What's Left Behind (27 page)

Be here now.

Rob ran a hand down her back, and they lay on their sides. Face-to-face, nose-to-nose, she memorized the topography of his ocean-cooled back, the broad expanse, the ropes of muscles at either side, the scrapes and scars that defined him. Rob opened the top fold of her towel, and his gaze washed over her, rushed heat down her body. Then he lay back down, stroked her face, and folded her in a kiss. His chest warmed hers, his pulse thrumming through her, melding with the ocean roar.

Abby took Rob’s hand from her hip and moved it to her chest. “I won’t break,” she told him. And when he cupped her breasts, when he traced each nipple with first his fingers and then his tongue, and her body answered, she knew she’d spoken the truth. She wasn’t broken. Not anymore.

She unfolded Rob’s towel, unleashing him, and he sprang to life between them. The ache between her legs blossomed, her whole body wanting him fully and deeply inside her. She ran a hand over his hip, down his belly, into the warmth between his thighs. Then she traced the length of him with her fingertips and found her voice. “Happen to have a condom in that pack of yours?”

Rob leaned his forehead against hers. “Got a few in the first-aid kit for emergencies. This qualifies,” he said, and he scrambled over to his pack, his white bottom even cuter than she’d imagined.

Moments later, he returned and unrolled the condom onto himself. Up on one elbow, he brought a strand of her hair to his lips. His hands trailed across her chest and down her body. She shivered, but perspiration prickled her brow. “I want to make you feel good. Tell me what you need,” he said, for the second time that night.

If Rob had been any other man—

Abby covered his hand with hers. “Just you. All of you.”

Rob knelt over her, and her body angled to him. And just in case this was all she got, she took a snapshot. Told herself to remember the smile on his face, the way his soft gaze held hers. The way his gorgeous body blocked out the moon as he lowered himself with care onto her, making sure not to crush her with his weight. The soft sands cushioned her back on one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. The waves lapped the shore, the ocean air caressed her skin, and she guided him inside her, all the way to her soul.

“Honey,” she whispered. “That feels really good.”

Then, holding hands, they moved to the rhythm of the tides and brought each other the rest of the way home.

I
f anyone cared to ask, Tessa could’ve identified the three most stressful days of her life. The day her mother had run away from home. The day Luke had died. And today.

All of them involved losing someone she loved.

Tessa could bet her life that if she had a Cutters Anonymous sponsor, she’d tell Tessa that in times of extreme stress, she should close her eyes and go to a place where she was safe and loved and forgiven for all her sins. The sponsor would probably tell Tessa that if she’d no clue where to find such a place, she should, instead, find a healthy means of distracting herself from what she really wanted.

But how could you resist when relief was just an arm’s or a thigh’s length away?

Two hours ago, Abby had stormed out. Well, not really stormed. But right after Tessa had risked telling her about the day Luke had died, Abby had jumped into her truck and sped from the driveway. Abby had told Tessa Luke’s death wasn’t her fault. But Tessa knew better than anyone that actions spoke louder than words. When someone hated you, they did everything in their power to put road—or air miles—between you.

Since Abby had been gone, Tessa had switched a load of towels from the washer to the massive front-load dryer, and then folded the white cotton, reveling in the warmth, the fresh scent that reminded her of Abby. She’d consulted the blackboard menu and then prepared the egg batter for tomorrow morning’s French toast. She’d sliced oranges for garnish, set the coffee makers to auto.

All the while Tessa’s thighs ached, physically ached, vying for her attention.

Tessa hurried into Abby’s apartment, careful to close the pocket door behind her, and then swung into Luke’s room. Faced the photo above Luke’s bed.

“What am I doing here?”

Sadie padded into the room and stared up at Tessa with her big golden eyes, meowed three times, and then jumped onto Luke’s bed, as if the cat were trying to communicate an answer to Tessa’s question. If she hadn’t already known, that should’ve told Tessa she was stark raving bonkers.

“Sorry, Sadie.” Tessa snapped up her handbag, dashed into Abby’s bathroom, and slammed the door behind her. She slid the slide lock into place. The
click-clack
of metal against metal notched her pulse, energized her fingers. She was just going to look at it. Anything else would be stupid, pathetic, and shameful. Wasn’t that why she’d kept it in the first place, the way former smokers kept one cigarette to remind themselves how far they’d come and how much they had to lose?

She unzipped the inside pocket of her handbag and eased a square of silk scarf onto her lap. The smooth, cool texture enticed her fingers, but the design she’d purposely chosen—red flowers blooming on silk pale as her skin—was supposed to warn her away.

Instead, her thigh went into overdrive, and the design urged her forward.

She sat on the toilet cover, unfolded her mother’s silk scarf to reveal a single, shining, silver razor blade, sparkling like a jewel. The blade was supposed to scare her, resurrect the memory of physical pain and scarring.

Instead, her throat tightened in anticipation of how good it would feel to part her skin with the blade and give herself a blissful moment of relief. First thought? She was sick and disgusting. Second thought? She wanted Abby to come home. Third thought? She’d driven Abby away. Sobs rippled through her body, forceful as tides on the open ocean. She clamped her hands over her mouth, and the pressure, pounding pressure, built in her chest.

She took deep breaths, the kind the OB/GYN made her do whenever she went for her monthly visits. Then she pinched the blade between her thumb and forefinger, waved it over the scars on her leg, gritted her teeth, and chucked it into the trash can. Metal on metal, the blade clanked to the bottom of the empty pail.

The baby turned inside her belly, as though it knew what she’d almost done, and she flashed hot. Bile bit the back of her throat. She’d told Abby she didn’t cut anymore. She’d promised.

First thought? She wanted to go home.

Second thought? She didn’t know where home was anymore.

Wasn’t home the place where you were supposed to feel safe, loved, and forgiven?

Fifteen minutes later, for lack of a better plan, she hit
Home
on her GPS and headed in the opposite direction.

Tessa parked in the far lot of Head Beach and made her way through the narrow beach-grass path. The moon shone down on the beach, bright enough to throw shadows. Not quite a full moon, she could see that now, but she wouldn’t have known on her own. If Abby hadn’t taken the time to explain the phases of the moon, Tessa would’ve thought she were imagining the asymmetry. She would’ve assumed the fault lay in her skewed vision. She would’ve believed the fault lay in her.

Waves broke—low tide, she was guessing—and blue reflected off the water. She should totally paint this scene. Her shadow thrown to the side, the subtle deep shades of water, the way moonlight mimicked the low light of a dorm-room desk lamp turned to the wall for nighttime romance.

Wish you were here, Luke.

Just past the Kelp Shed, about twenty kids gathered in a semicircle on beach towels. Half a dozen kids finished the circle on a piece of driftwood. A long-haired guy at the edge of the driftwood played “Like a Rolling Stone” on his guitar, while the kids sang along, loudly and badly, to the refrain. Even from a distance she could see the configurations of couples, the party game of hooking up. If she turned back now—

“Oh my God, it’s Tessa! You came! Hurray!” Hannah shot up from the edge of the driftwood bench and raced across the sand. She skidded to a stop and threw her arms around Tessa’s neck, nearly knocking her off balance.

“You have got to meet Jake!” Hannah said, letting Tessa know last week’s guy hadn’t yet morphed into an exclusive boyfriend thing and she’d resumed her mission. Even if Hannah wasn’t clutching a can of Bud, even if Tessa hadn’t heard the wildly exuberant singing, the fumes would’ve announced the second most popular activity on the beach. Getting totally faced.

“I’m so glad you came!” Hannah said.

“Sorry I missed the fireworks.” She’d stay for ten minutes, get in the car, and put distance between herself and Hidden Harbor. By the time she crossed the state line, they’d forget about her—Abby, Charlie, Lily Beth, her whole Hidden Harbor family. Out of sight, out of mind. Even Rob, Abby’s boyfriend, would be relieved to have her gone.

Rob was Abby’s boyfriend.

How would Tessa have felt if a stranger had come to Amherst and asked her to choose between Luke and their child?

How could Tessa live without either of them?

Hannah slung an arm around Tessa’s waist—no small feat—and led her toward the circle of kids. “The fireworks haven’t even started yet. Isn’t this the most amazing night? You look so pretty.” Hannah fingered the thin French braid weaving through the front of Tessa’s hair. “You’ve got to meet Jake’s friend Derrick. He’s an artist, like you. Actually, a musician. But that’s the same, right? Painting, music.” A cooler sat beside the driftwood. “Want something to drink?”

Tessa couldn’t help but grin. Was that how she’d acted, powered by beer, buzzing to the max? She wouldn’t mind the symptoms of intoxication. The life-is-good, love-you-all, and everybody-loves-me feeling that bathed your brain, hand in hand with the alcohol. Then you woke up with a wicked headache and nothing but regret. “Do you have anything non-alc—?”

Hannah took Tessa’s hand and dragged her to the center of the circle, making Tessa think of the childhood game of the farmer in the dell. And she was the cheese. “You’ve got to meet everyone. Everyone, this is Tessa!” Hannah said, and then she started around the circle, ending the introductions with Derrick, as though he’d been the intended destination.

“Tessa!” Derrick gave his guitar a strum. “Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

Tessa laughed, despite her instinct to roll her eyes. As if Derrick couldn’t tell she was hugely pregnant, on her way to becoming a pregnasaurus. The made-up word she and Dina used for a big-as-a-dinosaur pregnant woman. Tessa would find a spot away from the guitar dude, bide her time—

Derrick set his guitar down and got up to greet her. Snug jeans, bow-legged cowboy saunter, plain white T-shirt, some kind of red tattoo on his forearm. He shook wavy, dark, shoulder-length hair from his eyes, smiled with lips a little too full. She took his outstretched hand, an opportunity to glance at the tattoo: heart on his sleeve. A little corny, too on the nose. Plus, something about the tattoo seemed artistically misplaced and wrong.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Derrick said.

“I can’t—”

“A bottle of water?” His dark eyes met hers, and understanding curled the edges of his mouth.

“Thanks,” she said, her throat suddenly dry, now that relief was at hand. She hadn’t thought to bring water with her for the drive back, hadn’t considered that if she was already tired, she’d be exhausted before she was halfway to Amherst. And what if she ran out of gas? What if she put her baby in danger?

What kind of a mother was she?

She imagined heading back to Briar Rose, walking through the door, and pretending nothing had changed. She knew better than anyone that some things, once released, you couldn’t take back. And once you’d broken a heart, the reasons didn’t matter.

Maybe if Luke hadn’t died she could’ve talked to him about how much it hurt when he flirted with other girls. If he hadn’t died, maybe she could’ve grown up a little and controlled her instinct to escalate each and every conflict into a full-blown melodramatic ordeal.

Sometimes her father was right.

Derrick fished through the cooler and pulled a slippery plastic bottle through the brown glass and silver cans. “My sister didn’t show from behind either. Carried my nephew in the front. Cutest kid on Earth and wicked smart.”

“Really?” Tessa twisted the cap, took a sip, smiled. Could guys like babies? Was that even possible? First time tonight, the fronts of her thighs relaxed, the fire-scream downgrading to a warmth-tinged imperative. Most guys she talked to these days avoided the subject of her pregnancy like the plague, all the while staring at her boobs. She’d even overheard a group of guys from the rugby team talking about her after she’d walked by them in the Campus Center, comparing her rack to the cafeteria’s milk machine.

As if she hadn’t already felt like a deformed freak.

“Hannah told me you’re an art major and painting’s your thing,” Derrick said. “What do you like to paint?”

“People, mostly, but I’m thinking to try my hand at landscapes.”

“Casco Bay’s like that. It changes you artistically.”

“Changed you?”

“Oh, yeah. Used to go for classic rock. I play for a cover band, The Great Pretenders. That’s my full-time gig. But I’ve been totally getting into folk rock. And, uh, don’t let it get around, but I’ve been trying my hand at art, too. Cross-training.”

“You paint?”

He shook his head, and gold hoops showed through his hair, three on each lobe. “Sketches, mostly. Not great, just for fun. But I’ve been, you know, getting lost in the zone. Know what I mean?”

“The zone where you lose track of time?” she said. “And before you know it, you’ve created something altogether different than you intended?”

“And way better,” Tessa and Derrick said in unison, and the bliss of being understood washed through Tessa like a salve. When his white teeth flashed, her stomach muscles automatically tightened, as though she had any hope of holding her stomach in. As though she were just an ordinary girl trolling for a summertime hookup. As though she could ever forget Luke.

Luke hadn’t understood her explanation of the zone until she’d likened it to sex. Then he’d totally gotten it.

Wish you were here.

The air shifted, warmed, as though Luke were standing beside her. And then the sensation retreated, quick as the tides.

Derrick sipped his beer. When he placed his hand on her shoulder, she stiffened, held her breath. “Hey, wanna lose the crowd?” he said. “I’ve got prime seats for the fireworks.”

“I’m, uh, here to see Hannah.” Over at the driftwood, Hannah and Jake were playing a mad game of tonsil hockey. Crazy, but Tessa wanted to dash over there, yank Hannah away from the lip-lock, and tell her she should have more respect for herself. Don’t give anything to a boy until he’d earned it. Know your worth.

Even nuttier? She wished she could switch places with Hannah. Go back six months to when she’d only thought she’d had problems. Back when she’d only had herself to worry about.

“Doesn’t look like she’d notice.” A chuckle danced across Derrick’s voice. Making fun of Jake and Hannah’s PDA or suggesting they make their own good time? He slid his hand from her shoulder, but his gaze held hers, sending a flicker through her brain: the image of kissing Derrick.

Right. What kind of nut job would want to kiss a pregnasaurus?

Luke would’ve.

He would’ve rested his head on her belly, awaiting the inevitable fetal gymnastics. He would’ve made his hands into a megaphone and, via her belly button, praised the baby for a job well done.

He would’ve wanted to keep their baby.

Derrick leaned in and pointed down the beach. “See those rocks over there? Best seat in the house,” he said, his voice turning singsong, and she could imagine him wowing a crowd, drawing them into his zone. “Closest to the action. Or we could hang with Hannah and Jake . . .”

“I see your point.”

They passed by the circle of kids, the rumble of conversations, girls slung across boys. A double row of brown bottles circled around a pyramid of silver-can empties, somebody’s idea of beach party art. How many of those empties belonged to Derrick?

His chest was broader than Luke’s, and his hips rolled when he walked. He looked dangerous, edgy, exciting. Just the kind of guy she would’ve gone for before she’d met Luke. Before she’d learned you couldn’t really judge a book by its cover. Multiple piercings and layers of makeup hadn’t made her confident inside. And Luke, with his short hair and pastel polo shirts, had given her the biggest challenge of all. Abby wasn’t the only person who yelled at Luke for his stupid stunt.