Tailspin (Better Than You) (22 page)

              I recall memories of her dark, wavy hair, the length and fullness of it falling between my fingers. Her skin, smooth and clear. Her always chapped lips now quenched and full. The clothes that were falling off of her thin frame are now filled and fitted. Even the scars along her arms and stomach have smoothed away. Time has healed her, changed her. 

              With a deep breath, I hold those images in my head, fabricate the reunion she’ll have with Amelia and the love she’ll finally receive and has always deserved.

              One an exhale, I let it all go. I stop hoping that she’ll call me, that I’ll be her first stop in her newly found freedom.

              As I dress for the day; pressed pants, ironed polo, holsters and straps and buckles and boots and hat, I tell myself over and over that it’s better this way.

              I almost believe myself. Almost.

29

November 4, 2010

              Life has returned to normal, for the most part. As normal as our life can be. Joshua started high school in August and Emily is scheduled to graduate with her bachelor’s in just a few months. Parents and teachers have told me what a good job I’ve done with them, with holding our family together, but it wasn’t all me. I’ve made my fair share of mistakes, but I’ve kept going forward, even when I thought I couldn’t, when it seemed life would win.

              To say that I don’t think about Logan would be a lie. She’s everywhere. In the soft morning light, in the steam of the shower, in the cold metal of a gun. She’s relief and pain, fondness and regret. Her honey brown eyes follow me wherever I go.

              But it’s not as hard. Letting her go, though something I will always question, doesn’t hurt as much.

              By the time I’m opening the door to the bar, I’ve pushed aside all thoughts and feelings, determined to focus on the task at hand; inventory. I’ve bribed Kaitlin and Bridget with time and a half pay to help, and true to their word, their sitting at the bar drinking orange juice when I get there. I’m sure it’s spiked, but I can’t help but be grateful that they’re here at all.

              Kait downs the rest of her drink and stands. “Don’t look so surprised to see us,” she says, walking around the bar to put her cup in the sink.

              “It’s insulting, the lack of faith you have in us,” Bridget adds.

              Dropping onto a barstool across from Kait, I say, “Forgive me for assuming you wouldn’t show up at ten in the morning for inventory.”

              Bridget scoffs at me. “Nathan, it’s time and a half and free alcohol. What’s there not to show up for?”

              “Technically I never offered free alcohol,” I say, accepting the screwdriver Kait places in front of me. They both laugh but say nothing. They never take me seriously. I guess it’s hard when your boss is the same age as you. Once my drink is gone, I stand, the effects of the strong drink coupled with the fact that I never drink making my body feel off balance. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”

              Our first order of business is counting cups. We lose more than we can buy every week, thanks to our fine customers. They’re plastic, too. Everything gets counted, from the dishes to the sugar packets, and four hours later we’re sitting on overturned crates in the liquor room.

              “Don’t open that,” I warn Bridget, who laughs and sets the bottle of Patron back by her feet with the rest of them. We’re just a beach bar, but this is Miami and Little Havana likes their tequila. Another hour slips by, Kait and Bridget removing the bottles from the shelves while I mark them off of our list and make a note of what we’re low on.

But something’s not adding up. “Kait,” I start, looking up to see where she’s at in the room. “How many bottles of-”

When I finally see her, the extra body standing in front of the door, it takes a minute to compute. She looks so different- more beautiful, if at all possible. There are lines around her honey eyes, which I know from experience are from smiling. Her hair is pulled back into a long ponytail, exposing the fullness of her cheeks and the length of her neck. A neck I can still remember grasping, touching. My fingers twitch, longing to pull her to me again, just to see if this is as real as it looks.

Instead, I let my eyes roll down the length of her- curves where there were none before, confidence where none existed.

And then she speaks, and I swear the world stops spinning, the force of it throwing me sideways and backwards and twisting me inside out. It’s one word, “Hey,” spoken so softly and normally that it’s as if all of this time hasn’t passed by. But it has. And she’s here. And she’s healthy, that much is obvious. Time
has
healed her.

I stand. Somewhere in the distance I can hear the clipboard with the numbers fall off of my lap and hit the floor. Another part of my mind has realized that Kait and Bridget aren’t even in the room. Within a matter of seconds, my life has changed again. Finally the pieces inside of me that never stop moving have settled. Of their own accord, my feet bring me closer to Logan, closer to the woman who has the power to correct a tailspin with just one word. We’re just inches apart now, the space between us so infinitesimal compared to where we were. I would have been happy with a text message, accepted a phone call gladly, but this? Her being here, solid, close enough to touch, it’s almost too much to bear.

Almost.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice barely squeezing through the ball wedged in my throat.

“I, uh-” Her voice wavers, a contrast to the confidence in her stance, and it hits me then: This is still Logan. “I came to say that- I wanted to-”

I move closer, notice how her chest pushes against mine as each breath expands and contracts. After a few exhales, my breathing matches up to hers. We’re in sync. Always connected. “Can we start over?” she finally says, her breathing heavy and voice light.

“Is that what you want?”

She nods. It’s jerky, desperate. So much raw emotion in that one, common movement that it’s like a fist reaching into my chest and squeezing my heart. She wants to start over. With me.

Clearing her throat, she slips her hand in between us. I slide mine into hers and wait. “Hi,” she begins. “I’m Logan Reynolds. Former drug addict and current addict of trolli gummi worms. I’m twenty years old, freshman at Florida Gulf Coast University and lover of all things beachy.”

I’m smiling so hard it hurts, but I can’t stop. “I’m Nathan Hawkins,” I mimic. “Former undercover cop and addict of the smell of surf wax. I’m twenty four years old and owner of this fine establishment.” With my free hand, I glide my fingertips across her cheek, noting how smooth the skin is; how smooth it’s always been. It feels right, this moment between us and the moments that are sure to follow. It feels whole. “Welcome to My Friend’s Place.”

And then, because I can’t stand it any longer, as if she’s the piece that’s always been missing, I close the distance between us, sealing her mouth with mine. This time when the world starts to spin, it’s a good feeling. Everything sets back in motion, moving forward towards a better ending. Her smell, something new and flowery, engulfs and stretches around me, closes us in this little bubble of time in the stockroom of my bar.

Eventually I pull away and look into her eyes. Eyes that smile. “How much time do we have?”

“A few hours, at least.” She bites her lip and smiles, flashing white teeth and a crooked bottom tooth. “I want you to meet someone.”

“Is this someone a guy?” I ask, joking around. Mostly. She just laughs and grabs my hand, pulls me out of the stock room and through the bar. Around to the employee exit and out into the parking lot. The sound follows me the whole way, a welcome echo.

Leaning up against a car is blonde girl, probably around Logan’s age. She stands upright when she sees us, practically jumping up and down with excitement. “Nathan,” Logan says, watching me with unrestrained joy. This person is important to her, I realize. “This is Melissa. My very best friend.”

I begin to stick out my hand for Melissa to shake, even go as far as opening my mouth to say,
It’s a pleasure to meet you
, or something cheesy like that, when Melissa jumps into my arms, practically throwing me to the ground. “It is
so
good to finally meet you.”

Looking over at Logan, who is wearing the widest smile I have ever seen, I say, “You too, Melissa,” and pat her back.

She finally backs up, wiping tears out of her eyes in the process. “Sorry, ignore me,” she says with a small laugh.

“She’s a hugger. And a crier,” Logan explains.

“Ah. I see,” I say, and I mean it. I can still feel her vise-like grip around my neck.

“Anyway, I’ll meet you back here at,” Melissa looks at her cell phone. “Eight? Sound good?”

“Yep.” Logan and Melissa hug and I look away, feeling as if this moment doesn’t belong to me. I can hear them whispering back and forth, Logan laughing again, and I smile. It’s all so
normal
.

Logan’s small hand slips into mine, warm and soft. Not cold and clammy like the last time I held it. I turn to her, my smile widening. Brush my fingers against her cheek because I can’t help it. “Where to?” I ask.

“Ice cream, and then the beach.”

While we’re walking along the strip, I notice several different things. Logan’s hands are not only warm and soft, but they’re steady, her grip strong and sure. She’s looking around at all the people, the beach, the sky, when she says, “God, I miss it here.”

“You don’t like Ft. Meyers?”

“I do, but it’s different. There’s just so much going on here. I couldn’t handle it before, but now…”

Her words trail off, sucked into the murmur of passing cars and conversation. “Now?” I ask hopefully. Will she be coming back? Will we get another chance?

She shrugs and squeezes my hand. “It’s not for sure yet, but we might be moving back. Melissa and me, I mean. She wants to go to school for fashion design and the Art Institute down here is her best bet.”

“What about you?” I ask. “What are you going to do?”

She stops and faces me, her eyes boring into mine. “I’m not sure,” she says and then bites her lip, hesitancy spread across her features. “I just- I want to be closer to you. I know that so much time has gone by since…everything, and maybe it’s presumptuous of me, but-”

“Stop, Lo,” I interrupt, placing a finger on her lips to silence her. “I want you. I’ve
always
wanted you. That doesn’t change just because time has gone by.” I realize then that it’s true. That even though each day has passed, pulling me farther from her and my memories of our time together, the inexplicable draw to her hasn’t let up. We’re opposite ends of a magnet. A bee and a flower. A bullet and a gun.

She lets out a long breath and then places her forehead against my chest. “I was hoping you’d say that,” she mumbles into my shirt.

Wrapping my arms around her, I laugh. I savor this moment, so much better than anything my mind could have dreamed up. Adjusting my hold on her, she snuggles underneath my arm and we continue walking towards the ice cream shop; towards our future.

~~

“If she said she’ll text you, than she’ll text you.”

I glance at Emily, then look back down at my phone. “I wasn’t thinking that she wouldn’t.”

“Sure,” she says, dragging out the skeptical word.

“Really. I just want to make sure I don’t miss it.”

“Right. Because text messages disappear.”

Locking the screen, I sigh and sit back. “You know, I could call you out on so much, but I never do. Why do you give me such a hard time?”

She scoffs and continues to flip through the channels on the TV. Joshua’s in bed, and we’re down here watching late night sitcoms like an old couple. “What could you possibly give me a hard time about?”

Lifting my hand in the air, I count off the list on my fingers. “Derek, Derek, oh and Derek.”

Much to her credit, Emily doesn’t flinch. “Whatever. Nothing’s happening there.”

“You sound upset by that,” I say, averting my eyes. If she is then I’m the one to blame.

“It’s not a big deal. We’re just friends.”

“That’s good.”

A few minutes pass with nothing but the TV as noise, and then my phone vibrates. I lunge for it, as if it might grow legs and run away, swiping the screen in the process of picking it up. It’s Logan. A huge cloud of doubt that I didn’t realize was lingering floats away.

I’m home :)

I smile, wondering what her dorm looks like; if it’s messy or clean, bright or dark, big or small. There’s so much I don’t know about her. I’m hoping that I get the chance to learn everything there is this time around.

30

November 19, 2010

              It’s been two weeks since Logan came waltzing into my bar. Since she’s finishing up school, she hasn’t been able to come back. I’m on my way to surprise her at her dorm. I pick up the phone on the seat next to me and read the directions one more time. I’ve never been good with them, and unfortunately, I’m lost. I’m also an hour behind schedule.

              An idea pops into my head. The line rings four times before Logan picks up. “Hey,” she says. I can hear the smile in her voice.

              “What does your dorm building look like?” I ask.

              “Um, it’s the biggest one. Lots of windows, obviously.” She laughs. We do this a lot, where I ask her to describe the building she’s walking into, so it doesn’t give away my surprise. “It’s actually a pretty boring building. I don’t know how else to describe it…”

              But I already have the building in my sights. Finding a guest spot, I tell Logan I have to go, that Chief is calling me, and hang up. Melissa said she already called me in this morning, and sure enough, the security at the desk checks my ID and waves me in. The entire time I’m climbing the stairs to the third floor, my heart is pounding. Not only are the cement floors and posters on the walls bringing back memories, but I’m imagining Logan sitting in bed with text books strewn all around her, how I would have to shove those aside to lay her down.