The Edge of Always 8 page

I shake my head. “Camryn, don’t do that. This isn’t about me, all right?” I tuck my finger behind another strand of her hair and pull it away from her mouth. “Don’t make it about me.”

She pauses for a moment, and I feel her hand move into my lap and my fingers link with hers.

She looks back out at the ocean.

“I didn’t want to go to Ian’s funeral,” she says. “I didn’t want the last time I saw him to be like that.” She glances over at me. “Do you remember that day in your apartment when I walked in on your phone conversation with Aidan, when he was trying to get you to go to your father’s funeral?”

I nod. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Something you said to him, about how the last time you see someone you’d rather it be of them alive, not lying dead in a box. Well, that’s how I felt about Ian’s funeral. I never wanted to go. It’s also why I didn’t want to see Lily. It’s why I chose cremation.”

“But you did go. To Ian’s funeral.” I steer clear of the Lily subject for now. She’s a more painful topic. For both of us. I saw her. She was so small she would’ve been able to fit in the palm of my hand. But Camryn refused to look.

She shakes her head. “Not really,” she says about Ian’s funeral. “I was there, but I wasn’t. My way of letting him go was shutting him out of my mind, every word he ever said to me, his face, anything I could shut out, I did. I only went because it’s what everybody expected of me. If I wasn’t so worried about what everyone else would think, I would’ve stayed home that day.”

“But that’s not closure,” I say carefully. “That’s the same thing as sweeping the dirt underneath the rug. It’s still there. You know it’s there. And it’ll bug the shit out of you until you do it right.”

“I know,” she says.

After a few long seconds of silence, I reach into my back pocket and pull out the photo.

“Y’know, if he was still alive, I’d be a little jealous. He’s kind of hot, for a guy.”

Camryn smiles over at me and I notice her eyes just barely skirt the photo.

I set it down on the sand next to our knees. Then I get serious again. “Camryn, what’s going on with you—the pills you took, all of it—isn’t just about losing Lily. You know that, don’t you?”

She doesn’t answer, but I can sense that she’s thinking hard about what I said.

“You shut everything out. Ian. Lily. According to Natalie, even your grandma and Cole and the fact that your dad left and seems to care more for his new girlfriend than he does for you.” I say it like it is because that’s exactly how it needs to be said. “Instead of dealing with it, grieving, whatever, you just shut that shit out and expect it to go away on its own. You’ve been doing that long before we met. You’ve got to know that it just piles up, and one day you’ll snap and go off the deep end.”

“I know. You’re right as usual,” she says dejectedly.

“Do you believe that, or are you just agreeing with me to get me to shut up?” I grin over at her, hoping to get a smile out of her.

And it works.

She smiles and says, “No, I do believe it. I just wish I would’ve believed it sooner.”

“Why do you believe it now?”

“Because you’re like a philosopher with tattoos.” She laughs and it sends a shot of warmth through my blood.

I can’t believe she’s laughing. At first, I thought it was going to take a long time for Camryn to come to terms with all of this, but she surprises me every day.

“A philosopher?” I say. “Hardly. But I’ll take the credit.”

Camryn turns sideways and lays her head on my lap. She looks up at me with those doelike blue eyes of hers, and I can’t help but reach down and touch the softness of her face.

“Do you want to know the truth?” she asks.

“Of course,” I say, but I’m feeling a little anxious all of a sudden.

“It’s like I told you back at Aidan’s,” she says. “If I ever lost you, of all people, that would do it for me. When I miscarried, it triggered all of my fears again. About losing you. It was like, in that second of tragedy I was reminded about death all over again and how fast it sneaks up on a person. If God or Nature or whoever or whatever the hell it is out there controlling all of this could be so cruel and heartless to kill my baby, then It wouldn’t have any second thoughts about killing you, too. It scares me, Andrew. The thought of ever losing you kills me inside. And because I almost lost you once, it makes the fear that much worse.”

“But I told you before—”

She lifts away from my lap and sits directly in front of me, her knees burrowed into the sand.

“I know what you told me,” she says. “But it doesn’t matter what you believe, or that you know all the right things to say to make it better. You don’t know for sure what will happen, Andrew. The tumor could very easily come back and despite everything we do, all of the precautions we take, it could kill you.”

I start to argue, but she’s so intent on saying these things to me that I know I have to let her.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she goes on, “and I can look you in the eyes right now and say that as much as it hurts, I can accept Ian’s death. I can accept Lily’s death. I can accept anyone else’s death even though whoever it is, it will be unbearably hard. But yours…” She pauses and doesn’t even blink as she looks deeply into my eyes. “I could never accept yours. Never.”

The silence between us only amplifies the sound of the ocean. I want to take her into my arms, to crush my lips over hers, but I just sit here, staring at her because the words she just spoke to me are the most powerful words I’ve ever heard or felt or understood.

Finally, I reach out both arms and lift her onto my lap. I wrap my arms around her back and look into her eyes and say, “I believe you and I feel the same way.”

She cocks her head gently to one side. “Really?”

“Yeah. Camryn, I can’t live without you. I could try, but it would be a miserable existence. It isn’t just about me; you could die tomorrow just as easily as I could. Neither one of us are immune to it.”

She doesn’t object, but she looks away for a brief moment.

I cup her cheeks within my hands, forcing her gaze. Her skin is cold.

“We have to live in the moment, remember?” I say and instantly get her attention again. “We need to make a pact, you and me, right now. Will you make a pact with me?” I move my hands back a little to warm her cold ears.

She nods. “OK,” she says, and I’m glad she trusts me enough with this not to ask questions before agreeing.

Moving one hand away from her ear, I trace the tips of my fingers across her forehead and down the sides of her cheeks. “We can’t control death,” I say. “There’s nothing either of us can do to avoid it or to hold it off. All we can control is how we live our lives before it comes for us. So, let’s promise each other things that we can hold true to no matter what.”

Camryn nods and smiles slimly. “What kinds of things?” she asks.

“Anything. Whatever we want from each other. Like…” I stand up from the sand and bury my hands in my pockets. I gaze out at the ocean, sifting through my mind for the best promise to start with. I can think of only one thing at the moment, so I turn back to her and point my index finger upward and say, “This has nothing to do with the tumor or anything specific, but I want you to promise me that if I’m ever put on life support for any reason and you feel in your heart that I’m not going to pull through, you feel like I’m suffering, that you’ll take me off of it.”

Her smile fades, and she just looks up at me like I ruined the moment. I reach down to her and take her by the hand, bringing her to her feet with me.

“I’m not trying to be morbid. This is just something that’s always bothered me, y’know? You see it on TV and in movies. Some guy is hooked up to every machine known to man trying to keep him alive because the family has hope, or whatever. Nothing wrong with hope, but damn, that shit terrifies me.” I gently wrap my hands around her arms. “Never let me live like a vegetable. Promise me that. You know me better than anyone, and I trust you to know when I’ve had enough. So promise me.”

Slowly, she starts to come around. It takes her a second, but she begins to nod. “Promise me the same,” she says.

I smile and say, “You got it.”

She takes a step back and hides her hands in her sleeves. Wrapping her sweater tight around her body, she begins to pace.

She stops and looks at me. “Promise me that if I ever get Alzheimer’s or dementia, and I don’t remember anyone that you’ll visit me every day and read to me like Noah read to Allie.”

“Who?” I ask, but then it hits me. “Oooh, I see.” I laugh and shake my head at her.

Her eyes and her smile get bigger and she yells, “Andrew! It’s not funny! I’m being serious!” She laughs and I grab her, pulling her into my arms.

“All right, all right!” I say, squeezing her wriggling body against me.

“It was your idea,” she says, “so don’t make a joke out of it.”

“I know. You’re right, but…really? You have to go all Sparks on me?”

I feel her elbow dig into my gut, and I double over a little and overdramatize the pain it caused, my face strained with agony and laughter. To add insult to injury, Camryn gives me a push and knocks me over into the sand. Then she stands directly over me with one foot on each side of my waist, hands propped on her hips all authoritativelike. I keep one hand on my gut, laughing and straining to keep my face straight, though I know damn well I’m not really fooling her.

“Leave it to you to make fun of a very serious moment.” She says this so seriously that it just makes me laugh harder, mainly because it’s so hard for her to keep a straight face.

She starts to sit on me, and she’ll probably try to beat me with her flimsy little hands, but I reach out just before she does and I grab her between the legs and squeeze really hard.

“Owww!” she moans and starts to fall over but I hold her still in the position. “What is it with you grabbing my paarrr—shit, Andrew!—grabbing my parts?!”

I apply more pressure and slowly raise my back from the sand, guiding her backwards. She falls to her knees at eye level with me.

“Because I like it,” I whisper onto her lips. “Now be still.”

The mood between us shifts in a matter of seconds. Her cold skin becomes warmer, her eyes become rapt, her body compliant.

“There’s people out here…,” she tries to say softly, but my hand tightening between her legs steals her voice away.

“I don’t care,” I say, scanning her eyes first and then the plump, wetness of her lips. “They’re far enough away.”

“But… what are you doing…”

“Just be still. Be quiet.” I trace my tongue over her bottom lip and gently suck on it. I feel her try to kiss me, but I don’t let her. I move my hand from the outside of her pants and slide it behind the loose-fitting fabric to find her warmth. God damn, she’s already wet. Leaning into the crook of her neck, I shut my eyes and inhale the scent of her skin. She stays very still, but I can feel her body quivering and her pulse beating fast under my touch. I want to fuck her so bad. But I won’t yet, because I like to torture myself. I fucking love it.

My free hand drops from around her waist, and I move it to her thighs, forcing her to spread her legs farther apart. “Open them,” I say with my lips barely touching hers, and she does exactly what I tell her, moving her knees outward against the sand. She tenses up a little when I sense a man walking by not too far away, but I squeeze her again, slipping two fingers inside of her and forcing her to look only at me. She gasps and I shudder quietly, feeling the inside of her tightening around my fingers. I look into her eyes, sometimes mine straying to study the curvature of her mouth. “Don’t look away from me,” I say. “I don’t care if you feel like you need to shut your eyes. Don’t. Keep your eyes on mine.”

She nods subtly as if she’s afraid I’ll stop if she does it wrong.

I move my fingers in and out of her slowly at first, pulling them out and using her wetness to keep her clit wet, rubbing my middle finger over it in a circular motion. Every time I touch it her eyes start to close, but I stop the second I notice and she regains control of her gaze. I move my fingers inside her again, a little faster and with my thumb apply more pressure to her clit each time. Tiny moans escape from her parted lips, sucking in the chilled air around us and my warm breath as I breathe harder onto her mouth. But she never takes her eyes off of mine and she doesn’t speak, even though I know she wants to do both.

“Admit it,” I whisper leaning in to her ear, “at this point, you wouldn’t care if anyone was watching. Would you? You’d let me fuck you right here in front of everybody and worry about the shame only after it was over.”

I feel her head nod next to mine.

“What else would you let me do?” I ask and keep my lips near her ear. I keep my fingers moving.

“Anything you wanted,” she says with a gasp in her voice.

“Anything I wanted?” I rub my thumb firmer against her clit.

“Yes…,” she says and her breath sputters softly. “Anyfuckingthing you wanted…”

Her words, her voice laced with need, makes me insanely hot for her, and I’m so fucking hard I can hardly stand it. My fingers move harder and faster. Her body begins to tremble, her thighs shake trying to hold herself up. I pull away from her ear and look into her eyes again. She keeps hers trained on mine the best she can, her lids are getting heavier, her breath uneven and wispy. But her eyes widen and freeze when I hit that special spot, and I make sure not to break the rhythm.

“Don’t look away,” I say and continue to stare fiercely into her eyes.

As she starts to come, my gaze only strengthens, piercing hers in a moment of hungry lust. It’s like I can see the pleasure emanating from around her irises, feel the heat of her orgasm coming off the sensitive skin on her lips, which want to kiss mine so savagely, but I still won’t let her. And as her quivering body begins to calm, I push my two fingers deeper inside, feeling her constrict around them all the while keeping pressure on her clit with the pad of my thumb.

She collapses onto my chest.

I wrap her trembling body up in my arms and kiss the top of her head.

“What the fuck are you doing to me?” she says.

I laugh lightly and hold her tighter. “Whatever the hell I want,” I answer cunningly.

Tilting her head back away from my chest, she gazes up at me. “Well, I don’t care what you say, you’re not going to get me off this time without me returning the favor.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“Yes, that’s exactly right, so don’t even try it.”

“What are you going to do to me then?” I feel my grin deepening.

“Whatever the hell I want,” she says with a grin even more wicked than mine.

Then she rises to her feet and taking a hold of my hand brings me up with her.

“But not out here,” she says. “It’s getting too cold.”

“You’re the boss,” I say and let her start to pull me along.

I would never bring it up, but I do notice as we walk away from the beach, Camryn looks back once at the photo of her and Ian lying on the sand. Her hand squeezes firmly around mine, and she looks over at me smiling softly as we cross the boardwalk.

I know I really had little to do with her finally finding her closure. Yeah, I forced it on her, but it was Camryn who in that moment faced one of her biggest fears. She stared into the face of someone she loved and lost, and finally accepted it. I admit, it was strange how it all happened, and I never went out there with any sexual intentions, especially in a moment like that. But Camryn, in the time she spent alone on that beach thinking about Ian, long before I joined her, she had already figured it all out.

I can’t say for sure how she did it, or how much I had to do with it, but by the time she left the beach with me that night, she was starting to become herself again.

Camryn was coming back, and I was living in the clouds with her.

Camryn

December 8—my twenty-first birthday

As it started getting colder, Andrew and I started heading farther south. We spent only one night in Virginia Beach, and from there we traveled North Carolina’s coastline, staying a few days in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, where I got my first road-trip job. Housekeeping. Definitely not my first pick, especially after Andrew reminded me that day about the gross things guests tend to leave behind in the rooms. But it was a job, and I didn’t mind it so much, except when they expected me to wash out wastebaskets with disgusting hockers stuck to the bottom. Sorry, but just thinking about that makes me gag. I called Andrew and begged him to come do it for me. Of course, I totally bribed him with promises of mind-altering blow jobs in random places in exchange for his services. Fucking yay. Nah, who am I kidding? I enjoy the hell out of doing it for him. I only pretend to hate it sometimes, but I think he likes it when I pretend because he likes to hear me whine.

Anyway, apparently, housekeeping jobs are like revolving doors, employees come and go so fast you might as well not even officially add them to the payroll. I thought to myself how this could really work in my favor while on the road. So, in exchange for half of the rent of the room we were staying in and because the hotel staff was shorthanded, I asked if I could help out and they hired me on the spot.

But the job was only temporary, as Andrew and I needed to get out of Myrtle Beach and head to our next destination, wherever that might be. We never plan destinations in advance. The only rule we’re going by is staying on the coast. At least until the spring. But it’ll be a few months before spring gets here, and right now, we’re happily set up in a cottage-style hotel right on the beach in beautiful Savannah, Georgia.

And today, I turn twenty-one.

Andrew wakes me from a deep sleep by opening the curtains on our giant room window and letting the sun fill the room.

“Get up, birthday girl,” he announces from somewhere near the foot of the bed. I hear him slap the tabletop by the window with the palm of his hand repeatedly.

I moan and roll over onto my side, putting my back toward the bright sun and then burrow underneath the sheets. A gust of cold air hits me when Andrew snatches the sheets off me.

“Oh come on!” I moan, drawing my knees toward my chest and pulling the pillow over my head. “I should be able to sleep in on my birthday.”

Suddenly my body is being dragged off the bed and my arms come up wildly, trying to hold on to the edge of the mattress. Andrew’s hand is wrapped firmly around my ankle. I kick and flail, trying to get away, but he drags me across the bed so fast and without much effort that I just give up. My butt hits the floor and the sheets tumble down and around me.

“You are such an ass!” I laugh.

“But you love me. Now get up.”

With my hair all tangled around my head, I look up at him and pout. He smiles at me and reaches out his hand. I take it, and he pulls me into a stand.

“Happy birthday, babe,” he says and pecks me on the lips.

I flinch a little, because I know I have morning breath, and I’m already so used to him never passing up the opportunity to tease me about it.

Without looking at me, Andrew reaches inside his coat pocket and pulls out a little black velvet box. Obviously, he’s already been out and about today, but I’m more interested in the box he’s putting in my hand. I look at him warily, ready to chew him out if he went behind my back and spent a lot of money on a piece of jewelry.

“Andrew?” I say suspiciously.

“Just open it,” he says. “I was good. I promise.” He puts up both hands up in surrender.

Still totally wary of his apparent sincerity, I lift the lid on the box to see a diamond pendant necklace inside, and I gasp a little. Then I narrow my eyes at him. “Andrew, I swear.” I glance down at it again, feeling guilty for even holding it. “There’s no way this wasn’t—”

“I promise,” he says with a charming smile. “It wasn’t expensive.”

Chewing on the inside of my lip skeptically, I ask, “Then how much did it cost?”

“Ah, just around one twenty-five. No more than that. Cross my heart.” He makes a crossing motion over his heart with his finger.

Then he reaches out and takes the necklace from the box, letting it dangle on his hand. “Do you like it?” he asks as he moves around behind me.

Instinctively, I reach up and move my disheveled hair away as he slips the necklace around my neck. “It’s perfect, Andrew. I more than like it. I love it.” I look down once he clasps it in place and hold the shiny silver pendant in my fingers.

I turn around to face him and push up on my bare toes to kiss him deeply.

I just can’t see how something like this didn’t cost a boatload, but he’s telling the truth. I think…

“Thank you, baby,” I say, beaming.

Suddenly, he smacks me on the butt and says, “We’ve gotta get out of here today. I’m sick of hiding out in these rooms. Sick of this cold weather. I wish we could hibernate.”

“You and me both. What exactly are we going to do?” I grab a clean outfit from my bag by the TV.

“I don’t know. Anything,” he says. “Just dress warm.”

He didn’t need to tell me that, really. Not even being on the coast and farther south has done a lot to keep us warm the past several days. We both dream of spring and summer, so much so that it has gotten to where it’s all we talk about anymore. I complain a lot about not being able to hang my bare feet out the car window without freezing us out, and he complains that we still have yet to accomplish sleeping in that field under the stars. Of course, I won’t say it out loud because it’ll just make him want to do it even more, but I’m really not looking forward to sleeping under the stars. Ever. Not after what happened the first time we tried. No. I think I’m content with the hotel beds. No snakes in those.

Winter is depressing. I think it’s why the suicide rate is so high in Alaska. Beautiful state, but give me the sweltering heat of a southern desert state any day.

I dress extra warm for my birthday: thick coat, scarf, gloves, you name it I’m wearin’ it. And I’m still frickin’ cold.

*

Andrew, he kinda makes winter hot. I’ve always thought guys with beanies are sexy, but the way he looks in his black designer jacket and knit beanie, dark gray sweater, dark jeans, and Doc Marten boots is really all the birthday present that I need. I smile to myself as we walk hand in hand through a small crowd of people, all shuffling into the lighthouse and out of the cold when three girls, probably tourists like us, gape at Andrew as we walk by. That happens a lot, and I should be used to it by now. I gloat privately, but who wouldn’t in my situation? He’s the sexist thing I’ve ever seen. No wonder he was a model at one time. He hates talking about it, so naturally I often bring it up just to see him squirm. He’s been shaving less, too; he’s got that whole sexy stubble thing goin’ on.

We climb the spiral stairs up into the lighthouse overlooking the ocean and we gaze out at the view together. Because it’s something to do. We’ve just been playing it by ear—driving around town and picking something as we see it. Though, in the cold months, even that is a hit or miss. We hang our arms over the railing and move closer to each other to keep warm. The cold wind batters us, being so high off the ground, and I know my nose and cheeks are probably red.

It takes us all of five minutes to say “Screw this,” and we practically run back to the car.

“Maybe we should just go to a movie,” he says in the driver’s seat. “Or… OK, I say we just hibernate.”

We sit here for a long time just trying to figure out something to do.

“Let’s just drive around some more,” I say, coming up short.

“Maybe we should just leave.”

I shrug. “If you want to.” Then I see a sign that reads Fleas & Tiques Flea Market & Antique Store.

“Let’s go shopping,” I suggest.

Andrew doesn’t look enthused. “Shopping?”

I nod and point to the sign. “Not the mall or anything,” I say. “You can find some great stuff in flea markets.”

His expression is still flat, but I guess he realizes it sure as hell beats walking around outside in the cold, or sitting in this car doing nothing at all.

Giving in because, face it, he really doesn’t have much of a choice, he backs out of the parking space, and we follow the signs to the flea market. We find a bit of everything: stupid-looking hats, old-timey dental tools, handmade quilts, VHS tapes, and records. Andrew didn’t care for much until the wooden box of records came into view.

“I haven’t seen an actual Led Zeppelin record in years,” he says, holding one in his hands. The cover is so beat up and faded it looks like it’s been sitting in an attic for thirty years, but he holds it so carefully you’d think it was in mint condition.

“You’re not planning on buying that, are you?”

“Why not?” he asks, not looking at me.

He turns it over in his hands to look at the back side.

“Because it’s a record?”

“Yeah, but it’s a Led Zeppelin record,” he counters, glancing at me briefly.

“Yeah, and?”

He doesn’t answer.

I go on, “Andrew, what would you play it on?”

Finally, he gives me his full attention. “I wouldn’t play it.”

“Then why would you buy it?” I ask, and then answer for him sarcastically, “Oh, it’s a collectible. I get it. You could mount it somewhere in the backseat of the car.” I smirk at him.

“Or, I could put you in the backseat and mount it in the front.”

My mouth falls open slightly.

Andrew grins and slides the record back in the box.

“I’m not going to buy it,” he says, taking my hand.

Minutes later, we come to another booth chock-full of vintage-style clothing. As I’m meticulously combing through everything on the racks, Andrew falls back into the booth next to me where a wall of hundreds of DVDs and Blu-rays are displayed. He stands there in front of it with his arms crossed, practically unmoving as he scans each and every title. I can see the back of his head through the wooden mesh barrier that separates his booth from mine. I go back to the clothes, feeling a sense of urgency and need with just about each piece I touch. I frickin’ love vintage clothing. Not that I actually wear it, or ever really have, but it’s one of those things you can’t help but look at with admiration and imagine yourself in.

I push the thin metal hangers back, one by one, out of the way so I can see everything. Shirts with poet’s sleeves and leather laces, corsets, dresses with long, flowing sleeves and draping ruffles, Victorian-style boots—

What is this?

My heart stops for a second when I slide one hanger away and see the dress. An ivory vintage Gunne Sax with short flutter sleeves. I take the hanger from the rack and hold the dress against me and turn to the mirror. The length just barely drags the floor. With one hand holding the dress at level with my height, I reach down with the other and pull the fabric out with my fingers. Then I twirl around.

“God, I love this dress,” I say out loud to myself. “I have to have it.”

“I uhhh, have to say,” Andrew says from behind, startling me, “that’s a sweet dress.”

A little embarrassed that he likely saw me admiring myself in it, and talking to myself no doubt, I don’t look right at him. Instead, I peek inside to check out the size on the tag. It’s my size! Of course, I have to buy it now, no questions asked. It was meant to be!

Crushing the dress against me, I whirl around to face Andrew standing there.

“Do you really like it?” I ask guiltily, my way of begging him not to throw that old record conversation up in my face.

“I think you should get it,” he says with a big, dimpled smile. “I can picture you in it already. Beautiful. Naturally.”

I blush hard and look down at it again. “You think so?” I can’t stop smiling.

“Definitely,” he says. “And it would give me easier access.”

Leave it to him!

I let his perverted comment slide, mainly because I’m just way too in love with this dress. Then I realize suddenly that I haven’t looked at the price tag yet. Already familiar with Gunne Sax dresses, I know they aren’t expensive. But when it comes to some random person who thinks they can fool a buyer into paying three times what it’s worth, there’s no telling what that tag says. I hold my breath and look down. Twenty bucks! Perfect.

I look back at Andrew, and I feel like a bitch all of a sudden.

“Why don’t you go ahead and get that Led Zeppelin record,” I say timidly.

Andrew shakes his head, smiling. “Nah, an old record really has no use. But a dress like that, it has uses.” He crosses his arms and looks me up and down.

Date: 2015-02-03; view: 657