Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Tess
I wait around for Kit to return from taking his phone call for longer than I’d like to admit. By the time the sun has melted like an orange creamsicle into the Gulf, and I’m still refusing to order dinner, Alex starts stealing suspicious glances at me when he thinks I’m not looking.
“Just send my usual to the room,” I say, gathering my room key and purse from the countertop as I scoot off my stool.
He quirks a brow but doesn’t look up from the inventory form he’d been filling out. “What happened to the restaurant near the aquarium?”
I stop midstep, toe to the ground, and turn to pin him with a glare. “No one likes an eavesdropper, Tio. ”
“Hardly an eavesdropper.” He places the paper on the stainless-steel prep counter and glances at me, the quirked corner of his mouth just visible beneath that awful goatee. “I’m the one who told him about the place.”
“So a meddler, then.” I point at him. “That’s worse and you know it.”
He grimaces. His gaze drops back to the spreadsheet, and he mutters, “ Metí la pata, ” under his breath.
“That’s what I thought,” I snipe, though I have no clue what he’s saying.
Food service comes and goes. My half-eaten dinner grows cold while I sit in bed, knees to my chest and HGTV on the television, waiting to feel better about the situation. I did what I needed to do. Laid down the boundary that will keep both our hearts safe, and yet I feel like absolute dog shit. I retrieve my phone from the piled-up comforter on my right and navigate to Alicia’s contact, hoping for a quick confidence-boosting bit of validation from my best friend.
Me
I officially shut things down with Kit.
In no time at all, my phone vibrates with an incoming text. I laugh at the mental picture of her fingers flying over the phone while her tongue peeks out from between her lips the way it does when she’s focusing on something intently.
Alicia
RUDE. Why was I not consulted first? Don’t you know I, as an old married woman, must live vicariously through you?
Me
…you’re two years younger than me.
Alicia
and YOU’RE no fun.
I kill the screen and toss it back to the pile of covers from whence it came. So much for that.
Time passes slower without Kit around to fill it. I knew this, had experienced it while avoiding him all day, but it turns out that it’s much worse when I’m the one being ignored. Sleep is a welcome reprieve, but when I wake, it’s not to a knock on the door, but a seagull squawking on my balcony railing. I even double-check to be certain I removed the Do Not Disturb sign. The empty brass knob confirms it: the tables have turned. Which is basically what I asked for, so why am I so upset about it?
No. I asked to be his friend, not to cut off contact completely. This feels like he’s just being petty. In a huff, I strip my clothes from the day before, now wrinkled from sleep, and change into my bathing suit. I’m not going to sit around all day waiting for him to get over the fact that I don’t want to sleep with him. He’s taken up enough of this vacation as it is.
I told him this trip was important to me, and I meant it. If there’s any chance that this is going to be the last time I come here, I have to make the most of it. Have to imprint everything on my heart so I can never forget this place, no matter how far I go. So I can never forget them.
I spend the morning in the water, till my fingertips are prunes and I’ve found two partial sand dollars. Then, freshly showered and rose-colored from the sun, I drive to the sandwich shop thirty minutes away where Dad used to insist on dragging us at least twice each trip. I eat a Baze in his honor—their specialty chicken salad sandwich with banana peppers and some secret sauce I can’t identify—but dip it in their homemade ranch for Mom. After a quick trip to the street market near the boardwalk, something Mom always loved to meander on good weather days, my collection of rings is freshly topped off with a mother-of-pearl piece that she would adore.
I soak it all in. Then spend an hour on my balcony trying to imagine what life would look like without it. Maybe I could move abroad. Work as a sherpa in Nepal, despite how much I loathe hiking. Or move to California, where there’s endless sunshine to enjoy without any of the humidity. It’s hard to pick a destination when I have no idea what I’m truly seeking. Freedom from my past, maybe? A hard restart? Some metaphorical equivalent of slapping the computer so it stops glitching and instead becomes something you can depend on. Unbroken and functional once more.
There’s a fine line between continuing my restless wandering and finally seeking the path meant for me. And boy, do I walk it like the tightrope it is.
A distant banging pulls me from this reverie. I blink back the haze of tears I hadn’t realized were falling and peer over the railing, half expecting to find Mo and the maintenance crew messing with something on the deck below that leads to the water. Just then, the banging sounds again, only I realize now that I’m focusing that it’s coming from inside my room.
As I pass it, I kick the tray from last night’s room service under my desk, then grab my bra from the back of the armchair and stuff it into the cushions. The key will be not to forget it, otherwise it’ll make for quite the shock of Magdalena’s life when she cleans my room next.
I’m breathless by the time I yank open the door to find Kit with his hand braced on the frame above it. The slopes and sinew of his muscular arm loom over me, and the sleeve of his tee rides up, bulging at his shoulder. I attempt to gulp quietly as I avert my gaze only to meet his where it rests on my face.
“Hey.” The word takes effort from him that I didn’t expect. He grins sheepishly. His hair is damp, his scent fresh and strong. The crook of his once-broken nose is accentuated by the dark purple bags beneath his hazel eyes. One look at him and all the anger I’d been feeling at him for avoiding me slowly packs its bags and slips out the emergency exit of my brain. He’s hurting; that much is apparent.
I step to the side and sweep an arm toward my room. “You want to come in?” The door opens into a living area with a desk, armchair, and fold-out couch that I always slept on when I came with my family. Plenty of places for us to sit without the temptation of sharing a bed.
He doesn’t bother tearing his gaze from mine. Not even when he dips his chin in resignation. “No, I won’t impose. I just wanted to let you know I’m leaving tomorrow. Not permanently or anything. But I—” White teeth flash as he bites down on his lip, interrupting himself. Through the open balcony doors, a breeze rushes in, tousling my hair. He sighs, and I feel the weight of it in my bones. “I’ve decided you’re right.”
“Always am,” I quip. It’s a sad attempt to cover up my disappointment. My heartbeat ceases, like a fist has closed too tightly around it to keep on pulsing. “But about what, specifically?”
The corner of his mouth lifts, though I’d hardly call the expression joyful. “I’m going to go see my parents.”
I glance at the gold watch that dangles from my thin wrist. “Right now? How far is that?”
“Not now. Tomorrow. It’s about a two-and-a-half-hour drive, so I’m heading out bright and early. I wanted to give you a heads-up so you didn’t think I just up and left you.”
I’d never think that.
I don’t know where the thought comes from. It flits into my mind like a memory you’d much prefer stayed forgotten. Unwanted. Confusing. Why wouldn’t he leave? I’ve given him every reason to. And yet I never considered the possibility that he might.
I fold my hands over my stomach, suddenly queasy. His gaze tracks the movement. Sometimes it feels like Kit notices everything, even the things I wish he didn’t. Perhaps especially those.
But I notice things too. Like the tension in his shoulders. The nervous dart of his tongue over his bottom lip. And his eyes, so dark now they could hardly even be considered brown. More like the color of a tumultuous sea. The color of something raw and aching beneath the surface.
I think of his outstretched hand as I cracked open the window to my pain for the first time in years. Of how safe it felt when I finally took hold.
“Do you want some company?”
“Right now?” he asks, one brow rumpling his forehead.
“No.” I say it too quickly. Too succinctly. He winces. I shift my weight from one leg to the other and tilt up my chin. “I mean, sure, but I was referring to tomorrow. I could ride with you.”
I have no clue why I’m offering. All I know is that he looks like he’s lost sleep over this already, and if I can somehow make it a tiny bit less nerve-racking by being there, then I will.
All I know is that today, without him, was the first day since arriving where the grief felt close enough to drown me again. So much for focusing on remembering.
Kit captures his shaking head by raking a hand through the nearly black strands of his hair. “Oh, no. That’s okay. I’m probably going to stay the night if they’ll allow it. But I’ll be back on Tuesday.”
I hold up a palm, my brow furrowed. “What do you mean, if? Do they not know you’re coming?”
“Not exactly,” he says, grimacing.
I drop my hand to my side and try pinching my thigh to remind myself it’s not my business. But then I think of how much it sucked today, suffering alone. How much better it was with Kit by my side, even if it felt like a weakness at the time. I shake my head at him. “If there’s a chance you’ll be turned away by your own flesh and blood, I’m not letting you face that alone, Kit.”
Besides, isn’t that what friends are for?
His features soften, some of that heavy stress slipping away tangibly. But he shakes his head once more. “I can’t let you do that. You just told me how important this trip is, and this would take even more time?—”
He’s right. I did say that. And I meant it. But this feels important in a way that I can’t explain. All I can do is trust my instincts. “I’m going. No debate. No complaining. From me, that is.”
I expect him to argue some more. To put up a fight. But the moment the words leave my mouth, his entire body sags with relief. He ages in reverse right in front of me, going from a self-assured grown man to a young boy who’s just grateful to shuck off some of the weight on his shoulders. He seems fragile now in a way I’ve never noticed before. Breakable.
I watch as if it’s someone else’s hand that reaches out to cup his jaw, someone else’s thumb that smooths the edge of a sleepless bruise beneath his eye. But I feel him melting into that hand as if it were mine. The warmth of him, the strange familiarity leaves my palm stinging like it’s a once-sleeping limb now finally waking up.
The buzzing doesn’t stop even after I’ve dropped my hand. I gather the hem of my cotton shorts and hold on for dear life. My mind is struggling to catch up with my words and actions, and as I begin to grasp what I’ve gotten myself into, I feel the urge to spiral.
“So, now that it’s settled,” I say, swallowing back the nerves constricting my throat, “how about we check out that restaurant you mentioned?”
Uncertainty dances in his gaze as he studies me—checking for any sign of doubt, I imagine. Even if he sees one, he doesn’t let on. Eventually he sighs, straightens his spine, and gazes down at me with his best impression of a relaxed smile. “Sure. Dinner sounds nice.”
* * *
If I thought Kit was tense yesterday, this morning he is downright stressed-out. It’s palpable, leaving a bitter taste in the air of his rental car. I do my best to combat it with upbeat music and a hodgepodge of snacks I snagged from the pantry at the Carmen, but he doesn’t eat a single Teddy Graham. His back remains ramrod straight, his jaw set, for the entire drive. In fact, the only reason I know he’s alive in there is because I can see his chest rise and fall with every breath.
His foot finally eases down onto the brake pedal as we take an exit somewhere just over the border of Mississippi. A stilted drumbeat rattles from his fingertips onto the steering wheel. We roll to a stop at a blinking red light, and he glances left, then right, repeating the motion three more times despite no oncoming cars in either direction.
“Do you remember how to get there?” I ask, trying not to sound judgmental. I know it’s been a few years, but this town appears to be only slightly bigger than Fly Hollow. I could probably navigate to half the homes of my high school classmates, though I’d never have a reason to. Kit seems even more capable than me. So what gives?
His fingers still, and he crumples forward, head landing on his knuckles. “We have to go somewhere first. And I just— I need?—”
Some of the crackling energy dissipates when I settle my hand on his curved spine and begin long, steady strokes along its length. “Whatever you need, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” I say it with less confidence than I feel. Something big is upsetting him, bigger than just seeing his parents. I want to yank the burden off his shoulders, but I know firsthand how things like that cannot be taken. It’s something he has to give away. Piece by piece. Maddeningly slowly. Until at last, he can breathe again.
He draws a deep breath, and when he speaks, his voice is an octave lower. “Just promise you won’t ask any questions, okay?”
My mouth pops open, but I snap it shut, my teeth clacking together. I run my tongue over them. Swallow thickly. When the silence stretches too long to be comfortable, Kit glances sidelong at me, and I nod hesitantly.
“Promise,” I breathe. “No questions from the peanut gallery.”
He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even exhale. He turns back to face the road, cranking the steering wheel to the left as we pull forward at last. We pass through a town not unlike my own, with old red brick and shotgun houses and railroad tracks that vibrate our bones as we cross them. After about ten minutes, the buildings give way to a tall chain-link fence topped with coiled barbed wire. He pulls up to a security booth, where a portly man with no hair on his head and too much hair on his upper lip leans out the open window and grunts a greeting when Kit rolls his down in turn.
I try not to listen, but I’m right next to him. When he tells the guard that he’s here to bail out an inmate, I grit my teeth against every question that bubbles to the surface.
We park in a cloud of dust kicked up by our tires in the gravel lot. Before he gets out of the car, Kit meets my gaze only briefly. When he squeezes my hand, I’m not sure if he’s giving strength or taking it.
He’s gone for about thirty minutes. Long enough for my bladder to be near bursting and my curiosity piqued. When the main door to the jail opens again, and Kit spills out of it, I forget to breathe. A man trails behind him, equal to him in height but far thinner. His black hair is shaggy, and his clothes—a T-shirt for a band I don’t recognize and dark-wash jeans—are equally so. He avoids Kit’s gaze, studying the ground like there’ll be a test later. Kit’s arms are crossed over his chest. Every muscle in his body is locked tight. This is Deputy Llewellyn. Kit as a cop for the Air Force. All the versions of him that existed long before our brief time together.
My window is cracked. Dust and Kit’s voice are carried on the breeze, both spilling into the car. Words like “disappointed” and “rehab” find my ears. Then, as Kit breaks stance to throw his arms around the other man, “baby brother” drifts in, tinged with heartbreak.
They part, and this anti-Kit slinks over to a beaten-up taxi I hadn’t noticed waiting. Kit watches it leave, then stands there for so long I’m convinced I’ll have to retrieve him. Just as I reach for the handle, he moves. His steps, which are normally so sure, carry him back to me like it’ll be their last act. He collapses into the car, slams the door shut behind him, and folds his arms over the steering wheel to catch his forehead.
I watch. And I wait. I don’t ask a single question. Not even, How are you? because I hated being asked that in the weeks that followed my parents’ deaths. Still did when each of my grandparents passed. I wanted to scream, How the fuck do you think I am? Broken. That’s how I was. And that’s exactly how Kit is now.
After what feels like a small eternity, his shoulders begin to shake. In the quiet of the car, parked in the lot of the Jackson County Jail, Kit Llewellyn lets out the most heart-wrenching sob I’ve ever heard. And I let him cry, the way I always wished someone would’ve let me.