Текст книги "The Girl of Sand & Fog"

Автор книги: Susan Ward

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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

The bed smells of fresh washing and Bobby, and the two scents together are rightly so. Fresh sheets. He planned this. Everything below my waist begins to throb madly. He wanted me even before I followed him here.

His kisses run over my mouth, my cheeks and neck as if he’s reclaiming the feel of me and I am just as frantic to reclaim the feel of him.

He turns me beneath him on the bed and lowers his mouth to flick at my nipple. A violent shudder rolls down my limbs and I moan, arching into him, filling my hands with his soft, chestnut waves. I move against him in aching demand, feeling his hardness against my urging softness, and wanting him inside me without delay.

My body is boiling and I don’t want to come before he’s inside me. Later, we’ll take each other with leisure, but this yearning I feel is too greedy for play right now. His lips move from my breasts. His thumbs gently stroke my nipples as his kiss roams downward to my navel, his tongue swirling the acutely receptive flesh there. My muscles below clench and Bobby moans, moving downward, always downward in his kisses.

“I love the way you feel against my fingers and my lips,” he whispers, knowing exactly how to tease, tempt and get me to beg. “I love the way you taste.”

I arch upward on the pillow. “Then taste me, Bobby, and get in me fast.”

His laughter vibrates against my lower abdomen. “Not a chance. I’m taking my time with you. Having you my way.”

With lips and hands he lowers to that spot desperate for release. A light blow against me. A kiss near and not there. My flesh is burning, I am throbbing and ready for him. I want to jerk up and force him to that part of me aching for him. I hold myself back, letting him guide me there. This time I’m going to let Bobby take me his way…

Something pulls me from sleep—a cell phone?—and I slowly give myself over to waking when all I want to do is snuggle deeper into the sheets and sleep. Every part of my body is limp and sated for the first time in two years.

Bobby’s way was slow, glorious, torturous, and magnificent. I’ve always been the more eager and aggressive one, and Bobby’s preference for slow savoring of the senses used to make me secretly wonder if his leisurely self-control meant he wasn’t really turned on by me.

How paranoid and insecure I used to be at times. I always wanted a frenzied rush to orgasm as confirmation that he was totally into me. If the guy fucked me hard and fast it meant he couldn’t contain his desire for me.

Boy, did I get that one wrong. His unhurried, sensual play is more potent and erotic, more deeply connecting than anything I’ve ever known with Bobby. The man made a symphony out of making love to me. All of my senses have been blissfully fed and I am consumed by my love for him in a peaceful intensity that is so very right.

I pull a little more out of grogginess and realize that Bobby is talking on the phone. I open my eyes. The bedroom is dark, it’s night, and the light is on in the adjoining bathroom. I check the clock: 2 a.m.

I pick up my panties and his shirt from the floor, pull them on, and am just about to go into the bathroom to see what’s up with that middle of the night call when Bobby steps into the bedroom.

My eyes widen. The call has ended and he’s dressed. OK, what’s up with that? He crosses to me and plants a fast but fevered kiss on my lips.

He smiles. “I’m sorry that I woke you. I need to go out for a while. I shouldn’t be long.”

I sit down on the bed as Bobby sinks into a chair and begins to pull on a pair of hiking boots.

I frown. “Where are you going?”

He doesn’t look up and continues to lace. “It’s no big deal. Just something I’ve got to do.”

I tense. Why isn’t he just telling me? He’s purposely not being specific and I don’t like that, not one bit. Bobby never withheld anything when we were together before.

“You’re not going to tell me where you’re going?” I ask, beating off the rising temper and suspicion hopefully to a point where he can’t hear it in my voice.

“No, not telling you.” He stands up and reaches into the closet for a jacket. He pulls it on, then turns to lock his gorgeous green eyes on me. “You either trust me or you don’t, Kaley. That part of us I’m not doing again.”

My face heats with a burn. “I hardly think wanting to know why you are leaving me at 2 a.m. is a trust issue between us.”

“It’s not. I’ve always trusted you. It’s your issue, Kaley.”

The heat on my cheeks grows more intense. He goes to the dresser for his keys and wallet.

“What the heck is that supposed to mean?”

His eyes lock on mine, direct and unwavering. “Every problem we had before comes from you having difficulty trusting. Even Graham Carson.”

Oh shit, not now. Not that part of our history when I’m not prepared or expecting it.

I bite my lower lip and struggle for words. “That was a mistake caused by too much alcohol and too much fighting. It was never about trust or not loving you.”

The pleasant lines of his face relax into an expression of patience. “I know it wasn’t about not loving me, but it was about lack of trust. You don’t trust me. You don’t trust anyone completely. You need to control everything because you don’t trust.”

My entire body grows cold. This observation is something Bobby has never said to me before and I don’t know how to handle it, let alone analyze it to figure out why he’d say that to me now.

I turn my face so I’m no longer looking at him directly. I feel a displacement of air and know he’s moving toward me. He crouches down in front of me, his hands on my thighs, the heat of his gaze hitting my face and making me look back to him.

His hands lift and his fingers spread on my jaw, lightly caressing it.

“I understand, Kaley,” he whispers. “I’ve always known what the real issue between us is. It’s not me. And it isn’t you, not the inner you, the you I love. Your dad did a terrible thing not being there for you as a child or wanting to know the truth that you were his daughter. But that’s your parents’ shit and they’re happy and married. You’ve come to terms with your dad, now let what your dad did stop hurting you and stop hurting me. I love you. Trust that and we’ll be OK.”

A light trickle of tears spills down my cheeks and I brush at them furiously. How did we fall so quickly from the glorious heights of loving each other into this: my messed up childhood and our bits of unhappy history?

I want nothing more than to sink into his chest and have him hold me. For some reason, I can’t make myself do it.

We sit together like this, neither of us saying anything, for a couple of moments and then Bobby eases back.

“So that’s it? You’re leaving?” I ask.

He smiles, a sort of tender and tolerant twisting of lips, and continues toward the door.

“I love you. I’ll be back in a few hours. Sleep. I want you here. You are the only girl I want or ever will want.”

I make a face. “I’d have an easier time believing that if you weren’t leaving.”

He shakes his head and chuckles. At the door, he stops to wink. “If you don’t believe it after last night, there isn’t anything that’s going to convince you.”

Hunger drags me from sleep and I wake alone. The most perfect night of my life ended with me alone in Bobby’s bed and waking up without him. I don’t even know why he left me.

I climb from the blankets and get my phone from my purse. I power it on. Shit, the screen fills with notifications. A half dozen from work, four missed calls and messages, but nothing from Bobby. Not a call or a text.

Now I’m not just hungry, I’m pissed and feeling wretchedly suspicious again. I don’t want to be jealous. I don’t want bad thoughts but, hell, what do I really know about how Bobby spent the last two years? There could be someone else, maybe not serious, but maybe not over either.

He’s too cute a guy, too wonderful and hot, not to have some girl somewhere interested in him. He also has a more than healthy appetite for sex. Sex was never one of our issues. He couldn’t have passed his nights alone here with the dogs living like a monk. No matter how much the thought of that pleases me, I don’t really wish for that to have been and I’m not really angry if it wasn’t.

Maybe I’m just irritated because I can’t stand not knowing the details of things, and definitely not of something that took my guy away from me.

I smile. My guy. I hope wherever he is, he is that.

Listening to my phone messages, I start to make my way down the hall toward the kitchen. In the living room, I find Tiki sitting obediently in her cage looking as if she’s waiting to be released.

I crouch down in front of her, checking to see if there is food and water. Those soulful dog eyes fix on me. I smile but I’m not about to release her.

“Sorry, girl,” I whisper, slowly slipping my fingers through the cage to lightly scratch her ear. “You’re going to have to wait for your dad to come home. I’m not ready to trust you yet.”

As if she understands my human rambles, a look flashes in her eyes as if to say I’m not ready to trust you either.

I laugh. Leave it to Bobby to find a dog like me. My humor leaves me. Is she like me? Is that part of what Bobby said true?

Shaking my head, I stand back up and continue into the kitchen. I open the fridge and hang on the door trying to figure out if there is anything to eat here. Nope, Bobby was right. There is definitely nothing worth cooking in the fridge.

I slam the door shut and find instant coffee on the counter. I rummage through the cabinets, find a cup, fill it with water and put it in the microwave to heat.

I hit call back for the office, then the speaker button.

“KKK Productions,” Veronica says pleasantly.

“Good morning, Veronica. Got your urgent messages. What’s up?”

I take the cup from the microwave and stir in the instant coffee.

“Are you all right?” she asks anxiously.

“I’m great. Why?”

“You missed your afternoon meetings, and when I left work last night your car was still in the parking lot. Justin said he hadn’t heard from you. That’s when I started worrying.”

I scrunch up my face. “Family emergency. Nothing is wrong. Just everything got so hectic I forgot to call.”

“Are you coming in today?”

“I’ll be there in about two hours.” I look in the pantry. Not even bread. “Justin wanted to meet at ten. Tell him that works for me.”

I click off my cell and take my coffee back to Bobby’s bedroom. I stare at the bed, wishing he was here to spoon with all day, and feel a prick of unkind emotion that I don’t want as I wonder why he’s not here. I toss my phone onto the bed and go into the bathroom.

After turning on the shower, I begin to absently rummage in the cabinets. I don’t know why I’m doing it. The fresh towels are neatly stacked on an open shelf right where I can see them. I look in the vanity drawer: a first aid kit, allergy pills.

I go to the medicine cabinet: electric razor, shaving cream, cologne…

I twist open the bottle and take a sniff. Thank goodness he wasn’t wearing that last night. It must have been a gift from his mother. Linda has unusual taste.

Linda. I need to call her. Bobby is right about that. Without looking, I shove the bottle back into the medicine cabinet and a box falls out. Every man’s little gold best friend. Shit, I wish I hadn’t seen these. The condoms don’t surprise me, but the internal nerve pricks have just gotten worse.

I lift the lid. The box looks almost completely full. It doesn’t mean anything. Could be new. I set it back on the shelf and close the cabinet door.

I take a shower in record time, finger scrunch the dampness from my curls, pull on yesterday’s clothes and grab my purse. I check my phone. Still no message from Bobby. I pull free my keys and then freeze.

Shit, I don’t have a car. How am I going to get to the downtown from here? I spot a set of keys still on the dresser. Maybe Bobby has another vehicle as well as Bertha.

I go out onto the porch and find Bertha still in the driveway. So Bobby didn’t take the heap truck last night wherever he went. I’m hit with another internal nerve prick that I don’t want.

I lock the front door, then close it behind me. I debate with myself whether to shoot Bobby a text but, hell, the guy should have texted me.

An 8 a.m. commute on the 101 means a two-hour drive from Simi Valley into the downtown. If Bobby and I get back together, we’re going to have to figure out something so that I don’t have to do this commute.

Back together. How would that work? Our living situations are incompatible now that he lives in Simi. Finally we are at perfect guy, perfect time and now there is geography ruining it.

Oh well, he’s just nearly perfect at the moment. He’d be perfect if he’d text me so this rampant flashing suspicion would end. He’s doing nothing wrong. Bobby is an all-in or all-out kind of guy. I know that. Why is not knowing where he is driving me crazy?

I park Bertha next to my shiny black Lexus. I laugh, wondering what everyone will think of me arriving to work in an old truck still dressed in yesterday’s clothing.

I hurry through the double glass doors and Veronica’s face shoots up to greet me.

She comes around her desk. In a whisper, she says, “Justin has had me on lookout duty for an hour. You’re late.”

I frown, shaking my head. “What’s the big deal? He just wanted to meet and discuss a few things.”

Veronica’s eyes widen. “He didn’t text you?”

“Text me what?”

“He did another cut of the documentary yesterday. Without you. The team voted on a new title. He pushed up the meeting with the distributor to today. They are doing the pitch today.”

I freeze. “He did what?”

Veronica makes a shush face. “We got a call from IGSB. We’re behind schedule. They were thinking of pulling out. The team worked all through the night, Kaley. IGSB wanted the meeting today. They’re scheduled to be here in two hours.”

Oh crap. I scramble toward my office, feeling panicky, betrayed and irritated as hell. The one day I take my eyes off everything Justin can’t work things out with IGSB, he does a new cut of the documentary solo without my permission, and he’s about to show it without my approval.

I dump my purse on my desk, hit the lights and then power up my computer. I look at myself in the wall mirror. Great, I have wind-dried hair and I look like a girl wearing yesterday’s outfit. Crud.

I rush down the hall to the conference room, swing open the door, and the entire team turns at once and stares at me.

“Justin? Can I speak with you for a moment? Privately.”

I don’t wait for him to answer. I hurry down the hall to my office and settle on the edge of my desk feeling ready to pounce on him.

“Why didn’t you delay the meeting with IGSB? They just want to keep track of our progress. Why take the meeting now?”

Justin steps in and closes the door. “Rafe said they were going to pull the plug.”

Rafe, my USC buddy and hotshot independent documentary distributer. Like hell he would have pulled the plug.

“Why didn’t you call me? I know how to manage Rafe. Instead you did another cut, rushed, all without me. And then you take a meeting that, if it goes the wrong way, could bankrupt me. You do understand I need this project to succeed?”

Justin stiffens, but his manner remains calm. “I couldn’t reach you. I made a decision. The one I thought was in the interest of the company. There was no point losing valuable production time because you weren’t here.” He checks his watch. “I’ve got enough time to run the cut for you before the meeting. You can decide after if you want to risk another delay with IGSB.”

Justin’s calm infuriates me.

“I specifically said I wanted to be there through the next round of cutting. I specifically said we don’t screen this unless I give it my OK.”

“Kaley, you’re the director. You shoot the film. But I’m the editor. I turn it into a story. We’re a creative partnership. We’re not working against each other. The process would work a lot better if this was the process you’d commit to.”

My cheeks burn. “Are you telling me how to do my job?”

“No. I’m telling you how I do mine. If you don’t like the latest cut we can try to delay the meeting and start over this afternoon. We all have our talents, Kaley. You have vision. An eye. Determination. My talent is making the most of your vision.”

I shake my head. I probably would have fired him yesterday for that, and yet something in what he said reminds me of where I messed up with Bobby, pricks at my conscience, and holds me at bay.

“Let’s go look at the latest cut,” I announce and move quickly ahead of him out of the office.

When we step back into the conference room, everyone looks at me as if they’ve speculated about the scene outside the room. I smile and sink into my chair. There is a printed list of the changes on the table in front of me. Finding Fiona.

Fiona? Fiona? There is a photograph with the notes. I remember her. Great footage: young, still beautiful but bearing the marks of walking the streets, and poignant in her hope for something better that somehow still whispers from her eyes. She is fascinating and vulnerable. Much better title. So Justin changed the title. Did he change the focus, too?

I lift my gaze. “Great title. Good work, everyone.”

Cool. In control. Professional. Now let’s see what they did to my film. I lean back in my chair as the lights go out and the first footage is of Fiona. I don’t even remember shooting this. When did we cut it? It’s excellent.

I shift my gaze to Justin. He looks at me. I nod. He deserves something for this. He made the beginning better, so much better than it had been.

As I watch Justin’s creation, I can’t stop myself from recalling his words earlier in my office. You have vision. An eye. Determination. My talent is making the most of your vision.

Without me, Justin’s work is brilliant. Has my enthusiasm over the work stifled the team? Am I helping them to be their best or preventing it? That’s something I’m going to need to spend some time analyzing.

The documentary ends. The room is quiet. Allie turns on the lights and out of the corner of my eye I can see her watching, trying to assess my reaction to this.

I smile. “Well done, everyone. Excellent work. We’re very ready for IGSB today, thanks to all of you. We can meet back here at two.”

I nod at each team member as they leave the conference table. Allie closes the door behind her and leaves me alone with Justin.

“It really is an extraordinary piece of work. You’ve done an excellent job. It’s like you could see what I was going for inside my head, but you made it happen.”

Justin smiles and sinks back into his chair. “It’s your footage. I can’t do anything without your vision. There needs to be trust between us for both of us to excel at our work.”

My cheeks color hotly and I don’t want them to. It is such a young woman thing to have allowed to happen, the chastised blush, but Justin’s comments bring Bobby’s back to hit me full force.

I stare at my pen as I tap it on the desk and search for something to say. Trust issues. Why is that all I hear from people lately?

“Can I give you some advice?” Justin asks politely.

I don’t really want it and I realize that’s a petty thought. He just pulled a small miracle with this documentary and I know that under our tug-of-war he is, in his own way, trying to mentor me.

I nod. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Justin smiles. “You’re a very talented filmmaker and you’ve molded this dispirited group into a top-notch team. We’re almost there, your vision for what you want us to be. All it takes now is you. It will all fall into place if you learn to hold on less tightly. It will fall into place much faster by just trusting us enough to let go.”

I stare at him, but it’s Bobby who flashes in my mind. I stand up. “Thanks. I’ll try to work on that.”

I walk toward the door. I pause to look back at him. “That’s the final cut, Justin. Do you think you can take the meeting with Rafe today without me and cover things around here for a while? I’m going to be gone for the rest of the day and probably tomorrow as well.”

Justin smiles. I’ve finally said something that pleases him. “Sure, Kaley. I’ll do the pitch meeting with Rafe.”

I nod. “Thanks.”

I hurry out of the conference room and back to the safety of my office. I lean against the closed door, breathing heavily. I suddenly feel frantic and shaky, desperate, and like the only thing that will make any of this better is to run to Bobby.

I want him to know I love him. I want him to know I trust him. It isn’t him who makes me act the way I act at times. It isn’t him, and he’s known it all along and has loved me anyway.

I feel on the verge of both laughter and tears, and I can’t make sense of that any more than I can explain the rest of this crazy day. Without need for thought, I decide my next move.

I’m out of here. I’m going back to Simi Valley and telling that wonderful guy he was right about everything.

I reach for my purse on the desk. Ding. I look at the computer screen. Shit, I must have forgotten to log out of my Fembot blog last time I was here. The chat box is patiently waiting.

I drop into my chair. I open it, already knowing it’s my cyber fan waiting there.

Love-struck Trainer: You weren’t drinking and blogging last night. Hot date?

I lift my hands above the keys.

Rapid typing: I’m not going to be blogging anymore.

Waiting. Waiting.

Love-struck Trainer: Why? I’ll miss our nightly chats.

Without hesitation, I type: I just found a perfectly perfect guy.

Love-struck Trainer: What makes him perfectly perfect?

Now that is a question.

Response: He knows me completely and loves me anyway.

Before Love-struck Trainer can respond, I log off and shut off the computer. By the time I get to the double glass doors, I’m practically running out of the building.

From the parking lot I text Bobby. I wait in the truck. No answer. Maybe he’s not back to the foundation yet. Maybe he’s tied up with the dogs.

I take a detour to Pacific Palisades. Forty minutes later I’m pulling into my parents’ driveway and I don’t even know why I’m here.

I climb from the truck and hurry up the front walk. When I open the front door, the first thing I notice is that the house is quiet. Mom’s not here. Only Dad. The house is never quiet when Mom is here.

I peek into the rooms as I make my way to the back of the house. I open a French patio door and step out. I spot my dad sitting in a chaise lounge, staring out at the ocean.

“Hi, Pop.”

My father leans forward and looks over his shoulder to face me as I cross the lawn. “There goes my quiet,” he teases and then laughs. “Unannounced visit. Which is it? Problem or money, Kaley?”

I roll my eyes and sink down on a chaise beside him. “Can’t I just stop by without a reason?”

“Sure you can.” He smiles. “That’s the best kind of visit. How’s my girl? You look tired.”

“Tired, huh? Thanks a lot. I’ve been working some long hours finishing a project, but I’m going to take some time off now.”

“Don’t let yourself burn out. It’s a marathon not a sprint.”

I crinkle my nose. “Do you save all these trite axioms for me or do you have other ones for the other kids?”

My dad laughs and relaxes back against his chair. “I have loads for all you kids thanks to your grandfather.”

I laugh, pulling my legs up in front of me to hug my knees. Oh, Grandpa Jack. Mom’s dad. He definitely has an axiom for every occasion.

“So what miracle did you work to get some alone time, Pop?”

“I’m not alone. Khloe is somewhere.”

“Shouldn’t you check on her if you don’t know where she is?”

My dad sighs. “I was just about to do that when you showed up.” His magnificent black eyes fix intensely on me. “Is everything OK?”

I flush. “Sure. I told you. Great.”

“Then why don’t you seem great?”

I shrug. “Where’s Mom?”

It hardly seems possible but those black eyes, so like my own, sharpen even more. “Chrissie’s out. And if you want Chrissie that means something is bothering you and you don’t need money. I’ll listen if you want to talk.”

I stare out at the ocean and pretend to give that one consideration. Chrissie? Why doesn’t he ever call Mom Mom? It’s almost like code to remind me that he will always come first with my mother.

There are things about my dad I’ll never get. Maybe I’d understand him if he’d been here my whole life. Maybe I’d understand him if my mom explained the history. They’ve loved each other for decades, but have been married only six years. There is so much in my parents’ complicated past that they will never share with me.

I find my dad smiling at me, but his eyes continue to probe me. It’s a very intimidating look. Like he can read me. See inside me.

People say we have the same eyes. The same stare. The same complex personality. The same intensity. But there is love in my dad’s eyes and I see it.

I lower my gaze to stare at my feet. Maybe he calls Mom “Chrissie” because he still thinks of her as the young girl she was when they met. That’s a nice thought. Sweet and romantic. I like it better this way.

I smile. “Who am I more like? You or Mom?”

My dad closes his eyes and shakes his head. “No, not stepping into that one. You know the answer. Why ask?”

I shrug. “No reason.”

I hear the French doors open. I look back at the house to see my seven-year-old sister, Khloe, hurry across the yard. She throws herself into my dad’s arms for a big, shaky bear hug. I watch their comfortable affection and suddenly feel just a touch sad. I’ve never had their kind of closeness with my dad. I try. He tries. For some reason, we’re just not there yet.

It’s Khloe who pulls away first to sit back on her heels and look indignantly toward Dad. “I’ve been waiting forever. Everything is set up. Why didn’t you come to my room, Daddy?”

He drops a kiss on her nose. “Kaley stopped in for a visit. Aren’t you going to say hello to your sister?”

Khloe turns to me. “Hello.” She exhales impatiently. “Now can we go play Barbies?”

I bite my lower lip. That one I’ll never get used to. My dad playing with Barbies on the floor of Khloe’s bedroom. I wonder if we’d be this close if my dad had been around to play Barbies with me.

To my shock, I realize I’m crying. I feel the tears rolling down my cheeks, and suddenly they are coming faster and stronger. God, it’s been an emotional day.

“Run inside, Khloe. Wait for me. I’ll be there soon,” I hear my dad say, a note of concern woven into his British accent.

Khloe gives me a hard stare with her wide blue eyes that so resembles Mom’s, then scampers away without argument. I brush at the tears. That’s one thing I’ll give my dad. He knows how to command without effort.

He swings his legs off the chaise and sits facing me. “Why are you crying, Kaley? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Pop. I’ve just got a lot going on. It’s a bit overwhelming.”

“Work or relationship?”

God, I don’t want to have a relationship discussion with my dad. Not with Alan Manzone: rock icon, billionaire, and reformed man-whore. He plundered my mom’s heart for three decades like a pirate raiding Caribbean treasure. I can’t talk to him about this. Not even if he is my father. Crap, why isn’t Mom here?

“It’s not worth talking about,” I say, unwilling to meet his stare.

“Then why are you crying?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter?”

He moves from his chaise to mine. “I’m stepping into that one. You sound like your mother and I’m not buying it. Tell me what’s wrong. We’ll think it through together.”

For some reason, instead of answering, I turn into my father’s chest, burying my face against him. His arms hold me in a protective cocoon, and it feels so good to be held by my father. The tears come even stronger.

“Shush, Kaley. Whatever it is, it will be OK.”

He starts to rock me gently. We sit like this quietly in the silence of the yard. The rocking slows. The tears slow. I see the ocean beyond me and start to quiet inside. I look up at him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

“No, Pop. Sometimes a girl just needs to hug her father.”

He drops a kiss on my black curls. As he pulls back, a wisp of his long hair mingles with mine and clings, the color so exact I can’t really tell which hair is mine and which hair is his.

We are so alike. I look at our hands. Our nails are the exact same shape and shade. He is my father. I love him. The past is the past. Bobby is right. I need to forgive unconditionally and let it go for all our sakes.

I don’t understand why he wasn’t here for me in my childhood, but I do know that I love him and my father loves me.

I feel different as I drive back to Simi Valley. Something is more urgent and paradoxically more peaceful in me. I can’t put my finger on what I’m feeling or where I am emotionally.

I sat with my dad in the quiet for an hour. I let him hold me. We didn’t talk, but when I left I felt differently inside me.

I switch on my turn signal, exit the 101, and merge onto the surface street that will eventually fade from city blocks into rural ones and Bobby.

It’s nearly evening. I planned to be back earlier. First the stop at my dad’s, then the stop at the grocery store because Bobby is living like a bear with furniture in a cave.

There still hasn’t been a text from Bobby. I wonder what’s up with that. I hope he’s home when I get there. There is a lot I need to say to him today.

It’s in me, with sweet urgency, wanting to be given over to him. I want to tell him everything I feel. I want to tell him about my day, work, and the time with my father. I am burning to share every piece of me with Bobby.

He is the one person I know who will understand everything without my explaining a single thing.

I turn into his drive and park the truck. The chain is back up across the road. I can’t remember if I latched it back into place when I left this morning or if seeing it in place means that Bobby is back.

I quickly unlatch the barrier and hop back into the truck. I’m driving with greater speed and purpose to the house. I park in the driveway and my heart stills. Bobby is back, but why are the sheriffs here?

I quickly take in the details of him. He’s chatting with the sheriff while hovering over some kind of wounded dog.

The pieces fly together in my mind. He went on a rescue last night, probably to an illegal dog fight, but something must have gone wrong if the sheriffs are here. He looks tired and a touch angry, but he doesn’t look hurt.