Remembering Phoenix (11 page)

Her eyes snap up to mine. “Why do you want to see me?”

I don’t know why, Charlie.

“Does there have to be a reason?”

“I guess not.”

“Precisely.” I have one hand on the door, and the other is burning for another chance to touch her. I bring my hand up and brush the back along the side of her face.

I can feel it. The tangible current that happens every time we touch. By the look in her eye—wide eyed, and scared, yet excited—I can tell she feels it too. “Take care, Charlie McGee.”

She inhales a deep breath of air, and I know she feels the same thing I do. It makes it that much harder to walk out of this door without feeling her lips on mine. “See you later, Slayter Beck.”

“Excuse me. Pardon me.”

I don’t know why I keep saying it. This airport is busting at the seams with businessmen and women, and they’re ignoring everything I say. Next time someone ignores my “excuse me’s,”
I’m going to just scream, “GET THE HELL OUT OF MY WAY, ASSHOLE!”

I grab on to my camera bag tightly, trying to make my way through the bustle of the DFW airport.

I learned so much this past week in Nashville at the photography workshop. I met some crazy talented photographers and really honed in on what my niche is.

I like the dark. The emotional. I love the photos that tell a story, the ones you look at and it makes you
think
. Not all of my work is pretty, and that’s okay. I don’t think life is pretty, so why should photography be?

I have this questionnaire I ask my clients. Questions that make them uncomfortable, questions that make them
think
and delve into that place they don’t normally go.

1) 
If you had an hour to live, how would you live it?

2) 
What is your biggest regret?

3) 
Name the thing you hate most about yourself. Can you explain why you hate it?

4) 
What would you do if you woke up one morning and knew no one?

5) 
Can you explain the day you got the most heartbreaking news of your life?

I get it. The questions could be seen as stupid, ignorant. Intrusive, even. But I don’t care. I don’t care because all of those questions are out of the norm. They make my clients
feel
. They make them ponder on everything—life, death, fears, dreams. And when they tell me the answer to the last question, it tears them up in the most beautifully heartbreaking way. I make them ignore me when they’re talking. We go about the shoot and I tell them where to stand, letting them lead the rest of the way for the photos.

They talk. They stop. Sometimes they cry. Sometimes they laugh. Sometimes they cry and laugh at the same time. But they always end up with fantastic,
real
, photos. Not because of me and my skills, because you can’t fake raw, unbridled emotion.

You can’t fake heartbreak.

You can’t fake
real.

“Sweetie. Sweetie!”

I snap out of it. “Yes?”

“You’re just standing here, and people are about to plow over you. I don’t want you to get hurt,” this old lady, wearing a floral button up tucked into pressed jeans, says to me.

“Shit,” I mumble under my breath. Here I am, in the middle of the airport, not even moving as people zoom by me. Now, I’m the asshole.

“Thank you,” I reply, stepping to the side of the foot traffic.

The lady pushes her glasses up on her nose and looks up at me. She smooths back her silver hair. “You look like you could use a smile or two, honey. You’re entirely too beautiful to look so sad.”

“Oh, no. I’m not sad,” I assure her.

Or am I trying to assure myself?

“Sweetie. I’ve been on this earth all of seventy-four years. I might be slower than I once was, but my brain is still in high gear. I can spot sadness anywhere. And you dear, I can tell you’ve endured your fair share.”

I just look at her in awe. “Life hasn’t always been kind,” I admit with a smile, trying to seem a little happier
.

“Ah. Yes. Well, life’s only promise is that we have the present. It’s never promised us any other thing, has it?”

“It sure hasn’t.” I flash her a strained smile. Talking to strangers isn’t my favorite thing. “Well, I better get going.”

“Me too, dear. I have a plane to catch. I’m going to spend some time with my children and grandchildren. They make me so very happy.” She pats my shoulder. “Spend time with who makes you happy. It’s good for the soul.”

I nod. “Yes ma’am. Have a good day.” I walk away with a genuine smile on my face, only one person on my mind.

Spend time with who makes you happy…

I squeeze the lemon juice into my water and plop the lemon down in it, twirling it around with my straw. I take a sip before checking my phone for the time, deciding to text Lizzie. I’m tired of waiting.

Where are you?

She texts me back a few seconds later.

I’m here. See you in a sec.

Thank God.

I lock my phone and stuff it in my clutch.

“Hey. I’m sorry. I got here as fast as I could,” Lizzie says, hurrying to the table.

“It’s okay.”

“The couple who came to view the property was almost an hour late, then they took forever to go through it. If they don’t buy this house, I might strangle myself. I’ll be so glad when I get a new job.” She sighs as she sits down at the table.

“So, I would ask how your day went, but I think I get the picture.”

“Well, it was rather good up until that point. So it wasn’t all bad. I just hate pain in the ass clients, but if they buy this house, I’ll kind of love them.”

I just nod my head in response, because I know nothing about real estate or buying a house. I’ll forever live in my apartment. Alone. And I won’t even have a cat.

“Sounds fun,” I deadpan, slouching down in my seat.

“Smartass.”

I shrug. “I’ve been told I’ve always been one.”

“That you have,” she agrees. “So, uhm, we’ll have a bit more company than what you expected.” She grins and bats her eyelashes at me.

I straighten up. I have a feeling I know where this is going. “Who?”

She smiles knowingly at me. I motion for her to spit it out, but I should have known she was going to say it. “Stetson is coming, but you know that. He hitched a ride with Slayter, so I told him to join us.”

My heart speeds up in my chest. A part of me wants to smile, but I don’t because I don’t need to. I don’t need to be excited over the thought of him walking up any minute, with his golden brown hair and stone gray eyes that can speak an entire paragraph to me without saying a single word.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Lizzie asks, her eyebrows raising in humor.

“Yeah. Okay. He’s coming. Not like I can kick him out of a public restaurant.”

She leans back in her seat, taking a bite of the chips and salsa the waiter just delivered. “Hmm. Interesting.”

I roll my eyes. “Nothing interesting. I just said okay. It’s not like I am excited he’s coming,” I lie. I lie. I lie. He’s aggravating. He’s condescending. He’s sexy. He’s sweet. He’s…

“Hello, ladies.”

He’s here.

I slowly turn my head and my eyes travel from dark washed jeans, over a maroon button up covered by the same jacket I had for almost two weeks. I finally bring my eyes up, scanning over his strong jaw, and once our eyes lock, I swear my heart stops. It halts all function.

Stop, Charlie. You can’t do this.

I turn away just as quickly, grabbing a chip to try and distract myself from
him.
The last thing I want is for him or Lizzie to see that he affects me as much as he does. He doesn’t affect me at all. At. All.

If I repeat it to myself enough, maybe the tightening in my chest I feel every time he’s around will disappear.

I cut my eyes up to him.
Yeah, that tightening in my chest disappearing is highly unlikely.
I look away just as quickly, and look at Lizzie, who is eyeing me curiously. I roll my eyes and shake my head, nervously tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. I hear the chair next to me scrape against the concrete floor and I peek out of the corner of my eye as Slayter sits down. His closeness is becoming all too much, all too consuming.

When he left my apartment the night he came over, I felt a sense of sadness I’ve never felt before. I mean, I spend every second of every day of my life sad, consumed by the grief of not remembering. That feeling never goes away. Some days it’s worse than others. Some days it cripples me to no end. But I’ve never realized how truly lonely I was,
I
am, and when he left that night, everything became all too real. The loneliness. The pain. The secluded person I’ve made myself become.

The night before he came over, I was crippled, drowning in the fact that I
don’t
remember Phoenix. When I’m alone, left in my thoughts, I feel hollow. I’m merely this body maneuvering through life, but not
living
it because in order to
live
one must feel, and I haven’t felt anything that wasn’t deep, dark depression since I woke up after the accident.

That is, not until Slayter.

He makes me feel something other than pain and it is utterly terrifying. I can’t help but to want to spend time with him, but I can’t allow myself to let it become more than what it is now, which is nothing at all.

It’s not fair to anyone if I try to have any sort of relationship when I am so messed up a shrink couldn’t fix me. Neurologists and neurosurgeons couldn’t even fix me. I’m beyond repair, and I won’t let anyone walk into the destruction that is my life.

“You okay?” Lizzie asks, reaching across the table to grab my hand.

“Yeah. Sorry.” I shake my head, attempting to get back to the here and now. “Was just thinking about something I forgot to do before I left the apartment.”

“You and your dazing off.”

I laugh. “I know. It’s a bad habit, isn’t it?” I see Stetson sitting next to Lizzie, his arm draped on the back of her chair. “Hey Stet. Didn’t even see you walk up.”

“I noticed,” he jokes. “Good seeing you, Charlie.”

“You, too.”

We make small talk a little before the waitress comes and takes our orders. I nibble on chips and salsa, trying hard not to look as awkward as I feel.

“Are we going straight to the airport after this?” Stetson asks Lizzie.

“Airport? Why airport?” I ask, looking at everyone at the table.

“Lizzie didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Why do people not ever tell me anything?

“I got a job offer,” Lizzie timidly admits.

“No way! Where? That’s fantastic, Liz!”

“Yeah, it is.” She pauses for a few seconds before looking up at me nervously. ‘But it would mean I’d… I mean Stetson and I, would have to move all the way to California.”

My stomach drops, slamming into the concrete floor. California? That’s so far away from Texas.

“Oh,” I force out the only word I can. I stare between Lizzie and Stetson for a beat, Lizzie’s face drops at my reaction. “Well, I hope it goes well. I’m so happy for you,” I tell her truthfully. And I am happy for her. It doesn’t mean there’s not a pang of sadness bursting in my chest right now. The one person who
gets
me for who I am now versus who I was before could very well be leaving me. Leaving Dallas. Leaving Texas. I scoot my chair back and stand up, dismissing myself. “I need to go to the restroom. I’ll be right back.”