable to decide on anything else, I went to work on my short story. It was going a little differently than I expected, as sometimes happened in writing, and I barely heard the door closing some time later. Then Beck called, “Bye, Emily,” and the scooter roared away.
It was early afternoon and getting to be hot, so I decided to take a nap.
* * *
It shouldn’t have come then, but it did. It had been a nice morning, and I felt good. But I never could figure out what triggered the dreams: my mood, the company I kept, drinking or not drinking, or the phase of the moon. I only knew the ones about Abby were seasonal, occurring during the warmer months, like the real thing had. But this wasn’t quite the same as the usual.
It started earlier in that dreadful evening, as Abby and I were getting ready for bed. The room we’d shared was decorated with animals, jungle images on one wall, ocean life on another, forest life, and so on. Abby was going through a phase where she’d pretend to tame the animals, and sometimes the lion or the bear would bite her. At that point, she’d want me to bandage her imaginary wound, and then she’d sleep with me in my twin bed instead of in her own. She usually fell asleep promptly and slept soundly without a lot of thrashing about, so I really didn’t mind, but I always acted like I did. She’d been pleading with me in that pitiful but not serious way that always made me change my mind, when our mother came in. Abby turned to her, begging to sleep in my bed, but she said no. Mother usually babied Abby, but that night she’d said Abby needed to sleep on her own like a big girl.
So we were in separate beds. She was pretending to read aloud from the book in her arms. Her voice morphed into a popular song from the radio—“Another Lonely Night”—until it gradually fell quiet. I had a flashlight because I loved books, and even the long summer days didn’t give me enough time to play and read. But I’d fallen asleep with the flashlight on, and now it had burned out. The room was too dark for me to see what was making that sound, although I felt a sense of growing panic in expectation of finding out. Perhaps the tooth fairy had made a wrong turn and was going to leave some money by mistake?
Abby made a complaining sound as if something had awakened her too, and she said, “Daddy?”
Our father was out of town on a church retreat. Abby knew that but had likely forgotten in her sleepy state. I shook the flashlight vigorously and tried it again, confused when a weak beam of light illuminated…not him but Beck.
Except it was Beck as a man. “Abby makes you sad, so I’m taking her away. That was our deal.”
“No,” I screamed, sitting up. “No, no it wasn’t,” I repeated, hearing my own voice, still trying to stop them. Shaking my head, I came fully awake.
I went to the bathroom and splashed water on my face before sitting at the kitchen table, trying to make sense of it all. These nightmares were never warnings. It was too late for that. One therapist had told me it was my mind trying to rationalize something which didn’t and wouldn’t ever make sense. Another had said it was my emotions needing to be released, and once I had done that, the dreams would stop. By “emotions,” I was sure she meant guilt, but I could never be released from that, no matter what kind of deal I’d made with Beck.
Not meaning to, I thought of her sweet kiss and quiet words when I’d asked her not to think badly of herself. That had to be the most hypocritical thing I’d ever said. Even though there were times when being with Beck made me feel different, like someone who could be loving and lovable, being alone again made me face the hard truth. She didn’t know me at all. And it was time to stop pretending I could be her friend, or whatever I’d been doing. I’d be gone soon enough, and I wasn’t worth her time.
I got a glass of wine and went to my computer to read over what I’d written. It was stupid, sappy, romantic drivel, full of crappy sentiment and not at all like my work. First order of business: delete. I wiped out the whole file, even emptying the trash icon. Then I set about instilling serious vices and faults into those same characters while torturing them with doubts and the inability to successfully affect any change in themselves or in the world around them. Much more my style. Much more me.
* * *
“Emily.”
Someone was shaking me. I lifted my head from my arms, sucking the drool from the side of my mouth. I’d fallen asleep at my desk and probably had a keyboard imprinted on half my face.
“Are you okay?”
Was that Mel? Shit. As my consciousness returned, I vaguely recalled having finished that bottle of wine and opening another. My head was pounding, and my stomach burned. Fuck fuck fuck. Why couldn’t she just leave me alone? “What time is it?” I croaked.
“It’s kinda late. I was at a bonfire down the beach with some friends, but I left and walked over this way to…you know, to get some air. I saw your lights were on. I knocked, and when I didn’t hear anything, I got worried.”
Not Mel. Beck. Oh God, no. Mel had seen me in worse shape than this plenty of times. Beck had not. I looked around blearily. It seemed like every light was burning.
“Have you eaten anything tonight?” she asked. Her tone carried genuine concern, something I didn’t deserve. There was nothing but a trail of misery behind me, and Beck’s presence only reminded me of all that was lacking. My whole family had fallen apart, and it was all my fault. That same cowardice that had ruined our lives was still a part of me. Nothing I did now could change my past, and nothing she could do would transform my present. I wanted no part of her compassion. I snapped.
“That’s none of your fucking business, is it?” I snarled, shaking off the hand that still rested on my shoulder. “And I don’t need a goddamned nursemaid, thank you. Especially one who doesn’t even know what impertinent means.”
Beck’s expression altered, and she stepped away, looking defensive. “I looked it up. It means intrusive or presumptuous. Or rude,” she added pointedly.
Exasperation flared at her impudence, a verbal challenge I wasn’t prepared for. I struck out with a typically blunt reaction. “Fuck off, Beck. I mean it. Get the fuck out of here and stop bothering me all the damn time. I don’t need you, and I don’t want you around anymore, understand?”
She took two more steps away and blinked, before leaning back toward me. “Why? What did I do? Emily, I’m sorry if I made you mad about something.” She paused a few seconds as if thinking. “Is it because I kissed you? I just meant it as—”
“Shut up,” I screamed, which only served to make my head pound harder, making me angrier. I closed my eyes against the pain and spoke through gritted teeth. “God, are you so fucking brain-damaged you don’t understand what I’m telling you? Leave me…the hell…alone.” Turning away to avoid her face, I pointed out the deck door. “And get those goddamn cats out of here soon, or I swear I’m calling animal control.”
I didn’t hear her move across the room, but her voice was farther away when she spoke. “I need two weeks on the cats,” she said quietly.
“Two weeks and every damn one of them better be gone.” I swallowed and brushed my hand over my mouth, trying to pretend that the roiling in my stomach wasn’t happening, that the sweat gathering along my hairline was coming from the warmth of the evening. The bile of self-loathing rose in my throat and I swallowed audibly, knowing I was going to lose it soon.
“Thank you.” I waited until she closed the door before I opened my eyes and stood. My balance was shot, and I had to grab the edge of my desk to keep from falling. The wave of dizziness finished off what was left of my control, and I barely managed to take two steps toward the kitchen before I crashed to my knees and emptied my stomach onto the tile floor. Finally, I fell onto my side, and the coolness on my face felt nice. I would have rejected the comfort of it, but the stench I’d created made up for it. Partings were tragically easy, weren’t they? And unbearably impossible to forget.
* * *
June came to my rescue—yet again—when I called the next morning, begging her to bring over some ginger ale and crackers. She bustled in like Suzy Homemaker, opening the windows and doors to air the place out and mopping the floor. I’d done my best with paper towels, but that had been all I could manage before I passed out again on the couch.
“It’s official,” I moaned. “I’m dedicating this next book to you. Maybe the next three books.”
“So…” She pressed two aspirin into my hand. “Do you want to tell me what caused all this?”
I shook my head and regretted it immediately.
“Mel is worried about you,” June said, sitting on a vacant space on the couch. “And so are the W’s.”
“But you’re not?” I asked, through slitted lids. Why did the sun have to be this freaking bright?
“I was considering writing it off as artistic temperament.” She patted my leg. “But I think there’s something else going on. Something more personal.”
“My work is very personal,” I muttered. “At least it is to me.”
She said nothing, and I lay there, hoping she would think I’d gone to sleep. I felt her get up, heard her in the kitchen again. A cabinet closed, and the can opener whirred. A pot scraped onto the gas burner. I drifted until I felt her leaning over me.
“Here’s some tomato soup. Can you sit up and eat a little?”
Mine was a delicate stomach, but it seemed to recover fairly quickly. “Okay.” I groaned to a seated position. I blew on a spoonful and slurped. It tasted surprisingly good.
“Will you answer one thing?” June asked.
I should have known there would be a catch. No one was that nice. “Mmm,” I replied, hoping I sounded noncommittal.
“Is this about Beck?”
I choked on a sip. Beck. Oh my God, the things I’d said to her. Coughing, I dropped the spoon into the bowl. There were a dozen ways I could have ended our friendship, but I had chosen to be needlessly unkind. She was well rid of me, but it might take a while before she figured that out. Until then, she would be hurting, and it was all my fault.
June rose and went back to the kitchen. “I thought so. Whatever she did, I’m sure she’s sorry. Or whatever you did, you can always undo it.”
“Not always,” I mumbled, but she was busy putting the leftover soup in a container and rinsing out the pan.
She stood at the door, watching me for a minute. “Sometimes you have to give people, including yourself, a second chance.” She gestured at the soup bowl on the coffee table in front of me. “I’m leaving that in case you want some more later.”
But I knew I wouldn’t. No second chances for me.
* * *
Would I ever feel normal again? For days, I couldn’t seem to find an appetite for anything, though I forced down the rest of the soup that evening and was ridiculously grateful to find another can in the pantry. Mel and I hadn’t spoken since the Colossal Coed Caper, which already seemed like a lifetime ago, but I knew her advice would be “hair of the dog.” I had no interest in it, however. I considered officially giving up drinking but concluded I was too much of a weakling to make that kind of commitment. Eventually, I was able to eat some cereal with berries that were about to go bad and later, a salad. But the very idea of red meat seemed revolting. Was this how one became a vegetarian? You simply woke up one day and couldn’t stand the thought of eating animal flesh?
Additionally, my typical restlessness was now overridden by the capacity to sleep at any time. In the mornings, I made a point of staying in bed until Beck’s scooter had gone. When I heard her in the evenings, I would go and take my shower. I was ashamed for her to see me, and I didn’t want to tempt myself by accidentally catching a glimpse of her. Her routine gave an odd structure to my day that otherwise seemed ungrounded and almost pointless. I reread the short story and hated it more than the first version. I trashed it as well and decided not to try again, sending my regrets to the event’s founder along with a vague excuse about my health. Her reply was more than gracious and only made me feel worse. I spent an hour on social media, which I rarely did, and found it as insipid as ever. I checked in with my editor, but she wasn’t ready to send my second round of revisions.
“Start something new,” she suggested. “You always have something perking in that scheming mind of yours.”
But the fact was, I didn’t. I was as blank as a new canvas and every bit as boring. Just like my life. Perusing my e-reader, I found nothing in my library that interested me. The library. That was an idea. I needed to ask Beck where… Shit. I could have found it on the internet, but instead I went back to bed.
A few more days passed, and Mel called. I think she knew I wasn’t okay, but in typical Mel fashion, she ignored the elephant in the room since it didn’t belong to her. “Why don’t you come to dinner?” she suggested after an awkward silence. “The W’s bought like, a dozen fish to fry. You can take some home to have later too.” I knew this was as close to a peace offering as I was going to get. And though the idea of fish didn’t completely turn my stomach, the idea of company did. I declined politely with some lame excuse about starting a new book and not wanting to interrupt the creative process. I’d probably made a similar excuse to her a dozen times over the years, but she seemed to sense that this time, I was lying.
“We miss you,” she whined. “And June is sure you’re not eating well.”
“I’m fine, Mel. And tell June thanks for her concern. I’ll be over again before long.”
There was another pause. “How’s Spike?”
Something tightened inside. I struggled to keep my voice neutral. “I’m sure she’s fine. We haven’t spoken lately.”
“Trouble in paradise?”
I let out a breath. “Mel, you can be a real pain in the ass, you know?”
“I know.” After at least five seconds of silent contrition, she added, “But you still love me, right?”
Sighing, I looked outside. In spite of it all, Mel was a friend, and I didn’t have many of those. With her typical bullishness and lack of thorough planning, she had brought me here, giving me a taste of how different my life could be from the day-to-day in NYC. It was gorgeous outside. Sun and a warm ocean breeze filtered through the screen door. The air smelled like…it smelled like Beck, goddamn it. “Yeah, but I gotta go.” I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “Let’s talk in a couple of days.”
She was saying okay or good-bye or something else as I clicked off the call.
I went out and stood on the deck, letting the sun warm the empty space inside me. I considered going to walk on the beach, visualizing how the last of a wave rippling over my toes or watching the changing patterns of sand and light could be very therapeutic. But earlier, I’d planned on having Beck take me, and now I couldn’t imagine doing it without her. For a moment, I let myself feel how much I missed her and how I missed who I’d been when I was with her. How had she found her way inside my life so quickly?
There were people I’d known for years who had never gotten as close to me as Beck had. For a few shining moments, I’d let myself believe that I could change. That someone…Beck…could make me into a better person simply by being who she was. No magic. Just the companionship of someone truly good to bring out a better version of me. Regrettably, I’d chosen the easy way out, the rut, the return to selfishness and isolation and fear. Though they seemed out of place here, that rendering of myself fit perfectly in my daily life in the city. And along with already being there emotionally, I’d be going there physically soon enough. I sighed again and went inside, automatically sitting at the computer, though there wasn’t anything I was working on. I closed my eyes, going back to the image of sun and sea and sand…and Beck. In a tiny corner of my mind, I raised the question: was there a story I could write even if I would never live it?