“Jesus Christ, Callie.” It’s Alex’s voice I hear as he throws the truck in park. “You just scared the shit out of me.”
My fingers scrabble for the door handle. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything,” he says. “I just put my hand on your cheek and you freaked out.”
I grab his hand and examine his palm. There’s a frayed callus at the base of one of his fingers, one that could easily feel like whiskers against a sleeping cheek. “I’m so sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize for having a nightmare.” He twists his wrist to hold my hand. The callus feels normal now. Familiar. Like Alex. “But you screamed as if you were terrified. What the hell was that about?”
“I need some water.”
I get out of the cab and take a bottle of water from the cooler. The label, wet from soaking in melting ice all day, disintegrates into tiny blue-and-white bits in my hand. Alex lowers the tailgate and sits, waiting patiently as I take a long drink. The steel of the tailgate is warm against the backs of my thighs as I slide up next to him—and tell him all about Frank.
Tears stream down my face as I talk, but it feels as if some of the poison inside me has been released. I don’t feel clean, exactly, but cleaner. Lighter. Alex has left the tailgate and is pacing a path in the gravel on the side of the road, his fist clenching and unclenching, as if he wants to hit something. Or someone.
“That bastard is so goddamn lucky I don’t know where he lives,” he says. “I’d slit his fucking throat with my dive knife and laugh all the way to prison.”
A tear-soaked laugh escapes me.
“That’s not meant to be funny,” Alex says.
“It’s not.” I wipe my face on my sleeve. “It’s just—I don’t know. In a weird way that makes me happy, because he said no one would believe me if I told.” Fresh tears fill my eyes. “And for so long I thought it was true.”
“I believe you,” he says. “And even though he has issues with me, I think Greg—”
“You can’t tell him.”
“He needs to know, Callie. Your mom should be held accountable for this, and if they can find this Frank asshole, he should be arrested, too.”
“No.”
He runs his fingers up through his curls, then drops his hands to his hips. “Cal—”
“She’s my mother, Alex. I can’t do that to her.”
“She doesn’t deserve this kind of devotion.”
I meet his eyes. “Neither does your dad.”
“No.” He regards me silently for a moment. “But my mom does.”
“And so does Greg,” I say. “This truth isn’t going to make his life any better than it is right now. Please. Don’t tell him.”
“Fine,” he says, as a black-and-tan Florida Highway Patrol car rolls off the road behind him.
A female officer gets out and walks over to us. “Is everything all right here?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say. “I think I had a little too much sun today at the beach. I felt like I was going to throw up, so we pulled over so I could get some water and …” I gesture toward the brush along the side of the road, inferring that I’d vomited in them. My eyes, swollen from crying, seem to solidify the lie.
“There’s a Walgreens at the next exit,” the trooper offers, her official tone a little softer now. She smiles. “I’d recommend some Pepto and maybe a few minutes in their air conditioning, instead of hanging out here on the shoulder.”
I hop down from the tailgate. “We’ll do that. Thank you.”
We pull back onto the highway as she returns to her patrol car. She follows us for a couple tenths of a mile, before U-turning southbound. Even though I’m in no danger of actually throwing up, we take the next exit to Walgreens, where we buy a couple of Drumsticks and eat them in the magazine aisle.
I fall asleep again when we’re back on US 19, but this time my dreams are untroubled and I wake when Alex pulls alongside the curb on Grand. He laughs when I sit up. I tilt in the rearview mirror in my direction as he gets out of the truck, and discover seat marks embossed on my cheek. Also, my hair is pushed up on one side in a righteous case of bed head.
“Wow. Not so much the goddess at the moment,” I say, as Alex opens the passenger door for me.
“Not so much,” he agrees, wrapping his arms around my waist.
“Thanks for teaching me how to snorkel. And, you know …”
He presses his forehead to mine. “Let’s not talk about that, because I spent the rest of the drive coming up with new and interesting ways to kill someone. I’d rather just kiss you.”
I circle my arms around his neck. “That sounds like a much better use of your time.” My lips meet his and he shifts me tighter against him. I haven’t had many days worth remembering so I’m reluctant for this one to end. “Maybe you could come over. You know, later.”
“Already planned on that.”
“Good,” I say, kissing him once more. “I should probably go. I told Greg not to count on me for dinner, but he’d probably like it if I showed up. Thanks, um—thanks for understanding why I don’t want to tell him about—”
“I don’t really understand,” Alex interrupts. “I still think you should tell him, but … it’s your decision and I can respect that.”
My stomach knots as I think about Yiayoúla’s scheme to reunite him with his mother. And I realize I have the chance to warn him about what’s going to happen tomorrow.
“Alex—”
“Oh, shit,” he says, his voice low. “We are so busted.”
I turn around to see Tucker come sailing down the block on training wheels, his head covered in a huge white bike helmet that makes him look like a miniature alien. Behind him is Phoebe, pushing Joe in his stroller, her eyes wide with surprise.
“Hey, Phoebs.” Alex greets his sister as if she didn’t just see us making out. I wish I could be so nonchalant, but I can see the questions in her eyes and I don’t want to have to answer them. I look at the ground and say hello.
“Uncle Alex!” Tucker slides off his bicycle and launches himself into Alex’s arms. “You were kissing Callie on her mouth.”
I wish I could melt right into the cracks between the sidewalk, and when I glance at Phoebe, her face seems to suggest she’s wishing the same for herself.
Alex laughs. “Yeah, buddy, I was.”
“Are you gonna have a wedding?”
“No, but when I do, you’ll be the first to know, okay?”
“But—” Tucker looks confused as Alex lowers him to his feet. He’s about to ask another question when Phoebe interrupts him. “Tuck, we need to get home to start dinner for Daddy. Remember I said you could snap the beans?”
“Bean snapping!” he cheers, forgetting about the kissing. Tucker climbs back on his bike and pedals away.
“You can help with dinner, too.” Phoebe looks first at me, then turns to Alex as she starts after Tucker, who has already disappeared around the corner. “Go home. We will talk later.”
As I hurry after her, my phone vibrates in my beach bag. I dig it out to find a message from Alex.
Kali tihi, theoula mou.
I text back, asking him what it means, but from around the corner I hear the rumble of the engine as he starts the truck. Phoebe doesn’t say anything as we walk to the house. When she unbuckles Joe from the stroller, he wriggles out and toddles over to me, grabbing my hand. “Up, Peach.” I carry him into the house.
“We should probably start with the bread because it needs time to rise,” Phoebe says, as I follow her into the kitchen with Joe still in my arms. She sets Tucker up at the table with a bag of green beans and a colander. He snaps off the ends of the beans, pretending they are puny humans and he is the Incredible Hulk.
“Do you always make everything from scratch?” I ask, as Phoebe takes a large container of bread dough from the refrigerator and pulls off a generous lump.
“Not everything,” she says. “But I love to cook, so I try.”
“Down.” Joe squirms and I lower him to the floor. “Cook.”
He opens a drawer filled with plastic food and throws a cucumber, a waffle, and a can of grape soda into a toy pot. Phoebe chuckles. “He has his father’s skill in the kitchen.”
“What, um—what do you want me to do?” I ask.