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What if Cam actually wanted me as much as I wanted him?
What if there could have been something there?
Something I suspected might be amazing, epic, long-awaited.
Yet doomed never to happen.
My stomach lurched as I took a deep breath, needing to will myself to find the strength to do it, slipping off the case, then flinging my arm, watching in slow motion as the cell phone crashed to the floor, screen cracking, back falling off. The destruction ensuring I couldn't fire it back up, get his number, keep it with me.
I couldn't do that.
I had to keep moving forward.
I couldn't look back.
Looking back was dangerous.
With something too closely resembling a sob, I made my way out of my apartment, not bothering to lock the door, not even caring enough to close it.
But I did stop, staring at the whiteboard for a long moment before reaching for the marker, jotting one last thing there for Cam. For the last time. Then making my way down the stairs. For the last time. Into my car, and driving down the main street of Navesink Bank. For the last time.
I swore I could feel every revolution of the wheels beneath me, propelling me further and further away from a life I was starting to like, to want. For more than a few weeks, a few months.
I wanted to continue to walk dogs down the streets of Navesink Bank, watching the unusual way so many people seemed to interact much the way they would in a small town, though there was nothing small about Navesink Bank at all. I wanted to watch my students progress. Especially the spirited girl who rolled her eyes at me when I suggested we work on a popular pop song; she had no intentions of doing that since she wanted to be a rock star and rock stars don't sing pop music. I wanted to walk past the river again. I wanted to eat in Famiglia. I wanted to get my favorite drink at She's Bean Around.
And I wanted Cam, damnit.
I wanted movies and food on his couch.
I wanted him to kiss me again.
I wanted to see if more could come from that.
I wanted to tell him why I had never been able to put down roots.
I wanted him to tell me his history.
It didn't matter what I wanted, though. Because I had to go. I always had to go. When he showed up.
There was no way to stay.
I wasn't even aware of the telltale sting at the back of my eyes, but there were suddenly tears running down my cheeks as I drove out of town, no destination in mind.
That fact had never seemed so sad to me before.
Maybe because all I was fueled with in the past was self-preservation. Just panic. Just determination. To get away. To get myself safe.
This time, there was only a trickling of self-preservation, barely enough to make me keep moving forward.
All the rest was just an unexpected downpour of sadness, regret, the sensation of unfinished business.
I think that was why I didn't get very far.
It was a predictable progression, I felt, that each time I had to move, I covered less and less distance.
The first time, I moved clear across the country. That was what seemed safest. I thought there was no way I could possibly be found.
Of course, that wasn't the case.
The second time, I moved half a country away.
Then closer and closer each time after.
Maybe this had something to do with the fact that I came to understand that the distance didn't make a difference when all was said and done. Big city, small town, he could sift me out like a seashell hidden in the sand.
That was why I never planned anything, in case there might be breadcrumbs.
But I almost always went at least a full state away. For obvious reasons.
Thomas would need to drive out of the state. If he saw my car, it would all begin all over again.
I ran out of steam, however, at the bottom of New Jersey, driving into an almost eerily abandoned Cape May. All the tourists were long gone, already dreaming of pumpkin spice lattes, apple cider donuts, dealing with back-to-school shopping, supply lists, getting back on proper sleep schedules.
The lots to the hotels and inns were sparse, mostly staff and a few latecomers - childless couples, young adults, older people - who had no need to get back to their lives at any specific time.
The beaches were mostly abandoned, all white sand without the hideous pops of color you'd find at the peak of the season - umbrellas, towels, silly pop-up pools.
Something about it simply felt right.
Desolate.
Empty.
Sad.
I would fit right in.
Cape May wasn't the kind of town I would typically frequent. Touristy towns tended to be expensive. For rent, for food, everything you needed to live.
