THINGS WERE TENSE AT THE dinner table that evening.
The only reason I’d decided to show up at all was because I was feeling increasingly normal and thought I could handle it. I tried not to think about how attached I’d suddenly become to my own life. How suddenly things, and people, and events around me had begun to matter. How Roman reshaped the way I looked at men—not completely, but enough for me not to be scared of them. How Gail had reminded me that good friends are worth having.
Earlier, she and I had raided Hot Topic like we were twelve again, then had ice cream, then sat by the ramp on the promenade and rated random guys on skateboards from one to ten based on hotness, even though they were all sixteen. It just felt so real, so simple, so normal, I even managed to shove away all the bad stuff. The flashback, Shadow’s blood work, and even Mrs. Belfort’s request. I left another message on Dr. Wiese’s answering machine and decided that tomorrow I would deal with Mrs. B’s kids and pay Wiese a visit after I finished my shift at Café Diem.
Hannah clocked out for the day, but left us some grilled asparagus and sautéed potatoes, along with her mouthwatering lemon-garlic chicken. I carved the chicken and served the food while Pam read something on her cell phone and Darren drummed his fingers on the table. Shadow was all but tap-dancing under the table. It’d been a while since I’d seen him like this. Back when I was still the old Jesse, I used to eat dinner at the table every evening and slip him food when no one was watching. It was our own little secret. We had a few of those. Making him happy again was the one thing that kept me positive about this whole scenario.
When I sat down, both pairs of eyes flicked to me.
I looked between them. “Anything interesting about myself I should know?”
“Nothing.” Pam snapped open her napkin theatrically, resting it on her thighs. Darren didn’t answer.
“Did you get a phone call from Dr. Wiese by any chance?” I asked no one in particular. It was odd that I hadn’t heard from him yet, but I read on the internet that sometimes it could take weeks. I slipped Shadow a piece of lemon chicken, and he chewed so loudly, I had to fake a cough. They both looked at each other, puzzled.
“No.”
“Hey, honey.” Pam stabbed a piece of chicken and brought it to her mouth. She would eat her own foot before touching potatoes or anything else with carbs. By the term of endearment, I gathered she was talking to Darren and not me. “Did you know that Jesse started hanging out with Bane Protsenko? Do you know him?”
“I do,” Darren said conversationally, cutting his potatoes into tiny pieces. The aggression in his movements suggested he was either annoyed with Bane or with the potatoes. My money was on the former. “He’th bad newth.”
“Not to mention he’s got a name for himself as the town’s escort,” Pam added, chewing on a piece of chicken twenty-seven times. She’d read about it in a women’s magazine once and had been eating like a toothless turtle ever since. It was abnormal on so many levels. I refrained from mentioning how Pam didn’t seem too bothered by Bane’s reputation when she’d wanted to get into his pants, and a flame of jealousy immediately licked at my core. She’d tried to hit on Roman. My Roman. And now she was acting like he was dirt.
“Well, whatever his reputation is, I accepted a job at his café,” I said, and, because I knew timing was everything, brought an asparagus spear to my mouth, biting the tip and patting Shadow underneath with my socked foot. Pam’s eyebrows nosedived, and Darren put his utensils next to his plate, trying hard not to slam them.
“I wanted to talk to you about it. I’m tho happy you’ve dethided to find yourthelf a job. How about you come work for me? I’ll offer a nithe paycheck, a daily ride, and of courth, you can take ath much time off ath you need.”
There was an apology in his smile, and his eyes clung to mine.
“I’m happy at Café Diem. Thanks, Darren.”
“Stop being so ungrateful,” Pam snipped from across the table. “Darren is offering you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I think you should take it.”
“You took it.” I grinned. “Didn’t make you too happy, did it?”
She stood up, throwing her napkin on her plate. Guess she was done with her tiny piece of chicken. “How dare you!”
“How dare I?” I asked, still seated, my pulse slow and calm. “How dare you? You conveniently forgot about my existence until Bane walked into the picture, and we both know why you’re interested in my life now.”
“Jethy!” It was Darren’s turn to stand up and slap the edge of the table. “Don’t talk to your mother like thith!”
For the sake of good, synchronized choreography, I stood up, too. “Grow some eyes, Dar. She is sleeping with the better half of Todos Santos, and not even hiding it.”
“I don’t care about her!” he snapped, his face red, his eyes bloodshot. “I care about you. Are you and Bane friendth, or more?”
“More,” I chirped. “So much more, Darren. You have no idea.”
This was directed at Pam, a clear back-off statement, but it was Darren who looked about ready to explode.
“You’re thleeping with him?”
“Sheesh!” I shook my head, laughing. “It’s none of your business who I sleep with. You’re not my real dad, remember?”
“In that case, you’re not my daughter!” Pam yelled from across the table. God, I wished it were the truth. Unfortunately, the resemblance between us prior to her plastic surgeries was uncanny.
I shrugged. “I would tell you to sue me, but I have nothing to my name other than a rich stepdaddy.”
“That’th not true. You will inherit everything I have, Jethy. You know I care about you. When I die, everything will go to you.”
Actually, I had not known that. Pam hadn’t known it, either, based on the way her eyes widened and searched for his, but he was still looking at me.
I pushed my chair back and rounded the table. “I know you’re protective of me, Dar, and I understand why, because my mom isn’t, but please know Bane is not the issue. He is the only person who really understands me.”
“He doethn’t underthtand you.” Darren gripped the back of his chair, his face reddening further. What the hell was up with him? Sometimes I wished he’d just man up. Stand his ground and say what he needed to say. It was sad, but if he were to divorce Pam and find a nice woman who wasn’t turned off by his submissive nature, I’d be really happy for him.
“Hmm, yes he does.”
“He’th…thweetheart, your mom thaid it right. He ith an ethcort. He shouldn’t be mething with you. He should be helping you.”
“You don’t know him,” I gritted out.
“Neither do you.”
I wasn’t proud of what I did next, but it needed to be done. I stormed out of the kitchen and went up to my room, where I slammed the door like a moody teenager and dove headfirst into a sea of fluffy pillows. It took me minutes to finally catch my breath and look up at the pin board wall. At all the backs of all the faceless people I’d taken pictures of.
I’m losing my mind trying to find out what happened. But I will. I will solve this riddle.
Then Roman sent me a text (or maybe it was a sext?) asking for an orange onesie-less picture, so I complied.
At some point, he stopped texting and just called me.
“I needed to hear your voice.”
“Why?”
“Because I had a feeling you were touching yourself, and I would pay good money to listen to that shit.”
“How romantic,” I said, a smile on my face. “You know, sex is not about money.”
“My little grasshopper. Everything is about money. Are you gonna touch yourself?”
“Are you gonna touch yourself?” I taunted.
He was silent for a moment. “I’m a dude, and I’m talking to my girlfriend in the middle of the night. I’ve been playing with my dick like it’s Nintendo for the past ten minutes now.”
I snickered, allowing the conversation to take a very sharp, unexpected turn. Most of the time I wasn’t really sure of what Roman was doing. I simply enjoyed tagging along for the ride. For a while, we just panted, taunted, and described what we were going to do to one another. My whole body was clenched before it loosened with a tsunami of an orgasm.
After that, Roman told me, “Good night, Snowflake.”
“Wait,” I choked on the word, feeling needy, too needy, but then again, he had called me his girlfriend, and my heart was about to burst every time I replayed his voice saying this word. “I can’t fall asleep. That’s why I jog at night. I always have nightmares.”
Another meaningful pause.
“Try. I promise I won’t hang up until I hear your gross snores.”
I fell asleep with my phone pressed against my ear.
When I woke up, the top of the touch screen was still green, and the call was still going.
“Good morning, SnortyPants.”
Neptune.
Dark. Cold. Blue. The ocean seemed morbid at six in the morning. I shuddered in my wetsuit, jogging in place without really feeling my toes. The sand was cold and tight, stretching like canvas beneath my feet, and I felt like I was ruining Roman’s art by being there. We were nearly done with our session. Beck, Edie, and Hale—whom Bane had re-introduced to me as “my real asshole, the source of all the shit in my life”—went on surfing while Roman stayed ashore with me, teaching me how to paddle with my stomach flat against it on the sand. I felt like an idiot. Like I was slowing him down. Then we moved to the water and he stayed by my side. Hale and Beck were laughing and coughing “pussy-whipped” every time we got near them, and Edie smiled at us, shaking her head. I felt bad hating on her for no reason. She was actually pretty cool. Not Gail-cool, but still good people. Not to mention the bump of her lower stomach was unmistakable. She spent her time sitting on her surfboard, letting the first rays of morning sun braid her yellow hair with fresh highlights.
She wasn’t after Roman.
She was after the ocean, nature, and everything it had to give.
After we were done, Roman invited me to take a shower at his place. It was the first time I’d set foot in his houseboat. Small, neat, basic. I knew Roman probably made enough to live in one of the candy-colored condos of the promenade, and I loved that he didn’t. I loved a lot of things about him.
What’s the antonym of hate?
Love. It is love, and maybe I should be the one to say it first.
“I can’t believe your place is so tidy.” I ran a hand over his coffee table, eager to leave a mark. His place was small and old-ish, almost like a sailor’s pad. He stood behind me, dumping his surfing gear by the door.
“Might’ve tidied up for you,” he said around a freshly-rolled joint.
“Might’ve?” I turned around, beaming at him.
“Please let me keep my balls for a little longer, Snowflake. See, I’m kind of attached to them. Also: literally.”
He’d made me laugh more in a few short weeks than I had in three years. I shrugged. “If you behave.”
Before I headed out to the promenade this morning, I’d packed a duffel bag with a change of clothes, knowing my shift started at 9:00 a.m., and I might not have time for a shower. I pulled out burgundy corduroys and a cute tank top the color of my eyes. I’d ransacked my closet earlier this morning to find something that wasn’t emo black hoodies and pants loose enough to fit three clowns and a convertible. I walked over to where I presumed Roman’s shower was, swaying my hips and knowing that he was watching.
I wanted to have sex with him.
I wanted to have lots and lots of sex with him.
I wanted him to make me feel the way only he could. Like I was beautiful, lethal, and strong. Like the old Jesse.
“And where do you think you’re going?” He snaked his arm around my waist and pulled my ass into his erection. I was still wearing the wetsuit, and my nipples puckered in my red bikini under it. He buried his face in my neck, dragging his hot lips to kiss the tattoo on my nape.
“I’m going to take a shower. I don’t want to be late for work.”
“Gail can cover for you.”
“She’ll kill me. Morning shifts are busier than hell.”
“You say shift. I hear shaft.” He gave me a shove with his dick, and I skipped into his bathroom. I peeled off my wetsuit alone, knowing that he’d stayed behind. That yet again, he would deprive me of what I really wanted. Him. Inside me. Making me feel desired and whole again. I dumped the heavy wetsuit on the floor with a thud and stared into the dirty mirror. My eyes were defiant, lit. A monsoon of emotions swirled inside them.
Bane stepped behind me, our gazes meeting in the slightly cracked mirror. There was a hunter in there, and I wanted to pull him out. Wanted him to chase me. His wetsuit was pulled down to his V-cut, his tattoos glistening against his tan. His blond, wavy hair was a rumpled mess. He stared at my stomach.
“I hate it,” he said simply.
I swallowed. “Fuck you.”
“I also love it,” he added. “This scar gave you claws. Can’t fucking wait for you to use them on me.”
I turned around, smiling sweetly. I was done playing games. I wanted him, all of him, the parts he reserved only for me and the parts that were communal property. Bane stared at my puckered nipples, his green eyes gleaming like morning dew on fresh grass. It was time for a good dose of reality.
“I got pregnant. I wanted to keep the baby. Stupid, huh? But I did. It was like the silver lining of The Incident. I was going to have someone for my own. Someone who would be faithful and loyal to me. Someone who would love me, no matter what. We could take care of each other, and she or he would never take their father’s side, because they wouldn’t even know them. It felt almost like revenge, as sick as it may sound. They took something of mine—my will, my power, my innocence—so I took something of theirs. But Pam forced me to have an abortion. I didn’t want to, but I was weak. I was too weak to scrape myself off the bed, let alone fight her on this.”
He pushed my wet hair away from my face. Bane had pressed me to talk about it the other night. Now he got his wish, and oh, how ugly was the truth.
“The truth is, I wasn’t a virgin when Emery tried to take my virginity, Roman, but something happened before. Something I can’t remember. The Incident wasn’t the first time I’d been raped.”
Bane’s nostrils flared, and his eyes leveled with mine. They breathed fire, and I was afraid he was going to tear the whole bathroom apart. I kept talking, knowing I was going to lose momentum if I dared to take a breath. “After what happened in the alleyway, I was so confused that I panicked. I didn’t know what to say or think. Pam solved this issue by walking through every sentence that left my mouth. She said if I screwed it up, we’d be forced to leave and Darren would dump us on the streets. The boys’ parents were breathing down my neck. Pam and Darren thought it was an orgy gone wrong, and that I was ashamed to admit it. Hell, even I didn’t believe myself for a while. I thought—maybe I did cheat on Emery. It took me a lot of time to understand just how played I was, and by the time I figured it out, it was too late. Everyone had already moved on. Well, everyone other than me.”
His thumbs pressed my cheeks, and he pulled me into a hug. I wanted to curl into his strong body and live there.
“For the past two years, time did not move. Technically, it did, but not for me. Not really. That night in the alleyway still chases me like it was yesterday. And in walks you. At first, I didn’t want you in the picture. My grief was still so fresh and pristine—I didn’t want anyone tarnishing it with hope. But you didn’t just walk into my life, Roman. You stormed into it. You left me no choice but to heal. Now I want everything. I want the job and the friends and my sexuality back. If you don’t fuck me, someone else will, Bane,” I purposely used the name he didn’t want me using. “I need this. Need this to heal me. To break me and to put me back together. To kill me and resurrect me. This is not about sex. Not all of it, anyway.” I gulped in a breath. “It’s about me.”
Bane swallowed, but didn’t say anything.
I shook my head, dropping my gaze down to my toes. Then I turned around and charged for the door, ready to flee his boathouse, even naked. I was done asking, and begging, and bargaining. I was done seducing, and luring, and hoping. If he didn’t want me after this admission, we were done.
I didn’t even want him to be my friend. Like I could really be friends with Bane Goddamn Protsenko. Every word to leave his mouth was foreplay.
“Jesse,” he growled. I ignored him, yanking my duffel bag to get my clothes. Before I could unzip it and pluck them out, Bane slammed me against the wall of his kitchen. The thud of my back crashing against it pounded between my ears. I was ready to slap his stupidly gorgeous face when I felt his cock springing free from his wetsuit, hot and velvety against my opening. He wrapped my legs around his waist and crashed his fist to the wall above my head.
“Fucking dammit, Jesse!”
“Leave me alone, then,” I yelled in his face. “Just let me leave.”
“Never,” he snarled, biting my neck. Hard. “And ever.” He dragged his nose down to my shoulder, sucking a sensitive spot on the curve of my collarbone. “And fucking ever.” He thrust into me, nailing me to the wall and filling me to the hilt. A moan escaped between my lips. He was big, and long…and bare.
“You want to be fucked?” he spat out the words, his face so intense I shivered under his touch. “Just remember, Snowflake—you fucking begged for it.”
He pounded into me, each stroke harder and deeper and more punishing. My body felt like a dormant nest of fireflies lighting up together in batches. I felt their lights flicking, their wings zapping over every inch of my flesh. I felt every inch of him inside me, the titanium hoop of his piercing scraping my walls, and it still wasn’t enough.
I was desperate. I was feral.
I clawed at his face, tears streaming down my cheeks and onto my neck, and he licked them, laughing as he fucked me harder, not giving much damn about who or what I was, just like he’d said he would. Taking me the way I wanted to be taken. Not gently, nor apologetically. Like an equal. Like a captured soldier, in a war where pleasantries and fake condolences weren’t necessary.
“Harder,” he taunted. “I’m denting your ass from the inside. Least you can do is leave a pretty little mark on me.” Roman laughed, smashing his lips to mine with a kiss that made it clear that he owned my body—every inch of it—and all the things inside it. Every thought and heartbeat. Every painful breath. His.
I raked my fingernails down his back, returning the violence when his tongue went to war with mine. Heat pooled in my lower stomach, his cock stretching me out and swelling inside me, twitching, circling, pounding.
“That’s my fighter.” He chuckled, adjusting our position by hoisting me upward by my ass with his rough fingers with one hand while twisting my nipple with the other. I squeaked, watching as he lowered his beautiful face to suck the pain away, so hard yet so delicate, and even though there was nothing I wanted more than to run my hand through his strings of golden mane, I held myself back.
This time, the trembling started from my fingertips, working its way up and heating my body like a blanket. I was coming, but this time it felt different. Like an epiphany. I reached for his ass to squeeze as I shuddered between him and the wall, but he swatted my hands away, pushing me off and splaying his fingers over my neck, pinning me to the wall.
“I’m not your goddamn girlfriend, Jesse. You don’t get to squeeze my ass unless it’s to hold back a choke from my cock pounding into your mouth. We clear about that?”
I didn’t know what it was about his dirty brazen words that completely unraveled the old Jesse, but she was back, and she was clasping his cock in her sex in a vise, like a fist, laughing into his face with wild abandon.
“Jesus,” came from somewhere in the back of my throat as I came around his shaft, shaking violently. He only pumped harder, and my back was burning from the friction against the wall.
“Coming,” he said, just one word, and I nodded, thinking he was going to finish inside me, but he pulled out slowly instead, his swift movement radiating self-control, and angled his tip so that he came all over my clit. White spurts of cum grazed the delicate flesh of my sex, and he swirled the cum with his cock, rubbing it into my already sensitive yet neglected clit. The second orgasm burst out of me like fireworks. I sifted through his hair and brought him closer for a greedy kiss, biting his lower lip and tugging way too hard.
“Roman.” Again. One word. Not a request, not a plea, and not a statement. Rather, a spell I was falling deeper and deeper under, not bothering to go back up for a quick breath.
He pulled away from me, narrowing his eyes and tugging his wetsuit back up, his cock still half-erect between us.
He turned around, leaving me to slide down to my ass against his wall, sagging with post-climax bliss. He walked over to his coffee table, retrieved a blunt, and lit it casually, like we hadn’t just done what we had. Like we hadn’t broken any rules, or promises, or even—potentially—my heart.
“What’s the antonym of hate?” I blurted, drunk on pleasure.
He collapsed to his couch, cupping the joint with his thumb and forefinger and sucking hard. “Jesse.”
We managed to squeeze in one more quickie in the shower after the kitchenette sex. Again, Roman showed zero mercy on me, which explained why he’d held back for so long on touching me. He had a take-no-prisoners approach to sex, and missionary wasn’t only not on the menu for him, but I doubted it was even in his vocabulary. The shower sex involved me bent over, holding onto the faucet, while he pounded into me from behind, playing with my sex and letting me taste myself on his fingers every now and again. I was surprised by how open and uninhibited he was with me, but I shouldn’t have been. Just because Roman was a nice guy didn’t mean he wasn’t a savage. He was both. And it was part of his charm.
As we finally got dressed in his tiny, humid bathroom, I took it upon myself to iron his wrinkled, flimsy California Republic tank with my hands.
“Do I get the invoice in the mail, or do I pay you in Café Diem shifts?” My voice was playful, but the actual comment was snarky. I couldn’t help it, though. A part of me was pissed that I wasn’t the only one. That what we did was probably an appetizer for a tour de force involving a married couple, their dog, and a dildo. Okay. Maybe not all of them, but still.
Roman flipped his car keys with his forefinger, shooting me a bored look. “I should drop you as a client for that wise mouth alone.”
“So, do.” I waltzed past him to the living room. His big strides echoed behind me.
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I quit.”
I turned around, blinking rapidly. “Come again?”
“Planning to. This time between your tits.” He smacked my ass, moving forward, casually grabbing a can of beer from the fridge and popping it open. It was not even ten in the morning. Jesus. “I quit,” he repeated, taking a gulp. “My dick is officially retired and closed for business.”
“When?” I gulped, pretty proud of myself for not stuttering.
“Yesterday.”
“Before or after our sexting?” I leaned a shoulder against the same wall we’d screwed against earlier that morning. There was a damp spot of cum gracing the chipped yellow surface, and it took everything in me not to slide back on my knees and scrub it clean.
Roman finished the beer in a gulp and slam-dunked it to the sink. “Before. Remember my whole speech about looking at yourself in the mirror without flinching?”
“Yeah.”
“Couldn’t do that anymore.”
“Do what?”
“Fuck other women when I had a girlfriend.”
It was the second time he had called me that, but this time, there was a question mark at the end of the sentence. It felt like a proposal. It felt like a thousand caterpillars turning into dazzling butterflies all at the same time in my stomach, hopeful and alive. I searched his face, trying to find doubt. Humor. Deceit. Anything that would make it less real and anchor me back to earth. His face was blank. The perfect poker expression.
“I am?” I grinned.
“You tell me.” He hitched one shoulder up, his defensive wall rising, almost reaching his eyes.
“I mean, you quit your glamorous job for me. Can’t really say no to you now.”
“You can always say no to me,” he countered, meaning it.
“I want to be your girlfriend, Roman.”
“Good. Because there’s a list of things I want to do to you, and none of them fall into the friend-zone category.” He walked over to me, dropping three kisses on my mouth, nose, and chin. My heart felt mossy. Soft-walled. So easy to break in his dirty big hands.
“About this morning…” He started.
“I’m on the pill.” I stood on my tiptoes, brushing my lips against his. They were both cracked and sore, and we winced a little before I pulled away.
“I know.” He trailed a finger down my arm.
I didn’t even need to ask how he knew. I was religious about taking my pills ever since the abortion. Ever since I was too scared to tell the doctors what happened, so they’d never offered me the morning-after pill. The foil package sat on my nightstand, next to a bottle of Fiji water. I took one every morning before brushing my teeth.
We marched through the door, heading for his truck, and maybe he was the same old infamous Bane Protsenko, but I walked out of there different from the person I’d been when I’d first walked in.
Alive.
Alert.
In bloom.
Old Jesse was no longer knocking on my soul’s door. She’d kicked that thing down.
And all the light streamed in.
“Well, someone looks thoroughly fucked.” Gail snickered as she pushed the ice fridge shut with her ass, flinging a kitchen towel over her shoulder. Roman had said he had to go to city hall for a business meeting—something about SurfCity—and I actually didn’t mind spending some time away from him. I’d enjoyed our morning together, but I also enjoyed being my own person. Facing the world independently, even if from behind Café Diem’s trendy counter. I liked this job, and that made me happy, because it made me the opposite of Pam. She frowned upon jobs in general, thought life was meant for shopping and socializing.
Turning scarlet red, I grinned, slicing the strawberries on the board in front of me into miniscule pieces. “Shut up.”
“It’s okay. There’s not one girl in this room who can’t relate to wanting to screw Bane Protsenko senseless. I’m guessing you got a free sample? Does he offer a weekly pass?” Gail elbowed my ribs, her eyes scanning me up and down. I flipped her the bird, then proceeded to wash my hands before cutting fruit for the smoothies.
“Seriously, Gail, you need professional help. And dick. Perhaps especially that. I’ll see if Beck is available.”
“No, thanks. I’d rather rub myself against an iceberg. And I’ll take that as a no.”
It felt so normal talking to someone like that. Like a friend. My grin spread wider over my face.
“Ding ding, what’s that? Yup, it’s my lunch break. See you in half an hour.” I grabbed my phone and the smoothie I’d made for myself and dodged the scene. I waved the device in my hand. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”
“Hey, you just got here! His jerk-ism is rubbing off on you, and I bet it’s not the only thing.” She laughed, wiping coffee beans off the surface in front of her.
“You’re funny.” I pushed my shoulder to the glass door. “Keep it up.”
“Probably not. Don’t wanna mess with boyfriend dearest and find myself in the ER.”
“Huh?” I blinked. Gail leaned her elbows on the counter, whisper-shouting for everyone to hear. “Rumor has it Bane almost kicked Hale’s ass for hitting on you. I think you have an admirer, Jesse.”
I slipped out of Café Diem, wondering what else I didn’t know about Roman and his behavior. If he’d touched Hale for flirting with me, I wasn’t sure how he was going to react when Emery, Henry, and Nolan finally dragged their butts back to Todos Santos. I didn’t want to know, either. I appreciated his protective ways, but I wanted to take care of myself. In fact, it seemed mandatory after everything that had gone down.
Outside, I called Mrs. Belfort’s daughter, Kacey. A New Yorker with a family and kids, I’d once seen her at Mrs. B’s, which was more than I could say about her Bostonian brother. Kacey answered after the third ring and sounded less than happy when I told her who I was. When I explained that Mrs. Belfort wasn’t feeling very well, I heard a steel cabinet slam in the background and an animalistic growl.
“So. My overdramatic mother finally resorted to getting her teenage neighbor to call me? Jesus Christ. Get a life,” then hung up.
I sat there, staring at the ocean for a long minute, trying to figure out what had just happened. Then I shook off my anger and dialed Ryan, Mrs. Belfort’s son. It went straight to voicemail. I called again. Same. Maybe his phone was turned off. Or maybe he was at a meeting. Or maybe he didn’t want to deal with me, just like his sister. Anger sizzled in my blood as I wrote him a quick text message.
This is Juliette Belfort’s neighbor. I’m calling because your mother is not doing well. She needs you and your sister to come home.
He wrote back a minute later.
Don’t call me again.
Exasperation made my breathing labored and hard. I thought about how I would have reacted had my own father still been alive and in need. I would drop everything to be with him. Of course, I didn’t have that privilege, and that annoyed me, too.
Your mother is still alive, but you deem her a drama queen, even though you know she is slipping in and out of lucidity.
This is not a kiddie game, sweetheart. We’re both professionals.
Came his second text a minute later.
Yeah, I thought. Professional oxygen-wasters.
I got back into the café, finished my shift, and drove back home. On my way there, an unsettled feeling of a pending disaster formed in my gut. It was brewing, I could tell, because I wanted to be sick. I tried to call Roman, but he didn’t pick up, and I had to remind myself once again that everything was okay. I parked and pushed the entrance door open, feeling my mouth going dry before I even heard the yelp coming from the kitchen.
“Jesse? Jesse, is that you?”
Pam was heaving, her voice panicky and uneven. I dumped my backpack by the door and tucked my cell phone into my back pocket, heading over to the kitchen. Had she broken a nail or something?
“Nope. It’s the pope.”
“You need to come here, sweetie!” she called.
Sweetie? That was new. And worrying. The knot in my stomach tightened, and the need to turn around and run took hold of my legs, but I fought it. I rounded the corner into the kitchen and found Pam standing above the kitchen sink, sniffing. I arched an eyebrow.
“Are you sick? Do you need Tylenol?” Ever since Pam had twisted my arm into having an abortion, I tried very hard to generally ignore her existence. It was almost going against my nature to offer her help, but it was stronger than me.
Some part of me, albeit small and quiet, still wanted us to be close.
“I already took two and washed them down with water. You need to see something.” She grabbed my hand, and I nearly jolted. Another bad sign. Pam never touched me if she could help it. She slid the glass door leading to the patio open and nearly dragged me outside to the backyard with the oak tree, lush grass, and Olympic-sized pool.
“I found him like that this morning, a little after you left.” She rounded a red Moroccan-style sunbed and pointed at the grass. Shadow lay there, his eyes open, staring at the sun unnaturally. He was still, so very still.
I cupped my mouth, trying not to throw up. It looked all wrong. Him, staring at the scalding sun instead of squinting. A fly trailed along his unmoving ribs, and it occurred to me that he would try to bite it if he were alive.
But he wasn’t.
My dog wasn’t alive.
My dog was very, very dead.
I crouched down and gathered him in my arms, feeling the tears streaming down like a broken fountain. It took me time. Years, to be exact, but it had finally happened. After everything I’d been through—I cried.
“Goddammit, Old Sport,” I snuffled, pressing his head to my thighs. He felt heavier than usual. Slack, but stiff. Pam was standing behind me, motionless, and I wanted to turn around and throw something sharp at her.
“You said he was like this since this morning.”
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Pam? Why didn’t you call?” I jumped up to my feet, my grief suddenly interrupted by sudden anger. Anger was easier to digest. Easier to pour out. Loss was crippling, breathtaking, chaining. Pam ran a hand over her bleached hair, her acrylic pink nails making an unbearable sound along her scalp. “I’ve been throwing up all morning. You know I liked that dog, too. But he was old, Jesse. Besides, he had cancer. There was nothing we could do.”
“Wait,” I lifted my palm up. “What cancer? What are you talking about?”
As far as my knowledge went, the blood work never came back, and last time I’d asked about it, Pam had said Dr. Wiese had never called. I’d been meaning to drop by his clinic today after lunch, but…
Pam scrunched her nose, like I was being unreasonable. Tiresome, even. I wanted to push her into the pool and watch her flail helplessly. More than that, I knew that I could. That I had it in me. I was no longer lethargic and sad. I was burning with rage, the kind of flame that sparked fast, consuming everything around it in seconds.
She threw her arms in the air. “Look, I’m sorry, but you’re a mess, okay? We didn’t want to tell you because we knew you’d make a scene. Guess what? Here you are, making a scene. I don’t need this in my life. My life coach says you’re messing up my Zen.”
“We? Darren knew, too?” I advanced toward her. She took a step back. I realized that I didn’t have to throw her into the pool. She was going to fall into it all on her own.
“Fine. It was me. Sue me, Jesse! You’re a weird, unpredictable girl. I don’t want to deal with you if I can help it.”
“I’m the girl you forced into having an abortion after you made me pretend I hadn’t been gang raped. What do you expect, cocktails at The Ivy?” I snapped. “I’m messing with your Zen? You messed up my life!”
“Really? This again?” She stumbled back another step, waving a dismissive hand in my face. “You were a kid! You’d have popped out that baby and left it for me to take care of. All I’ve ever wanted was to do my thing.”
I plunged forward, recognizing, perhaps for the first time, that maybe I wasn’t totally sane, but Pam wasn’t, either. She still couldn’t admit the simple fact that I’d been raped, and she was self-absorbed to a point of madness.
“When did you find out about the cancer, Pam?”
I needed her to tell me it was this morning, so I could look at her face again without wanting to do something horrible to her. But she lifted her hands in surrender and took another step back, her posture already defensive.
“A couple of days after the test.”
My stomach churned. I’d had time to tell him goodbye. I hadn’t gotten to hold him when he took his last breath. I hadn’t even been there to comfort him. Couldn’t make sure that he felt comfortable and loved. That he was lying down on one of my hoodies—he loved sleeping on my clothes—and looking up at me, and I would have said something soothing he would somehow understand. I hadn’t even had the chance to give him what no one else in this house deserved—the respect you give to a family member who’d been there for you when no one else had.
When Shadow had taken his last breath, I’d probably been messing around with Roman in his shower, grunting and clawing at his flesh.
This is what happens when you take a chance on life.
“I hate you! I fucking hate you!” I screamed, launching at Pam out of nowhere. She tripped backward and fell into the deep end of the pool. Pam wasn’t a good swimmer. For all the sunbathing she did, she never bothered to dip her toe inside the pool.
Her arms flailed hysterically, and she gasped for air, swallowing water in the process. She shrieked, looking like an ant in sticky honey, and although I knew she would get out of there eventually, I enjoyed the first time in our relationship where she did the squirming.
I crouched down, staring at her emotionlessly. “But you know what the worst part is?”
“Jesse!” She gulped more water. “Je-ssse! Help me out!”
“I can’t drown my demons. They know how to swim.”