I flinched.
“Good. Lord. That man is gorgeous.” Gabby’s breathless exclamation felt like sand in my bathing suit. My eyes still stinging, I frowned at the back of her head for a beat before glancing again at Abram.
Perhaps it was the recounting of my no-big-deal story just moments ago and the strange emotional toll that had taken, but as my attention moved over Abram, all I experienced was an aloof observing of a fact.
Objectively, I could admit that Abram was, his body was, breathtaking. Big, wide shoulders—linebacker shoulders, but still lean—on a tall frame, defined stomach, narrow hips. He wasn’t just strong, he was exceptionally formed. He was perfect proportions and elegant lines and exquisite angles.
He was gorgeous. However, my accompanying thought was, so what? Abram was gorgeous, so what? The sky was blue, so what? I have no idea why my damn eyes are still stinging, so what?
And then he looked up. Met my gaze. A whisper of a smile curved his lips and I experienced an odd sort of tunnel vision as he approached. His warm brown eyes didn’t stray from mine though his smile waned, and the focus, the concentrated intensity of interest obvious in his stare seemed to increase the closer he came.
Suddenly, he was there. Standing in front of me.
“Hey,” he said softly, those warm eyes of his moving over my face, a concerned-looking wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. “Are you okay?”
Am I okay?
“Of course,” I said automatically, feeling oddly flustered by the question.
The wrinkle between his eyebrows deepened and he shifted closer, confusion and urgency behind his gaze. “Are you-have you been crying?”
7
Motion Equations for Constant Acceleration
It was 2:47 AM. I couldn’t sleep. Maybe I didn’t get enough exercise . . .
I hadn’t gone swimming, and I had only myself to blame. More specifically, my wonky emotions were to blame. Or maybe it was Gabby’s fault and her potent power of suggestion. Whatever it was, I was paying the price now.
Instead of getting control of myself like a sane person, Abram’s intensely gentle concern for my well-being freaked me out and drove me away from the pool. I’d made some lame, hurried excuse about needing to wash the bathrobe, fished it out of the water, and sprint-walked to the house. Then, feeling like a fool, I brought the robe upstairs to the bathroom, tossed it in the tub—planning to wring it out and dry it later—and ran into Lisa’s room.
Any plans I’d had of going swimming or cooling off were forgotten, which was fine. After recounting my stupid, ridiculous story to Gabby, I’d no longer felt hot anyway. I’d felt nothing.
I’d wanted to go to my own room but didn’t. That wouldn’t have been prudent. Changing back into day clothes, I searched my sister’s room for something to do, something—anything—that might occupy my mind and time. After a short hunt, I discovered one of our old violins in the back of her closet along with a pile of early workbooks and advanced sheet music.
I took it all out, attempted to tune the instrument, reacquainted myself with how to hold the bow, where to place my fingers on the bridge, and began playing. I started with “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” I played it ten times and then flipped the page of the Suzuki Method, Book One to the second piece, “Old MacDonald.”
I’d just made it to page eighteen when I thought I detected someone approaching, reverberating footsteps on the stairs, on the landing, coming closer. Closing my eyes, I replayed the song from the previous page—which I had memorized at this point—and silently chanted in time to the music, Please go away, please go away, please go away.
Whether it was Abram or Gabby, I would never know. Whoever it was, they left after two stanzas, continuing upward to the third floor. So, probably Abram.
I played and I played until my neck ached, and my wrist cramped, and my fingertips stung, and I suspected the violin had given me hickeys on my neck. And then I played some more. When my arm started to spasm, I put the violin back in its case, but didn’t place it back in the closet. I left it out for tomorrow.
That had been hours ago and I’d only left Lisa’s room to sneak into the bathroom twice. I spent the rest of my evening going through her record, cassette tape, and CD collections. Despite living in the digital age, my sister still collected hardcopy forms of music.
Where my shelves were stuffed with books, hers were stuffed with music, vintage devices used to play the music, and fashion magazines. She owned an old boombox with a double cassette player, an AM/FM radio, and a CD player; a Sony Walkman; a record player; and several sets of quality Bose headphones. I’d listened to various and sundry music until late, lying on the carpet, my feet in the air or against the wall.
Then, at 1:00 AM, I’d gone to the bathroom to wash my face. There, on the counter, I found a note from Gabby folded under a brown plastic bottle with a pink label.
Hey you,
I’m leaving dry shampoo here, use it. I’ll check on you tomorrow.
Love, Gabs
PS Sorry if I upset you
She’d also wrung out and hung up the bathrobe.
Numbly setting her note to the side and promptly pushing it from my mind, I washed my face, braided my hair, and changed into a pair of pink tank top and boy-short PJs. I then tried to go to sleep.
Maybe I can’t sleep because I’m hungry? This was a distinct possibility, given the fact that I’d eaten only a granola bar yesterday.
My stomach rumbled, long and loud, and I pressed my hand against it. Grunting into the darkness, I tossed off the covers and stood from Lisa’s bed. Food on my mind, I slipped out of the room and down the stairs. The kitchen was dark, but instead of flipping on a light—which might’ve alerted Abram as to my whereabouts . . . which he probably didn’t care about so long as “Lisa wasn’t doing anything crazy”—I crept on quiet feet to the fridge and opened it.
Momentarily dazzled by the bright light within, it took several seconds of squinting and blinking before the scant contents became visible. I frowned. In addition to the pizza box, two suspicious-looking containers of Chinese takeout, and various condiments, I found: shredded cheddar/jack cheese blend, a zucchini, a half a pint of mushrooms, and hot salsa. Opening the hot salsa, I smelled it, and then I dipped my pinkie inside and tasted it while examining the lid. It looked, smelled, and tasted fine.
Placing my finds on the island counter, I shut the fridge. The sudden extinguishing of the bright light meant that the kitchen was now pitch black. Shrugging off my lack of sight, I extended my arms and blindly felt my way over to the pantry until my hands connected with the torso of a person.
A person.
A PERSON!
I jumped back on instinct, my leg hitting one of the stools at the island counter and sending it crashing to the ground. My heart in my throat, I screamed, turned, and darted forward, but my feet tangled with the felled stool and I pitched, bracing myself for a gravitational collision with unseen wooden bars and a granite stool top.
But then strong arms caught me, deftly spinning and lifting me into the air. Cold dread rushed through my body, tensing every muscle. I couldn’t think. I didn’t think. Instinctively, my legs and fists pumped, fighting against my captor. Rocks in my throat as I readied another scream, a hand covered my mouth just as I belted it out.
“Whoa! Calm down. It’s me.” Abram’s voice at my ear soothed, his bulky arm a tight band around my torso, my back to his front, my feet not touching the ground. “Calm down. Shhh. Calm down.”