This Sky (26 page)

    A new thought enters my head. A bad thought.

    I wrinkle my nose. “Ren, you had Julie’s address but tell me you didn’t have anything to do with sending a tabloid photographer after me yesterday. Tell me I’m being paranoid.”

    I hear th
e hesitation before he gives his answer and I know I’ve landed on the truth. I know Ren was the one who sent that photographer to stake out the parking lot for me. I know he has orchestrated all of this like some dickhead puppet master.

    “You did!” I put my hand over my mouth and suck in a sharp breath
. Un-fucking-believable.

    “I
t sounds bad, but you have to understand what this could mean for your career as well,” he says, looking chagrinned. “No more shit jobs or dead-end auditions. And it’s not a life sentence, babe. We would only have to be together for the cameras—put in public appearances and show up at events appearing to be happy.” He reaches under the table to brush my leg. “If you wanted to see other people on the side, I’m sure we could work out something as long as you were discreet.”

    
“Discreet?” I murmur somewhere between tears and rage. My throat is closing up and I’m starting to shake.

     “Yes
.”

     He pauses and in
the silence of the moment, my mind swings to Landon. I think of his piercing dark eyes, his low voice, the tremors I feel whenever he touches me. Everything connects and hits me at once. Julie was right. Jane Austen was right. Emily Brontë was right. Love is real. It’s dangerous and fragile and scary, but it’s worth it. Anything less is a waste of time.

      And
what’s more, I realize I don’t have to sit here for one more second. I don’t have to listen to anything else Ren Parkhurst has to say. I don’t owe him a single thing because I may have shared my life with him, but I never shared my whole heart with him.

     “You can finally be somebody, Gemma.”

     I wrench my leg away from him. “Ren, I
already
am somebody. But the entire time we were together, you never bothered to notice. You never asked me to explain about my brother’s death or why I don’t have a relationship with my parents. You never made me feel special. You never even tried to understand me or figure out what makes me tick. And to be fair, I didn’t do that for you either. The truth is that were never right for each other. We were a convenience.”

    Ren’s
forehead breaks into narrow pleats. He looks down at the table and shakes his head. “Look, let’s not get sidetracked by the past.”

    But I’m not listening anymore.
I’m too high on my own anger. I shove out from the table so hard that our coffee cups rattle and the squeezable honey bear container topples onto the remaining croissants.

    Ren’s hands go out to steady th
e table. “Jesus Christ, sit down! People are watching.”

     
“Oh you want me to be discreet?” I gulp for air.

      “Yes,” he whispers hotly.

      “Forget it. Let them all watch!” I shout, throwing my arm out to indicate the onlookers in the coffee shop. God, I am so crazy right now. My heart is thudding in my ears and I can’t even feel my legs. “The whole world saw you having sex up against a bathroom stall. What do you really care if they see you have a fight with your ex-girlfriend? Isn’t this the kind of attention you wanted? Isn’t this exactly what you crave? Isn’t this free publicity?”

   He starts to stand. “Don’t do this.”

    “Oh, I’m doing it,” I say quickly as I sling my purse strap over my shoulder and shake my head. “
I don’t want to sit here with you for one more second. You’re an asshole.”

    The statement
sticks to my tongue. I stop moving and look back, pinning Ren in place with wide eyes. I laugh like I’ve been struck by inspiration. “You
really
are an asshole.”

    He gives me a
look like I’ve lost my mind. “Gemma—stop it.”

     But I’m done listening. I’m done being this boxed-up girl afraid of her own shadow. Before Ren can say another word, I grab the honey and I flip that little golden bear upside down and I squeeze. Right over his head.

    “Are you crazy?” he shrieks, his face going from red to purple. His hands fly up to block me but it’s too late. Ren’s perfect hair is goopy and matted to his skull. “Stop, Gemma!”  

    “You’re an asshole,” I whoop, my determination skyrocketing and my fingers tightening around the bottle.

    All around us, I hear gasping and muffled laughter. It might as well be a standing ovation.

    “Stop it!” This time his scream comes out louder. Honey drips over the tip of his nose into his open mouth. 

     I don’t care. I’m not afraid of what people are thinking right now. I’m not afraid of Ren or what will happen tomorrow or the day after that. I know I can handle it. I know I’m strong.

    So, I move the honey bear over his crotch and squeeze the rest the bottle over his pale cotton pants. I watch the honey pool over the silver zipper and seep into the thin fabric. And when the bottle is completely empty, I toss it back to the table and with my finger pointed straight at Ren’s heart, I say very deliberately, “By the way, Captain Skinny-Dick, I want my massage chair.”

   
No. Fucking. Mercy.

Landon

There’s a nasty, barbed feeling twisting up my insides.

    I know what it is. I used to face it every single day. It’s a raging animal—a howling thing baying at the shadows, popping under my skin in a wet, stinging rush like a blister of fiery adrenaline. And I know what comes next. The anger will rip and chew through muscle and sinew and bone until there’s nothing left of me to look at but a pile of bloody pulp.

    I can’t take it.

    I push my foot down harder on the gas pedal and wipe my sleeve across my eyes. Even though the air conditioning is pumping hard, I can still feel the sweat starting on my forehead, dripping down my temples and flattening my hair to my skin. Beside me, the phone goes off. I’ve got the music turned up as high as it will go but it can’t quite drown out the ringer. Without looking to see if it’s Claudia calling again, I reach over and power it off with my thumb.

    I ditched my sister and Smith and the whole fucked-up scene at the hospital without a word and here I am, in my car, flying south on the freeway. Cottony clouds are whisking by my head. Streaks of dusty sunshine polish the windshield and bounce off my irises. Any other day, this could be nice. But today it’s wrong. Today my mother is dead from a drug overdose.

    I blink, trying to focus my brain on that unbaked thought.
My mother is dead.

    After all of it, I can’t believe it ended like this: in the middle of the night on a cold
tile floor with pills and powder scattered around her head like a halo of spangled snow.

    What a waste.

    What a fucking life.

    My hands are starting to shake again. I thump them on the steering wheel until my palms are red and everything below my wrists rattles with the dull ache of numbness. I’m on autopilot. I don’t realize where I’m going until I’m there, pulling the car in, not even bothering to get straight in the parking spot. I duck my face against the dashboard and exhale hard, sounding a lot like an elephant trying to catch its breath.

    I pull the key from the ignition and move my legs. As I get out, the slam of the car door vibrates up my arm and jangles in my ears. I walk fast, listening to the sound my feet make as they strike the steps. When I get to the door, my hand makes a fist. I drop my head and knock twice, my knuckles scraping the wood.

    I don’t know what I’m going to say. I just know I need to be with Gemma right now. I need to see her face and feel her skin against mine and make sure that she’s at least real.

    I wait as the lock slips from the catch, the knob rolls, and the door jiggles with effort. Then Julie is standing in front of me and I can hear the TV going behind her. With one hand on her hip, she says, “Prepare yourself.”

    “What?” Prepare myself for my mother’s death? Prepare myself for the twin needles of guilt and relief stabbing between my ribs? I think it’s too-little, too-late.

    Julie makes a face. “She’s with the Anti-Christ.”

   I want to know and I don’t want to know. “Ren?”

    Her mouth flattens. She pulls her gaze from me and nods her head.

    My mind is locking up, going thick and soupy like hardening concrete. I don’t know what to say. Actually, there isn’t anything to say, is there? Abby is dead and gone forever. Gemma is with her ex-boyfriend. I can’t be pissed or hurt about this. I don’t have the right. I don’t have anything, do I?

    “They’re talking,” she tells me in a benign voice.

   
Talking?
The word hits me as softly as the swing of a sledgehammer. I stumble and shards of red and purple and indigo light cleave my vision. I close my eyes and wait a moment while the colors saturate the thin skin of my eyelids and trickle into my brain. When I open them, the world looks different—bruised and almost sleepy in front of me. Like when a thick shroud of clouds lumbers in and blocks the sun.

    Without speaking, I scrub my face blank and turn on weak legs to leave. Julie stops me.

    “Landon,” she calls out, coming up behind me, placing two fingers on my back just below my shoulder joint.

    Sucking in a harsh breath, I spin around to face her. “Yeah?”

    Her blue eyes are soft with sympathy. Her lips are curled. “Don’t worry about this, okay? Gemma’s not going to fall for whatever he tries to feed her. She knows better.” Her voice lowers. “She likes
you.
”

     Images bolt around my head—a faded black Typhoon shirt, pink cheeks, soft blue fabric brushing creamy thighs, freckled skin burnished with blurry sunlight, glossy brown hair catching my fingers, bare hips outlined by cool, silky sheets, and those eyes—two silver stars on her face.

    “Will you tell her…?”

    I trail off, my voice swallowed by dust. Julie waits.

    My heart is sinking in my chest, dropping fast and hard like a heavy stone tearing through black waves. I think of Abby’s face the last time I saw her. I think of tiny white pills crushed into fairy dust between my teeth. I think of Gemma’s hand in mine, the foamy tide touching our toes, her words in my ear. And it all seems so far away.
In the beginning there was only water.

   “Anything,” Julie says, drawing me back to the here and now.

    “Tell her thanks for oblivion.”

Gemma

After leaving Ren, I probably don’t even need to tell you that I was on the high to end all highs. I felt like my skin had been connected to a live wire, rendering me a temporary superhero.

    The whole walk home, I bounced on my tippy-toes and laughed the squealy kind of laugh that little kids get during summer afternoons spent blowing soap bubbles and running through sprinklers.

    It’s quite possible that I karate chopped the air with a “hiya!” once or twice. I pictured myself taking a flying leap off a tall building (in a good way). Next up: saving babies from burning buildings and stopping a bullet train with my bare hands.

    But as soon as I walked in the apartment, Julie gave me Landon’s cryptic message and I thought,
something is rotten in the state of Denmark
.

    As Julie explained more, my stomach bottomed with dread.

    Landon couldn’t think I was getting back together with Ren, could he?

    The answer was simple.

    Of course he could.

    Landon could think anything he wanted to think. And last night, when he’d asked me what I wanted, I hadn’t exactly declared myself, had I?

    For a minute, I panicked hardcore. I considered bolting—just packing up a change of clothes and Weebit and looking into the circus for real this time.

    Then I snapped out of it, remembering everything I’d learned over the past couple of weeks and I tried to call him. The phone rang and rang. My texts were ignored. Landon wasn’t answering his phone but Claudia was answering hers. She told me about their mother.

    That was two hours ago.

    Since then I’ve been driving, checking every place I can think of. Aunt Zola’s. Point Loma. The waffle restaurant. The skate park near Ocean Beach because he mentioned it once. The Target in Clairemont because I saw a receipt on his kitchen counter three days ago.

    After turning up empty at the pier, I debate where to go next. I tap my fingers on the center of the steering wheel, focusing on the tinny sound they make in the vicious quiet of my car. I bite my lip until paper-thin shreds of skin peel away between my clenched teeth.

   
Think. Think. Think.

   
My brain is pushing through the time I’ve spent with Landon at warp speed, fusing together the minutes, the days and nights, until they form one dense picture for me to examine. It’s all laid before me: the gas station, falling off the stool at Aunt Zola’s, the storeroom where we almost kissed, the first morning in the courtyard. I remember what he’d said to me that day—
you look a little lost.
I think about the sky, swollen purple with the impending dawn, and the edgy brightness of his eyes. And I think how, even then, things were changing between us. We just didn’t know it yet.

    So flashing a quick look in my mirrors, I make a left and start driving north. I drive and I drive. I drive until the world ends, dropping over the side of a sandy cliff into the agitated Pacific.

    I don’t realize how terrified I am until I see Landon’s car, parked crookedly between some scrubby palms and a trashcan on the side of the road.

    Then I’m crying. Wet, hot tears are pooling in the palms of my hands. And I’m laughing too. Crying because I’d been imagining the worst. Laughing because I know that we at least have a chance to get this thing right.   

     It’s windy but not cold outside the car. I leave my shoes in the backseat and take off running on the path that leads down to the rocky beach where air and water meet. As I round the last bend, the wind picks up, coming in from the south and whipping up dry sand around me. I wipe my eyes and pull my hair to the side, twisting it and tucking it into a makeshift knot.

     It’s not completely dark yet and it doesn’t take me long to find him. There are five surfers waiting on the break. They’re pretty far out but I know which one is Landon right away. He’s on his knees, his back to me, his gaze facing west. He’s backlit by the very last tendrils of daylight—shades of blue, soft and greying like well-worn denim.

    Before I can make it down to the shoreline and figure out what to do next, a wave mounts beyond the break. It begins slowly, a rising shadow against the deepening horizon, and starts to pick up speed as it closes in on the break.

    Landon’s head twists and he falls to his stomach. His arms start to go. I watch his body tighten and his feet get into position. Though I know it’s coming, I still catch a thrill when he explodes from the board all at once and cuts to the side, ahead of the water now. He’s fast and smooth, all graceful lines and power as he slips into the channel of the wave.

    When I reach the spot where the sand turns wet, I sit down and pull my knees up to my chest and watch. I watch him fly and zigzag through the water. I watch and I wait for the moment his head tilts just right and he spots me on the beach. I wait for the lift of his shoulders—that slight tick of recognition that reverberates down my spine like the stroke of a kick drum. And I wait for the bend in his legs and hips as he shifts the nose of the board toward shore. Toward me.

    Swallowing down my nerves, I stand from the sand and walk out to meet him.

    Water is dripping down his chin. He’s carrying one of his surfboards. His hair is slicked back and dark, and his soggy lashes are fanned out like spider legs. Right away, I can see the pain in his eyes.

    “Hi,” he says quietly, scrubbing his fingers over his mouth.

    “Hi,” I say like nothing has happened, like
everything
has happened.

    Landon sets his board down with a soft
whump.
Then we just look at each other for a moment. My heart is going like a hummingbird’s wings and I’m thinking,
So now what
? For the past few hours, I’ve thought of nothing but Landon, but now that I’m in front of him, I feel clueless. In my head, the plan never went past locating him.

    I take a breath and wing it. “Claudia told me about your mom. I’m so sorry.”

    His jaw goes tight. He nods and stares back at me almost like it’s a challenge. “Julie told me about Ren.”

    “Yeah,” I say. Then bravely, I take a step toward him.

    “Here’s the thing,” I start, my voice sounding more solid than I’m expecting. “I know a lot has happened but I don’t want to do this.”

   Landon’s lips pull apart and I realize he’s completely misunderstood what I’ve said.

    “No, no,” I backtrack quickly, shaking my head and wagging my hands. So much for getting this right. “That’s not what I—” Ugh. Deep breath. Try again. “I don’t want to do
this.”
I point, but he’s still not getting it.

    “I don’t want to lose something good the minute I’ve found it!” I shout this time, like raising the volume of my voice will make my intention clearer. My pulse is going dizzyingly fast. “I don’t want to be scared anymore, Landon. I know you’re hurt but I don’t want you to push me away. Don’t you see what I’m saying?” He makes no move and I keep going. “I don’t want a stupid misunderstanding to be the end of it all. And I don’t want the clichéd movie moment where we each go our own way for a bit and thoughtful indie music plays in the background while we figure it all out. I… I can’t—I don’t want that at all,” I gasp. I’m crying again—shit—I’m really crying. I can’t help it. It’s kind of been a doozy of a day.

    Landon looks away. He pushes both his hands into his hair—his trademark move—and takes a shaky breath. A hundred years later, he says, “Tell me, what
do
you want?”

    I don’t have the answers to the all the questions, but I do have the answer to this one.