Page 26 of Between Here and the Horizon
“Heartless? Yeah, I guess that’s a fairly accurate description. Vile. Repugnant. Selfish. Cruel. The list goes on.” He let go of Michael and shoved his hand in his pocket, then. Michael cleared his throat and made his escape.
“Excuse me, Ophelia. It was a pleasure to meet you. I’m sure I’ll find you again before Rose drinks too much and kicks everyone out later.” He gave me a small smile and hurried off without even casting a look in Sully’s direction.
“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 beingverynice 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 isnotyour 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. Ihadasked 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. Donotcall 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 fuckingscoldingme.” 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 Ihadn’tread 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
“Eight days. We’ve lost eight of our guys in eight days. That’s a guy a day. A guy with a family and loved ones back home. What the fuck are we doing here, man? Why the fuck are we fighting this war? It’s none of our damned business, anyway. We should be back at home, taking care of our own. We ain’t accomplishin’ nothin’. Dirt in our eyes. Dirt in our boots, under our damned fingernails. Nothing but dirt and mayhem all damned day long. Tell me…when is it gonna be done? When will it beenough? When the fuck can we go home, that’s whatIwant to know.” Rogers stabbed the sharp end of his throwing knife into the sole of his boot, squinting at the point where steel met rubber. No one said anything.
It was dark. The night out here in the desert was a lot like it was back on the island—very little light pollution meant stars for days. Stars, thick and clustered, brilliant and white for as far as the eye could see. The black mantle of the sky was different, too. Richer. Deeper somehow, like you could reach your hand into it, feel the texture of it against your fingertips, encompassing you.
