Somewhere Between Water and Sky (Shattered Things #2) (16 page)

I open the door and stumble out, trying to look as unaffected as I obviously am
—
it
’
s not working. Smoothing my hair, I look around me and see fancy cars, high-end shops,
the beach.

“
Wait. Wait. You said your dad was a counselor.
”

“
I did. He is.
”

“
So
…
.
”

She walks around the front of her car and toward the double doors leading into the lobby. When we enter the building, a bunch of people sitting in chairs and couches positioned for meetings and lounging look up and smile at her. She returns the favor.

“
My grandfather bought this place in the 40s. I think it was a warehouse or something?
”
She points to exposed brick walls in the hallway to our left.

“
Yeah?
”
I turn my head from the brick and take in the wall-length windows facing the line of bougainvilleas hanging from a crest in the outer wall. Everything is natural light and dark oak and absolutely beautiful. Her eyes flicker toward me and she smiles.

“
You like the flowers? That was my mom
’
s idea.
”
Her smile fades for just a second before continuing.
“
My dad had a moment after her death where he wanted to take them down, but I refused. Told him the pop of color made things a little less dreary.
”

I nod. It doesn
’
t surprise me that Jessa would fight for color. Today she
’
s wearing a bright orange off-the shoulder t-shirt with an electric blue mini-skirt. Her rainbow wedges click against the wood floor as we make our way toward the elevator in front of us.

“
Anyway, It was one of those deals where my grandfather bought it for super cheap before anyone ever really thought of California as this place to be extravagant. It was just coming into its own, you know? And so he bought the property, flipped it into a leasing opportunity and started renting out condos.
”

She grabs the latest newspaper, sitting in a basket in the middle of the lobby, and I look around.

“
So how did your dad take over?
”

“
My grandpa died the year my mother found out she was pregnant with me. My dad took over at first to pay his way through graduate school. It
’
s actually turned into a hobby of his; he loves it so much.
”

“
Your dad is a landlord as a hobby?
”

She rolls her eyes.
“
I know, right? He
’
s fucking brilliant.
”
She waves her hands.
“
All this? It
’
s how mom and dad paid for my education. Private school isn
’
t cheap.
”

Walking past the person working the front desk she waves. I follow her, my head moving left and right, stalling at the line of framed photos on either side of the elevator doors.

She pushes the button signaling that we
’
re going up and then looks at me.

“
Oh. Right. Those are the movie stars who have lived here at some point.
”

My eyes grow wide.

“
Whoa.
”

“
Yeah, unless you consider that
when
they lived here they were probably just trying to survive
—
I think the only people who lived here when they were in movies were like the ones from Old Hollywood. All the ones who have lived here in the past decade move out as soon as they get a movie deal worth a month
’
s rent somewhere else.
”

The elevator dings and the doors open. Jessa steps in and then turns to face me.
“
Next stop Casa de Jessa!
”
She waves a card in front of the buttons.

“
What are you doing?
”

“
Oh. Dad gave me the penthouse. The elevator opens up to the condo, but I have to use this card. It
’
s like my key.
”
She glances back up at me, still waiting outside, and she raises an eyebrow.
“
You coming?
”

I startle into movement, shaking my head as I walk into the elevator and take my place beside her.

This is my life now,
I think. But I don
’
t believe it. It hasn
’
t settled deep enough. I remember the tendrils of fear earlier today when Max pulled out my dad
’
s picture. I grip the bridge of my nose in between my thumb and index finger and squeeze.

Just breathe, Stephanie.

“
You okay?
”

I feel Jessa
’
s hand lightly brush my arm.

“
I
’
m fine. Just a headache. I think I need some water, that
’
s all.
”
I look her in the eyes, keeping the worry at bay. But it only lasts for a second. I look away again, resting my head against the wood behind me.

Hope always has this way of lingering
—
toying with my emotions and tickling my senses. But I
’
m constantly ripped back into reality. Unease ripples its way into my skin and I breathe through the tightening of my chest. Friendship is great, until they realize how fucked up you really are
—
how you
’
re just going to bring them down with you and your problems. Chinese take-out and pretending your life lacks the twists and knots of nights spent tied up in a shed only lasts long enough to remind you of what you
don
’
t
have: freedom. Because like hope, freedom tangles. It
’
s all just a mirage, and I
’
m the idiot who believed I got away. I suck in a breathe and let it out slowly, the realization inching into every pore.

It
’
s only a matter of time before this all comes crashing down.

Chapter Eight

The elevator doors swing open and I gasp.

“
Holy shit. Jessa, this is amazing.
”

She laughs.
“
Thanks.
”

I pause before crossing the threshold, just taking in what
’
s in front of me: windows that stretch the entire wall and face the ocean.

Seriously. I
’
m staring at the ocean. That
’
s what pushes me over the edge and into her apartment.
I have to stand by those windows.

I see a sitting area to my left and make my way toward the leather couch, falling against the coolness and noticing how the sun warms my limbs through the glass.

“
That
’
s where I people watch.
”

I shift my head up and see Jessa grabbing something from her fridge. She opens a cupboard and glances at me.

“
Strawberry lemonade?
”

I swallow, noticing how dry my throat is, and throw up a thumbs up.
“
That sounds amazing, actually.
”

I turn back toward the window.

“
I would sit here and read.
”

I hear her walking over to the couch and she sits by my feet, handing me a glass complete with chopped strawberries. She pulls her legs under her and shakes her head.

“
That
’
s where we
’
re different. I like to watch all the life happening
—
there
’
s a lot of it there, you know?
”

I nod.

Her face lightens.
“
Oh. Watch this.
”

She reaches her arm for a remote on the table next to her. Hitting a button, the top of the windows crack open and the sound of waves come crashing in around me.

“
Shut the hell up.
”

She giggles and settles herself deeper into the cushions.
“
I know, right? Thanks daddy.
”
And then she closes her eyes and falls asleep. I know I
’
m not far behind her. I feel my eyelids getting heavy and I rest my head against the pillow. Closing my eyes, I hear the waves and the belly laughter and the gleeful shouting of lovers and kids and friends.

She
’
s right.
I think to myself as my breathing gets deeper and deeper and I relax into the cushions around me.
That is the sound of life. But what about those other sounds? The ones of hidden sheds and sterile hospital rooms? What do we do about those?

There
’
s no one to answer my questions though, and as I drift into sleep I try to focus on the sun shining in my eyes instead of the clouds trying to take over my soul.

.::.

Within the hour, we wake up and find ourselves with massive cabin fever and munchies. Jessa makes her way into the kitchen to throw together dinner
—
a Mexican feast, she calls it.

I
’
m still stretching out my nap-muscles and watching the waves.

“
Want to go take a walk?
”

I breathe in and out a few times before answering, just watching the movement beneath me.

“
There
’
s a lot of people down there.
”
I turn and walk back into the kitchen, sitting on a stool while she peels an avocado for guacamole.
“
I don
’
t do well with lots of people.
”
I grab a chip and dip it into the queso, enjoying the way the cheese melts its way into the crevices before I drop it into my mouth. She keeps peeling and chopping, this time turning to garlic and onions and tomatoes.

“
Well. It
is
Santa Monica.
”
She shrugs and shoots her eyes up to mine before darting them back down so she can pay attention to the knife slicing through onion.
“
Kind of a tourist attraction around here. There
’
s even that god-forsaken song.
”
She rolls her eyes.
“
But we don
’
t have to do the pier. We can just take the route to the beach. It
’
s getting to be sunset anyway; people will be leaving.
”

I turn my head around and watch the tiny people skirt around each other. Even from here I can see the umbrellas staking claim and the kids running to catch waves before turning around and skipping back to shore. I think about the feeling of waves around my ankles and smile.

“
Sure. Let
’
s do it. I
’
ll help you put everything away and then we can go see.
”

She tosses me a lime.
“
Perfect. Cut that and then squeeze a few drops into the guacamole.
”
She pivots and grabs the salt from above the gas stove. She places it in front of me.
“
Throw a few dashes of salt on top for me. I
’
m going to go change into my suit.
”
She stands back and looks me up and down.
“
Wanna borrow one? I bet we
’
re the same size.
”

I choke on a tortilla chip and move my arm up by my mouth, covering it with the crook of my elbow. Tears come to my eyes and I shake my head, and she reaches for the water. I grab it from her hands and take a sip. Taking control of the wheezing, I look at her.