Page 26 of Entwined

EVERYTHING IS THE SAME; looks the same, smells the same. Nothing has changed, nothing but me. I used to dream about being back here, longing for my childhood bed and my normal life. I want to bury myself under the covers, wallow in despair that we’re over and cry myself to sleep.

But I can’t.

I swore to myself I’d never squander a second chance if I ever got free. The silence is too loud. I can’t think in it.

I climb out of bed, pull my hair back and thrown an old ball cap on. Moving into my parents’ bedroom, I enter their closet finding Mom’s selection of “designer” sunglasses. I put on the largest pair I can find.

The press believes I’m still in Greece, mentally recovering. I’ve been home for a day and it already feels like weeks. I’m hardly a woman who a man would want. I’m pathetic, walking around like a love-sick zombie. If I’m to be the woman Christos desires—I need to be strong; fierce. And he needs me to be, if I’m going to stand at his side, helping him navigate his new life.

I asked him to change for me. To take a chance, do the work it would take to help himself for our sake. So, we could have a meaningful relationship not just insane sex.

Now I need to make myself strong again, like I was before. I need to dig deep, push the heartache aside and become a queen worthy of her king. I know what I want to do with my life, I just need to figure out how to get there.

I slip on my sneakers, put my house key into my back pocket and breathe in deeply. It’s time to get myself back, stronger than before so he can’t break me ever again. Even if he thinks it’s for the best.

I stretch, then jog through streets my feet could maneuver blind. I’m winded after a mile. I’m in shape but not like before. I stopped working out. I let everything slip. I’m not fat, hardly that. But the endurance I had before is gone.

My eyes stare out into the Pacific. I inhale deeply missing the smell and sound of the sea.

I can’t change his mind.

I have no way to even contact him. I tried his old email—my messages bounced back. I dialed his cell—it just rang.

I even tried calling the SAT phone on the Oasis in an effort to get word to him. But he’s disappeared, into the mist as if he never existed, although the three karats of diamonds still between my thighs reminds me how very real it all was.

I walk past souvenir shops and cafés. No one recognizes me. I’m back to being a nobody, just a tall girl with big knees and a pale face. I lost my California glow when I lived under the gray skies of Exmoor. The sun on my skin feels good. Before I even know it, I’ve walked myself to the boatyard across the street from the docks.

Jimmy’s cursing and the banging of his tools coaxes the first real smile I’ve had in days. “Hey Jim. Need a hand?”

He doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t even look up from the engine he took apart and is trying to put back together.

“If you can fix this piece of shit, I’ll pay ya’ twenty bucks an hour.”

“Deal.” I get to work. I’m a hot mess from my run anyway. By the time I get all the parts tightly back in place, grease coats my arms up to my elbows. All my nails on my right-hand tore to shit. I wipe the sweat off my brow with the back of my hand. Fixing engines is like solving math problems. You can’t quit until you figure them out and nothing else enters your head. I found my cure for Christos. A way to stay sane and stop the memories of his touch from filling my head.

“You got any more that need to be fixed, Jim?”

“How about a whole goddamn boat? I got that over there on the cheap. It needs some work but re-done right, it could make me a few bucks.”

I walk over, taking in the Sea Ray that’s seen better days. It’s top of the line but fallen into disrepair.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Everything.”

“Sounds like a perfect job for me.” I head inside, finding my favorite set of tools and walk back out humming a Greek ballad under my breath.

I was wrong.

He didn’t completely break me. And Jessie Montgomery is about to make the biggest comeback of her life.

“She needs a name.” he comments. The stern’s been painted over where the old name was.

“How about, ‘Fixer Upper?’”

“Sounds perfect to me,” he grins with a cigarette dangling from his lips. Jimmy’s weathered face cracks into a smile. My teenage years were hard. High School was even harder. Jimmy didn’t say a word if I had the school bus drop me here. I’d leave my backpack on the floor and take out all of my frustrations by banging on shit. He taught me everything I know about fixing bilge pumps, diesel engines, and repairing lines.

“I’ll be back tomorrow. My parents just landed.”

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