I See Me (11 page)

This so wasn’t me. I opened my mouth to say so, to rave and rally against the feelings coalescing all around my heart. My ever-steady, never-tested heart. But … I didn’t speak. I didn’t question. I didn’t know what he wanted from me. I didn’t know why he was here. And I found I was deeply afraid to ask.

“I’ll check the engine,” Beau said. I could see without turning my head that his hands were stuffed in his pockets, as they’d been last night in the diner. He turned to the door.

“It’s fine,” I said.

“Still, I’d like to have a look.”

He waited at the door for me to look up at him. Then he smiled.

I nodded and he ducked underneath the doorway to climb down and out of the RV. The Brave actually dipped and righted itself as he did so.

I picked up my portfolio. I put it down on the table, unzipped it, and flipped it open. The sketches inside fanned out, falling open to one of the dark-suited man staring out at me. His expression was serious, maybe even deadly. I shuddered at the look I’d captured in his eyes. He haunted my hallucinations, my nightmares, and my art. He scared me, even tamed and captured on the page.

I closed the portfolio and tucked it back between the wardrobe and the bed. It was too wide to fit in any of the cupboards.

Beau had let it drop, as if it wasn’t more than a casual line of inquiry. And, of course, that’s what it was. What else could he want to know? He’d asked if I saw magic. He meant metaphorically, and I was so terrified of him knowing about the hallucinations that I’d shutdown at the question. Now, he probably thought I was a moron. But would he have stuck around this long if that was the case? Would he be checking the engine?
 

I didn’t get the impression that Beau was just looking for a ride, either in my bed or my RV. He’d been perfectly fine in the rain on the edge of the highway, all alone. And so had I.

I wandered forward to the cockpit, grinning when Beau looked around the hood through the windshield at me. He was insanely beautiful and completely surreal standing at the front of the Brave. Standing there as if he belonged, as if he’d never even thought of being anywhere else. This juxtaposition of reality and the unreal — the parking lot behind Beau and the engine hood between us, his looks and his choosing to be here — was mind-boggling.

It was more than looks, actually. It was belittling to label him so simply and off-handedly. He was present. Stable yet unencumbered. Soulful, for lack of a better word.

His answering smile told me that everything was just fine by him. He ducked back under the hood. Next, he’d be asking for the owner’s manual, and I’d be just fine with that too. Preemptively, I pulled the manual out of the glove compartment and set it on the passenger seat.

Then I settled in the driver’s seat and leaned forward to fiddle around with the CB radio.
 

I was accustomed to taking life minute by minute. I’d take Beau, and his questions, wherever he and they led.

“She drives nice,” Beau pronounced about an hour into our drive. “Someone took good care of her.”

He meant the Brave. He filled every inch of the passenger seat beside me, even with it slid as far back as possible. I kept my hands firmly at ten and two on the wheel — not because I was that conscientious of a driver, but because I wanted to reach across and hold his hand or arm … just touch him.

“Yes,” I answered. “I’m pretty lucky.”

He turned to look at me. His gaze actually warmed the skin of my right cheek and neck. “You’re not the only one.”

He didn’t mean the Brave.

I didn’t answer, but I couldn’t stop myself from smiling.

We stopped for groceries in Tacoma, just outside Seattle, where Beau helped some random guy get his car started in the Walmart parking lot. I tried to not just stand there and stare like an idiot while his agile hands dug into the failing engine. Thankfully, the owner was happy chatting to Beau about cars rather than attempting to engage me with boring conversation about the weather. Or maybe talking about the weather with strangers was a Canadian thing?

Though even I could tell that the owner knew nothing about cars or engines, Beau was completely pleasant. He got the car running with a few tweaks.

Walmart was cool about motorhomes using their parking lots, even overnight. It was supposed to be a place to socialize with fellow RVers — trading tips, routes, recipes — but for me it was just an easy grocery store to get in and out of.

Totally unasked, the random guy pressed a fifty into Beau’s hand. Not bad for fifteen minutes of his time.

“Nice,” I said as we wandered into the store. “You are handy.”

Beau snorted a laugh and then promptly blew the entire fifty on Oreo’s, Coke, and beef jerky in a multitude of flavors. “Every good road trip needs beef jerky,” he informed me, utterly serious.

“I’m not big on meat,” I said.
 

Beau wagged his eyebrows at me suggestively, and I couldn’t help but giggle for the second time in my life.

Beau drew attention in a way that would have terrified me. Except that the looks coming his way were admiring. Before I’d dyed my hair and opted for the tinted glasses, I’d gotten stared at in a completely different way. Beau seemed oblivious to the attention, though, and no one even glanced at me as I walked beside him. I could get used to that.

Not that Beau needed any additional items in the ‘pro’ side of the list in my head. The pros were already stacked.

We didn’t hold hands, but we walked close enough to brush arms numerous times.

I grabbed whole wheat bread, mayo, cheese, and a head of lettuce. When we got back to the Brave, I made us sandwiches on the handy cutting board that covered the stainless steel sink. I cut the crusts off mine but not Beau’s. He’d already eaten the ones I rejected. I quartered his sandwiches, though, which he found terribly amusing.

He shared his Oreos and didn’t ask to drive as we turned west off I-5 to cut out to the coast. I’d already figured out where I wanted to stay the night — Andersen’s RV Park in Long Beach, Washington — and Beau seemed happy to go along with my plan. I opted for the standard site, which was thirty-two dollars during the fall/winter season, rather than the ocean site for forty. I figured that Beau and I wouldn’t be spending a ton of time gazing at the ocean from the Brave. The free WiFi was definitely a bonus, though.

I spent the entire morning and afternoon — even through checking into the campsite, hooking up the RV, and walking the beach before heading into town on foot — in a pocket of bliss I didn’t think was possible. I had no idea that this kind of euphoria was even real.

Other people — more ex-roommates — might have gushed about true love and soul mates, but I didn’t even entertain those sorts of beliefs, not even now. I also didn’t believe in fate, or love at first sight, or serendipity. I believed that hard work, not luck, paid off. Anything else required me giving up too much control.

I would walk each step as far as it would take me, and not worry — not for one moment — about the unknown beyond.

∞

Hoyt was standing in front of the kiddie carousel, which was closed for the evening, or maybe the whole day. That picture was still as creepy as it sounded, though. Not to mention completely out of context, because he was supposed to be in Vancouver, British Columbia, not Long Beach, Washington. Not standing like a creep in front of a carousel.

A creep who was waiting for me?

The sun had held out all the way to the coast. We’d bought ice cream at Scoopers, walked the boardwalk, and watched the sun set … well, until Beau’s stomach started grumbling. Then, we cut up to Pacific, downtown Long Beach’s main street. We passed the city hall and the pharmacy on one of only two major intersections while we debated eating out, either at Long Beach Tavern or Hungry Harbor Grill, or grabbing groceries and cooking. By the sound of Beau’s stomach, I wasn’t sure he could survive if we opted for the second option. Eating out was definitely a luxury, though. I’d already filled the Brave’s gas tank once and it was practically empty again.

So, Hoyt.

Long Beach — all two blocks of it — was definitely a tourist destination. And why not? The beach was beautiful. The carousel and other rides and games were set up right in the middle of downtown.

None of this explained what Hoyt was doing here.

I stopped in my tracks so suddenly that Beau, who was holding my hand, almost wrenched my shoulder out of its socket when he continued forward. I spun around, putting my back to Hoyt and staring into a dress shop window. I could see his reflection. He was texting or playing a game on his phone. In the other hand, he was rolling the silver balls, or coins, or whatever they were, just as he had been in Vancouver. Maybe they were ball bearings. What did people use ball bearings for? Fishing? Mechanics?

Except this time, the glint coming off the silver was wrong somehow. If I were to draw this reflection, if I were to capture this in charcoal, what light would I use to reflect off whatever was in his palm? The sun was setting behind the building before me, which cast a deep shadow across the street where Hoyt stood. The streetlights hadn’t flicked on yet. The kiddie rides were dark behind him. Yes, it was a super creepy scene. Almost creepy enough to be a hallucination, but without the white mist and the migraine.

“Something you like in here?” Beau asked, perplexed.

I glanced at the clothing displayed in the store window I appeared to be fixated on. If I hadn’t been so freaked, I would have laughed. The colorful and matronly shop wasn’t bent toward nineteen-year-olds who heavily favored black and were working on dual arm-sleeve tattoos.

“Do you see that guy?” I asked, nodding toward Hoyt’s reflection in the window. I was afraid to voice the question, but I had to. With the strange lighting and him apparently following me to Long Beach, I was now scared that Hoyt was a figment of my imagination. That he’d never been real at all.

“Across the street?” Beau asked. His tone was darker than I’d ever heard it. “By the kiddie ride?”

“Yeah. Tall, skinny, unwashed?”
 

“Yep.” Beau lifted his nose as if sniffing the sea air. “You know him?”

“No,” I answered, as relief unfroze my limbs. I hadn’t realized I’d been frozen at all. “But he wants to know me, and really shouldn’t be here.”

“I can talk to him. I can be very convincing.”
 

Beau’s suddenly dark protective side — and the possessiveness it hinted at — should have concerned me. Instead, it eased my worry further.

“Let’s just go back to the campsite.”

Beau’s stomach rumbled.

“I can make you another sandwich.”

“I have cookies,” Beau said with a casual shrug. “We can go wherever you want, anytime.”

He placed his hand on my back and steered me the way we’d come. But there was nothing casual about his body language. He felt stiff and wary, and he blocked me with his body as much as he could the entire time we were walking out of the village. I could feel tiny static shocks coming off his hand, even through the three layers of my jacket, hoodie, and T-shirt. Though that was obviously just my imagination. I felt badly about bothering Beau with my concerns, but really happy to be within his protective cocoon at this specific moment.

That was, until the hallucination crept up my spine and rolled over my head, to settle in as a pounding headache over and across my eyes.
 

Then I was just terrified of everything.
 

I was frightened and freaked about Hoyt’s appearance. Pissed that I’d forgotten to take my pill this morning. And really terrified that Beau would leave me once he knew how broken I really was. If it was going to end between us, I really didn’t want it to end like this. I didn’t want the way he looked at me to change, from what might possibly be the beginnings of adoration to pity … to revulsion.

I stumbled.

 
Beau caught me without question.

I tried — I really, really tried — to keep putting one foot in front of the other, to ignore the pain sitting like a two-hundred-pound weight on my head. I really tried to hide my infirmary from Beau, to hide the crazy I’d so flippantly mentioned to drive him away the moment we met.

I stumbled again.

Then, contrary to everything I was feeling, I started running.
 

I let go of Beau, pushing off him as I ran. My sneakered feet slapped on new pavement edging the main road from Long Beach to the campsite.

Before I got more than five steps, before Beau could even react, I went completely blind.

My eyesight was wiped in a wash of brilliant white light. It always happened this way, though never this quickly. But stranded nowhere near my pills or my sketchbook, this was going to be bad. So, so bad. I never went anywhere without my bag or my sketchbook. What had I been thinking? I’d been coasting in Beau’s bubble.
 

Stupid, stupid.

“Rochelle?” Beau was concerned. His voice was near, right next to me, so he must be jogging behind me. He couldn’t understand what was going on. He had no context with which to understand, because I hadn’t warned him. And I didn’t have the words — or the will through the pain — to help him understand.

I stumbled sideways onto the gravel edge of the road and twisted my ankle. Perhaps the road had turned, or perhaps my besieged, blind brain could no longer navigate a straight line. I cried out, flinging my hands forward as I fell.
 

I never hit the ground.
 

Beau scooped me up in his arms and I clung to him.

“My pills,” I cried. “I need …”
 

Pain lanced through my brain. The outline of a figure formed in the white mist of my minds’ eye.

I screamed, then stifled my cry in the flesh of Beau’s shoulder.

“I’ll get you there,” he said.
 

The wind lifted the hair that had fallen across my face when he grabbed me. There hadn’t been any wind before.
 

Beau was running. Could anyone run that fast —