Where the Stars Still Shine (23 page)

“Phoebe is painting at the new house.” Greg slides the cereal box across the table. It’s his favorite, a healthy variety that tastes okay but feels like you’re eating a bowl of twigs. “And the boys are with my mom for the day.”

“I’m, um—going to the beach today with friends.”

The air between us feels overstuffed with the unspoken. I add to the thickness by omitting the part in which Alex is the friend, the beach is down in Bradenton, and I’m finally having my real first date. Greg nods. “What time will you be home?”

“Not sure, but don’t count on me for dinner,” I reply. “And I’ll have my phone.”

The crunch of cereal fills my head, blocking out the uncomfortable silence, and I focus on each bite so I don’t have to look him in the eye. Pretending Thursday never happened is harder than it seems, especially when the image of Greg holding the ruined book is burned painfully into my memory.

He’s still eating as I rinse my bowl and put it in the dishwasher.

“I guess I’m going to go now.”

“Have fun.” Greg glances up at me, flashes a quick smile, and then returns his attention to the magazine. I feel as if I’ve been dismissed and it stings a little.

“Thanks, um—I’ll see you tonight.”

I go back to the Airstream for my beach bag before walking over to Grand, where Alex is waiting in his truck. He’s sitting sideways on the bench seat, facing out through the open driver’s-side door. The sun hits him just right, catching the sun-bleached gold in his curls. He looks like living summer.

“Hi.” I step between his knees and he leans forward to kiss me. His lips are cool as I touch the ragged hem of his faded red board shorts. “Aren’t you freezing?”

“Nope. I’m amphibious.” He steps down from the cab, walks around with me to the passenger side, and yanks open the sticky door. It creaks in protest.

“Amphibious, huh? Born with gills and lay your eggs in water?”

“Well, I was going to say I’m cold-blooded.” He runs his fingers up through his curls and my stomach does a crazy little happy dance. “But now …”

I laugh. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he says, as I get in the truck. “I like smart girls.”

He slams the door shut and I lean through the window. Our faces are so close I can see the way his eyelashes go from dark at the base to pale at the tips. “This door isn’t ever really going to fly open without warning, is it?” I ask.

Alex shakes his head. “I only said that so you’d sit closer to me that first time.”

“I would have anyway.”

He kisses me again, then touches the tip of my nose. “So smart.”

The hula girl dangling from the rearview mirror does a wild wind dance as we head south on US 19 with the windows down, past car dealerships, strip malls, fast-food joints, and shabby little pink motels that look as if they haven’t been touched in half a century. Reggae spills from a pair of small speakers wedged between the windshield and sun-faded dashboard, attached to a portable cassette player. Alex sings along with the warped song. I like his voice, scratchy and off-key, and how he’s not self-conscious about it. I like the way he sticks his arm out the open window and pushes against the wind. And when he looks in my direction, I like knowing that even though they’re shaded by dark sunglasses, his eyes are smiling at me, too.

“Is it scary?” I kick my flip-flops off and prop my bare feet on the open window frame. I can see the dirt on my soles in the side mirror. “Snorkeling, I mean.”

“Nah.” Alex’s nose crinkles a little as he shakes his head. “Well, it might be a little at first because you’ve never done it before, but once you’re in the water—it’s better than sex.”

“Better?”

His laugh is the slightly wicked one that does warm things to my stomach. “Okay, maybe not, but it’s better than everything else.”

“Will there be sharks?”

“It’s possible.” He shrugs. “We’re more likely to see a ton of fish, and maybe some rays and seahorses. It’s a good reef for this part of the state, but the Keys are so much better. I’ll have to take you there sometime.”

Happiness gives my heart a little squeeze. My life feels so tentative that I like that he’s thinking of a future with me in it. Even if it never happens, it feels good right now. “I’ve never done anything like this before,” I say. “Then again, I really haven’t done much of anything.”

“Nothing?”

“When you live a transient life in a lot of little nowheres … it’s not really an adventure,” I say. “My mom always pretended it was, or—I don’t know, maybe she believed it, but all we’ve ever done is existed. She worked one crappy job after another, and I didn’t have time to make new friends and I couldn’t go to school, so I just marked time from one move to the next. I taught myself guitar and—”

“You didn’t go to school?”

“Just kindergarten.”

“No wonder Greg thinks I’m too old for you.”

I push his shoulder, laughing. “Shut up.”

Alex’s hand wraps around my upper arm and pulls me across the bench seat, until my feet are in the cab
and I’m against him. With his eyes still on the road, he kisses me.

“Didn’t Einstein say something about driving and kissing?” I ask.

The tires squeal as he turns into the parking lot of a mostly vacant strip mall, puts the truck in park, and shifts me onto his lap. “To paraphrase, he said if you can do both at the same time …” His lips find a spot on my neck, below my ear, and send heat rushing … everywhere, making me wonder if it’s possible to be addicted to a person, like drugs, or cigarettes, or sadness. “… you’re doing it wrong.”

His mouth tastes faintly of the sea, as if he’s so steeped in it that it’s permeated his blood. Flooded his cells. And even if I’m imagining it—which I think I am—I want it. Want
him
so much.

My shirt is completely unbuttoned when I open my eyes and my brain reenters the atmosphere. We’re in a parking lot. The highway is only yards away and the whoosh of passing cars is unrelenting.

“We shouldn’t do this,” I say. His lips touch mine again. “Not here.”

“Why?”

“Greg doesn’t know I’m with you.” I refasten the bottom button, suddenly sober. “Can you imagine his reaction if he finds out not only that we’re together, but that
we got arrested for having sex in a parking lot in
Pinellas Park
?”

Alex blows out a breath laced with frustration. “Mentioning your dad has exactly the same effect as a cold shower.”

From my own side of the cab, I button up my shirt as he merges back into traffic. I watch him from the corner of my eye. I’ve never turned down anyone for sex, so I’m not sure how this works. His sunglasses are back on and I can’t see his eyes, but his mouth is set in a smile and his thumbs tap the steering wheel in time with the music. He seems unbothered.

Alex catches me looking. “What?”

“Are, you, um—is it okay that we didn’t—?”

He presses the tip of his finger to the middle of my forehead. “Only one of us was thinking and it was not me.”

“So, we’re all good?”

Alex grins. “You are here, right now, with me, so yeah … all good.”

Relieved, I return to my pre-parking-lot position with my feet out the window. Except this time I lie back on the seat, looking at him from upside down, and wonder if this is how my mom felt when she first met Greg. About how quickly someone can go from being a stranger to someone you feel as if you can’t do without.
But mostly how, when I’m with Alex, I feel like a normal girl. Like my whole world is right here in the cab of this pickup truck and that’s enough.

I stay in this position—with my head against his thigh and his fingertips on my cheek—until we reach the Sunshine Skyway bridge over Tampa Bay. Bright-yellow cables angle down to the deck from two huge support pillars, making it seem like rays of sunshine are beaming down on the bridge. I scramble for my phone and Alex laughs. “Tourist.”

I reach back to give him the finger as I stick my head out the window like a happy dog and tilt my phone up to capture a picture of the bridge. The result on the screen is a series of slanted yellow bars with the vivid blue of the sea and sky in contrast.

“Can’t tell it’s a bridge,” Alex says.

“I know.” I press the button to put the phone to sleep. “But I’ll always know what it’s meant to be.”

The tops of my feet are splotched pink from the sun by the time we reach the next bridge, the one crossing over onto Anna Maria Island. Traffic slows to a stop as a pair of red-and-white gates block the road.

“Is that a drawbridge?” I climb back out the window, sitting on the door frame, to watch as the deck slowly tilts up to allow a tall white-masted sailboat to pass through. The driver of the car behind us revs the
engine impatiently, as if it will somehow speed the boat’s progress. The sea breeze carries the scent of the tide and exhaust, and seagulls glide on invisible currents overhead. I take pictures of the drawbridge, a waterfront oyster bar at the side of the road, and Alex, laughing at me through the windshield.

“That was so cool,” I say, when the bridge is back in place and we’re bumper-to-bumpering our way forward with the rest of the tourists.

“You kill me,” Alex says.

The wheels of the truck rumble over the mesh grating of the drawbridge deck as we cross. I take a picture of the little blue bridge-tender building. “I’ve never seen a drawbridge before.”

“It’s just—you’re making me see through different eyes today,” he says. “It’s like everything is interesting to you.”

“Everything
is
interesting to me.”

“Then you”—he slides his arm along the bench seat behind me—“you’re going to love snorkeling.”

Alex parks in front of a dive shop just off Gulf Drive, the road that runs the length of the island. The glass front door is pasted with flyers for dive trips and upcoming certification courses, and a bumper sticker tells us that “a bad day diving beats a good day at work.” This is the kind of life I think my mom always meant
for us to have, and even though my stomach flutters with excitement, I feel a little sad that I’m living it without her. Alex threads his fingers through mine as we go inside, and I push the sadness away.

A guy wearing a faded red T-shirt with the shop logo printed on the back is hanging dive masks on a display in the middle of the shop. He looks up as we come in.

“Hey, Alex!” He tucks a stray lock of long dark hair behind his ear as they shake hands and flashes me a grin. “Long time, bro. Good to see you.”

“You, too.” Alex introduces us. “Callie, this is Dave. He’s one of my dive buddies. Dave, this is Callie. She’s the girl I eat Drumsticks with in the middle of the night.”

“Never heard it called that before.” Dave laughs, making me blush. “Doing the wreck today, or the rocks?”

“Rocks,” Alex says.

“Nice choice. Viz has been about fifteen to twenty feet the last couple days. Should be lots to see. Maybe even some dolphins. Need gear?”

“I brought mine,” Alex says. “But Callie could use some, and maybe a suit if you have a spare.”

Dave sizes me up. “I think my sister’s stuff would probably fit. Hang on.” He crosses to a wooden door covered with white oval-shaped decals from different dive sites around the world. As he disappears behind
the door, I wonder if he’s been to all of those places. He emerges with a mesh dive bag. “I’ve got a snorkel, a mask, fins, boots, and a shortie. Need anything else? Got water? Sunscreen?”

Alex nods as he takes the bag. “This’ll do it. Thanks.”

Dave grabs a disposable underwater camera from a counter display and hands it to me. “Take a camera, too. On me.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime. Listen, man, we’re doing a trip to Roatan in February. You in?”

Disappointment washes over Alex’s face, as if it’s seeping right out of his pores. He shakes his head. “Still working the boat.”

“No worries, bro. There will always be more trips.” Dave slaps his shoulder and turns to shake my hand. “It was great to meet you, Callie.”

“You, too.”

Alex is quiet as he throws the gear in the back of the truck beside his own dive bag and a small red cooler, and we turn back out onto Gulf Drive, heading toward the north end of the island. I wonder if he’s thinking about missed opportunities, too.

“What are the rocks?” I ask.

“The Spanish Rocks,” he says. “It’s a reef made from some limestone ledges along the bottom. Not sure why
they call it Spanish Rocks, because it’s neither, but it’s been called that as long as I can remember. Anyway, it’s a good place to learn.”

Alex turns left into a tiny beachfront parking lot where a couple of divers in full wet suits are unloading tanks and fins from the back of their SUV. Something that resembles envy flickers across his face as they carry their gear to the beach, and I worry that he’ll be bored snorkeling on the surface with me when he could be underwater like them. He leans over and kisses me. “Ready?”

“I think so.”

We get out of the truck. While Alex takes the bags and cooler from the bed, I unbutton my shirt. He pauses, watching.

“Do you have to do that?” I ask. “You’ve seen me in my underwear before.”

He laughs. “I’ve seen you out of your underwear, too, but I haven’t seen you in a bikini yet. Consider me curious.”