Love Far from Home Box Set Page 4

  Alex seemed to do the same, only instead of coming up empty, she pointed at a hut that advertised key-copying services. “Maybe that guy knows something.”

  Michael looked over. Sure enough, a portly man inside watched them, wearing a knowing smirk. As soon as he saw them coming in the hut’s direction, he came out of the side door and waited for them. He reached for his back pocket and pulled out his wallet.

  Michael spoke first, skipping any pleasantries. “Did you see a tow truck take a black Ford Mustang a few minutes ago?”

  The man nodded, then flashed a grin filled with yellow teeth. “Sure did.”

  “Why did it get towed?” Michael asked.

  Alex jumped in. “And where did they take it?”

  The man slipped a business card out of his wallet and handed it to Alex. “There. That’s the address. Go there, pay the fee, and you’ll have your car back.”

  She handed the card to Michael, who asked the question again. “Why did it get towed?”

  The man slipped a toothpick between his teeth and chewed on it. “Did you cross the street?” They both looked toward the market, and he laughed. “That’s why. This lot is only for store customers. The sign says so.” He pointed to one mounted on a light pole.

  Michael stepped closer to read the small print. Sure enough — parking was for customers of the grocery store only. But it wasn’t as if the store’s customers were hurting for places to park; the lot was half empty.

  “Great way to make money,” he said. “I bet the store gets a nice kickback from each tow.”

  The man shrugged. “Maybe. Don’t know. I do know that they’re always watching. Cross the street, and I guarantee that your car won’t be here when you get back.”

  Alex grunted in annoyance. “It’s like they’re deliberately trapping people to make a few extra bucks.”

  The man laughed. “Try several hundred bucks.”

  They exchanged looks of shock. Michael regained the use of his tongue first. “So how far away is this place?” he asked, pointing at the card in Alex’s hand.

  “A fifteen- or twenty-minute drive,” the man said. “Assuming traffic isn’t bad.”

  Alex took a step forward, as if the guy had crossed a line. Michael put a hand on her shoulder to be safe; he didn’t want her getting hurt by anyone, least of all a slimy key-copier. Then again, Alex seemed to be holding her own. She always had, even back at camp.

  “How can we drive there without a car?” Her face had a spark of anger to it, making her brown eyes even prettier.

  The guy didn’t seem at all perturbed, which seemed to annoy her all the more. Michael had to stifle a smile; he liked seeing her this way. A common phrase from fat camp group sessions came to mind.

  Anger is a secondary emotion covering the primary emotion.

  Among the primary emotions were frustration, embarrassment, shame, hurt, and fear. What was Alex’s primary emotion right now?

  He surreptitiously admired her figure; she, too, had learned how to stay trim and healthy, whether from anger is a secondary emotion or some other tool. He liked to think that whatever it was that had been instrumental in overcoming her weight, that maybe she’d found it at camp too — because that would mean he’d been there, that maybe he’d been part of her success, as she’d been part of his.

  The key man pointed down a side street. “Taxis always wait over there. Tell them your car was towed; they know where to go.” He held out his hand as if asking for the business card.

  Michael took the card from Alex before the man could take it, wanting to tear it up or let it fall to the ground — or maybe do that under-the-chin flick the cop did to Ren in Footloose. But that was anger creeping up. Secondary emotion, he reminded himself. In this case, his primary emotions were frustration and worry. He took a deep breath, held it, then let it out slowly — another tool he still used from camp. Alex noticed, and her eyes crinkled with amusement; she recognized the calming exercise. She joined him, breathing in, holding it, then breathing out.

  Both of them calm once more, Michael spoke. “May I take a picture of the card first? In case we need any information from it.”

  The man shrugged as if to say he didn’t care.

  “Good idea.” Alex held her hand out, and he placed the card on top — a simple action, barely a touch as his fingers skimmed her palm — but enough to send a zing through him.

  A powerful emotion followed. Not anger or anything else secondary, just attraction, pure and simple. Much like the summer they’d first met, but somehow better. He pulled up the camera on his phone and focused on the card. The camera clicked, and Alex handed the card back to the man, who tucked it into his bulging wallet and half waddled, half strutted, back to his hut.

  Michael looked in the direction of the taxis and gestured with one arm. “Shall we?”

  “Let’s,” Alex said, not seeming upset anymore, maybe because they didn’t really have a choice in the matter. Or maybe for her, the key man had been the trigger for her primary emotion — a desire to find justice for Michael. Or her trigger had been the unknown, and now that they both knew how to find his car, her emotions had leveled out.

  Even my thoughts are starting to sound like a shrink. Thanks, Nate.

  They walked side by side, and before he realized it, Alex’s hand was in his again. He couldn’t remember consciously taking hers, but he didn’t think she’d taken his, either. Maybe they’d both reached for each other. However it had happened, it felt right, inevitable.

  As if Michael’s subconscious were a prophet, he could hear Nate’s chastising voice as they walked toward the taxis along the curb.

  You aren’t ready for a relationship, Nate would say. Don’t go falling for another girl when you’re still vulnerable; you’ll use her as a rebound, and you’ll both end up hurt. Take some time to be on your own, without a woman.

  Intellectually, he agreed with pseudo Nate’s lecture. This entire day could still turn out to be a monumental disaster. It was already pretty bad; he’d gotten his car towed, for one thing. But he’d also taken a gorgeous woman to his favorite crêpe place when he should have been mourning his ex. Instead of facing his emotions, he’d turned not only to a different woman, but to food, too. His old camp counselor would flip out if he could see him now.

  Or maybe Nate would be thrilled that I found Al after all these years.

  Oh, right, he could hear Nate saying. And puppy love from one teen summer will totally still be alive and well today. Not only that, but I’m sure it’s morphed into something grownup all on its own that can sustain a long-term, adult relationship. Of course. Excuse me while I snort. Finding love with this girl is about as likely as Krispy Kreme donuts never being a temptation again.

  Stupid Nate and his stupid advice.

  Michael glanced over at Alex nervously, unsure how long it had taken to reach the taxis and hoping she hadn’t minded his silence. She hadn’t attempted conversation either, so maybe she felt as comfortable with him as he did with her. They fit together like puzzle pieces.

  He and Rachel had been more like puzzle pieces you want to fit, ones that even look like they should fit, so you try to cram them together, but it’s all wrong. But this felt right.

  That word again: right. As odd as it seemed — and as unlikely as it was — this did feel right. And even more unbelievably, it felt possible.

  That thought made something big twist in his middle, and not unpleasantly. He opened the back door of the first taxi. Alex smiled up at him, then climbed inside. He followed and found her not near the window, but in the center of the bench, so he ended up sitting close to her. He told the driver about the tow. Sure enough, he knew exactly where to go.

  As they pulled away from the curb, Alex’s hand slipped into his. And even though he knew he was about to fork out enough money to cover a car payment just to get his Mustang back, for the moment, he didn’t mind. Somehow, it even felt worth it. He glanced at their hands, rested his head against hers, and sm
iled.

  Yep. This feels right.

  Chapter Five

  Alex found herself talking about camp during the entire drive to the impound lot, which took a little over fifteen minutes, just as the key guy had predicted. Suddenly she felt like camp had ended last week. As if they’d never been apart.

  Except that they were both adults now. She was a size six — or four, depending on the cut. He’d undergone a similar transformation. He still had the same curly hair, though he wore it shorter and somewhat tamed. He had the same quirk in his smile. The same laugh.

  “Remember the counselors’ skit where Dot pulled that practical joke?” Alex asked.

  “You mean when she made Steven laugh so hard that he spit water all over the campers? Or the time she replaced Tate’s punch with that baby gum medicine?” Michael laughed.

  “I’d forgotten about the water,” Alex said, laughing too. “I think Jenny had Coke shooting out of her nose. I meant the numbing medicine. Man, the look on Tate’s face after drinking it...”

  “And how he talked afterward with his tongue half numb—”

  Alex caught her breath between chuckles. “I almost peed my pants right there in the amphitheater.” Her eyes widened with embarrassment at having lost her filter. “I mean. Forget I said that. I—”

  “I almost did too.” Michael shrugged as if she hadn’t mentioned something awkward. “It’s me — Mikey — remember?” He playfully put an arm around her shoulders, as he’d done so often at camp. Back then, the gesture had begun as a buddy thing, but it had quickly become something more, and it had remained something more for the rest of the two months they spent at camp.

  Now, as soon as she felt the warmth and weight of his arm, she turned to look at him, wondering what the gesture meant all these years later. He returned her gaze, seeming to study her eyes. For several seconds, neither of them said a word — and Alex couldn’t breathe.

  That is definitely not a buddy look. The thought sent her emotions into the twists and turns of a roller coaster.

  What was she doing? She still hadn’t accomplished what she’d come to California to do. And wasn’t as if this could turn into anything; she lived hundreds of miles away. Spending the day with some guy, even if he turned out to be a friend from her vulnerable adolescence, couldn’t be a good idea.

  She opened her mouth to speak, to put a voice to her doubts, to let him know that she would be heading home to Phoenix the day after tomorrow, likely to never return to the L.A. area, that—

  Before she could say a word, he’d pressed his lips to hers. His other arm reached around her, and she couldn’t help but melt into his embrace as she kissed him back. At camp, their kisses had been unsure, shy. This kiss eclipsed those ones in every way.

  We’ve both grown up in the kissing area, too.

  The cab rolled to a stop and the cabbie cleared his throat loudly. “Uh, here we are.”

  They flew apart, and Alex flushed, feeling conspicuous and not a little sheepish at being caught making out in the back of a taxi — but not the least regretful over it. To her relief, Michael just grinned. He didn’t seem to regret it either — and may have enjoyed it as much as she had.

  After he paid the tab, they headed for the front door of the company. Michael was the first to speak. “If you aren’t sick of me yet, I know this Italian place down by Venice Beach that’s to die for. I could take you there for dinner.”

  “Sounds great,” Alex said. Venice Beach meant nothing to her; she had no idea how close it was to Santa Monica Pier or anywhere else in the L.A. area. Jason hadn’t ever said specifically where along the Pacific Coast his ashes should be spread. He’d been to Santa Monica before and had talked about how beautiful it was, so she’d just always planned to spread his ashes there.

  Thoughts of Jason sent her heart yelling at her to put a stop to this day before either she or Michael did something to regret. Instead, she said, “I imagine their bread is fattening.”

  “Oh, man, yes. They’re called Killer Garlic Rolls for good reason,” Michael said, holding the door to the tow shop open for her. “You have to pace yourself. You could easily eat a thousand calories before the entrée ever shows up. Not that I speak from experience. At least, not from recent experience.”

  She loved how he admitted to slipping at times. In spite of appearances, he was still, in fact, human. As he went to the counter to pay the fee, Alex’s phone vibrated with an incoming text. She checked it, hoping to find nothing from Charlotte or from Madeleine Kendall.

  Only a text from Becca — relief. Alex opened it.

  Delivered the flowers. Saw J’s parents parking as I left. Don’t think they saw me. Hopefully they’ll assume you left them.

  Below the text was a photo of a pretty arrangement of purple daisies beside the stone marker with Jason’s birth and death dates. Alex stared at the small dash between the dates, and thinking about how represented everything that had happened between them — the little line represented his entire life. Part of her life, too. All of it boiled down to a little straight line.

  She reread the text, hoping Becca was right, that after seeing the flowers, the Kendalls would assume they’d missed Alex’s personal visit. That would give them one less reason to hate her. They wouldn’t understand why she hadn’t come today, that she’d flown to the coast for their son. Just as they didn’t understand why Jason hadn’t wanted to be embalmed and buried.

  They still hated her for supposedly “seducing” their son — a belief they clung to because they couldn’t accept the idea that he’d wanted to leave them and that he’d proposed to her. The whole thing had been his idea. As much as they loathed having a daughter-in-law, they’d been doubly shocked when Alex hadn’t taken his name. But that was also Jason’s idea. Knowing that they wouldn’t be together for long, he’d insisted she keep her maiden name as a way of making sure that when he passed, she would really be free.

  That she wasn’t a possession — not his, not his parents’. She was her own person, capable of making her own decisions. One of many gifts Jason had given her.

  But inability to understand the other side didn’t lie only with the Kendalls. Maybe one day she’d understand why they put up a marker when nothing of their son was buried below it. Maybe you had to be a parent to understand that one.

  “Al?” Michael said, turning from the teller. The transaction had either gone awfully quickly, or she’d been staring at her phone for a really long time.

  She blinked and looked away from the screen. “Oh, um...” She shook her head, trying to clear it of the images of her former in-laws and the flowers at the cemetery. She couldn’t think of anything to say except, “That went fast.”

  Michael squinted in confusion. “You okay?” He went to her side, brows furrowed with concern. She held the phone out so he could read the text and see the picture. She was kind of glad he’d find out this way so she wouldn’t have to find a way to say everything.

  “Who was J?” He looked at her phone again, at the photo of the flowers and the marker. “James C. Kendall,” he read aloud. “Wow. He was young.” He looked over, a question on his face.

  So much for this being the easy way. Of course a text and a simple photo didn’t tell the whole story. Yet how did you tell someone — someone like Michael, no less — that you’d been widowed? She wasn’t ashamed of Jason, or of their brief marriage. But the whole thing was just so emotional, and complicated, and...

  “Jason was, um...”

  “Never mind. It’s none of my business.” Michael waved off the question. “Let’s go.”

  Crap. She could feel him putting both a physical and an emotional distance between them. He turned toward the door, and she hurried after him, wanting to explain, but not in front of the cashier. When she got outside, Michael was already heading for the corner the teller had said they’d have to walk around to reach the huge metal gate to reach the car.

  “Mikey, wait.”

  At hearing his old nicknam
e, he slowed his step and then stopped. He cocked his head to the side but didn’t quite turn around.

  Alex ran to catch up. She wanted to take his hand but clasped her own anxiously instead. “Jason was my husband. He died of cancer almost four years ago. We were young, only eighteen. He knew he was dying. Some people think I married him out of pity, but it wasn’t like that at all. I wasn’t in love with him, but I loved him very much. He was my best friend.”

  Michael’s face softened, showing concern and understanding. Both gave Alex the courage to go on.

  “We had both gone through a lot. At the time, he had the money to support us, and, well, it felt like the right thing to do.” She watched cars pass by, letting her mind drift so she could avoid thinking about how Michael hadn’t taken his eyes off her since she started telling the story. “I helped Jason have some happy months before he died. And he helped me too.” She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling a chill in the spring air. “See, we were married ... five years ago ... today.”

  At Michael’s widened eyes, she hurried on.

  “We weren’t stupid teens; I swear. We weren’t poor kids living in his parents’ basement or anything. He’d made money as a developer, and he wanted me to have it so I could start my own business.”

  “And you did, didn’t you?” he asked, with a tone of full trust and confidence.

  “Yeah, I did. And it’s doing really well. But that’s why his parents think I’m a gold digger and why they pretty much hate my guts.” She shrugged. “They blame me for creating a rift between them and their son, but the truth is, they created the rift long before I met Jason.” She shrugged. “He wanted an escape — and some happiness — before he died.”

  “Wow.” Michael put out a hand, she took it, and they slowly walked to the back of the lot. “You came to California on your anniversary,” he said with wonder in his voice. “Did the beach have some special meaning for you as a couple?”

  “No.” Her free hand brushed her purse and felt the shape of the jar inside. “To him, the ocean meant freedom and joy. He visited the beach once when he was a kid, and he said that was the place he felt most free and alive. He asked me to release his ashes into the largest ocean in the world on our fifth anniversary. And then he’d be free forever.”