Page 11 of Lies and Lullabies
Miraculously, I kept my voice gentle, but my insides were tight with anger and helplessness. I’d felt a surge of blood in my ears, like nothing I’d ever experienced. I thought of myself as a rational man, but at that moment I would have killed the guy who hurt her. No question.
My free hand curled into a fist in my lap, but Kira picked it up, softening my fingers. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. I just wanted you to know how much you helped. You made me feel safe. And you reminded me that men aren’t terrifying.”
Her words did nothing to lessen my uneasiness. I was hit by the same sort of shock that comes after swerving to narrowly avoid a car accident. Because every time I’d restrained my desire for Kira, it had been at my own whim. Holding back was something I’d done for my own selfish reasons. I’d had no way of knowing that my actions—or lack of them—were important to her.
It was just incredible luck that I hadn’t fucked it up.
I felt dizzy as the old Ferris wheel spun us through the darkness. I held her tightly, privately sick with the idea that anyone could do that to sunny Kira. “I don’t know what to say. I could blather on about how nobody has the right to hurt you. But you know that already. Please tell me this bastard is in jail.”
“He is. But not because of me. The guy got caught a month later, when he tried it on someone else. But that girl’s boyfriend heard her screaming. John? You’re kind of squeezing me…”
I eased my grip. “Shit. Sorry. Not what you need.”
She shook her head before resting it on my shoulder again. “No, I’m not afraid of you. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
We sat quietly for the rest of the ride. No more words were necessary. I stroked her hair, and tried to breathe through the tension in my chest. When our turn on the Ferris wheel ended, the carnies opened the car’s door. We disembarked, our evening over. I held Kira’s hand as we walked back to the car. It wasn’t a conscious act. I could barely let go to allow her to drive home. And when we pulled into her driveway, it was all I could do not to follow her into the house.
I’d fallen for her, but I’d been too stupid to realize it. As we reached her door, I wished I could spend my last thirty-six hours in Maine holding her. Instead, I gave her a single, tight hug goodnight. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, my voice raw. “We need to play one more hand of cards before I go.”
She nodded against my chest. “I hope I didn’t freak you out.”
“You could never.” I kissed the top of her head. “Goodnight, Kira.”
* * *
On my lastday in Maine, I spent an hour trimming and then shaving off my beard. My newly smooth face had unattractive tan lines striped down it, but it was nothing that a few sunny days in Seattle couldn’t fix.
When I whistled my way into the general store for the very last time, Kira gasped. “Oh my God, you look so different!” She ran out from behind the counter to put her palms on my cheeks, and my eyes fell shut from the warmth of her touch. I would have happily stayed right there forever, but she darted away.
“I made you a lobster roll for dinner,” she said. “I know we’re not on the ocean, but it’s something you’re supposed to eat when you come to Maine.”
“Awesome.” I smiled at her and accepted my dinner plate. “And there are whoopie pies, right? I can’t leave without one more of those.”
“Do you even have to ask?” She gave me an eye-roll. “This is your last meal in Maine. I’d get kicked out of hospitality school if I didn’t throw in a whoopie pie.”
“We can’t have that,” I said, carrying my plate toward the front porch.
“I made myself one, too. I’ll be right out,” she called.
I took my seat at the table, feeling sad. A limousine was coming before dawn to whisk me away to the airport. And by the end of tomorrow, I’d be back in my Seattle apartment. Back to the demands of a record label. The recording dates, the business meals, the A-list parties, and exclusive restaurants that had almost begun to seem ordinary.
My life in Seattle was never dull. But it never felt likemine. The end of a work day never brought the promise of a warm glance from a familiar face, and a meal thoughtfully prepared by someone who’d been expecting me.
Back in June, I’d wandered into this store in search of food. But truly, it was a different kind of sustenance that Kira gave me. God, I knew I was going to miss it.
We ate together that night. The lobster rolls she’d made were delicious, and we washed the food down with my favorite Maine beer. But our walk home later was sad and strained.
“Stop here a second, would you?” I asked when we approached my door at Mrs. Wetzle’s. “I want to give you my phone number.” I unlocked my door for the last time and stepped into my little room.
Kira followed me, closing the door against mosquitoes.
“Here.” I grabbed a fine-tipped sharpie off the desk, the kind I often carried in my pockets in Seattle, for signing autographs. “Give me your hand.”
She raised it, and I wrote my cell phone number on the edge of her palm.
“Oh my God, that tickles,” she said, just the same way the groupies always did.
Carefully, I wrote out the digits of my number. On groupies’ hands, I always signed my name. If the girl was especially hot, I might add my hotel room number. I shoved these thoughts out of my head and capped my pen. “It will be weird having cell phone service again.”
