The Girl On The Half Shell (46 page)

Deep down I know I’m doing the right thing. The right thing for Alan. The right thing for me. It just doesn’t feel that way today. Alan is right: I never know what I want, but I always know how I feel.

* * *

Everything seems longer and slower and harder. Usually any return home feels faster and easier because it’s familiar. There is nothing familiar today. It is just long and slow and hard.

I have survived the first day without Alan and the trip to the airport with Jack. Internally I am still messy, but a different kind of messy. Parts of me have been quieted, new parts of me stirred awake, parts of me I leave behind, and parts of me I take.

I repeat that last part in my head. I want to put it in my journal once we are aboard the plane. There should be something in my journal about Alan.

We are ushered into the VIP wait lounge in the airport terminal, and for today that is more about me than Jack. The tabloids have been our crushing shadow all day. I don’t care. They don’t know what the last three weeks have been about, and they never will. Let them write what they want. No one other than Alan and I will ever know or understand it.

It is too honest. Too human. Too real. I love Alan and he loves me. That’s it. End of story. And I leave New York for the simple reason that that is what girls like me do. We say goodbye. We board the plane. We go home and fix our own shit.

Jack hasn’t said a word since we finished clearing out Mom’s personal things from the apartment. It never occurred to me until I came to New York that Mom’s things were exactly where she left them and Sammy’s room remains exactly the same as it was that day. Jack has lockboxes too. I am like him that way: keeping things in little boxes, hurting privately and slow to share my pain.

Jack’s silence today is more about him than about me, and I am OK with that. I understand it because I said goodbye to Alan today.

More airport security comes when it is time for us to board the plane, and by how everyone on the plane stares at us I can tell we are the last ones on the plane even though our seats are first class.

I laugh. No proletarian seats today.

We are in the air before Jack speaks.

“It’s going to be OK, Chrissie. It will all blow over. It always does.”

But I don’t want it to blow over. I am in love with Alan.

I smile. “Why did Rene leave yesterday?”

I was so consumed with Alan I didn’t stop yesterday to wonder why Rene left me.

“The school is graduating you early, Chrissie. They remarked that they would prefer you clear out your things on Sunday so as not to disturb the returning students. Rene and Patty are packing up your things from your dorm room today.”

Oh shit.

“Are the Thompsons angry we’ve been kicked out of school? I know how Rene’s mom feels about never having the crap be public.”

Jack gives me a small smile. “They didn’t kick out Rene. She left in solidarity and the Thompsons are cool with it.”

It’s awful, but I start to laugh anyway. I can’t help it. I was kicked out of school before Rene. What were the odds of that? I laugh harder and Jack laughs, and suddenly we are laughing in a crazed way that doesn’t match any of this.

When the laughter quiets, it is a comfortable thing. A comfortable thing, for the first time, in a very long time, between Jack and me.

“I think tomorrow we should go buy you a new car,” Jack says somewhere over Colorado. “A Volvo. The safest car on the road, but not flashy. Hopefully, it won’t be something anyone wants to steal.”

OK, what’s up with that? I expected to be dragged to an in-care lockdown therapy center. What’s with the car shopping, Jack? Things might be better between us, but it doesn’t make Jack’s parenting any less confusing.

“Why are we buying me a Volvo?”

“You’re out of school early, Chrissie. You were planning a road trip across country this summer with Rene. Leave early. Get lost for a while. Let it all go. Sometimes it’s the only way you can find yourself.”

I smile and think of Alan. Jack is right, but I also think I might have already found myself, and that returning to Santa Barbara is a very big mistake.

When Jack falls asleep, I pull out my journal and make my Alan entry. I stare at the newspaper photo I have tucked there. I love this photo of Alan and me. Us on the terrace, curled around each other, waiting for the sunrise. How did they get it? Telephoto lens? I wonder if you can ever get a real photo from a newspaper. It just seems to capture us, and everything that was us, through these unexpected weeks. I start to cry. The caption is cruel and wrong, those fuckers in the press never get anything right, but the photo is totally us.

I wish I could see the future. I wish I knew with complete certainty if my decision were right. I wish I were older, looking back after having gotten through this.

What if I’d stayed?

I turn to stare out the window. I can’t see the earth and I can’t see the sun and I can’t see the journey ahead of me.

~THE END ~

Previews

Thank you for reading. You might enjoy a sneak peek into Chrissie and Alan’s future, with
Rewind A Perfect Forever Novella
. Available now on Amazon:

He doesn’t laugh. Instead, his gaze sharpens on my face. “I am being nice, Kaley. I came to you. I got tired of waiting.”

What? Did I just hear what I think I heard?

Before I can respond, he says, “How’s your afternoon looking? Do you have time to take off and come see something with me?”

My afternoon? There is something. I’m sure of that, but I suddenly can’t remember a single thing.

“What do you have in mind?”

“I want to show you where I’ve been living. What’s I’ve been doing? I think you’ll find it interesting.”

Interesting? Why would I find it interesting?

“So, do you think you can cut out for a few hours?” he asks, watching me expectantly.

I focus my gaze on the table, wondering if I should go, wondering why I debate this, and what the heck I have on calendar that I can’t remember. God this is weird, familiar and distant at once, and I haven’t a clue what I should do here.

I stare at his hand, so close to mine, on the table. Whoever thought it would be so uncomfortable
not
to touch a guy? It doesn’t feel natural this space we hold between us, spiced with the kind of talk people have who know each other intimately. What would he do if I touched him…?

His fingers cover mine and he gives me a friendly squeeze. The feel of him runs through my body with remember sweetness.

Suddenly, nothing in my life is as important as spending the afternoon with Bobby and for the first time, in a very long time, I don’t feel like a disjointed collection of uncomfortably fitting parts. I feel at ease inside me being with Bobby.

I stop trying to access my mental calendar. I smile up at Bobby. “I’ve got as much time as you need.”

Bobby chuckles and his hand slips back from me. He rises and tosses some bills on the table. “Just a few hours, Kaley. I’ll have you back before the end of the day.”

I rise from my chair and think
not if I figure out fast how not to blow this.

Or enjoy my Second Release:
The Signature
. Available Now. Please enjoy the following excerpt from The Signature:

She became aware all at once how utterly delightful it felt to be here with him, alone on the quay, with the erotic nearness of his body.

She closed her eyes. “Listen to the quiet. There are times when I lie here and it feels like there is no one else in the world.”

“No one else in the world? Would that be a good thing?” he asked thoughtfully.

“No. But the illusion is grand, don’t you think?” she whispered.

Krystal turned her head to the side, lifting her lids to find Devon’s gaze sparkling as he studied her. He shook his head lazily. “No. The illusion wouldn’t be grand at all. It would mean I wasn’t here with you.”

It all changed at once, yet again, and so quickly that Krystal couldn’t stop it. The ticklish feeling stirred in her limbs. Devon’s words, as well as the closeness of their bodies, should have sent her into active retreat, and instead she felt herself wanting to curl into him.
What would it feel like if kissed me? Would I still feel this delicious inside? Or would that old panic and fear return?

Laughing softly, Devon said, “I’m not used to relaxing. Can you tell?”

“I wasn’t used to it before Coos Bay, either. There is a different pace of life here. At first I thought there was no sound. That’s how quiet it seemed to me. Then I realized that there is music, beautiful music in this quiet.”

After a long pause, he murmured, “You’ll have to bring me here every Saturday until I learn to hear music in the quiet.”

Krystal smiled. “Once you hear the music it’s perfect.”

“It’s perfect now to me.” His voice was a husky, sensual whisper.

He was on his side facing her.
When had that happened?
An inadvertent thrill ran through her flesh, and she could see it in his eyes—the supplication, the want, and an unexplainable reluctance to indulge either.

Devon was no longer smiling, his eyes had become brighter and more diffuse. His fingertips started to trace her face with such exquisite lightness that her insides shook. For the first time, in a very long time, she felt completely a woman and wanting.

Was it possible? Had she finally healed internally as her flesh had done so long ago? Was she finally past the legacy of Nick? Was what she was now feeling real? Should she seek the answer with Devon? Or was it better to leave it unexplored?

“You are a very beautiful woman,” he whispered.

She watched with sleepy movements as his mouth lowered to her. It came first as a touch on her cheek, feather soft between the play of his fingers. Her breath caught, followed by a pleasant quickening of her pulse. She was unprepared for the sweetness of his lips and the rushing sensations that ran her body. His thumb traced the lines of her mouth, as his kiss moved sweetly, gently there.

His breath became rapid in a way that matched her own, and his mouth grew fuller and more searching. The fingertips curving her chin were like a gentle embrace, but their mouths were eager and demanding. Flashes of desire rocketed through her powerfully. Urgency sang through her flesh, a forgotten melody, now in vibrant notes. She found herself wanting to twist into him. Reality begged her to twist back.

Continue the story of Chrissie and Alan in the second book of the Half Shell Series:
Girl of Tokens and Tears
coming Spring 2015. Please enjoy the following sneak peek as Neil Stanton re-enters the story:

“Here, you look like you could use this,” says a quiet male voice above me.

I look up only far enough to see the carry size pack of tissue held out in long, tan fingers. I take one and anxiously dab at my tears. On the concrete walkway below there is a pair of some kind of work shoe and dark blue pant legs that look like they belong to a jump suit or something. Oh God, the janitor I barreled into. How humiliating is this? To be the girl alone on a concrete slab, crying and being consoled by the janitor.

I don’t look up, praying he’ll go away.

“Can I sit on your bench?” he asks politely.

I nod. “It’s not my bench and it’s a free country.”

He gives me a small laugh for that. I avoid looking straight at him, inhale another sniffle, and touch my nose with the tissue.

“Thank you. You’ve been very nice,” I whisper.

He settles near me copying my posture, feet on bench, legs bent and facing me.

“You know, Lambert will only bully you if you let him,” he advises kindly. “And he only bullies the students he thinks have potential they are not putting to good use.”

“Thanks. I’ll try to remember that. He doesn’t hate me. I have potential.”

He laughs and from a pack on the ground he takes a brown lunch bag and sets it beside him.

“Rough year?” He is carefully unwrapping some kind of minimart precooked burrito thing.

Jeez, is he going to eat that cold?

“Do you want a bite? It isn’t a terrible as it looks.”

I start to laugh when I really don’t want to. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Come on. What’s not to love? Week old beans. Week old rice and I’m not even sure what the sauce is. Be bold. Be brave. Eat a minimart burrito from yesterday.”

Ok, that was funny. I look at him then locking on green eyes and I see a really sweet teasing glint in them. His eyes are large, brightly colored and filled with a smile. Shoulder length blond streaked brown hair peeks out from beneath an army green bandana and the face of the janitor is tanned, really good looking…and really familiar.

Why does it feel like I know him?

“Are you homesick? Is that why you mope around campus all day?”

I lift my chin. “I don’t mope and how would you know what I do all day?”

He takes the keys hanging from his belt and shakes them. “There’s not much to do when you push a broom in the music department except listen and watch everything.” He takes a bite of his burrito. “You have Lambert’s class from 10 until 11. You sit on this bench until noon. You have a practice room from 1 until 2. You sit on this bench until 3. You have your lab with Jared the TA—who is hot for you, would really like to date you, and is afraid to ask—that’s at 3:30. And then sometimes you do another hour in a practice room, but most times you disappear from campus. You are back at 7 for symphony. That’s your Tuesday/Thursday schedule.”

My eyes round and I tense. Jeez, maybe he’s not just the janitor. Maybe he’s a stalker or something.

“How do you know all that?” I ask fearfully.

“I push a broom, remember?” he replies casually.

I start to gather my things.

“Hey,” he says putting his hand on my arm. “You don’t have to run for security, Chrissie. I would never hurt a hometown girl. The rest of the girls I stalk are in trouble, but you’re pretty much safe. We’ve got that whole SB thing going on. Like comrades bonded in warfare.”