Reckless Hearts Page 9

  “No. Wait.” She’d pushed him too hard. She squeezed her eyes shut, cursing herself. Then, impulsively, she said, “I want to see you. In person. Can I see you?”

  More silence. But she knew he was still there.

  Finally, he said, “Christmas Eve. I’ll pick you up. We’ll fly away somewhere.”

  Her breath caught in her throat, a tiny thrill of anticipation. Christmas Eve. That was the day after tomorrow.

  “How will you recognize me? Should I text you a photo?” she asked.

  “No. I want to be surprised. You’ll recognize me. I’ll be the one on the motorcycle.”

  “Okay. See you soon.”

  When he didn’t say anything in response, she realized he was gone, really gone, this time.

  Two days, though. She could wait that long.

  Looking out over the town again, she found her neighborhood. All those Spanish terra-cotta roofs. She counted the streets, then the houses in the streets, making her way toward the one she lived in. Nina and Matty would still be inside. She wondered if their partying had turned to fighting yet. She wondered how brutal the situation would get when her dad came home and found them drunk and belligerent. She wondered if she should kill some more time, maybe stay out all night and not go home at all.

  From way up here in Seminole Park, with the tantalizing date with Harlow dangling two days in front of her, everything in her life felt remote and far away. She could feel herself rising up and floating away from her problems. Almost like they didn’t matter, but of course they did.

  18

  Jake usually spent Christmas in the Keys with his father, but this year, because of the move and their concerns about him getting used to the new situation with Cameron, his parents had decided he should stay in Dream Point. As a compromise, on December 23—Christmas Eve Eve, is how he was thinking of it—his father drove up to spend the day with him. He would have stayed longer, but as Jake knew, he had a standing Christmas Eve gig at Rum Runners, a massive beach bar where the holiday tourists would be lined up around the block to hear him sing his old tunes. Not something he could miss, as much as he might want to.

  They had lunch at Enoteca Medici, on Magnolia, which had been dressed so completely in Christmas decorations that the place looked like giant ball of tinsel. Jake ordered a fancy leg-of-lamb sandwich. His father ordered a salad consisting of farro and dried fruits.

  “A salad, Dad?” Jake said. “I thought your rule was if it wasn’t fried you didn’t eat it.”

  “Baby steps,” his dad said in response. “I’ve gone vegan. Maybe I’m finally a grown-up.”

  Knowing how bad his dad felt about not being able to spend the actual holiday with him, and suspecting that his emotions surrounding Jake’s mom’s new marriage were more complicated and pained than he let on, Jake had been putting on a happy face throughout the meal.

  “You’ve always been a grown-up to me,” he said. “Anyway, it’s a big step. I guess it goes with the new look, huh?” The old man had shaved his head and he wore a slate-gray collarless shirt that made him look almost like a Buddhist monk. “If I saw you on the street, I’d think, There goes a guy who’s found enlightenment.”

  “I don’t know about that,” his dad said with a wry smile. “It keeps me clean, though. The sutras are great poetry. I’m working on putting them to music. Like a song cycle.”

  They talked about the challenges of translating spiritual poetry into the language of rock and roll. Jake liked the way his father treated him as an equal when they talked about music. He knew it was just his dad’s way of showing support, but it gave him confidence nonetheless. He was relieved, too, that they could talk about this instead of his various anxieties and conflicts. He didn’t want to bother his dad with stories about Nathaniel’s breaking of the Dave Matthews photo or any of the other ways the guy was trying to make his life in his new home uncomfortable.

  Eventually, inevitably, his father asked what Elena was up to.

  Jake dodged the question. “She’s been busy with her animations,” he said, glancing away. He didn’t mention Harlow at all. Even with his dad, who was pretty much his best friend outside of Elena, he didn’t want to look like a paranoid lunatic.

  Still, he could tell that his dad sensed that something was wrong and he was glad when the old man didn’t push the topic.

  All in all, it was a nice, quiet yet slightly melancholy visit. After they’d eaten their desserts and his dad had downed his usual four cups of coffee, they wandered out of the dark restaurant onto the boulevard and blinked in the sunlight like they’d just come out of a movie.

  “Wanna take a walk?” Jake’s dad asked.

  “Sure.”

  They meandered down Magnolia, past the upscale boutiques and specialty shops. Just two extremely tall, thin guys, taking in the baubles and wreaths the town had mounted on the lampposts, not really talking, just marking time together.

  Jake felt himself relaxing like he did when he was around his dad. He felt like he didn’t have to be anything but himself. It was nice, just hanging like this. It almost felt like they were having a conversation through the silence, like his dad was teaching him something about wisdom and vision.

  When they hit the dead end where Magnolia opened out onto the promenade, they crossed the street and turned down the winding path along the beach. They didn’t have to discuss it. They just knew it was the thing that would happen next.

  “So, hey,” Jake’s dad said. “You going to tell me why you’re so blue?”

  Jake winced. “Is it that obvious?”

  “I’ve had enough sadness in my life. I know it when I see it.”

  Some Rollerbladers wove past them.

  “You wanna guess?” Jake said.

  His father stopped walking and pursed his lips. He squinted at Jake with his icy-blue eyes like he was trying to see into his soul. “No,” he said.

  They walked on, slowly. Silently.

  When they’d passed Harpoon Haven, which was closed for the season, Jake’s dad ventured a guess. “I’d say you’re in love.”

  Jake sighed. “I’ve been in love forever,” he said. “It’s just . . . lately, it’s become excruciating.”

  “Have you told her yet?”

  “How do you do that?” Jake said. “I don’t know how to do that!”

  “’Cause, what if she says she’s not in love with you and instead of gaining a girlfriend, you lose the best friend you ever had?” his dad said.

  It was just like him to see the whole situation without Jake having even mentioned Elena’s name.

  “Did you know that Cameron has a son?”

  His dad raised an eyebrow. He tipped his head like he did when he was listening intently.

  “Yeah, neither did I, but apparently, he does. His name’s Nathaniel. He’s a total prick. But he’s been giving me love life advice.”

  “Is it helpful?”

  “I don’t know. He wants me to ‘bro’ up. He says girls are only interested in guys who treat them like shit. And that I should just make a move and force her to react.”

  “That’s not the kind of thing the Elena I know would respond to,” said Jake’s dad. He rubbed his scratchy chin and half smirked. “Or, she’d respond with a boot to the ass.”

  “That’s what I think.”

  “But he’s right about one thing.” Jake’s dad stopped again. He hopped up onto the iron railing that ran along the promenade and sat there. “You should tell her. After all these years, she deserves to know.”

  Jake felt like he’d been called out. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “I realize that.”

  “There are better ways to do it than playing grab bag, though. You’ve got talents. And you’ve got heart.” For a second, Jake’s dad’s gaze floated away, like he was remembering some poignant moment from his past. “Do you have any idea how romantic a true voice and an acoustic guitar can be? You just have to trust yourself. Believe you’re lovable. Your sensitivity and kindness will show thro
ugh.”

  He chucked Jake on the chin. “Braw,” he said with a wink.

  Jake chuckled. “The guy really is a total dick.”

  “I’m sure.”

  His dad stared off into the distance, thinking things over. Jake knew he must be comparing what Jake had told him to his perceptions of Cameron. He’d never fully gotten over Jake’s mom. And when his emotions became too strong he had a way of retreating into himself, a trait Jake had, for better or worse, inherited.

  “What time is it?” he asked Jake now. “I should probably hit a meeting before it gets too late.”

  “Sure,” Jake said. “You go. I’m going to hang out on the beach for a while. Think things through.”

  Hopping down from his perch, Jake’s dad gave him a little side hug. “Don’t think so hard that you think yourself out of it,” he said. Then he wandered ten feet or so up the promenade. “Hey,” he called back to Jake, doing a little bow. “Merry Christmas.”

  He slid a small package wrapped in brown construction paper out of his pocket and lobbed it to Jake.

  As Jake caught it, his dad called out, “You thought I forgot, didn’t you?”

  “Never,” Jake replied. Then he added, “Merry Christmas, Dad.”

  He watched his father jog away, his shirt billowing out behind him. As soon as the old man had rounded the corner past the juice bar and headed up the side street, Jake slid his finger under the taped flaps on the package and carefully unwrapped it. Then, opening the box inside, he found a guitar pick with a hole drilled in one end. His father had strung it onto a cheap silver chain.

  Jake turned the pick over in his fingers, studying it. It took him a minute to figure out what this present was supposed to mean. Then he saw the inscription that his dad had crudely carved into the plastic: Santana, March 12, 1998, Miami Beach Amphitheater. His father had told him about that show and how he’d been invited backstage to meet the legendary man. He must have been holding on to this pick all these years, waiting for the right time to give it to Jake. Now that he knew what it was, Jake felt a great power dwelling in the pick, like it connected him to both his father’s history and the history of the music he loved.

  He slipped the chain over his neck and, feeling the pick against his chest, he felt strong and confident. Worthy of Elena. Like if she saw him like this, her sense of him might be totally transformed.

  He knew that if he didn’t act now, he’d do exactly what his father had predicted and find some way to talk himself out of telling Elena the truth. He whipped out his phone and sent Elena a text: “CHRISTMAS DAY GIFT EXCHANGE. USUAL SPOT?”

  19

  Glued to the arched window in the living room, Elena peered around the side of the fake tree, watching the cars trickle along Greenvale Street, one every five or ten minutes. An Escalade, its chrome gleaming in the sunlight. A rusty old Volvo that rattled like it would collapse at any minute. Her heart beat in her ears as she waited for his motorcycle, each passing moment leaving her a touch more convinced that he wasn’t coming than she was before.

  Matty, who had taken up residence in the house after Elena’s dad, in his exhaustion from eighteen hours straight of work, had closed his eyes and muttered silently to himself rather than kicking him out the other night, was perched on the couch watching her fret while he ate his afternoon snack of Pop-Tarts and Bud Light. He hadn’t worn a shirt in two days and Elena had gotten to know the vaguely tribal tattoos snaking down his pecs better than she ever wanted to.

  He wouldn’t shut up. “Looks like lover boy’s not coming, yo. Sucks to be you, Elena. You sure he’s not just a cartoon? I bet he’s just a cartoon. Maybe he got lost trying to figure out how to get out of Jellystone.” On and on like this. And since Nina was hidden away in the darkened bedroom, sleeping off her hangover, Elena had no one to appeal to for help in shutting him up.

  Elena didn’t say a word. She knew from experience that if she took the bait it would only get worse. Trying to block his voice out of her head, she leaned her temple against the glass of the window and watched. Waited. Hoped beyond hope that Matty was wrong.

  A minivan rolled past.

  A Smart Car.

  A motorcycle, one of those aerodynamic ones that looked like they’d flown in from the future. This one was white and red and the guy tucked onto it was decked out in white leather with red and blue highlights. He slowed down and idled in front of the house to adjust a strap on his ankle. Then he pulled off his glove and began fiddling with his phone.

  The guy was disarmingly good-looking, wavy blond hair moussed back on his head, a face like a model, both refined and masculine. It couldn’t be Harlow, could it? He didn’t fit the type. Elena couldn’t imagine a guy who looked like this being attracted to the nerdy culture of anime. She couldn’t imagine a guy this handsome existing at all.

  She was so nervous she could hardly breathe. When her phone buzzed in the pocket of her jeans, it startled her so much that she let out a little yelp.

  Matty laughed at her. “Lover boy’s canceling now, hey?” he said from his seat on the couch. He obviously hadn’t seen the cycle pull up out front.

  She checked her phone. The message said, “WANNA TAKE A RIDE?”

  Hell yeah, she did.

  Throwing Matty two birds over her shoulders, she flew out the door trying to play it cool.

  Harlow didn’t wave when he saw her walking toward him. He barely even smiled. He just jutted his jaw and acknowledged her with a small nod.

  “Hop on,” he said, revving the engine.

  She’d never been on a motorcycle before. The seat was wider than she’d expected and she felt foolish trying to sling her leg over the whole thing.

  “Now hold on tight,” he said.

  She wasn’t sure where to put her hands—behind her on the metal rail at the back of the seat? Around Harlow’s waist? That seemed abruptly intimate. Did she dare? She placed them on his shoulders, grabbing on to the leather.

  “Yeah,” he said. “We’ll be going too fast for that.”

  When he uncurled her fingers from the leather, he did so with a delicacy that sent a charge through Elena’s chest. He had the gloves on again, so she couldn’t tell how soft his fingers might be, but they were long and thin and nothing like the pudgy peasant hands of the guys in her family. He guided her hands down and around his waist, laying them flat on his tight stomach.

  “You ready?” he said.

  She inched up closer behind him until she could feel his butt against her inner thighs and her chin was resting against his shoulder. He smelled like vanilla. She gulped the scent down.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said.

  And they were off. Zero to sixty in what felt like half a second. When they took the corner at the end of the block the cycle leaned so low she felt like she would fall off. She squeezed tighter. She held on with all her might. They raced forward. Zigging and zagging through the residential streets. He seemed to know where he was going, though she didn’t. She felt out of control, flapping behind him, his body the only thing tethering her to the earth—it was like an iron rod between her arms, rigid and firm and totally in control. With every twist and turn of the bike, she could feel his muscles moving under the leather. They tensed and released and slid ever so slightly in this or that direction as he adjusted his balance and responded to the road.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  He didn’t respond. He couldn’t hear her.

  She leaned in closer and shouted right into his ear, “Where are we going?”

  “Anywhere,” he said. “Everywhere.”

  They sped through the Slats. Headed downtown.

  When they hit Shore Drive, he shouted, “Brace yourself!” into the wind and before she knew it her stomach was doing somersaults and they were up on one wheel.

  This was crazy. They weren’t even wearing helmets. But she wasn’t going to complain. She couldn’t have done so if she wanted to. Her words would have flown behind them, l
ost on the wind.

  Not losing speed, he popped the curb and they were suddenly on the promenade, tearing up the grass, dodging palm trees and park benches. They followed the pathway for a while and then Harlow turned onto a pedestrian ramp that led down to the beach.

  Elena shouted into his ear again. “This is totally illegal,” she said.

  “Do you care?” he said.

  Did she? She wasn’t sure. She decided that no, she didn’t care. Not one bit.

  Kicking up sand, they raced along the shore, ignoring the sunbathers and water waders staring, pointing, yelling for them to get the hell off the beach. Slowing down just slightly, Harlow twisted his head back so that he could look at her. He had a cockeyed grin on his face, both alluring and brash. She could see the flecks of yellow in his brown eyes.

  He slowed further and kicked his legs out from the machine so he could balance his toes on the sand. Elena wasn’t sure if she was supposed to hop off or not. She didn’t want to let go of Harlow.

  “What now?” she asked.

  He raised an eyebrow. “You tell me,” he said. “Should we find someplace to sit and get to know each other?”

  She felt a trill in the base of her throat like her heart was trying to jump out. “Yeah,” she said, playing it cool. “Name’s Elena. And you are . . .”

  “Harlow.”

  She hopped off the cycle. Her whole body was numb and tingly from the shaking of the motorcycle between her legs. Holding out a hand, she said, “Nice to meet you, Harlow.”

  “Finally,” he added with a wink, finishing her sentence. He pulled off his glove and shook hands with her. “You look different than I imagined,” he said.

  She held her arms out and did a little spin, feeling the intensity of his eyes on her as he sized her up. “Are you disappointed?”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  He continued staring at her, letting his eyes roll up and down her body. She’d never in her life felt so sexualized—so wanted. His gaze was so intense that she had to look away. She wondered where they’d go. She wondered how long it would take him to kiss her.