My jaw didn’t seem any worse for wear from the hit. I’d gotten free of the fight without hurting my hands. I was lucky.
And stupid.
I knew that girl was trouble and I went with her anyway. Damn fool.
I walked, and walked, and walked some more. The moon rose and held steady in the sky as I headed down a highway, not even thumbing it. I didn’t want any company.
I realized when the air started to change and the breeze picked up that I was nearing the coast. I passed under a sign for Highway 58 that told me the beach was only six miles away.
Huh. One ocean to the other.
So I kept going. The night was calm and quiet. Virginia Beach, the signs said, straight ahead. The road went up and up, over a river. The tang in the air got sharper. The bridge came back down and the wide pedestrian walk ended, and I was on a city block. I knew where the water was by the high-rise hotels.
I kept going, no idea how many miles I’d gone. Hours had passed. But I pressed on, compelled to keep going, to get to the sand, to the ocean.
Finally I stood on the beach looking out on the black monster of the Atlantic. It was different from LA, no doubt, backed by hotels and businesses and bright lights rather than a campground and parking lot. But the sand still crunched beneath my boots, and the waves still roared up onto land.
Dawn was starting to break, so I sank down in the sand, weary and worn. I felt like I’d walked the world from end to end, seen all there was to see.
The water kept coming forward, flowing over the sand, then retreating, like something just out of reach. I dropped my head in my hands, trying to think. What should I do now? Go home? Settle somewhere?
But still, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was where I belonged. It wasn’t this sea air, and it wasn’t this sand. But something just like it. So much the same, but as far away as it could be, a whole length of a country away.
And so I stood up, shouldered my bag, picked up my case, and started my travels back to the other ocean, the other side.
I was going back to LA.
Chapter 33: Jenny
I had five more days of spring break to find Chance. After that I’d be risking getting dropped from my classes if I didn’t show.
Corabelle sat on my bed as I packed my suitcase. “I don’t get why you have to go after him.”
She was making it hard not to tell her about the baby.
“Sometimes you just know,” I said.
She sighed. “Yeah, I get it. True love. I’ve never seen you like this. It has to be something.”
“If I can’t make it back for the first day, can you show up and get my attendance checked off?” UCSD was crazy about dropping you from a class if you bailed on day one.
“Of course,” she said. “I only have one class that day, and it’s not the same time as yours.”
“Thank you,” I said. “And don’t worry about my job. Getting fired from Cool Beans is not high on my problem list.”
“Okay.” She passed me a stack of folded T-shirts. “What are you going to do if you don’t find him?”
I shoved a couple pairs of jeans in the suitcase. “That’s not an option.”
“Well, he’s not going to be in Tennessee, probably,” Corabelle said.
“But if a bunch of people were texting him about the photos, he has to have friends or family there. They’ll know where he is or how to get in touch with him.”
I snapped the suitcase shut. I only had ninety minutes until my flight. My mom had sprung for the ticket. I was grateful.
Corabelle threw her arms around me. “I think this is just about the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen,” she said. “I hope you find him.”
I held on to her a moment, feeling sad I hadn’t told her my secret. “I will.”
A taxi waited for me outside.
“Keep me updated,” Corabelle said.
I got in the taxi and took off for the airport. My belly gurgled, and I rubbed it. Was it a sign I was doing the right thing? Or just some random result of breakfast?
I really needed some pregnancy books. I had no idea what I was doing.
I wound up sleeping almost the entire flight. I kept doing that, just crashing for no reason. Thankfully, I wasn’t puking all the time. I’d always thought that being pregnant meant you hurled your guts 24/7. It was really more like a queasiness when I smelled something strong, or if I ate something weird. I could manage it.
I landed in Chattanooga just after lunch. My mind ran through the scenarios on how Chance would take the news. Denial? Rage? Say it wasn’t his?
As I walked through the airport toward the taxi stand, I fretted over how to actually say the words. If he wouldn’t meet with me or tell me where he was, I would have to decide if I should do it in a phone call, or worse, a text.
I already had the names of four guitar stores in Chattanooga. I figured if I was trying to weasel contact information from a store employee, I’d better try it in person. This was something I was good at. I could eyeball somebody and instinctively know whether to flirt, be casual, or sneaky, or play hardball.