Beach Side Beds and Sandy Paths Page 2

  I look up at her with a curious eye. “I don’t remember you ever doing my nails.”

  “It was your fourth birthday. You were so obsessed with being a princess.”

  I take Mom’s hand and start taking off the chipped polish. Her fingers tremble slightly, but I don’t bring any attention to it. “I remember that. I didn’t want to cut my hair in case I ever got stuck in a castle and needed it to let a prince up so he could rescue me.”

  Mom laughs. “Yes. You wouldn’t even let me trim it. That year I bought you a pink dress and a tiara and I painted your nails to match. You had these plastic heels that you wore around the house.”

  “With the light blue plastic bows and the hot pink gem stones?”

  Mom’s face lights up. “You remember?”

  “I remember the shoes. I don’t remember anything else.”

  “We built a castle out of the couch cushions and watched Beauty and the Beast.”

  “I love that movie.”

  “I know. You watched it all day every day. I could probably still cite it word for word.”

  I shake the nail polish bottle. “I wish I could remember. The only things I remember are…”

  “The bad stuff.”

  I nod. A silence falls over us and I start painting her thumbnail. Guilt creeping in and out of my mind. For the life of me I can’t remember a single good memory. I don’t think she’s making any of this up, but why can’t I remember it? Why can’t I have something to lessen all the pain she put me through? Anything? A little piece of a happy moment in time.

  But every time I think of my childhood all I can think of is crying from hunger while she was passed out on the couch, getting yelled at for wetting the bed, or hiding in the cabinet while she was on a drunken tear.

  I push the painful memories away and try to focus on the Now. There’s no use living in the past. It is the past for a reason. Been there done that and time for something new. This…painting Mom’s nails, was new.

  I moved to her ring finger and I don’t know if it’s the awkward silence or her withdrawal symptoms, but her hand begins to shake uncontrollably and I accidentally streak paint across her skin.

  “Sorry,” I say and grab for the cotton ball.

  The shaking elevates and Mom rips her hand away from mine, knocking the polish across my book and my comforter.

  “Shit!” she yells then mumbles, “Sorry.” Her body tenses as she crosses her arms and hides her hands. Tears fill her brown eyes and I jump up from my bed.

  “Don’t cry,” I say and walk towards her, but she backs away.

  “No,” she says and shakes her head. “We can’t even have a nice time without me messing it up.” She turns away and runs to the door, but I’m quick—all those times I’ve raced Ryan coming in handy—and I jump in front of her.

  “You didn’t mess anything up.”

  Mom waves her hand to my bed. “Look at your book and your comforter.”

  “I always liked that splatter look. Reminds me of that retro splatter paint blanket you had.”

  “That wasn’t retro. It was from the 90’s.”

  “Exactly! That thing was ancient!”

  “Ancient?”

  “Yes, ancient. But I always did love it. I might even toss a few more colors on mine. Want to help?”

  “You’re nuts.”

  I smile. “I learned from the best.” I pick up my ‘Did You ‘ear About Van Gogh’and hold it out to her. “What do you say?”

  “Let’s do this!”

  She paints the first squiggle across my comforter and then I join her. We continue painting until Roger picks her up.

  Chapter 3

  Ryan

  “Pass me that jack stand, would ya?” I ask Pop-pop as I crouch by the Lincoln’s front tire. We’ve got the beach trip in a month, and if I don’t get this thing in top shape, Lex, Nate, Kaylee, and I will all be shoved into Nate’s Ford Escort for nineteen hours. Yeah, no thanks.

  Pop-pop kicks the stand my way, not bothering to move from the moth-eaten recliner we keep in the garage.

  “You’re avoiding this again,” he says through a sigh. “We either talk about it now, just the two of us, or you’re gonna have to deal with your grandmother.”

  I position the jack stand, keeping my mouth shut as I release the jack itself and let the Lincoln drop where I need it.

  “Son,” Pop-pop starts, and I shake my head as I move to the other side of the car.

  “You guys lied to me. What do you want me to say?”

  “Don’t you want to know who he is?”

  An itch I can’t seem to scratch crawls through my neck. Just last week I had no clue the kid existed. How does someone keep a pregnancy under wraps for nine months? Brett’s two years younger than me, so Dad had to have known. Pop-pop, Grams… they all had to have known. So yeah, I’m curious, but I’m pissed as hell, too.

  “I know my mom slept around,” I say to the jack. “Are there any more siblings out there I don’t know about?”

  Pop-pop’s mouth twitches at the corner, and he grabs a wrench from the toolbox and fiddles with it. “Do goldfish count?”

  I force my smile back because I’m not humoring him, and duck under the car with the oil pan.

  “Ryan, we didn’t tell you because your dad was planning to do that. After he passed, we just didn’t know when to bring it up.”

  “So you waited till he was dropped off on the doorstep like some damn drama show.”

  “We were going to tell you.”

  I take in a large breath, calming the heat that’s trying to suffocate me. “I don’t get it.” My fingers slip on the wrench. “If Dad knew about the affair, why did he stay with Mom?”

  “I ask myself the same thing.” The recliner creaks as Pop-pop shifts. “Your dad was a compassionate and forgiving person. When he found out about the baby, he knew it wasn’t his. I won’t give you details, but I guess there wasn’t even a slight chance that it could be his. Your mother told him she’d get rid of it before there was a problem, but your father… well, he didn’t want that. And neither did Brett’s dad.”

  I twist the wrench to loosen the drain plug and let the oil drip into the pan. “She wanted an abortion?”

  “Yeah. She almost went through with it, but after talking with your dad, she changed her mind. She stayed with him during her pregnancy, and when she delivered, she gave custody to Brett’s father.”

  None of this is making me feel better. I get that I was only seven when my dad died, but he was my best friend. Even sitting under his old car here, I can picture his face when he let me roll under the Lincoln and he’d change the oil while I held the tools. Why didn’t he ever tell me I had a brother? Why did he stick with Mom when she obviously didn’t care about him? I wish he was here so I could ask him.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose and steady my breathing. The oil is almost out, slowly dripping into the pan by my head.

  “From what I gather,” Pop-pop continues when I don’t say anything, “Brett didn’t know about you either. Not until a few weeks ago when his dad was deployed. Guess he got into some sort of trouble and he couldn’t stay there.”

  “Trouble?”

  “I’m vague on the details. Maybe you should ask him.” Pop-pop tosses me a rag when I roll from under the car. “Point is, he was in the dark as much as you were. No use in blaming him for anything.”

  I hate that he makes sense. I nod and chuck the rag back at him. Then I spend the rest of the oil change asking pointless questions in my head, all directed at my dad.

  ***

  I can smell Grams’ bread before I even get in the house. She smacks my hand when I try to snag a slice, but pushes one of the end pieces toward me. I kiss the top of her head, then stuff my face on my way to my room. I’m greased up and even though I washed my hands in the garage sink, I think they’re permanently black from working under so many hoods.

  I jam the last bite into my left cheek and catch Brett in the guest roo
m. He kinda looks like me from a distance. Same sort of facial features, but he’s got darker hair and I’ve got that scar on my eyebrow. He’s wearing a whiter than white shirt, and I’m thinking damn, I’d have that greased up in two minutes if I ever wore something so blinding. Dog tags rest around his neck, and I go to ask him about them, but that’s probably not the first thing I should say. I mean, the only thing I said yesterday when he showed up was, “Am I being punked?”

  He’s chucking playing cards at an apple on the desk. There are a few stuck in the peel, and I raise my eyebrows and lean against the doorway.

  “Where’d you learn to do that?” Okay, not the best thing to say to him first off, but better than the sensitive subject that is our parents.

  He doesn’t look up as he takes a queen from the deck and flicks it so hard it lodges into the right side of the apple. “My drug dealer,” he clips, and I let out a small laugh, but I have no idea if he’s joking or not.

  “Well, cool,” I say, pushing off the door frame. I get it. I didn’t want to talk to anyone either.

  “You don’t have to be all brotherly and shit,” he says, tossing another card. It hits the queen and falls to the floor. “I don’t want to be here any more than you don’t want me here.”

  I cross my arms, my body automatically tensing. “I never said I didn’t want you here.”

  “You don’t have to say it.” He chucks another card. “I saw the look on your face. Probably the same look your stupidass dad had when he found out about me.”

  My fists clench against my sides, and a fire burns in my chest. “What did you just say?”

  “I said your dad was a stupid asshole.”

  He drags the words out, and I take two steps toward him, my arm raised. Who the hell is this kid? Here I was worried about asking about dog tags and he just lets whatever fly out his damn mouth like he doesn’t give a shit. “You don’t know anything about my dad.”

  He snorts, and that fire in my chest moves to my gut, and I feel it build and build until my fists shake against my ribs. Brett hoists himself off the bed and starts plucking the cards from the apple. “I know he found out his wife was screwing someone else, and instead of sending her packing, he begs her to stay. Then I come along and she chooses to be with your dad’s pathetic ass, and I grow up thinking my mom died on the table. So, yeah… he’s a stupid asshole.”

  “Shut your damn mouth!” I march forward, putting my face in his. He doesn’t flinch or move or even look scared, and it fuels the inferno raging under my skin. “If it wasn’t for my father, you wouldn’t be alive. They would’ve gotten rid of you. So shut. Your. Damn. Mouth!”

  Powerful hands grab my shoulders and shove, and I stumble back a step before shoving him hard enough he knocks a picture off the wall. It shatters, and a sharp gasp from behind me stops my hand from driving into Brett’s gut.

  Grams looks at the glass scattered across the floor, wetness covering her eyelashes. I calm myself enough to reach out to her, say I’m sorry for this shit. But she retreats from my arms, looking at me with her mouth agape like she has no clue who the hell I am.

  “Grams,” I say, but my voice is still shaky, and she steps around me to her picture, ignoring both Brett and I as she pulls the broken frame up and walks from the room. I follow, but only get to the hall where I see Pop-pop glaring daggers at me.

  “Pop-pop, I—”

  “Get your ass cleaned up for dinner.” He pushes the bathroom door open. “And never talk to your brother like that again.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but the sobs that filter from the kitchen halt my voice and only intensify the stare Pop-pop is giving me.

  Pressing my lips together, I scoot past Pop-pop and slam the bathroom door shut. If that’s what they want, I won’t talk to my brother period.

  Chapter 4

  Lexie

  I didn’t lie to Mom. I am a virgin. I don’t know for how much longer especially after this afternoon, but if thoughts of me being a virgin will keep her from ever talking about sex with me again, well then for all she’s concerned, I’m a virgin for life.

  “Bestie!” Kaylee, my best girlfriend, runs out her front door, blond pigtails flopping on her shoulders as she catapults herself into me. I brace myself so I don’t fall over, and hug her back. “What are you doing here?”

  My boyfriend slid into second base—or is that technically third base—and I have no idea what that means for us. Or what I should do. Or if I even do anything.

  My mind flashes to Ryan’s hand pressed against my stomach, his mouth on my neck and I bite my lip, hoping to hide the Kool Aid smile forming. “Just wanted to say hi,” I say, and my lips betray me and spread wide across my face. “Yeah, uh-huh. Not with that glow on your face.” She circles her finger around me. “You totally had sex, didn’t you?”

  At least I know I won’t be getting an awkward lecture from Kaylee. “No. Not yet. But he… uh…” How do you say this without it sounding so disgusting? I pick at my light pink nails, searching for the right way to put it.

  “You let him in your pants!” she screams and I fling my hand over her mouth.

  “Geez, Kay, I don’t want your entire neighborhood to know.”

  “You did, didn’t you? And you came to me? Aww!”

  “Well you are my go-to whore. I have the questions, and you have all the answers.”

  “I should get a shirt made. ‘The go-to whore. You got questions, well I got answers.’ I love it.”

  “I’ll be sure to put it on your Christmas list for next year.”

  “I hope by then you don’t still have questions. Then I might have to talk to Nate and have him talk to Ryan.”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary. Besides could you imagine that conversation?” I raise my eyebrows and tilt my head down at her.

  “Oh man to be a car part on that floor.”

  “Seriously.”

  She giggles in that contagious way she does and flips a blond braid over her shoulder. “So you need my expertise, huh? What can I help you with?”

  I lean in close. “I think I’m like ready to, you know, go all the way. But I don’t know how to let him know. Or what to do.”

  “Aww! My bestie is growing up.” Her voice echoes off the house and bounces down the street.

  “Can we maybe talk about this not so out in the open?”

  Before I can say another word, she grabs my wrist and pulls me toward the house.

  “Where are we going?” I ask as we push through the front door. I wave to her little sister Hannah, who is taking part in an epic Dance, Dance Revolution dance off with her friend and stumble in Kaylee’s bedroom.

  She shuts the door and whips around. “You talk. I’ll listen.” She goes into her closet.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting you an outfit to wear. You cannot wear that your first time.”

  My eyebrows shoot up, mouth drops open. “I…I didn’t say today!”

  “You’re ready. Why wait? I say you go surprise him. Even if you don’t do it today, you can drop hints, so he’ll make the first move and take the pressure off of you.”

  “And how do you expect me to do that?”

  She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. That evil, conspiring look flashes across her face right before she disappears into her closet.

  Forty-five minutes later, I’m pulling up to Ryan’s house in a green cargo skirt five inches too short, and a white shirt one size too small. Thank God Kaylee has itty bitty Barbie feet and her shoes don’t fit me. Though, when she admired my outfit, she didn’t shy away from looking at my Converse with disgust.

  I grab the chicken soup I stopped off to get for Pop-pop. Even though by Ryan’s red shiny ears and purple face I know he’s lying about Pop-pop being sick.

  Still I needed some excuse to drop by unexpected when he’s been trying so hard to keep me away.

  My hand freezes just before opening the door. Why would he be trying to keep me aw
ay? Ryan doesn’t lie to me. He wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

  I shake the stupid thoughts out of my head and get out of the car. If it was something big Ryan would have told me. We tell each other everything. Always have. Always will. He’s probably planning something big for me and there’s no way he can hide it.

  He’s always doing romantic things like that. A smile spreads across my face just thinking about it. The happiness courses through me, compelling my feet to move faster.

  I need him to wrap his arms around my waist and kiss me right now. Without another hesitation, I knock on his front door.

  The door swings open, and when I don’t see Pop-pop’s boat shoes or Grams slippers, I hold out the soup, fluttering my eyelashes in the sexy way Kaylee taught me.

  “Well hello there, beautiful.”

  Huh? I glance up from the plaid shirt I know is Ryan’s, to the voice I know isn’t his. Dark familiar eyes stare back at me, but the boy they are attached to is not familiar at all.

  “Who—”

  “Lex, what are you doing here?” Ryan pushes past the mystery boy, eyes wide.

  “I brought soup,” I say and when his eyes narrow down on me in confusion, I add, “For Pop-pop.”

  His hand reaches around to his neck, rubbing back and forth.

  “Hi, I’m Lexie,” I say with an awkward wave after what feels like an eternity. The wave causes the shirt to rise, and I quickly put my arm back down, tugging at the material with my free hand. Why the heck did I let Kaylee talk me into this?

  “Oh shit, this is your girlfriend?” The boy says, a sly smile forming on his face while he all but undresses me with his eyes. Not that I’ve left much to the imagination. “You didn’t tell me she’s smokin’.”

  Ryan’s fists clench at his sides, lips fall into a straight line, and that vein in his head starts to pulse. “Shut your mouth before I shut it for you.”

  “Go for it.” He steps closer to Ryan, their noses at the exact same height. The death stare coming from Ryan is enough to know he’s going to swing. But I don’t have time for these macho jerks to wrestle on the ground to prove who’s stronger. I have questions damn it.