Alex
October 14, 2017
After some convincing and knowing Brand will be all right, Eli goes back to his house, but only after he knows Lydia will stay with me.
Merit went to Brand’s house from the hospital.
She has my number if she needs it. I hope she uses it.
“I did not mean for that photo to make it all the way to the Bangor Daily, Alex. Honestly.”
“If I thought that you did, I wouldn’t have called you to come get me at the hospital. Coffee?”
“Please.” Lydia sits on the barstool at the kitchen counter. “A blood clot. Brand seems so healthy. I never would have thought. He comes in once a week to exchange books and get new ones.”
I pause as panic begins to build in my throat. “You-you don’t think he’s read my stuff, do you?”
“No. He’s a Patterson kind of guy. Some nonfiction, too.” She stalls.
I wonder if Merit and Eli need help with Brand. Just to help him get back on his feet. I want to ask, but I also don’t want to be pushy or insert myself where I have no business being.
“Have you had enough time to do the research you need to write the story?”
“Some.” I pour our coffee. “Cream and sugar?”
“Please. Maybe this isn’t a research story at all, Alex. Maybe it’s a love story telling itself, and all you have to do is show up and write it.”
I blanch. Try to rectify the simplicity that Lydia is conveying, yet I can’t. I slide the mug to Lydia.
“So, what’s up with you and Eli anyway?”
“Friends,” I awkwardly blurt out. The hot coffee scalding my tongue, I try to blow it off. “Just friends.”
Do friends sleep in the same bed?
Do friends touch each other in places that some consider private?
Do friends cause our bodies to do what our heads—not necessarily our hearts—disagree with?
“Friends,” I whisper again with a now-burned tongue.
Lydia laughs. “The way he looks at you, Alex, it seems to me there’s more than just friendship—at least on his side.” She shrugs.
“How-how does he look at me?”
“You don’t see it?” Lydia takes a sip of her coffee. “Like you’re the color pink.”
I smile because I think I know where she’s going with this.
“You know, when you see a beautiful shade of pink, one you haven’t seen before, and no matter what you do—whether you like the color or not, whether you think the color pink should be on the item you’re staring at—you can’t look away because it’s so beautiful.”
I start to laugh. “How many books of mine have you read?” It’s a line from Standing Tall.
“All twenty-six.” Her eyebrows rise. “Just waiting on the next one.”
I bite my lip. “Me, too.”
Lydia slowly rotates her coffee mug in a circle. “How were you able to finish Lance and Randi’s story without feeling like they died? Like there was a big hole left in your heart when you wrote The End?” Lydia grabs her chest. “Dagger to the heart!”
Standing Tall was loosely based on Kyle and me. It was written almost six years ago, but it feels like a million years ago.
Lydia blushes. “Some of those scenes…and then the end.”
Immediately, my heart stops. In the end of Standing Tall, Lance leaves. There isn’t a happy ending. All of a sudden, my vision goes blurry. My head grows light.
Oh my God.
What if I knew? What if I knew deep down that we wouldn’t make it a lifetime together? What if I knew subconsciously that our love would go on forever in this world but that our physical love would stop?
“Alex, are you all right?” Lydia stands.
My hand falls to the counter. No. “Yeah.” Not really.
I glance down at where my wedding ring used to be. One that I took off a few days ago. A decision that felt right in the moment I did it, and it still feels right. Empty but right.
I need to tell just one person the story of how Kyle died. Just one person, and maybe this monkey on my back will leave. Maybe it will walk away, and my shoulders will feel lighter. Maybe I’ll be able to stand tall, like Randi did after Lance left. Maybe Randi’s story wasn’t supposed to end there and that things happen and everything falls into place just as it should. Heartache is part of the game. This, without a doubt, I know to be the truest form of truth.
“Can I tell you a story?” I ask Lydia.
She sits back down, coffee in hand. “All ears.”
“My husband died three years ago.”
My phone chimes. It’s just after five. I haven’t eaten, and I’ve been working since Lydia left around two p.m. My stomach twirls when I see his name flash across the screen. Do friends do that to other friends? Cause the flutter in our stomachs?
Eli: Hey. I crashed out. Just woke up. There’s a Chinese place just south of town. Have you eaten?
Me: Good evening, Warden Young. I have not. I’m starved. How’s your dad?
Eli: Better. Merit is on duty. ;) Thank you for calling her.
I remember the look in Eli’s eyes when he came in and saw his father lying on the floor in front of me. He was lost. Like he was ten years old, watching his mom die all over again. I hadn’t known him then, but if I had, I know this would have been no different. Helplessness shades itself in many different lights. I know the feeling well.
Me: Not a problem. It’s my job as your partner to look after you.
Eli: Partner?
Me: I’m pretty much a game warden, right? I’ve been on the job for at least nine hours. :) BTW, when’s the ceremony where you swear me in?
Eli: Speaking of … early morning shift tomorrow. You in?
Me: Absolutely.
Eli: I’ll be by in ten minutes to pick you up for dinner.
Me: Sounds good.
I choose a black blouse with a form-fitting down jacket that I picked up in London at a book signing. I go with black UGGs because it is downright cold here in the evenings—at least, compared to California. I put some lip gloss on and then earrings.
I take everything off and throw on my moose sweatshirt and jeans. Friends don’t dress sexy for friends.
There’s a knock on the door.
There are subtle moments in our lives, I believe, that are a true test of our character, our weaknesses, our strengths, our vulnerabilities. Eli is a test. He stands there in a sweater that zips at the neck only, collar popped—not because it’s a look, but because it’s cold. Faded jeans rest on his long, lean hips in all the right places. Clean-shaven and big green eyes and curves around his smile form again.
“Hey.”
“Hey. Come in.” My voice is vulnerable.
He follows me as I walk away. Eli quietly shuts the door behind us. I feel his eyes on me, like he has something to say.
I turn, lean down, and grab my jacket. “What?”
“Nothing,” he says too quickly, shoving his hands in his pockets. Eli sighs. “Why do you call me Warden Young?”
I smile and shrug. “I like to.”
The smile is contagious because Eli smiles, too. “Whatever. But you don’t have to.”
“I know.”
He ushers me toward the door with his hand. “After you.”
“Where’s Rookie?”
“Left him with Merit and Pop. Good pet therapy for Pop. He loves Rookie.”
“You know, the door only locks—”
“With a key.” He takes the rental key from my hand, and as he does this, our hands touch, and my body ignites.
My breath is caught somewhere in my lungs, and I’m reminded of the other night. His hand touching my breast through the comforter. What I wouldn’t give in this moment right now to feel his callous hands against my skin again.
“I’ll lock it,” he whispers as if he, too, feels whatever this is between us.
He looks away, and finally, I see the resistance he’s fighting. Maybe it’s the same battle I’m fighting, only different. But maybe it’s not. Maybe he’s not into relationships. Maybe he just wants sex. Am I all right with just having sex? Yes. With him. People have one-night stands all the time. I write about them. I write about sex.
My phone chimes this time, not the game warden’s. I cough to straighten my head and reach into my purse, completely distracted by him. It’s Bryce.
“Eli, do you mind if I take this? It’s Bryce.”
“Not at all.” He locks the door, turns back to me, and drops the key with an old plastic Granite Harbor keychain back in my purse.
“Hey,” I answer.
Bryce doesn’t usually call because we text most of the time, so her phone call alarms me. It’s just after five here, so it’s two at home.
“How’s it going?” I can hear the excitement in her tone.
I’m silent. My eyes dart to Eli, who pulls his own phone from his pocket. He glances up. I hold a finger up and turn my back.
“Oh my gosh. Are you with him? Are you naked?” She laughs.
I take a few steps in the other direction, away from Eli. “I’m not naked. I’ll call you tomorrow—or later tonight. No, scratch that. Tomorrow.”
“Why? Because you’ll be busy, getting it on with the warden?” she says in a singsong voice.
“You’re so mature.” But I can’t help but smile.
“You know I know you’re smiling right now, right?”
“Would you stop?”
“Okay, but wear a condom. Well, not you. Him. I put those in a brown paper bag under your clothes in your suitcase.”
Oh my God.
“Bryce, I’m hanging up now.”
My face is on fire with visions of TSA searching my bag and finding them. I’m sure they throw in the note that says, Your bag was searched by TSA, just to be funny, so you can spend the first few days of vacation in panic mode, wondering what TSA saw in your luggage.
“Oh, Ralph, someone’s gettin’ lucky tonight,” one worker would say to the other worker.
“Call me tomorrow. I love you,” Bryce says.
“Me, too. Bye.”
I turn toward Eli, who’s keenly watching me.
“Everything okay?”
I nod, shoving my phone in my purse, walking toward his truck. “Remind me never to pick up my phone when Bryce calls again.”
“That bad?” Eli opens the door for me, and I slightly cringe.
“Gotta get used to it.”
He smiles as I step past him and take in his scent.
Do I tell him? Do I not say anything? What would he do? What would be his reaction?
Eli shuts the door, walks over to his side, and jumps in the truck.
“Bryce.”
Eli backs up, placing his hand on the back of my seat, brushing my shoulder with his fingertips. He glances back at me, a sharp stare, and then through his back window to navigate the wheel. “What about Bryce?”
“She thinks we’re going to have sex.” My stomach twists, turns, and does somersaults as I wait for his reaction.
It feels like we fly for millions of miles through the night before he says something.
I try to read his face from the lights of passing cars. Really, it’s only been about thirty seconds, but in Alex time, it’s been four hours.
His jaw flexes. One hand is wrapped around the wheel, his other hand still resting on the corner of my seat. Eli doesn’t say a word, but I feel his fingers move against my shoulder. I feel this small act in my toes, in my thighs, between my legs, and through my head. His touch isn’t hard, nor is it soft. It’s felt. I feel it through every inch of my body. As if he wants this hint to say so much more than he can.
His fingers say, Wait for me. Pick me to be with you forever. But I can’t give you what you want right now.
It’s like a book of missing moments. The missing moments are the parts where he tells her he loves her, but she can’t hear it because of the chaos. The parts when he’s ready, but she isn’t, and timing is the only thing keeping them apart.
His phone rings, and we both jump. Both of us were caught in the moment, telling me he feels what I feel.
He looks down at his phone. “I’ve got to take this, Alex.”
“By all means.”
He hits Talk. “Hey, Mer.”
Silence.
Eli watches the road, his large hand on the wheel. His huge watch sits on his wrist. He’s probably got one of those watches that tells the outside temperature at any given moment, both in Celsius and in Fahrenheit. It’s probably got a waterproof seal that allows him to swim as deep as he needs to, to go save lives.
Is he that type of game warden? The one who does water rescue? I make a mental note to ask him later.
I bet the watch has a built-in compass and a parachute. Maybe it has a list of survival modes. Like, Don’t eat that plant; it will kill you. Don’t drink that; you’ll die.
Maybe I’m falling for Eli purely because of his watch.
I laugh to myself. And you’re crazy, Alex.
Maybe my next book will be titled, Alex Fisher. Welcome to Her Thoughts.
I know my mom and dad and Bryce would appreciate these thoughts. They’d say, There’s the old Alex.
I might be getting back to my old self after all.
“Everything all right?” he asks Merit. “Yeah. Right. On shift tomorrow. Call you in the morning. Yeah.” He glances over at me. “Will do.”
I stare out into the darkness and try to see what lies outside the piece of glass, the one that separates us from the colder temperatures, us from the wild animals, us from the world.
“Oh, shit,” Eli says as he hangs up the phone.
He quickly veers off to his side of the road. And what’s in front of us makes me want to throw up.
My senses go haywire when I see the deep orange flames.
I can’t hear anything.
My brain cannot gain rational thought.
I smell burned flesh. Or at least, I think I do.
The flames dance around the small building.
I’m transported to three years ago. Kyle’s screams.
I look to Eli, terror written on his face—not for the situation, but I think it’s for me.
His lips are moving, but I can’t hear the words that are coming out of his mouth. Maybe he’s yelling. I’m not sure because all I hear is the cackling of the fire.
Eli jumps out of the truck, and my instincts come back.
I want to rewrite this story.
I jump out of the truck and run to him, pulling on his arm, tears now streaming down my face. Sobs I don’t know are mine ring out.
“Eli, no.” I pull on his arm again. “Please don’t go. Please!” I yell.
I feel a gentle tug on my arm.
“Don’t let her out of your sight!” Eli says to whoever has me by my arm.
I try to run after him, but the arm won’t let me go.
“Please, let me be brave this time. I need to save him. He’s going to die!” I scream.
I’m awakened by movement. Someone is moving me. Arms under my legs, around my back. Carrying me. My heavy eyes try to pry themselves open, and the scent of smoke fills me.
I feel breaths against my forehead.
Kyle.
But I know Kyle is gone.
Eli.
Oh God. Where is he?
Like needles pricking my body, I jerk up. “I need Eli. Please.” A groan comes from deep within my throat. “Please, where’s Eli?” This is not happening again. It can’t be.
“I’m here. I’m right here.”
I feel the drum of his familiar voice in my chest.
Before I know it, we’re inside the familiar Malcomb Place, and it’s Eli who’s carrying me to the bedroom.
Carefully, he sets me down on the side of the bed and sits me upright. He takes my face in his hands. He’s only inches from me as he stares into my eyes. “I’m all right. I’m right here.”
He’s scared. I can see it in his eyes.
I nod like I’m a little girl. Tears begin to stream down my face, and I pull Eli into my arms and begin to shake. “I’m cold.”
Eli gently pulls my arms free from his neck and slowly begins to undress me, his eyes never leaving mine.
First, he slides my UGGs from my feet, gently and carefully. He slides my sweatshirt over my head, exposing my black lace bra. Eli pulls me up into his arms, unbuttons my jeans, and slowly eases them down around my thighs, setting me back down on the bed, completely pulling them off.
Eli, still fully clothed, doesn’t look anywhere but my eyes as he quickly takes off his clothes. He stands me up, pulling me to his body again.
My flesh against his.
He unfastens my bra, pulling it away from between us, and my breasts are firmly against his chest. He then slides my panties down, the small piece of lace that separates the difference between a man and a woman, using his foot to pull them away while still keeping our bodies together.
I feel all of him harden against me. He pulls away so that I no longer feel him against me.
“No, please,” I beg from somewhere deep within me.
I know he does this because of the trauma that he saw me relive. I know he pulls away because sex has somehow become secondary to him, overthrowing his need.
He groans an apology into my ear as his body shifts back toward me so that I feel his length against me again.
“Yes,” I say, “like that.”