Текст книги "The Edge of Always"

Автор книги: J. A. Redmerski

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Camryn

19

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.

I’m thinking he’s just being a pervert again, and I start to call him on it this time when he adds, “Like getting married to me in it.”

His green eyes seem to flit across my blue ones.

My smile softens and I say, “It’s a perfect wedding dress.”

“Then it’s settled,” he says, taking my hand. “Whenever we get married, at least you have the dress taken care of.”

“That’s all we need, really,” I say, walking with him out of the booth with the dress draped over my forearm.

He glances over at me. “Rings,” he says with a curious look hidden within his eyes.

“I have a ring,” I say, holding out my hand in case he somehow forgot about the one he bought me in Texas.

“That’s an engagement ring.”

“Yeah, but it’s enough.”

“Well, I need one, too,” he says. “Or did you forget about me? It takes two, y’know.”

I chuckle lightly as we make it to the short line at the register. “OK, you’re right, but I’m fine with the ring I have. Besides, I know you spent a lot of money on this necklace. You can’t be doing that.”

“Are we back to that already?” he asks playfully, pulling his wallet from his pocket. “I didn’t lie to you about what I paid for the necklace.”

Maybe he really is telling the truth.

“I believe you,” I finally say.

He smiles and leaves it at that.

Andrew

20

Yes, I’m a damn liar. That necklace cost a little over six hundred bucks, but I know better than to tell her that. She thinks that expensive things are always all about how many zeroes are behind the decimal, but it’s not always about that. Really, I think it’s usually the girl that makes it all about the price. Shit, I’ve seen chicks bitch and moan about how their guy didn’t spend enough. I wonder if they even realize that they make it hard on us when they get together with their friends and compare rocks like we might compare inches. We don’t really do that, by the way. At least, I’ve never known a guy who wanted to whip his shit out and compete with me.

I wanted to buy something really nice for Camryn for her birthday. It just so happens that the one thing I liked out of everything I looked at happened to be expensive.

Deal with it, baby.

She might faint if she ever finds out how much I spent on our wedding rings, which I bought while we were in Chicago. It’s been hard keeping Camryn from seeing them. But I managed to tuck the little box I keep them in, safely into a hidden compartment in my duffel bag.

We spend the entire day doing what we always do, hanging out together and making the most of the cold weather. When we arrive back at our hotel, I grab my guitar and play for her a song I wrote and have been working on for a week. I hoped to have it done by her birthday because it is part of her birthday present. I wrote it just for her. I call it “The Tulip on the Hill,” a song inspired by the first day we spent together when I got out of the hospital after my surgery:

“I just think you should take it easy,” Camryn said that day. “No burying your head underneath Billy Frank’s hoods for a while, or bungee jumping or drag-racing.”

I laughed lightly, letting my head fall to the side to see her. I was laying longways across the top of a stone picnic table. Camryn sat on the bench near my head.

“So your definition of taking it easy is to do absolutely nothing?” I asked, smiling at her with my head propped in my hands behind me.

“What’s wrong with a quiet day in the park?” she asked and reached out to trace my brow with her fingertips.

“Nothing,” I said and kissed her fingers when her hand made it to my mouth. “I like being alone with you.”

She tilted her head gently to one side and her expression softened. Then she looked out at the park. The trees were full, and the grass was thick and green. It really was a nice day. I wondered why we seemed like the only two outside enjoying it.

“I think tulips are pretty,” she said distantly, staring toward the small, grassy hill on the other side of me.

I looked, too, and saw a single tulip perched on the top of that hill, all alone. I’m not sure why, but ever since that day, whenever I see a tulip anywhere, I think of her.

I’ll never forget the smile on her face as I play and sing the song to her. It’s so warm and bright and endearing, the kind of smile that says I Love You More Than Anything In This World without having to say the words.

21

January 21—my twenty-sixth birthday

I’m having a sweet dream that involves me skydiving (for some odd reason, with actor Christopher Lee) and the sky is as blue as… well, the sky. Christopher Lee, with red goggles plastered over his eyes, gives me a thumbs-up just before the wind whisks him away into the blue ether. Then suddenly my heart stops, and I suck in a sharp, frigid breath. My eyes pop open to the real world. My body jerks upward from the bed so fast that my arm swings out beside me, and I hit the lamp mounted on the wall.

“Ho-ly-shit!” I yell out.

It takes me a second to realize what happened. Between seeing Camryn at the foot of the bed holding an ice bucket and me frantically tossing the cold, wet sheets to the side, I’m still trying to catch my breath.

Camryn cackles loudly. “Happy birthday, baby! Get up!”

I guess I deserved that after what I did to her on the morning of her birthday last month. But the devious little shit really got me good, much worse than I did her. I guess paybacks really are a bitch.

Unable to keep from smiling, I just go with it and slowly ease my naked ass off the bed. Already she’s got that uh-oh look on her face as she begins to back away from me and move toward the door. Knowing it’s her only way out, I watch as she gauges the situation.

“I’m sorry!” she says with a terrified smile, her hand bent behind her feeling her way for the door.

“Uh-huh, I’m sure you are, babe.”

I walk very slowly toward her, my hooded eyes watching her as if I’m a predator toying with its prey.

She cackles again. “Andrew! You better not!” She’s just two feet from the door now. But I take my time, letting her think she might actually make it that far, my grin deepening to the point that I know I must look like a sadistic madman by now.

Suddenly, Camryn squeals, unable to contain it any longer and dashes to the door thrusting it open. “Nooo! Please!” she yells and laughs at the same time as the door swings wide open, smashing into the wall. She runs out into the hallway.

When I come running out after her, the shocked look on her face and the hilarious fact that she actually stopped, is a dead giveaway that she didn’t expect me to go this far with no clothes.

“Oh my God! Andrew, no!” she screams out as she starts running full throttle down the length of the brightly lit hall.

I just keep on running after her, everything I have hanging in the breeze. That girl has a lot to learn if she actually thought I’d be too embarrassed to run out after her, butt naked and with shrinkage. I don’t care. She’s going to regret that bucket of ice.

We run past room 321 just as an elderly couple is stepping out. The man pulls his wide-eyed wife back as the crazy naked man zooms past.

“Oh dear God…,” I hear a voice far behind me say.

Finally, when Camryn makes it to the very end of the long hallway, she stops and faces me, her back arched over, both hands out in front of her as if to put up a shield. Tears are streaming from her eyes from laughing so hard.

“I give up! I give up! Oh my God, you’re naked!” She can’t stop laughing. I laugh too when I hear her snort once.

“You’re really in for it,” I say as I grab her and hoist her over my shoulder.

She doesn’t even try kicking and screaming and flailing this time. One, she still can’t stop laughing long enough to gain that kind of control over her body. And two, she knows better. I just hope she doesn’t pee on me.

I carry her all the way back down the hallway toward our room, and when we come to room 321 I say “Sorry you had to see that. You have a good day now” with a nod as I pass. The couple just stares, the husband shaking his head at me with a revolted look.

I close the door behind us and throw Camryn down on the bed amid the chunks of ice and freezing water. She’s still laughing.

I stand between her legs and take off her shorts and panties at the same time, staring down at her without muttering a word. I’m hard in seconds. Her playful mood shifts in an instant, and she bites down on her bottom lip, looking up at me with those sweetly seductive blue eyes that always bring out the primal in me.

Without any real warning, I lower myself on top of her and bury myself inside her.

“Are you really sorry?” I whisper, moving in and out of her slowly. My chest pressed hard against hers, our tattoos touching, Orpheus and Eurydice becoming whole again as we become one with each other.

“Yes…,” she says, the word shuddering from her lips.

I thrust inside of her a little deeper, pushing one of her thighs up with my hand.

Her eyelids become heavy and she tilts her head back.

I crush my mouth over hers, and her moans reverberate through my throat as I start to fuck her harder.

Then something inside of me grows dark, predatory. I climb onto the bed and grab both of her thighs, digging my fingers into her flesh as I drag her across the bed toward me so fast she doesn’t get a chance to move. Seizing both of her arms, I flip her body over and pin her wrists behind her back and force her on her knees. With my free hand, I touch the soft contours of her ass as it’s raised up in front of me, squeezing each cheek in my hand tight before I smack them so hard her body jerks forward. She whimpers. Then I press my hand against the back of her neck, pushing the side of her face harder against the mattress. I feel the heat coming off her flesh from where my hand has already left red marks.

She whimpers again, and I twist her wrists tighter in my hand. Reaching down with the other, I put two fingers in her mouth and hook her cheek with them while push my cock inside of her from behind.

She cries a little, her thighs beginning to shake, but I don’t stop. I know she really doesn’t want me to.

After I come and my heartbeat slows, I pull her naked body next to mine, her sweating head nestled in the crook of my arm. She kisses my chest and walks her index and middle fingers over my bicep and toward my mouth. I take her hand and kiss her fingers.

“I’m so glad that you’re you again,” she says softly.

“That I’m me?” I ask, and she tilts her head back so she can see my eyes. “Haven’t I always been?”

“No, not always.”

“When have I not been?” I’m truly confused, but I find her coyness over whatever she’s getting at adorable.

“After we lost Lily,” she says, and the playful smile that had been growing at my lips fades. “I don’t blame you for it, but after Lily you treated me like a porcelain doll, afraid you’d break me if you handled me too roughly.”

I squeeze my arm around her a little tighter and her cheek falls back against my chest.

“Well, I didn’t want to hurt you,” I say, brushing my thumb back and forth over her arm. “I still feel like that sometimes.”

“Well don’t,” she whispers and kisses my chest again. “Never hold back with me, Andrew. I always want you to be yourself.”

I grin and squeeze her arm again. “You know you’re giving me permission to ravage you whenever I want, right?”

“Yeah, I’m fully aware of that,” she says, and I hear a matching grin in her voice.

I kiss her on the top of her head and pull her over on top of me.

“Happy birthday,” she says again and slips her tongue into my mouth.

*     *     *

Thank God for Florida in the winter. After my very surprising—and satisfying, I might add—birthday this morning, Camryn and I spend the day practicing our new song. Well, it’s not technically ours, but to mix things up a bit we’ve adopted Stevie Nicks’s kickass hit “Edge of Seventeen.” Camryn is getting frustrated with the way the lyrics blend so fast into each other, but she’s determined to get it right. This is her song, the one she wants to sing on her own. That’s a huge step for her, because we’ve always done songs together.

And I admire her for it.

She looks so frustrated, but underneath it, all I see is my Camryn coming back to me more every day. Her soul seems lighter, the light in her eyes brighter, and every time she smiles it reminds me of when we first met.

“You can do this,” I say sitting on the windowsill with my electric guitar resting against my chest. “Don’t try so hard, baby, just own it.”

She sighs and throws her head back, plopping on the chair by the small round table next to me. “I know all the words, but I always get tripped up on those last few verses. I don’t know why.”

“I just told you,” I say. “You’re thinking about it too hard, because you start the song already expecting to mess up when you get to that part. Don’t think about it. Now try again.”

She takes another deep, aggravated breath and stands up.

We practice for another hour before we head to the nearest steak house for a late afternoon lunch.

“You’ll get it right. Don’t worry about it,” I say, as the waitress brings us our steaks.

“I know. It’s just frustrating.” She starts to cut her steak, knife in one hand, fork in the other.

“It took me a little while to get ‘Laugh, I Nearly Died’ down,” I say and bite a huge chunk of steak off the end of my fork. I chew a little bit and then say, with my mouth still full, “My next must-learn song is ‘Ain’t No Sunshine’ by Bill Withers. I’ve always wanted to learn that song, and I think it’s about time I retire the Stones.

She seems surprised. She points her fork at me and swallows and says, “Oooh! Nice choice!”

“You know that song?” I’m a little surprised too, considering she wasn’t much of a classic rock or blues buff when we met.

She nods and takes a quick bite of mashed potatoes. “I love that song. My dad had it on a playlist he liked to listen to when he drove out of state on business. That Withers guy can sing.”

I let out a ripple of laughter.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, looking at me confused.

“You sounded so country just now.” I take a swig of my beer and laugh a little more, shaking my head.

“What? Sayin’ I sounded like a hick?” Her eyes are all wide, but her smile couldn’t be any more obvious.

“More like a country bumpkin. That Withers guy can sang! Oooh-weee!” I mock her, throwing my head back.

She laughs with me, though trying her damndest to hide her red face. “Well, I’m definitely with you on that,” she says, taking a swig of her own beer. She sets the glass back down on the table and adds, with narrowed eyes, “The song choice, not the country bumpkin thing.”

“Of course,” I say with a grin and finish up my steak.

The first steak we ever had together was just like she promised, a few days after I got out of the hospital after my surgery. And like that day and every steak she’s had since, she only manages to eat half. Just means more for me. When I see her give off signs of being so stuffed she’s getting nauseous, I reach across the table and slide her plate toward me.

She keeps glancing at her phone, and at one point she starts texting a reply to someone.

“Natalie on you again about coming home?”

“Yeah, she’s relentless.” She puts the phone away in her purse.

Camryn is a horrible liar. Horrible. She couldn’t lie to save her life, and right now, the way she keeps gazing off at the log-cabin-style wall, she’s definitely lying. I pick my teeth clean with a toothpick and study her.

“Are you ready to go?” I ask.

She smiles weakly at me, obviously hiding something, and then I notice the screen on her phone illuminate inside her purse. She checks the text message and suddenly she’s more eager to leave. Her smile gets bigger, and she stands up quickly from the table.

“Wait, I have to pay.” I wave the waitress over to us, and Camryn sits back down in the booth impatiently.

“Why so in a hurry all of a sudden?” I tease her as the waitress places the bill on the table, but before she walks away I pull my credit card from my wallet.

“No reason,” Camryn says.

I just grin. “OK,” I say and lean back against the seat, stretching my arms over the top and making myself comfortable. It’s a ploy. The more comfortable that I look the more impatient she becomes.

Minutes later the waitress returns with my credit card and the receipt. I jot down her tip on the store receipt and very slowly get up, put on my coat, stretch my arms high in the air above me, fake-yawn—

“Dammit, will you hurry up!”

I knew she couldn’t stand it much longer. I laugh, grab her by the hand, and leave the restaurant.

When we make it back to the hotel, Camryn stops in the lobby, “You go ahead. I’ll be up in a second.”

It’s obvious she’s up to something, but it being my birthday I just play along with her game, kiss her cheek, and hop inside the elevator. But once I’m inside the room, I’m the one getting impatient.

I don’t have to wait long before she’s entering the room holding a new guitar.

I stand up the second I see it. “Wow…”

Her smile is sweet and tender, bashful even. It’s as though a tiny part of her is worried I won’t like it.

I walk straight over to her.

“Happy Birthday, Andrew,” she says, holding it out for me.

I place one hand around the neck, the other at the body and I admire it with the biggest smile. Sleek. Beautiful. Perfect. As I turn it around in my hands to check out the backside, I notice a line of silver cursive writing along the back of the neck that reads:

He drew iron tears down Pluto’s cheek,

and made Hell grant what Love did seek.