“ALLEN. HEY.” Her voice was scratchy. “I can explain.”
He came closer. “Ish—what the—what are you doing here?”
Now in his late forties, he’d aged impressively, a chiseled structure beneath his tan skin. Only a few gray hairs were visible in his sun-drenched, russet hair. He had that weathered surfer look she loved.
“You smell like peanut butter,” she said, drawing her hand away from the phone.
“I was—on a walk,” he said. He pointed over his shoulder to the door of the apartment as if that explained. “Couldn’t sleep.”
She gave a weak smile. “PB&J for breakfast. That’s still your thing?”
“Ish, what happened to you? I’ve been so—” He swallowed his words. “Everyone thinks you’re dead.”
Yeah, ah—about that. Can I have a sip of water before I answer that? I’m parched,” she said, stalling.
She moved into the kitchen, too tired to care that she was unclothed. She took a glass from the cabinet and turned the faucet on. She stood over the sink and chugged the water, exhaling heavily as she set the glass down.
“Where have you been?” he asked. “How—why are you here?”
She was already refilling and gulping greedily. She turned and faced his gaze.
“I know I have a lot of explaining to do,” she said. She offered a faint smile. “I’m not sure I understand it all myself. But I couldn’t go home. Small park. Nosy neighbors. This was the only other safe place I could think of.”
She walked the few steps to the bathroom and retrieved a towel from a hook, wrapping it around her body.
“Can I take a shower?” she asked.
“Whatever you need. . .where are your clothes?”
“I’m not trying to put you in a difficult situation. I really—I just—had nowhere else to go.”
“Look, of course I’m glad you’re back—you’re alive—you’re here, but—” His voice pulsed with emotion. “But Ish, you’re engaged.”
She nodded. “I almost forgot.” She looked at him and smiled.
He didn’t smile back.
“Okay. You got me.” She shifted her stance nervously. “I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.”
“Decision’s been made for you,” he said. “The wedding was canceled.”
“Man, how long have I been gone?”
“Seventeen days.”
“Someone’s been counting.”
He puffed a laugh, looking at her in disbelief.
“This is serious, Ish,” he said. “Where have you been?”
“What’d they do with all my paintings and clothes and stuff? I had this great canvas I was working on . . .”
“Did you not hear me? Where the hell have you been?”
“I heard you,” she said. “Loud and clear. I just don’t have an answer yet.”
“And since when did you have dreadlocks?” he asked, relaxing a bit. “I wouldn’t have thought Nicholas would be into that kind of thing.”
The last thing on her mind was her tangled hair and whether Nicholas would approve.
He finally spoke. “They haven’t done anything with your stuff. The trailer’s still in your dad’s name, so they can’t really do anything without his permission.”
“That takes a load off.”
“There’ve been offers though,” he said. “To buy your trailer. That’s what I hear, at least. Some guy who lives in that million-dollar trailer park up in Malibu is trying to get his hands on it. Your trailer has a rooftop deck. Makes it worth more.”
“Screw that. They can’t sell my trailer right out from under me.”
“Look, don’t freak out,” he said. “I heard Nicholas already paid the space rent for the next few months.”
She exhaled relief and laughed faintly.
“Of course he did. Good ole Nicholas saves the day,” she said. She looked to Allen and then down at her hands.
“Damn,” she said. “I screwed that up, didn’t I?”
“What were you doing down there anyways? Why go to Baja in the first place?”
“Nicholas and I had a huge fight.”
“Dare I ask?”
“He wanted to use some connection he had in a foreign embassy to find my dad.”
“Hmm.” Allen’s mind seemingly drifted into thoughts of the past. “And that’s wrong because . . . ?”
“Any dad who heads down to South America on a surf trip and doesn’t call his daughter for nine years is not worth the search.”
“So you just decided to disappear yourself?”
“No. I went to Baja—if you must know—because I’d tracked down the priest that married my parents. I was hoping to find some information about my mom.”
He nodded slowly, his gaze meeting hers. He understood her past and what this meant to her.
“Just so you know, Nicholas didn’t want me to go alone to Baja either,” she said. “He was super busy because it was so close to the . . .” Her voice trailed off briefly. “Anyways, he’d already taken a bunch of time off.”
“You can say it. Wedding. I got an invitation.”
She exhaled heavily. “Yeah. I should have known this would be too weird.”
“No. Look. Nicholas wanted you to invite your dad to the wedding, didn’t he?” He shrugged. “That’s noble enough.”
She eased onto a nearby stool, readjusting her towel, grateful to give her tired legs a rest.
“Nicholas was frustrated that I wanted to research my long-lost mom rather than track down my dad. He told me I had my priorities all mixed up. And maybe I do. Shoot. Anyway. He told me he’d take me down there on the yacht after we got married. Make a vacation out of it. Said I wouldn’t have to lift a finger.”
He looked at her for a moment. “Knowing you, I’m sure that pissed you off,” he said. “His offer to pamper you.”
She swallowed, not wanting to admit how well he knew her.
“You didn’t screw anything up, Ish. You were in a car accident. It wasn’t your fault.” His eyebrows lifted. “You were in a car accident, right?”
“I meant I screwed up by coming here—to you.”
She looked at him. His jaw was clenched.
“That came out wrong,” she said. She pulled at a loose thread on the towel, letting the air clear. “So, you’ve already brought him up. Spill the beans. What do you know? Where is he?”
“Who?”
“My dad.”
Allen walked across the room.
“I know as much as you do,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked out the window. He stood in the one spot in the apartment that afforded an ocean view. She knew the sight of the waves in the early grey light soothed him. “Your dad’s probably still in South America somewhere. After your accident, I reached out to a few ex-pat buddies of mine down there. Nobody’s seen him in years.”
“So he doesn’t even know about the accident?”
“Unless he reads the American papers online.”
“Typical. Dad’s MIA.”
“Hate to mention it, but so are you.” He crossed the room and started fumbling in the kitchen. “There are more clean towels in the—well, you know where the towels are.”
“If this is too much, I can—“
She stood again and winced at the strain. Everything seemed to ache.
“No. It’s fine,” he said. “I’m fine. I’ll give you some privacy. I’ll go help Eleanor downstairs.” He took his hooded sweatshirt off a hook and pulled it on over his head. “I just hope I don’t go downstairs and come back to find that this was only a dream.
You’re really here, aren’t you?”
“Barely,” she said. “But this is me. More than I know what to do with.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I need some time to figure all this out. And I’d appreciate if you —“
“I have no intentions of saying anything to anyone, Ish. I can wait on the answers. As long as—”
He caught himself.
“As long as I only share my secrets with you,” she said.
She knew from the look on his face that she was spot on.
She felt the wooly beast of resentment waking from its hibernation in her chest.
“You just love secrets, don’t you?” she asked.
She couldn’t believe she’d said it. Immediately she wanted to take it back. She’d come here because she trusted him, not to argue. She’d forgiven him. Why couldn’t she admit that?
“It was one night, Ish. I’ve said I’m sorry a hundred times.
You know if I could take it back I would. It broke my heart when you left me.”
“And you don’t think you broke mine?”
She’d never told him that.
He looked at her. “You’re not wearing your ring.”
She bit her lip, not able to make eye contact. “I lost it in the wreck.”
“Of course.”
“Just give me some more time,” she said. “I’ll sort this out.”
“You know I will. I’ll give you anything I can. But the facts don’t add up, Ish. You couldn’t possibly have survived that.” He stared at her, scanning her face for an explanation. “I have a million questions.”
In her silence, he turned to go but then paused with his hand on the doorknob.
“I don’t want to leave this room,” he said.
Then don’t, she was tempted to say, but she remained silent.
“That shirt of mine you used to always wear is still in the bottom drawer,” he said. “I still have a pair of your jeans too. And don’t give me any crap about that being creepy. It’s not like I take them out and smell them or anything.”
He looked at her before opening the door. She loved his brown eyes.
“Listen, I guess I should just come out and say it. I—well— thank you. For coming here. For trusting me. For giving me a second chance.”
“Allen, it’s not like I’m—”
He held up a hand to shush her. “Just—thank you. Let’s leave it at that. I shouldn’t have added the second part.”
A dimpled grin broke through on his serious face, and she couldn’t resist smiling back.
“I’ll be here when you get back,” she said.
“Just take a bath,” he urged. “Not a shower. You look whipped. I’m worried about you standing in the steam and all.”
She wasn’t sure whether she liked him babying her. There was no denying she liked the attention, but Allen was almost two decades older. He could get overbearing, paternal. But then, there was that smile again. Damn. Before she could stop, another grin washed over her face in response. She walked across the room, pursing her lips to contain it.
“Get out of here. Let me shower,” she said, pressing a hand into his chest.
He covered her hand with his and held it there. She felt the hardness of his sternum, the definition of his muscles, the sweetness of those maple syrup eyes.
“No shower,” he said. “Bath.”
“Got it. No shower.”
She nodded and pushed him out the door. She wasn’t quite ready to offer an explanation if the bathtub caused her to change back into a mermaid again.