Not Looking For Love: Episode 2 Page 5

  I lean into his chest, my face so close to his we're barely a breath apart. "What took you so long to get here?"

  He tenses a little. "I took Janine home and we talked. Seemed like she wanted to, back in the car."

  "She did," I say. "I hope you worked it out."

  "Not much to work out. Things are what they are," Scott says, his leg trembling slightly under me.

  "You've known her for a long time, haven't you?" I ask.

  "All my life really, she's my next door neighbor. We've been friends forever."

  "She seemed very upset over something," I say, thinking maybe he wants to keep talking.

  "It's been a bad year."

  "Yeah?" I ask, not sure if I want to know about it. But if he wants to talk, I'll listen. Whatever works for me tonight.

  "Her fiancé died last December," he says, and the words pierce my heart. But I knew death hung between them, should have expected something like this. "He was my best friend too, and I'm not really sure I can help Janine get through it."

  "So you left afterwards? I understand that." I know the feeling exactly. It was the reason I couldn't go into my house tonight.

  His whole body tenses up, and he holds me more firmly. "Something like that."

  He doesn't seem like the type who'd run though. He's here holding me, and I'm a total mess, nothing anyone weak would want to deal with. The wet rag is no longer cool against my face, so I take it off and rest against his shoulder. I stare off into the kitchen, letting the silence drag. Death is a terrible, permanent thing that no one can do anything about. It gets into your pores, your cells, devours you whole, breaks you from the inside, and all you're left with is the realization that dead is dead, but it will stay with you everywhere for the rest of your own life, maybe beyond.

  Tears well in my eyes and I shudder, my heart still fighting the inevitable death my mind knows must come.

  "I'm sorry your mom is dying, Gail," Scott says, like he's reading my mind. "But it will get easier."

  I'm not so sure he's right, but he must be, everyone keeps telling me the same thing. He did say easier though, so at least he's not pretending I'll ever be well again. My eyes rest on a small pile of sand laying next to a small plastic bottle that had snapped in half. A magnet is still attached to one of the pieces, and a tiny roll of parchment is stuck inside the other part. The button of my jeans that broke off last time is laying next to it.

  I reach over and touch the sand, letting it slip through my fingers. "This must have been a really nice magnet before it broke."

  It'd be like having the beach in you kitchen, and I want one.

  "I guess. I thought I could glue it back together, but it's ruined," Scott says, picking up one of the broken parts. "My mom made a bunch of them, though, so there's gotta be more up in the attic."

  "Really? Can we go get it?" I ask, straightening up and moving to stand up.

  He pulls me back. "Not right now." There's an edge to his voice, but it's not for me, and his eyes look lost. "I kind of just wanna sleep."

  "OK," I say.

  He releases me and I walk over to the bed, sitting on the edge. The bouncing reminds me of the last night I was here, and heat grows between my legs.

  Scott takes off his jeans, and tosses them over the chair. He's wearing one of those boxer briefs, which are hugging his legs perfectly, leaving very little to the imagination. Heat spreads into my stomach, and I scoot over to the far side of the bed to let him climb in beside me. He turns off the light before he does. Yellow light from the street lamp outside is the only thing illuminating the room now, and I'm not sleepy at all.

  "Aren't you gonna lie down?" he asks, pulling the covers over himself and holding them up for me to get in.

  I lie down next to him, and rest my head on his chest, draping my leg over his. I slide my hand under his shirt, just a little bit, feeling the ripples of his stomach.

  His arm is resting against my side, firm and comforting, light as a feather. "It's been a long day, Gail."

  I murmur agreement and close my eyes, but I don't take my hand from his stomach. If the world stood still like this forever, I wouldn't mind at all.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The cold grey light of dawn wakes me. My heart is racing and my breathing is shallow, as though I've just had a nightmare, but I don't remember dreaming at all. Scott is breathing evenly, his face turned away from mine.

  Outside it looks like winter has come, and the street below is still completely silent, likely because it's Sunday. I feel like I'm being sucked in by the soft grey light and disappearing, until I hardly know who I am, what my name is.

  At dawn the fabric that keeps us whole and complete in this world is at its thinnest, as fragile as a cobweb. I feel myself stretching for miles, the bed as insubstantial as clouds below me. Many people release their hold on life in the early hours of the morning.

  My substance comes back with a whoosh, all the force of gravity behind it. Racing heartbeats are jabbing my throat, my head feeling like it might burst. I have to get home, have to know that my mom is alright.

  I climb off the end of the bed, sending it wobbling. My jeans are still damp and one of the belt loops snaps when I pull them on. My teeth are chattering by the time I pull on my wet t-shirt.

  "Where are you going?" Scott asks his voice, still thick with sleep. He sits up and rolls his shoulders, stretching his neck. "God, I hate sleeping on my back," he mutters more to himself than to me.

  "I have to get home," I say, yanking the belt of my trench coat together as tightly as it will go.

  He stands up, looking around for something to wear. "I'll take you."

  "No need. I'll just take a cab," I mutter. Dawn brought more clarity too. I can't be dating, not when my mom is about to die.

  He picks up a pair of sweats off the ground and pulls them on. "Nonsense. I can drive you."

  I wait for him to put on his shoes and jacket, and then stride out of his apartment, my teeth still chattering.

  "You're welcome to wear my shirt you know," he says.

  And how would that look? Me rushing home to my mom, after I've just been out all night, wearing a guy's shirt.

  I shake my head and run down the stairs, hoping it will warm me up.

  Inside his truck it's freezing. I move to turn on the heat, but he stops me by laying his hand over mine. "I wouldn't do that. It works at first, but then dust comes out."

  I nod, and curl my hands in my lap. We drive for the next few blocks in silence. He's still rubbing his eyes and yawning. I'm sitting perfectly still, my hands in my lap and my legs crossed, thinking of nothing.

  "I'm sure it will be alright," he says after awhile.

  "Yeah, well, I'm not," I snap. It shouldn't be alright. My mom dying should never be alright. The thought brings a new wave of racing heartbeats, and my vision is turning black at the edges now.

  He looks at me from the corner of his eye, like he can't bear to face me or my anger head on and my frustration melts. I'm not mad at him, I'm mad at the world, fate, life, disease and death.

  I rest my hand on his thigh. "I just can't think right now."

  "OK," he says, and leaves it at that.

  My car is still parked where I left it last night, and the light is on in the kitchen.

  I open the door to get out, but Scott pulls me back. "Wait. Do you want to do something later?"

  "I don't know." The words stick in my throat, catch on the ball of tears. "Maybe."

  "I can call you," he says. "If you give me your number."

  I recite it before I can change my mind.

  "Hold on," he says and rummages through the glove compartment for a pen and paper, asking me to repeat it.

  I do, but with more reluctance. I could just give him a wrong number and never see him again. But the way we keep running into each other, maybe that's impossible. And maybe it's meant to be. He waits until I'm inside and closing the door behind me.

  "Gail, is that you?" my dad call
s from the kitchen. The grandfather clock chiming six o'clock echoes from the living room.

  "It's me," I call back. "How's mom?"

  Dad emerges from the kitchen and gasps when he sees me. "What happened to your face?"

  I turn to look at myself in the hall mirror and nearly burst into tears. My nose is bright red, and a dark blue bruised shaped like a moth stretches upwards towards my eyes.

  "I crashed my car and got hit by the air bag," I explain. "But I'm fine, I really am."

  "Should I take you to the hospital?" he asks walking over to me and cupping my chin to get a better look.

  I peel his hands from my face. "I'm fine, it's just a bruise."

  "Where's your car now?"

  "I left it in the street, so you wouldn't get freaked out if you saw it before I got up," I say. "I'm fine, really. How's Mom?"

  "About the same," he says, and walks back to the kitchen. "I'll take care of your car. Put something on your face before she sees you though, or you'll scare her to death."

  The word hangs between us, ripping through my heart. "I will," I say and run up the stairs to shower and change. I cake on about a pound of concealer before I finally go to my mom.

  Her cheeks are sunken, and the bags under her eyes are the same color as my bruise, only permanent. I climb under the covers and wrap my arm around her stomach, careful not to constrict her lungs. Her breaths are coming in shallow, harsh rasps, punctuated now and again by a deeper, desperate gasp, but she's asleep.

  I want to tell her about Scott, ask for her advice. But it's her death that's causing all my indecision and I mustn't burden her like that. I can't. She doesn't deserve it.

  My eyes sting as my tears make the concealer run. I finally fall asleep, imagining her and I are just taking an easy Sunday nap.

  "Gail, I can't…" she says and I jerk up, withdrawing my hand from across her waist.

  She heaves up, coughing violently. My heart stops in my chest and doesn't start up again.

  My mom's face is blue now, and her gasps sound like they get stuck somewhere in her throat. Edna rushes in and attaches the oxygen mask over my mom's face. Mom's desperate struggles for breath cease, but her face is still twisted in pain.

  "Mommy?" I say, tears burning my eyes.

  She turns to me slightly, her eyes glistening. Tears well from mine. I'm certain that this is it, sure she'll die right now and leave me all alone.

  But her breathing eases and she pulls off the mask herself, holding it out for Edna to take.

  "It's better." Her voice is raw.

  I nestle in beside her again, resting my forehead against her arm. My heart is racing furiously again, like it's making up for the missed beats before.

  "Gail, I love you very much. You can't ever forget that," she whispers, and a new wave of tears floods my eyes.

  "I love you too, mommy, so much," I croak.

  Her hand finds mine and she squeezes, her skin like paper. And we stay like that, in silence, because there really isn't anything else to say.

  Dad comes in at about twelve.

  "Would you like some lunch?" he asks as I look up. Mom is asleep and he sits on the edge of the bed, taking her other hand in his.

  "No, I'm fine," I whisper back.

  "I managed to take your car in. It should be ready by Wednesday," he says, brushing a strand of my mom's hair back under her scarf.

  She shudders and her eyes flutter open. The look that passes between them is filled with such anguish I have to close my eyes.

  My phone rings in my room, but I ignore it. It stops after five rings.

  "Maybe you should go out, Gail," Mom says. "It looks like it's a nice day."

  "It is. The sun's finally out again, and it's quite warm," Dad says. "I just walked back from town."

  "I think I'll stay in today," I say.

  We stay together like that for what feels like hours, like forever, not talking, barely moving. My mom's cough doesn't make an appearance for a change, but her breaths are as raspy as ever.

  At four, my phone rings again. Mom is asleep now and Dad is still holding her hand, looking off into space like maybe he fell asleep too, but with his eyes open.

  I slide out of bed slowly. "I'll go turn it off," I tell my dad and leave the room with every intention of doing just that.

  It's a strange number calling and they've already hung up, but I call back anyway.

  "Hey," Scott says, "I have some time now. Do you want to go do something?"

  I slump down on my bed. "I don't know."

  "OK," he says, and it's kind of a question, but not quite.

  I scuff my toe against the carpet. "Just for a little while?"

  "Yeah, whatever. I can come pick you up."

  "Yes," I say.

  "In half an hour."

  "Good."

  I'm not sure why I said yes, I had no intention of doing so. But I'm already doing my make up, and finding the perfect thing to wear and it's like that's all there is.

  "I'll be back soon." I kiss my mom's forehead. She's awake now, but they're just looking at each other and I would be in the way.

  "Have a good time," Mom says, and I promise her I will.

  "So where do you want to go?" Scott asks as I get in his car. It's an old Toyota today.

  I suggest a cafe on the beach that's only about ten minutes from my house. It's hot out again and I'm overdressed in my jean jacket. Scott's wearing a loose t-shirt that's still tight enough to show off his muscles.

  I want to run my hand down his bicep, want him to touch me, but I'm done with being a slut.

  "So, is this your new car?" I ask to distract myself from the fantasy of telling him to take me back to his place.

  "This horrible old thing? No, I borrowed it from my dad."

  He rummages in his pocket when we stop at a red light, and pulls out a clear plastic box. "Here, it's one of my mom's magnets. I found some more up in the attic."

  "Oh, you shouldn't have." I don't know how I feel about getting gifts from Scott, but I take the box anyway. In it there's a magnet shaped like a message in a bottle. Some sand and a tiny shell are inside the little bottle, like it was just washed up ashore. The roll of parchment is covered in tiny writing.

  "You like it?" he asks. I'm holding it right next to my nose, trying to read the words.

  "Love it. But are you sure it's alright that I just take it?"

  "Yeah, it's fine," he says.

  "I can buy it from your mom," I insist.

  "I'm sure she'd want you to have it."

  "You didn't ask her?" I say holding it back to him.

  "Keep it, Gail," he says, staring straight ahead now. "I'll ask when I see her, but I'm sure she's not gonna mind."

  Something in his voice tells me that's not going to happen for a good long while, but I'm done being a bitch over him giving me a thoughtful present. I lean over and kiss him on the cheek, which is what I really wanted to do all along.

  "Thank you," I whisper.

  His skin is smooth and warm, and his aftershave hits me hard in the stomach, makes me wish he'd pull over so we could kiss for real. He turns to me and smiles, and the desire doubles, multiplies.

  A few minutes later we reach the beach. A slight breeze is coming from the sea, bringing the scent of salt and sunscreen.

  The cafe is packed, but we manage to get a table by the edge, almost on the sand. The sun is piercing my eyes, and giving me a slight headache. I wish I'd brought my sunglasses.

  "Your bruise doesn't look that bad today," Scott says.

  I bring my hand up to my face reflexively. "Oh, it does. I'm just wearing a ton of makeup."

  "Oh, yeah. Makeup," he says.

  I spoon the foam off my latte when it arrives. Scott stares at me as I lick it off, his lips slightly parted. I take another spoonful, enjoying the tingling sensation his gaze sends across my lips.

  "So, how's your mom?" he finally asks, his voice hoarse.

  "About the same," I say, echoing my dad's wor
ds. The question turns the tingles into melting rivers of snow.

  "She doesn't have much time left," I hear myself saying.

  "That's really sad," he says, and I know he means it. His eyes are blue like a calm waterfall in the summer, spilling over grey rocks.

  "It is," I say. I still don't want his pity or his understanding. I came here so the world would be still and I could breathe easier, not so I can talk about my mom.

  "I'm sorry about last night at the club," I say, changing the subject. "I don't know what came over me."

  "Seemed like you were a little jealous," he says and chuckles.

  "That is indeed what it seemed like," I answer. "Not that it made much sense at the time."

  His eyes are glimmering now, catching the sun.

  "Was the guy who left with Kate your brother?" I ask, suddenly remembering another thing I really didn't understand last night.

  A shadow passes over his eyes like a dark cloud, until I'm sure it will start raining at any moment. "Yeah, it was."

  "But she thinks his name is Mark," I say, growing a little weary and scared for Kate.

  "It is. That's his middle name," Scott explains, but I'm not sure I believe him.

  "Janine certainly thought it was strange," I say. Besides Michael Mark sounds like a weird name combination.

  "He never uses his middle name," Scott says, and it sounds plausible, on the surface, but not quite.

  "Speaking of Janine," Scott continues. "She said she wanted to join us. She wants to show you how to apply makeup to cover up that bruise so it doesn't show."

  I'm torn between outrage that she wants to crash our date, and the desire to know how to hide my bruise. My makeup skills are seriously lacking in that department.

  "Can she show me?" I ask.

  Scott shrugs. "I guess. She used to do her own makeup when she was modeling and she took a class, I think. I don't know, she usually looks pretty good."

  "She does look good," I mutter.

  He grins at the look that must be plastered on my face. "Yeah, Janine's really hot." Jealousy really is a painful emotion. I feel like my head will burst open. "But I'd still rather she didn't come today. I just thought I'd ask, since I know how you girls like to look good."