Smoke and Mirrors - Hollywood Knights One (4 page)

“He was such a sweet boy,” she said. “I always
thought it was a shame that things didn’t work out with you two.
But I was glad you stayed friends.”

“Me, too,” I said. “On both counts.” I cradled my tea
cup in my hands, letting the warmth soothe me. “I feel like I’m
running away,” I admitted.

“Oh, posh. You can’t run from memories, and you know
it. That doesn’t mean a change of scenery isn’t a good idea. You
told me you like where you’re living and your new friends. Is that
true?”

“I love my friends. And I love where we live. L.A. is
nothing like I expected it to be. It’s surrounded by mountains and
trees, and it’s beautiful there, even in the heart of the
city.”

I told her about my friends there —Elizabeth, Lori,
and Dylan, London, Brian, and Seth. I told her about ‘girl day,’ a
tradition that Dylan and Elizabeth had dreamed up that consisted of
us girls getting together (sometimes with some other female friends
of Dylan’s joining us) to eat junk food, watch ‘girl’ movies (which
with us could be anything from Fried Green Tomatoes to Boondock
Saints), and talk bad about men (even the ones we loved). And I
told her about some of the other good times I’d had in L.A. both
alone and with my friends.

Gran soaked up every word, and then she smiled at me
and patted my hand. “I can see it in your eyes when you talk about
your life there: it’s where you belong.”

Not for the first time, I wondered if Gran had some
magical powers of her own. What I did know was that her certainty
that I was doing the right thing helped me recapture my own.

Jenny Marshall: California Edition
, I reminded
myself.
Not a new chapter, but a whole new book.

It was time. Time for a change. Time to let go. Time
to try something new. Time to turn the page and see what would
happen next.

Chapter Seven

The next couple of days were hard as hell, except for
the parts that weren’t.  Chris and Elizabeth, when they
weren’t making me roll my eyes with their PDAs, managed to amuse
and distract me enough to counterbalance the pain of saying goodbye
to my friends, my neighbors, and the apartment and city I’d called
home for the better part of two decades.

Packing up the office was quick and mostly painless,
but my home was a different story. I had managed to accumulate a
lot of stuff over the years. How I’d gotten it all into one little
apartment, I have no idea.  The battle to get everything
sorted and packed seemed endless, but slowly the amount of boxed
stuff grew and the amount of loose stuff dwindled. 

We ended up staying up way too late on the night
before the movers were set to come toss all my stuff into trucks
and haul it across the country.  Chris had an early flight,
and once the movers showed up, Elizabeth and I planned to hit the
road to drive my car across the country.  I could have paid to
have the car moved, too, but driving had seemed like a good idea
when we were making plans.  However, I’d never imagined that
we’d be starting the trip on four hours of sleep. That prospect did
not sound at all awesome.

“Maybe you should stay another night,” Chris
suggested.  “Get a hotel room or something.”

“Way ahead of you on that one,” I told him.

I grabbed my laptop and got it started booting up
while I went to find my wallet and fish out a credit card. 
Chris invited himself to sit next to me and read over my shoulder
while I made a reservation for the next night.

“You can afford that?” he asked.

“Not every night, no.  But I’ve always wanted to
stay there, and now seems like a good time.”

“To stay where?” Elizabeth asked, coming back from
the shower in nothing but one of my beach towels.

“One Ocean,” Chris said, pulling her down onto his
lap. 

“It’s a beach resort,” I explained.  “We’re
staying there tomorrow night so we can start our trip rested.”

“Cool,” Elizabeth said.  “I used to go down to
the beach all the time when I lived in Houston.  I haven’t
been in forever.  I miss the ocean.”

“There’s a beach in Houston?” I asked.

Elizabeth laughed.  “No.  Galveston. 
It’s about an hour and a half from where I lived when I was going
to school at U of H.  I went there every chance I got, rain or
shine.”

“There’s something awesome about the ocean when it’s
storming,” I said.

She beamed at me like I’d said something brilliant,
and maybe in a way I had.  Not everyone ‘got’ my addiction to
watching the waves, especially in bad weather.  I thought
maybe Elizabeth understood, though.  I’d know once we were at
the shore the next day.

After a night of almost no sleep, I drove Chris to
the airport, and we all said our goodbyes.  On a whim, I
opened up my second sight when I hugged my brother, curious about
where his relationship with Elizabeth was headed.  I saw
flashes of a few possibilities, but nothing that spelled
disaster.  I did see something that bothered me enough that I
hid my face against Chris’s shoulder until I was sure my expression
wouldn’t give anything away; I made a mental note to deal with it
later.

Chris had to drag himself away from Elizabeth, but he
eventually did go into the terminal after giving us each one more
massive hug.  I led a tearful Elizabeth back to my car, and we
went to wait for the movers. 

Gran and Nancy, one of the neighbor ladies we played
dominoes and cards with, were waiting when we pulled up.  They
both greeted me with a hug, and I introduced Elizabeth to
Nancy.  Then Gran invited us in for tea and talk while we
waited.

“You don’t have a trailer,” Nancy said as she handed
me one of the cups of tea she and Gran had made.  “Are the
movers going to take care of your bike?”

“A different mover, actually.  One that
specializes in moving motorcycles.  It seemed like the safest
option.”

“Wait.  Whoa,” Elizabeth said.  “The bike’s
yours?”

Gran and I both laughed. 

“Did you think it was Gran’s?” I asked.

“Well, no.  But I didn’t think it was yours,
either.  How did I not know that you ride?”

I shrugged.

“You know Brian and Seth ride, right?”

“I knew Seth used to,” I told her.  “My
fault.”

Elizabeth cocked her head to one side and studied me
for a moment.  “Don’t tell Lori, but you are totally my new
favorite sister-in-law.”

After I finished my tea, I left Elizabeth there with
Gran and Nancy while I took one last solo tour of the
apartment.  A lot had happened in that place.  I’d shared
my first kiss with Robbie in the kitchen.  We’d made love for
the first time in my bedroom.  We’d broken up in the back
yard.  Other men had come and gone, and I’d spent time with
some of them in the apartment, too, but Robbie was my first
love.  Not my first boyfriend, or even my first lover, but the
first man I really gave my heart to. 

Tears clogged my nose, burned my throat, and stung my
eyes.  I tried to will them away, but in the end, I gave into
them.  But not for long.  Because it wasn’t just moving
day, but moving-on day. 

Chapter Eight

After the movers came for the stuff from my apartment
and office and the other movers came after my bike, Elizabeth and I
set out for Atlantic Beach and the One Ocean resort.  We
arrived a little too early to check in, but the front desk staff
took care of the paperwork and promised to call my cell when our
room was ready.  They offered to hold our luggage, but I
figured it was safe enough locked in our trunk, so we left it there
and headed for the beach.

As soon as she could, Elizabeth found a place to
leave her shoes, rolled up her jeans, and wandered into the
surf.  I was about two seconds behind her.  We roamed the
shoreline for who knows how long, not speaking and not needing
to.  We just soaked up the sound and the sight of the crashing
waves and the distant horizon, the feel of wet sand and cool water,
and the smell and taste of the salt spray.

There is something about standing where the land
meets the water that moves me like nothing else in this life. 
There’s something about the sand and the salt and the pounding of
the surf that cleanses my soul and recharges my emotional
batteries. 

I was raised in a Christian home, went to church
every week until I left home, and still occasionally wander into a
church from time to time, but never had I ever felt as close to God
and heaven as I do when standing by the sea.  I feel small
next to the vastness of the ocean, but not insignificant.  I
find it comforting that in a world so vast and so amazing that
Someone somewhere cares about teeny-tiny me.  It’s something I
feel even when I don’t stop to think about it.

That day, like every other time I’ve visited the sea,
I was grateful that I’d gotten to see the ocean one more
time. 

A rogue wave rolled in, a little farther and a little
harder than the others, drawing me out of my thoughts and
surprising both me and Elizabeth by splashing us with salt
water.  The wave also threw Elizabeth off balance, and I
grabbed her to keep her from tumbling into the surf.  We both
burst out laughing like it was the funniest thing ever.

“I always heard the Atlantic had white sand beaches
and turquoise water,” Elizabeth said after our laughter died down,
“but this doesn’t look so different from my beach back home.”

I knew she meant the beach in Texas and not
California, but I didn’t correct her use of ‘home.’ 

“South Carolina has some of that.  And part of
the gulf side of Florida.  Maybe some other places, too. 
But those are the ones I’ve seen.”

Elizabeth nodded and went back to watching the
waves.  A few minutes passed before she spoke again.  “I
really needed this.  I shouldn’t have stayed away so
long.”   She turned to look at me and gave me a
smile.  “Thank you.”

I returned her smile.  “I needed it, too. 
And you’re welcome.”  No, that wasn’t quite what I
meant.  “Thanks for sharing it with me,” I added.

“Any time,” she said.  “And I mean that damn
near literally.”

I pulled her into a hug, and she hugged me back with
a brief, fierce squeeze that told me she knew the hell I’d been
going through, even if she hadn’t said anything.

We spent most of our time at the resort hanging out
on the beach, though we did break for meals and to head to bed
early.  Even with sunscreen, Elizabeth had turned fairly pink
from her time in the sun.  She looked me over and shook her
head.

“So not fair,” she said.

My time out-of-doors had only darkened my natural
tan, while she’d gotten a mild burn.  No, it wasn’t fair, but
since it was unfair in my favor, I was okay with that.

“Life’s not fair, Peaches,” I told her.

She stuck her tongue out at me.  So I used my
other gift —aerokinesis— to smack her with a throw pillow.

“Oh now that’s really not fair!”

“Cry me a river,” I said.

“Be careful what you wish for, Jenny.  That’s my
superpower —tears on command.”

“That’s a shitty superpower,” I said, tossing the
throw pillow back onto the chaise where I’d found it.

“Tell me about it.  It still beats the hell out
of telepathy, though.”

Suddenly teasing her about life not being fair didn’t
seem so funny anymore.  Her mood didn’t appear to change any;
she still seemed content and peaceful.  My own mood took a
turn for the worse, though, and I excused myself to shower off the
salt and the sand, hoping to at least keep my grumpiness from
rubbing off on Elizabeth.

By the time we’d both gotten cleaned up and into bed,
I was feeling better, and Elizabeth still seemed okay, too. 
It had been a good day, and I refused to let the past —mine or
hers— destroy it. 

Moving-on day
, I reminded
myself. 

But while I slept that night, I dreamed, and when I
dreamed, I dreamed of the past.

Chapter Nine

Elizabeth woke bright-eyed and bushy-tailed the next
morning, but thanks to unpleasant dreams, I was exhausted and had
to force myself out of the übercomfortable bed.  By mutual
agreement, we skipped breakfast in the hotel in favor of a place I
knew that had awesome pastries and even better coffee. 

The coffee helped a little, and some good music on
the satellite radio helped even more.  I felt alert enough to
drive, at least long enough to get us out of Jacksonville and onto
the freeway.

“I know you well enough to know you’ve done the
research, so what do you think, Em?” I asked.  “I-10 through
Texas?”

“Fuck no.  Have you ever driven I-10 from here
to Texas?  Or through west Texas?”

“Can’t say as I have,” I admitted between sips of
coffee.

“Well, I have.  It’s boring.”

“How boring?”

“More boring than a subtitled art film about
accountants watching paint dry.”

That surprised a laugh out of me, and I ended up
spraying the steering wheel, dash, and windshield with mocha
latte.  Elizabeth handed me a napkin, and I wiped my face
before I told her, “Dylan would so not like that accountant
remark.”

“She’d love it.  She’s all about the
stereotyping of her chosen occupation.”  She paused and then
added, “One of her chosen occupations now, I guess.”

“She didn’t exactly choose motherhood,” I pointed
out.  “It kind of chose her.”

“True.”

“Speaking of which...I don’t think there is any
tactful way to address this.”

“Oh, God,” Elizabeth said, setting her coffee in the
cupholder and crossing her arms across her chest.  “This can’t
be good.”

I fumbled my sunglasses out of the console and slid
them on.  “It’s just...I saw something.”

“Shit.”

“The future is constantly in motion.  All I
really see are probabilities, and sometimes I misread what I
see.  It’s very inexact.”