Between Here and the Horizon

“Why do you have to be so rude?” I hissed.

“To Michael? Psshhhh.” Sully knocked back another deep draught of his beer, draining nearly half the bottle. “I wasn’t rude to him.”

“You were. And you’re rude to me. You’re rude to everyone. Every time you open your mouth, you can’t help yourself. You have to be caustic or unkind to whoever happens to be standing in your direct line of fire.”

“Point of fact, that isn’t true,” Sully said, scowling. “I’m nice to some people.”

“Who?”

Sully rose up on his tiptoes, scanning the room, and then he pointed. “There. The redhead with the white shirt on? I plan on being very nice to her later.”

The redhead in question turned just as Sully pointed her out, as though she knew someone was talking about her. She saw Sully looking over and her cheeks flushed bright red. I got the feeling she and Sully had spent a lot of quality time together in the past. “You’re a pig. A grade A pig,” I informed him.

“Why? Because I plan on showing my girlfriend a good time?”

“She is not your girlfriend, Sully Fletcher.”

“Oh? And how are you so sure?”

“Because no woman could tolerate your attitude long enough to ever fall into a relationship with you.”

“Bullshit. You know she’s not my girlfriend because you’ve asked around.”

Now it was my turn for my cheeks to turn crimson. I had asked around, subtly or so I’d thought. Cara, Jerry’s daughter; Oliver, the guy who brought the papers in the morning; Jillian, Rose’s friend, who sometimes dropped her off at the house: I’d asked them all delicate, indirect questions about Sully’s personal life that I hadn’t thought were all that obvious. I hadn’t asked because I was interested. God, no. I’d asked back when I thought the man standing in front of me might be capable of taking care of Amie and Connor. I’d wanted to make sure they were entering a safe and stable environment, the same way Sheryl had with me.

Sully was still looking at me, a lopsided, roguish smile spreading rapidly across his face, and I had the overwhelming urge to scream.

“You’re delusional if you think I’m interested in you, Sully James Fletcher. I’d rather become a Carmelite nun and never speak to another soul again for as long as I live than tangle myself up in any of your crap.”

Sully’s smile evaporated so quickly it almost happened between heartbeats. “Don’t do that. Do not call me that.”

“Call you what?”

“By my full name. You might have read Magda’s journal, you might know all of my personal shit, but you don’t get to talk to me like you know me. Like you’re fucking scolding me.” He made a guttural, angry sound low in his throat. He went to put his beer bottle down, then changed his mind, gripping onto it tighter. He lifted his free hand and pointed his index finger in my face. “The sooner you leave The Causeway, Lang, the better. For you. For me. For those kids. And when you go, make sure you take that damn journal with you, too. Toss it overboard and let the sea have it. I never want to see it again.”

The crowd of people behind Sully parted as if they were used to his stormy exits from conversations and they’d learned a long time ago to get out of the way as quickly as possible. He charged toward the door, shoulders locked and tense, and I caught sight of Rose on the other side of the room, a deflated expression etched into her face. Sully didn’t say goodbye to her, or to anyone else for that matter. He disappeared out of the front door, leaving it yawning wide open, and he vanished into the night.

I felt like rushing to the door and screaming after him, telling him I hadn’t read Magda’s journal, had no interest in reading it, but even the thought of expending that much energy on him exhausted me.

“Wow. He’s so…tormented,” a voice next to me sighed. Holly, in her Slipknot t-shirt, looked like she’d just fallen in love, and fallen hard at that. “He’s just like Heathcliffe. So romantic.”

I gave a sidelong look, shaking my head. “Have you read Wuthering Heights, Holly? Heathcliffe was a cold, controlling, miserable bastard. There was nothing romantic about him at all.”





CHAPTER THIRTEEN





Afghanistan





2009





Sully