Parallel Spirits

  The crease in his forehead relaxes and the anguish melts away. “A sign? I never thought of it like that.”

  His smile returns and I realize I’m not just making this up to soothe Conor’s worries. If spirits exist, it’s not so crazy to assume that Conor and I are destined for each other. Whether it was fate or just a couple of spirits that brought us together, we’re here now and we shouldn’t waste this opportunity to find out.

  He steps toward me and I step forward to close the gap between us. Our lips come together, two galaxies colliding, exploding inside my heart, sending tremors all the way to my fingertips. I clutch fistfuls of his T-shirt to steady myself as he kisses me with such tenderness I feel as if I can’t breathe.

  He pulls away slowly, cupping my face in his hands. His eyes are alive with hope. “I love you.”

  An uncontrollable smile tugs at my lips, but I don’t say it back.

  Chapter 41

  Payne Bay, March 23rd

  Listen

  I’m going on a date with Frankie. I can’t help repeating these words over and over in my head. I repeat them so many times I start muttering the words to a made up tune as if I’m living in a bad rendition of Sound of Music. This isn’t my first date, but it’s the first date I’ve been on that really counts.

  My mom storms into my room dangling a selection of necklaces from her fingers. “Which one do you like?” She looks more nervous than I do.

  “None of them,” I say as I pull on my white beach dress with the spaghetti straps. “Is this too much? Does it scream wedding or virgin or something?”

  My mom’s eyes widen beneath her coifed bangs. “Belinda? Are you not a virgin?”

  “What?” I squeal. “Ugh, Mom. Of course, I am.”

  Even though I’m probably the only eighteen-year-old virgin at Pacific High.

  She clutches her chest as she breathes a sigh of relief. “The dress is fine. No, it’s perfect. You look absolutely breathtaking.”

  “Mom, can you please stop looking at me like that?”

  My mom has been waiting for this day to come ever since my dad died almost seven years ago. I think she thinks I’m going to go nuts or become a prostitute if I don’t have a man to take care of me. She’s convinced that Frankie is that man, even though he’s not really a man. He just turned eighteen last month—three weeks after my eighteenth birthday—but his dad gave him a car on his sixteenth birthday. So Frankie will be picking me up in his car for the millionth time since he started driving. But this time he’ll be picking me up to take me on a date.

  The word date makes me want to laugh.

  Frankie said the location of our date would be a surprise, which only makes me even more nervous. The doorbell rings as I’m slipping my foot into my sandal and I tip over onto my bed.

  I scramble to my feet and race downstairs. Why am I running? I slow down and take a breath before I open the door. Frankie’s in his cargo shorts and a button-up shirt I picked out for him the last time we went to the mall.

  “Hey,” I say, and I’m surprised I actually sound calm.

  He looks me over, from the hair I spent two hours blow drying and twisting into perfect natural-looking waves to the strappy silver sandals I paired with my white dress. “You look really nice,” he says.

  “You’d better not open the car door for me or I’m going to punch you,” I say as we walk to his car.

  He opens the door for me, but only because he knows I won’t punch him. Frankie and I once had a long discussion about girls who punch guys as a means of flirting and we came to the conclusion that those girls should die.

  The ride to our secret destination is like any other ride in Frankie’s car. We argue over what music we’re going to listen to and he tries to scare me by stopping too suddenly at the intersection. I’m beginning to think he’s taking me to the beach, when he passes up the parking lot and continues further down Mariposa toward the hills.

  “Where are we going?” I whine.

  “Settle down. We’re almost there.”

  He turns into a narrow one-way street just before the road that winds its way through the sprawling estates in the hills. The one-way street is crammed with beach bungalows, some with droopy roofs and porches and some with sparkling windows and fresh paint. The street curves to the right and it looks like we’re in an alley lined with garages. Frankie parks his van in a parking space between two garages and kills the engine.

  “We’re here,” he says.

  I glance around at the drab brown and beige buildings on either side of us. “Is there some kind of garage concert going on or something? What is this?”

  Frankie laughs. “Come on.”

  He leads me across the alley in between another set of garages to where we find a very long concrete staircase with no handrail. The staircase is embedded in the side of a cliff and appears to lead down to the beach. I was right.

  As Frankie leads me down the stairs, he reaches back and grabs my hand. My stomach flutters. I know he’s doing it so I don’t fly off the edge of the staircase, and Frankie has held my hand plenty of times, but never on a date. He glances back and smiles at me as he descends and, for a moment, his wild auburn curls are crowned by the golden glow of the setting sun. He’s beautiful.

  We reach the bottom of the staircase and my feet sink into the warm sand. He pulls me around the base of the cliff and to the right. I shake my legs to get the sand out of my sandals before we climb over a stretch of jagged rocks. Tiny tide pools host colonies of sea plants and crabs smaller than the palm of my hand.

  We jump down from the last rock and land on wet sand. The freezing water rushes over our shoes and splashes the back of my dress and I suck in a sharp breath. About twenty feet from the shore, under the overhang of the cliff, are two beach chairs and a beach blanket. On top of the blanket are, from what I can see, a bag of my favorite sour gummy worms and a big bottle of sparkling water.

  He made fun of me for weeks when I told him how much I liked drinking sparkling water with sour candy because, “it hurts so good.”

  “You did this?” I say as I imagine Frankie coming out here just before he picked me up to set up this spread.

  “Nope. My dad did, but it was my idea,” he says.

  I glance down at his sneakers as another tiny wave of water washes over them. “Your shoes are wet.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I never wear shoes to the beach.”

  “I thought it was because you’re a bum.”

  “Want to know the difference between a bum and a beach bum?” he says with a smirk and I roll my eyes at what is inevitably going to be a terrible joke.

  “What?”

  “Beach bums get to do this.”

  He scoops me up so fast, the piercing shriek that explodes out of my throat echoes against the cliffside.

  “Put me down!”

  He plods through the shallow water until he’s thigh-high in the rolling surf.

  “As you wish,” he says as he tosses me into the water.

  I hold my breath as my body plunges into the cold waves, which, despite their puny size, still manage to toss me sideways. I scramble to my feet quickly, saltwater stinging my eyes and streaming down my face into my mouth. Frankie’s laughing. I grab the front of his shirt and tug him down into the water. He tumbles forward and I lose my balance as he falls on top of me.

  I’m not prepared this time and, as we plummet into the three-foot high surf, I swallow a large gulp of freezing saltwater. He clutches the front of my dress and pulls me out of the water swiftly as I launch into a coughing fit. The water burns my throat, each cough exploding like fireworks in my lungs. I can hardly see Frankie through my streaming tears.

  “Are you okay?” he says, and I can hear the panic in his voice.

  I try to hold in the hacking, but a couple of stray coughs escape before I finally get a hold of myself. Then I start to laugh.

  “I think I’d rather go on a date with a bum,” I say and he fixes me with a mock g
lare.

  “That’s it. You’re not getting any gummy worms,” he says as he slips his hand underneath my sopping-wet hair and clasps it around the back of my neck. “Come on, B.”

  He gives my neck a gentle squeeze and slides his hand down my arm to grab my hand. My breath catches in my chest as he laces his fingers through mine and tugs me toward the shore. I plant my feet in the mushy sand and yank him back.

  “Hey!” he says with a chuckle.

  I hesitate for a second, just a second, then I pull him toward me. My hands are flat against his chest as he wraps his arms around my waist. He looks me in the eye and all the feelings I’ve buried over the past four years come rising to the surface like foam in a champagne glass, each bubble an effervescent wish. He leans toward me and I grip the front of his shirt to steady myself in the swaying movement of the shallow water.

  His lips are soft and they don’t taste like saltwater, the way I always imagined Frankie’s lips would taste. They taste like… cherry lip balm. He pulls back slightly and gently sucks on my top lip. Then he plants a soft kiss on the corner of my mouth and I’m so happy I feel as if I might cry. He explores the inside of my mouth; each languid stroke of his tongue and tilt of his head leading this dance.

  I slide my fingers into his hair and pull myself onto my tiptoes so we’re closer. His chest is solid against mine. He crouches slightly and wraps his arms around my thighs so he can lift me up. I jump up and wrap my legs around his hips, locking my ankles so I don’t slide down.

  I pull away and lean my forehead against his as I attempt to catch my breath. “What are we doing?”

  He tilts his head back so he can look me in the eye. “We’re being honest.”

  This is what I’ve been waiting for. This is my real first kiss. All the kisses before this don’t count. I wish we could stay locked in this kiss forever.

  He finally pulls away and plants a kiss on the tip of my nose. “Wow,” he whispers. “That’s even better than I imagined it would be.”

  “I love you,” I blurt, and if my arms weren’t locked around his neck to keep myself from falling, I’d clap my hand over my mouth.

  Frankie’s smile disappears and my stomach drops as I realize he doesn’t feel the same way. I unwrap my legs from his hips and unclasp my hands from around his neck as I lower myself into the sand. He grabs my hands before I can step back, clutching them to his chest.

  “I love you, B. I always have.” I close my eyes because I don’t want him to see the tears welling up. “Hey,” he whispers, tilting my chin up. “Look at me.”

  I open my eyes and the site of his smile makes me smile. The curve of his smile against my lips makes me laugh. He doesn’t kiss me; he just holds this position, his lips barely touching mine for a moment, then he kisses me slowly. His hands cradle my face as I slowly melt into him. Scooping me up in his arms, he carries me to the blanket.

  “I want to do it,” I whisper in his ear as his fingers caress the small of my back.

  “Do what?”

  “You know.”

  He pulls his head back and I’m surprised to see that the sun has already gone down. The only light that reaches this stretch of beach is the moonlight. I can’t think of a better place to lose my virginity than on the beach with Frankie.

  He shakes his head as he begins to sit up, but I grab his shoulders to stop him.

  “Please. I’m ready. I want this… with you.”

  Quickly, before he can break eye contact, I pull off my dress so I’m sitting before him in just a bra and panties. It’s not much different than the hundreds of times he’s seen me in my bikini, but it feels different. The ravenous look in his eyes and the way his breathing quickens as his gaze takes in the swell of my breasts and the curve of my hips.

  I take his hand in mine and place it gently over my left breast; over my heart. “I’ve been dreaming about this for years, I just never had the guts to tell you. I thought it would be weird, but it’s not.” I take his face in my hands and look in his eyes. “I’ve never felt more safe than I feel right now.”

  His hand moves down to my waist as he gazes into my eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You could never hurt me.”

  I reach behind my back and unclasp my bra, but I wait for him to remove it. He takes the strap that hangs loosely on my right shoulder and slowly pulls it down. My bra falls, exposing my right breast and the cool spring air stiffens my flesh. He swallows hard as I remove the left strap and toss the bra aside. I grab his face and pull him on top of me as I lie back.

  He kisses me tenderly as his hand gently massages my breast. I can’t help but whimper into his mouth as he pulls my body flush against his and I feel his solid length against my pelvis. I curl my legs around his hips so I can feel him even closer, harder, through the thin fabric of my panties.

  Oh, my God. This is really going to happen.

  His hand slides over my waist and down into my panties, gently stroking me as he searches for my spot. He finds it and I gasp as my body convulses. His fingers explore and massage me, focusing on that one tiny spot that turns my body into jelly, until I feel like I may scream, then he stops.

  He tilts his head back to look me in the eye. “Can I take these off?” he asks as he holds the waistband of my panties between his thumb and forefinger.

  I nod hastily and lift my hips as he slides my panties down my legs and pulls off his shirt. He settles himself between my legs and kisses me for a while until my entire body is relaxed again. Then he moves down to my neck, my collarbone, my chest, then my breasts. He kisses me softly the same way he kissed my mouth, and I can’t believe how good he is at this. I know Frankie is no virgin, but this is just too… convincing.

  He continues downward, laying a soft trail of kisses down my belly until his head is between my legs. Then his lips are on me and his tongue is light as a feather as it strokes the same spot he was stirring with his fingers. I’m a little embarrassed, but I know that no one can see us out here. And the pleasure far outweighs the embarrassment.

  I come quietly, too afraid to voice the extent of my pleasure in such a public place. As he kisses his way up my belly, all I can think is: Is it okay to kiss him after that? I don’t know the rules. Oh, who cares?

  Frankie reaches into his back pocket as he leans down and kisses my forehead. “Hold on.”

  I don’t know what to think of the fact that Frankie has a condom in his wallet tonight. I’m sure he keeps it there at all times. He’s an eighteen-year-old male. He always has to be prepared for sex. Right?

  As I watch him slide the condom on, my body tenses. “Oh, God,” I whisper.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice thick with concern.

  “I’m fine.”

  “We don’t have to do this.”

  “I know that,” I reply quickly as I grab fistfuls of his hair and crush my mouth to his.

  I can taste myself on his lips. He settles himself between my legs and guides himself into me, but he only makes it in an inch or two before I gasp with pain.

  “Please don’t stop,” I whisper before he can back out. “Just go slow.”

  He watches my face as he slides in and out of me, slowly, moving further inside with every stroke. Each thrust brings just a bit more pain until finally, the pain is bearable. He moves rhythmically and suddenly I can hear everything; his soft grunts, the waves crashing, the wind whispering, my heart pounding.

  “You’re inside me.”

  He lets out a soft chuckle. “You’re very observant.”

  “This... This is amazing.”

  He kisses me softly, his tongue stroking my tongue in time with the rhythm of his hips. “It’s better than amazing,” his whispers against my lips.

  I close my eyes and lean my head back as he kisses my throat, his mouth slowly kissing a path over my jaw and up to my ear.

  “I love you,” he whispers, his breath hot in my ear as his hand grips the back of my neck. I gasp as he buries himself d
eep inside me. “You’re mine now.”

  Chapter 42

  Three words that will change your life forever.

  These were my father’s words when I asked him why him and my mom were always saying I love you to each other. He told me that one day I would find someone who would make me want to say these three magical words. Then he warned me how love will change your life forever. Maybe I was just naïve, but I took his words as more of a promise than a warning.

  As I watch Frankie eating his bowl of cereal across from me, I wonder why I couldn’t say these words to Conor last night? Frankie looks up from his bowl every few seconds to see if I’ve finished my bowl, as if we’re in some kind of race. That’s when it comes to me.

  I couldn’t say I love you because it doesn’t feel real. So much of my relationship with Conor has been Mara helping me, seducing Conor, prodding us along like cattle. And now that I’m almost certain Conor has been possessed, I wonder if we’ve ever shared a real conversation. A real kiss.

  I try not to think of the kiss, the many kisses, I shared with Frankie on the beach two months ago. He keeps looking up at me and I keep looking away, at my bowl of cereal, at the back of the cereal box, at my fingers curled around the spoon, anywhere but his face. It doesn’t work. I can’t get the images in my head to disappear. I can’t get my body to stop remembering.

  He finally stands from the table. “Are you going to eat that or do you want me to take it?”

  I push the bowl across the kitchen table and he snatches it up. He rinses the bowls and puts them in the dishwasher. I feel like I should tell him what happened last night, but that would be stupid. But what will happen if I don’t tell him?

  Frankie insists we can’t skip our weekly visit to the women’s shelter. Every Saturday we drive to an unremarkable gray bungalow with red trim and a couple of apartments built over a fenced-in garage. The apartments were built to house women and children, victims of domestic abuse seeking refuge from their abusers. The bungalow in the front has three bedrooms: two serve as bedrooms for volunteers and one bedroom serves as an office. The living room and kitchen are both set up to look like a regular home; no sign of the organization that saves lives and mends hearts every day.