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“Me?” I shout. “All I’ve ever had was love and respect for him. Can you say the same, Dad?” I stand, the rage demands it. “Do your friends know that you cut him out of your life, out of the family, years ago? That you haven’t seen or talked to him in three years?”
“Reagan,” my mother hisses, leaving her friends a few tables away to get in the middle of this.
“That you had him arrested for trespassing when he showed up at the house, and that you and Mom threatened to have him arrested for breaking and entering if he ever set foot on the property again?! Do they know that you don’t give a fuck that he’s dead?!”
My mother grabs my arm and I shake her off. “Outside, right now!” she orders between clenched teeth.
“Why? Am I embarrassing you?” I’m still shouting. Now that I’ve started I can’t seem to stop, years of repressed thoughts and feelings coming out at once.
“Yes.”
“Well––here’s the good news.” I raise my hands and make sure everyone is watching the show. “The junkie son is dead. Murdered for his sneakers. Sneakers I gave him”––I pound on my chest, tears burning my eyes––“and insisted he wear because I was worried about his feet. He was stabbed eighteen times for them!”
“Shit,” comes from my friends. A gasp from Alice.
“He won’t be embarrassing you anymore,” I continue. “And the one that’s still alive never wants to see either of you again.”
With that, I turn and make for the door. Ten minutes later, as I’m walking up Sunset Blvd., I hear a familiar voice call out, “Need a ride?”
I stop and take a long look at Alice in the driver’s seat of the Jeep. She’s wearing black Ray-Ban Wayfarer today. I just noticed that. The dark bangs, the sunglasses. They look cool on her. Like a girl out of the fifties. My cool girl is the only thing that looks right in my world anymore.
Taking my hands out of my pockets, I grab the roll bar of the Jeep and jump into the passenger side.
“Where to?”
My eyes drink in the sight of her. Damn, she’s beautiful. “You feel like fish tacos?”
“I could eat.” She gives me a small smile and I lean over the partition, cup her face, her skin soft and cool in my hands, and kiss her.
Words are limited. There are only so many ways you can put them together. And when it comes to Alice, I love you doesn’t seem enough.
Alice
There are times in life when silence speaks louder than words. I’m not purposely trying to avoid talking about the bombshell he dropped at the wake, but the look on Reagan’s face when he kissed me a few minutes ago said to give it time.
We drive up Pacific Coast Highway with the sun beginning its journey down, the sky turning every shade of red and orange edged in purple. By the time we pass campus and head north for Neptune’s, it’s close to sunset.
Reagan tells me to wait in the Jeep while he picks up our food. When he returns, he gets in the driver’s seat.
“Where are we going?” I ask as he pulls back onto the highway.
“You’ll see,” he tells me.
A few minutes later we’re driving down a dirt road that leads to a small alcove, and further down below, a deserted beach. He parks the car and gets out.
I can see why he wanted to show me this place. The view is breathtaking. A kaleidoscope of colors paints the horizon. The small cliffs that drop down to the beach are a cool gray. It makes for an interesting contrast. There’s not a soul in sight. The only sound is that of the gently crashing waves.
He takes off his suit jacket and throws it in the back, rolls up his shirtsleeves. Then he sits on the hood and pats the spot next to him. Reaching down, he holds out a hand and pulls me up. In silence we sit side by side and eat our fish tacos watching the sun dip into the water.
I finish before he does and lean against his warm hard body. He puts his arm around me and when he’s done eating, throws the bag with our trash into the car and pulls me onto his lap. He buries his face in the curve of my neck.
“You always smell so good…Alice…”
“Yeah.” The silent pause goes on for so long I start to wonder if he’s okay.
“I love you.”
My entire body braces. As if I needed to ready myself to absorb the words. Little by little my muscles relax, mold themselves to his, and a slow-spreading heat starts in my chest.
There’s absolutely no doubt about how I feel about him. My fingers trace the hard bar of his collarbone, move over his Adam’s apple, travel up the closely shaved skin of his throat and jaw, and brush over his lips. “I love you too.”
