Should I call you? Are you busy? I’m kind of panicking.
Michelle:
Girl, I am legit shook. I don’t even know how to respond.
Me:
Right?!
Michelle:
The fuck?! Why? Who the hell invited him?
Me:
I’ll tell you everything when I see you. Are you still home?
Michelle:
We left the house an hour early. My dad wants to stop at his favorite leather goods store in Sausalito on the way. Like he really needs another leather jacket. I’m so sorry.
Me:
It’s fine. I already told my mom I’m just gonna chill in my room.
Michelle:
Seriously? Like WTF is going on at your house?
I stare at the text for a good five minutes before I resign myself to the fact that I’ll have to talk to Michelle when I meet her and Allie for lunch in San Francisco tomorrow. I don’t want to put a damper on her Independence Day celebrations with her family.
Me:
It’s not a big deal. I think my parents are just trying to stay friendly with Frank, you know?
Michelle:
That’s generous of them. Call me if you need to talk.
Me:
I will. Tell Allie I’ll see you both after my appointment tomorrow. I’ll meet you there around 2-ish. Happy Fourth. Love you, chick.
Michelle:
Love you too, boo.
Through the kitchen window, I watch my parents arranging patio furniture on the back deck while I whisk my homemade Italian dressing for the pasta salad. For some reason, the oil and vinegar are refusing to emulsify. I hug the glass bowl against my belly as I whisk like a maniac with my right hand. I’m fairly certain my forearm is about to fall off when a voice startles me out of my whisking trance and I drop the bowl on the slate floor.
“You’re cooking?”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I shriek at Ben a millisecond before Mason walks in behind him with Gracie in his arms and a huge smile on his face. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to curse in front of her.”
Mason laughs. “S’all good. Where’s Pops?” he asks, thinking twice about setting Gracie down when he sees the broken glass on the floor.
“I’ll help you clean that,” Ben says, reaching for the roll of paper towels on the counter.
“Don’t touch that!” I warn him. “I don’t need your help.”
Mason and Ben exchange a look before Mason nods toward the sliding glass door. “We’ll be outside. I have to talk to Dad.”
I tear about a dozen sheets off the roll of paper towels and squat down to gather all the shards of glass into a soupy, vinegary pile. “I thought he was dropping her off. Why is Gracie with him?” I ask aloud. “Never mind. I’m not talking to you.”
Ben laughs as he opens the cupboard beneath the kitchen sink and tugs the pull-out waste bin forward, like he fucking lives here. “The lawyer I referred him to told him what to say when he saw his ex and it worked. Something about how he has the right to request supervised visits or something like that, and I guess her boyfriend is on parole or something, so they don’t want the po-po around,” he says while tossing the largest shards of glass into the bin. “She let him bring Gracie back.”
“Why are you doing this?” I say as he squats next to me.
He shrugs as he reaches forward to grab the wad of soiled paper towels from my hands. “I’m just trying to help.”
I yank the crumpled mess back and yelp when I realize I’ve squeezed a shard of glass into the palm of my hand. “Shit!”
“What happened? Let me see.”
“Stop it,” I mutter, making a beeline for the kitchen sink to run the water over it.
“Careful or you’ll push it farther in,” he warns as he stands arm-to-arm with me, completely ignoring the double-entendre and my pleas for him to leave me alone.
I hold my hand close to my face to get a better look at it, and I immediately spot the shimmering splinter of glass stuck in the crease of my palm. “I need tweezers.” I try to turn around, but I bump into Ben’s solidness. “Can you…?”
He chuckles as he steps back. “Go ahead. I’ll clean this up.”
I roll my eyes then head upstairs to grab the tweezers out of the top drawer of my vanity. I finish pulling the tiny splinter from my hand and turn off the light on my mirror just as I see Ben’s reflection appear in the doorway.
“What did you do with all the pictures of us that used to paper these walls?” he asks as he steps inside without asking permission.
“Burned them in a bonfire,” I reply coolly.
He smiles. “Were you dancing around the fire naked while cursing the day I was born?”
I stare at him with a deadpan expression, completely unamused with his attempt to make light of how angry I must have been after the breakup.
“I can’t believe you were cooking,” he says, still smiling as he stealthily closes the bedroom door behind him. “You used to survive on Alberto’s.”
I spin around in my swivel vanity stool. “They tore down Alberto’s,” I reply, standing up and heading for the closet so I can pick out another shirt now that the one I’m wearing smells like my failed salad dressing.
Ben follows closely behind me. “I guess Alberto is greasing buttholes in heaven now. I’m sorry for your loss.” He leans in and sniffs the back of my neck. “God, I miss that scent.”
“What scent? My salad dressing or my Alberto farts?”
His deep laughter resonates in the shell of my ear, making the hairs on my scalp prickle. “Man, I’ve missed that wicked sense of humor.”
I step to the side to put some distance between us, ignoring the way my body responds to him without my permission: mouth dry, heart racing, thoughts fuzzy, pulsing ache between my legs. “I have to change.”
“Go ahead.” He chuckles when I shoot him an angry glare. “I’ve seen you naked a billion times. I saw you in a bikini just last week. Why are you acting shy now? Are you wearing your laundry-day bra?”
I roll my eyes as I peel off my baby-pink high-neck tank top, revealing my strapless nude bra underneath. Tossing it behind me, I yank another tank top off a hanger and swiftly pull it on.
“That was way too fast,” he remarks as he watches me tuck the loose tank top into my cutoff jean shorts. “You should do it again, but slower this time.”
I tilt my head and stare blankly at him.
“Where’s all your equipment?” he asks, making no attempt to get out of my way.
“In my mom’s old office. It’s my headquarters now.”
“Is she still consulting for the sheriff’s office?”
I cock an eyebrow at his uncanny ability to remember inconsequential details. “Occasionally.”
He seems to consider this news for a moment, then he shakes his head as if he’s dislodging an unwanted thought. “So much has changed… Hey, remember how many times you changed in the car during that four-hour road trip to McWay Falls?”
I shake my head. “This isn’t working, Ben.”
“Remember how, on the way back, you fell asleep in the passenger seat and pretended to still be sleeping when I slid my hand down the front of your pants.”
“Stop.”
“I remember that tiny smile on your face,” he says, taking a step toward me. “I wanted to laugh so bad, but I held it in until you came. Because that’s what a gentleman does for his lady.”
I can hardly breathe with him this close to me, but the anger pushes the words out. “Yeah, because only a gentleman would break up with his lady in front of millions of people. A real saint, you are.”
“You know I love it when you talk like Yoda,” he replies with a dangerously sexy grin.
I’m stunned into silence as I have flashbacks of all the times I used to get so tongue-tied around him, I would start talking like Yoda from Star Wars. And how Ben would never let it go, telling me how much it turned him on to know how I could
n’t control how attracted I was to him. Sometimes, he’d try to see what it took to get me to talk like Yoda. Like a devious experiment in sexual attraction that always seemed to end with us fucking like bunnies.
“You,” I begin, trying to get my bearings. “You…asked Becca Kingsley to marry you.”
He rolls his eyes and I want to punch him in the crotch. “It was a publicity stunt.”
“A publicity stunt?” I shriek. “God, you’re more despicable than I thought.”
He bristles at this accusation. “Look, I don’t expect you to understand. I just need you to believe me when I say that none of that shit with Becca matters, because Becca doesn’t matter. You’re the only one who’s ever mattered to me. Everything I did, I did to protect you.” He reaches up brushes a strand of hair away from my eyes. “Your mind, your body, your heart… Your privacy.” He smiles as his eyes lock on my lips. “Your smart mouth…they all exist because I protected you. And they all still belong to me.”
I swallow hard as I press my hand into his chest, preparing to push him away. “Still as cocky as ever, I see.”
“Oh, yeah. Talk Yoda to me, baby.”
He knows he has me exactly where he wants me, which is deeply under his spell. He lays his hand over mine and moves it over the left side of his chest, so I can feel the slow, steady thump of his heartbeat.
I shake my head. “I can’t do this.”
“There was a brief time where I began to question whether I was better off,” he begins, not letting go of my hand. “I’d think ‘Maybe I should just accept my new life without Charley.’ I’ve gotten everything else I ever wanted. Maybe it was time to let go.”
I lick my lips. “When was that?”
“I think that was the period of time between when you just called me despicable and right now.”
My gaze snaps up to meet his. “Why?”
“Why what?” he replies with a chuckle.
“Why can’t you just go home and let me hate you?”
Ben pulls me into his arms and my brain is telling me to push him away again, but my heart and my body are totally blissed out. I actually think his arms might be the only thing keeping me upright. I could probably fall asleep standing up in this position. I haven’t felt so comfortable in years.
“Where’s your lucky scarf?” he murmurs, and I’m surprised by the sudden irrational jealousy I feel toward a scarf.
I push him away. “I burned it.”
“You what?” he laughs. “Are you serious? How could you?”
I glare at him. “What do you care? It’s just a dumb scarf.”
“A dumb scarf?” he replies, his eyes wide with incredulity. “And, yeah, I care about that scarf. I love everything about you, including that dumb scarf. I can’t believe you burned it.”
I roll my eyes to disguise the giddiness bubbling inside me. “I didn’t burn it. It’s in the closet.” I reach in and yank it off a hook, then hand it to him. “You can keep it if it means that much to you.”
He rubs his hands over the soft knit fabric and smiles as he brings it to his nose. “It smells like you,” he says, then he laughs when he sees my expression. “What?”
“What are you doing, Ben?”
He glances down at the scarf in his hands, almost as if he’s waking from a dream, but he doesn’t give it back to me. “There are so many things I want to tell you.”
“Well, what’s stopping you? I’m right here. I’ve been right here for three fucking years,” I say, my voice cracking on the last few syllables.
His face is a mask of anguish as he looks down at me. “I wish I could. But there are things I can’t tell you. Important reasons why I can’t tell you. Very important reasons.”
“Why? Do you realize how many times I’ve gone over and over this in my head trying to figure out what I did wrong?”
His expression turns fierce. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then, why can’t you tell me? What could you possibly confess that would be worse than all the horrible things you’ve already done, and all the shit I’ve had to imagine.”
His eyes are locked on mine, almost as if he’s willing me to try to guess. “I can’t. Believe me, I wish I could tell you everything. Please… Just know that I’m working on fixing this. Just…please be patient with me.”
“I was patient with you, Ben. I was patient while you traveled the world and racked up rumors of infidelity. I believed you when you denied those rumors. I was patient with you all the times I needed you and you couldn’t be there because you were halfway around the world. I was more patient with you than you deserved. And it got me dumped on the internet in front of millions of people.” I grab the scarf to take it from him, but he doesn’t let go. “You had three years to fix this. I’m done being patient with you.”
He loops the scarf around the back of my neck. “What is this scarf made of?”
“I’m being serious, Ben. You need to leave.”
He narrows his eyes, but he holds my gaze as he holds his ground. “This scarf was there the first time I kissed you,” he says, glancing at my mouth. “And it was there when I broke your heart. I know it’s made of cashmere, and you know I used to call you my cashmere kitten. This scarf is a piece of history, which is why you held onto it. And if you think I’m going to let you or me throw away our history, you’re wrong. I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to make this right.”
He pulls the scarf tighter and closes his eyes as he leans in to kiss me, but I slip out of his cashmere trap.
“I always hated history,” I say, cocking an eyebrow.
He shakes his head and looks around the room. “If I scrape off this white paint, will I find the blue walls I painted for you?”
I shrug. “If you cut me, do I not bleed?”
He chuckles. “Still as dramatic as ever.”
“You should leave,” I say yanking my scarf out of his hand and hugging it against my abdomen as I take a seat on the bed. “We’re done, Ben,” I say, wincing as I speak my next words, “I don’t love you anymore.”
He stares at me for a while then shakes his head.
“What?” I demand.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t pull that on me. Why are you shaking your head? What are you thinking?” I continue pushing.
“You want to know what I’m thinking?” he begins. “I’m thinking I wish I’d never met you.”
I nod as if I expected this, but I really just can’t think of any other way to hide the fact that I feel as if I’ve been kicked in the chest.
He takes a few paces toward me. “I wish I’d never met you, because then I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you and I wouldn’t have spent six years learning you. And I wouldn’t know that you wince whenever you tell a lie.” He glances at the scarf in my arms. “If I didn’t know you so well, I wouldn’t have to wonder why you’re pretending not to love me. And I wouldn’t have to know that I’m the reason… I made you this way, and it kills me that I don’t know if I can unmake the mess I’ve made.”
I shoot him the same blank look I gave him earlier and he’s the one wincing now. Taking a deep breath, I stand and head for the door.
I pull it wide open and straighten my posture. “You didn’t make me this way, Ben,” I say, motioning for him to kindly exit my room. “And you should really stop listening to all the hype. You’re not as important as you think you are.”
His eyebrows shoot up for a brief moment as a sardonic smile spreads across his face. “I deserve that,” he replies, nodding as he walks toward the door, stopping when he’s next to me so he can lean in and whisper, “And you deserve the truth. I’ll give it to you… when you remove that giant stick out of that gorgeous ass.”
I gasp as he lands a light swat on my backside. “God, you’re such a jerk.”
He laughs as I shove him out of my bedroom. “But I’m your jerk, baby,” he says, coming to a stop at the top of the stairs. “And you’ll always be mine.”
/> I close the door behind me, so I don’t have to watch him leave. Leaning against the door, I shake my head in dismay as I try to forget how good Ben looks and smells and kisses and fucks.
I bring the scarf to my nose and inhale the faint scent of him. Cedar and sunshine. Letting out a huge sigh, I toss the scarf onto my bed. I am in deep, deep trouble.
11
Firework
Now
I admit I’ve lived a charmed life, growing up with two protective brothers and two university professors for parents. The first eleven years of my life were spent in the sheltered safety of the suburbs of Petaluma, California. When my father was granted tenure, after twenty years at Sonoma State University, he opted to migrate two of his psychology courses to the extension program, so he could teach remotely as an adjunct professor.
My mother and father’s dream has always been to live by the beach, and my mother was all too eager to give up her criminology professorship in favor of starting a part-time consulting business. She met Mayor Bradford and his wife Christine through work she did for the Sonoma County Sheriff’s office.
Since moving to Bodega Bay, my dad went from working eleven- to twelve-hour days, six days a week, to working three to six hours, four days a week. They’re practically retired, but they make enough to live a comfortable coastal lifestyle. Not quite comfortable enough to bail out my failing business. Though, I suspect that has more to do with their desire to teach me a lesson than their financial situation.
I walk across Beach Avenue and climb over the sand dunes, which protect the homes on our street from the majority of the harsh ocean breeze. As I reach the top of the sandy hill, the seagrass tickling my thighs, I’m pleased to see our stretch of beach is not swarming with tourists yet. Of course, it’s only 8:15 p.m. The sun will set around 8:30 today, which will bring the crowds to watch the fireworks show commencing around nine p.m.