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Bea
My mom was waiting for me at the police station, her eyes wide and her lips very shaky as she asked me what was going on. I couldn’t answer her, I just hugged her. And very nearly started crying as he squeezed me tight.
I told her as much as I could on the drive home, but I kept my eyes on the road ahead of us, afraid to look at her face, afraid to see the doubt in her eyes. I heard it in her sighs and her voice when she asked me questions. Everything was so normal. The cars full of people running their early afternoon errands, children returning from school, stopping for ice-cream, women of all ages in their yoga pants carrying water bottles and exercise mats. I see this world, I live in it, but I’ve never truly been a part of it. I was always the odd one out, the one who didn’t belong, the crazy one. My mind eases as we near the quiet neighborhood in the quiet town where I grew up.
It’s a hot day, but I’m still very cold as my mom helps me out of the car in the driveway like I’m some sort of invalid. I suppose in a way I am.
I stop as I reach the spot where I met Ash last night. How I wish I could rewind time back to that moment, start it all over again. Because after last night, after this morning, he’ll never want to see me again. Why would he? They accused him of murder because of me. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll never want to see me again. None whatsoever. And that hurts.
“Would you like something to eat?” Mom asks as we enter the house and I instinctively lock all the locks after us. “Rick flew out to Arizona on a job, but he’s cutting the trip short and catching the next flight back.”
I appreciate all my stepdad’s done to protect me over the years. He treats me like a daughter, always has, but I’m afraid there isn’t much he can do to save me from myself.
“Good,” I say anyway. “And I’m not really hungry. I think, I’ll just go take a shower.”
In between interrogating me and accusing me, the cops also poked and prodded me, taking my DNA and my finger prints, even a couple of strands of my hair. Maybe I should’ve refused, but then again, I’ve got nothing to hide.
My bedroom is exactly as I left it last night, the bed shoddily made, the blinds lowered almost all the way, a half full glass of juice on the dresser making the whole room smell like oranges. This is my life once again. The life of a shut-in. Unless they manage to charge and convict me of this crime I didn’t commit.
I do the best I can to push those thoughts out of my brain, running the shower as hot as I can stand it, then standing under the jets and focusing only on how the water feels running down my back. It’s a technique my old psychiatrist taught me, and it as always, it works to clear my head at least a little bit.
I stay in the shower long after I’m washed, until my fingers start getting shriveled. I’m no longer cold as I finally shut it off and dress. But neither am I calm.
The sound of the doorbell sends my heart racing while simultaneously twisting my stomach into a hard, painful knot. I hear my mom’s voice loud and clear as she asks the person at the door who he is. I hear the man less well. Until I open the bedroom door.
I know the voice!
I’m out of the room, and down the stairs so fast, I’d only be faster if I took a tumble. It’s not until I’m standing behind my mother, breathing hard that I realize I’m acting too hyper.
“Bea is resting,” my mother says. “Who did you say you were again?”
“It’s fine, Mom,” I say. “It’s Ash. I know him.”
In fact, the way his dark green eyes swallow me whole, like some wild lake bordered by tall snowcapped mountains and deep green pine forests, I feel like I’ve known him forever. And that I will know him forever. I can’t believe he’s here. By rights, he should be staying as far away from me as he can.
I grab a pair of shoes from the closet by the door, say a hurried goodbye to my mom, grab his hand in mine and lead him outside barefoot. He smells of a citrusy soap like he just got out of the shower, and the black t-shirt he’s wearing looks a size or two too small. It stretches over his chest and shoulders, hiding none of his muscles so on second thought, it’s actually just about perfect.
“You came back,” I say once we reach the sidewalk. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
He pulls me to him by my hand and wraps his arms around my waist. “I’d never be able to stay away.”
I feel very watched, but I know it’s just my mom standing on the doorstep with what I’m sure is a very disapproving look on her face.
“Don’t stay out too long, Bea,” she calls to me, speaking in that same voice she’d use back when I was in high school. But a lot has happened today, so I smile to her and promise I won’t.
“Where’s your bike?” I ask as I struggle to put on my loafers without letting go of him.
“Back at your house, I guess,” he says. “Someone drove me here.”
“That’s too bad, I’d hope we could go for a ride,” I say.
“That makes two of us,” he says and I believe him completely.
“Let’s take a walk then, there’s a nice park not far from here,” I say. “I have a lot to explain, I guess.”
“Me too,” he says and tells me to lead the way without letting go of my hand. I’m still trying to puzzle out what he could possibly have to tell me when he stops and pulls me into his arms.
His eyes are even more inviting as he gazes into mine, right before giving me the best kiss I’ve gotten since I was kissed by him last. It’s like diving into the gorgeous wild lake of his eyes, becoming one with the majestic reflection, one with him, one with the life I was supposed to have.
