Breaking Josephine (7 page)

I looked up at his
face and his rugged beauty set my heart fluttering in my chest like a caged
bird. His eyes poured over my face as rivulets of water ran through his hair,
over his forehead, and down his cheeks. Part of me wanted to reach up and trace
their pattern with my lips, taste the water mixed with his sweat, drink him in
with every raindrop. My hands were still on his chest, feeling his hard muscles
tense beneath his soaked shirt. He must have been running the forest trail, I
thought to myself. I could feel his heart beating, still rapid with recovery
from his run, alive and strong under my fingers.

He released my
hips and in an instant his hands were on my face and his lips were pressing
fiercely to mine, there, in the forest, as if he needed to capture and mark me
as his own. I kissed him back, without hesitation, my hands running up his
chest to his neck, through his wet hair, pulling him towards me and prolonging
the moment. And then he was pushing me away as if I’d burned him with my touch.

“I’m so sorry,” he
stammered, running his hand through his soaking hair, his eyes still on icy
fire with lust and desire. Then just as suddenly as he’d appeared, he was gone,
running back the way he came through the pine trees of the state park. I
watched him disappear through the rain, powerless to stop him, powerless to
stop a force I felt coming, colliding into us both.

Saturday
morning, the day of the social, started with Macy practically dragging me out
of my apartment and off to the spa. Although earlier in the week I would have
woken up early and eagerly joined her, today I felt uneasy and unsure. What had
that kiss in the forest meant? And why did Dex basically push me away from him
and apologize? I hoped that without his family to accompany him that he would
find no use in attending the party and just stay home, in Hartley Manor, alone
with his shadows and his grief.

“What has gotten
into you?” Macy asked as I sulked at the manicurist’s station. We’d been
massaged, scrubbed, waxed, and polished, but I still couldn’t shake my
depressing mood or thoughts.

I turned to Macy
and summoned up the courage to ask her what I was dying to know. “Did your mom
invite Dex Hartley to the social tonight?”

“Of course. Once
she found out he was in town, she sent him an invitation, although as far as I
know he hasn’t responded. Why on earth do you want to know if Dex is coming?”
Macy asked.

I looked at my fingernails,
now a lovely frosty blue to match my dress. Although I wasn’t about to tell her
that we shared the best kiss of my life under rain soaked pine trees in the
forest just yesterday, I told a partial truth. “It’s embarrassing. I dropped
all my groceries all over the sidewalk last week in front of Jack’s and Dex
Hartley helped me pick them up. And then he drove me home.”

“He what?” Macy
turned to me in shock. “You met Dex, he drove you home, and you didn’t tell
me?”

I looked at her
and shrugged. “I was embarrassed. He probably thinks I’m a clumsy townie—he
was bending down picking up rolling, runaway oranges for goodness sakes.”

Macy started
laughing. “Okay. I have to admit the image of Dex Hartley crouching to pick up
oranges as they roll away is pretty amusing. And I could see how you were
embarrassed. But seriously, Jo, you have to tell me these things! We definitely
have to make sure your hair and makeup is fantastic tonight in case he shows
up. You never know!”

I rolled my eyes,
but didn’t disagree. If he was showing up to the party tonight, I did want to
look my best, and hopefully eradicate any embarrassing images of me out of his
mind. After our manicures were complete, we headed over to Salon Michael’s, the
local salon Macy and her mom frequented, for hair and makeup.

“Darling, you look
fabulous already!” Michael, the salon owner and friend of Macy’s since
childhood said as he gave her a big hug. “And who is your stunning friend?” he
said, turning to me.

“Michael, this is
Jo Sinclair. Jo, this is Michael, owner and stylist extraordinaire.”

“Pleased to meet
you Michael,” I said, shaking his hand.

As Macy was having
her hair shampooed, Michael came over to me and gave me a huge smile. “You have
the most lustrous dark brown hair I’ve ever seen. It’s so dark and sultry and
simply amazing. Do you do anything to it?” Michael asked me as he reached out
and touched a stray lock falling in my face.

“No.” I answered,
backing away slightly. “I have my mother’s hair, it’s completely natural.”

“Well, thank your
mother for me. You are two very lucky women,” Michael answered, letting my hair
go and leaving to tend to Macy. I smiled. Although I didn’t love people I just
met reaching out and touching me, I appreciated the compliment and savored the
reminder of my mother and how I had a piece of her that I carried around with
me every day.

After explaining
my dress to the stylist, and talking about what I wanted in the way of hair and
makeup for the evening, I ended up with a soft half-up, half-down hairstyle,
with gentle curls falling around my face and over my shoulders. I kept my
makeup simple with nude lips and smoky brown eye shadow, letting my natural
pale skin play against my dark hair and eyes.

Macy finished at
almost the same time. Her hair was down, in soft curls to the middle of her
back, with a slim, pearl-encrusted headband holding it off her face. Her cherry
blossom pink lips matched her dress, and her nails modeled a lovely french
manicure. She was so conventionally pretty, she reminded me of just-spun cotton
candy.

“Oh Macy, you look
beautiful!” I exclaimed.

“So do you, as
usual,” Macy responded. “You know, Michael is dying over your hair. If you
could bottle it and sell it, he’d be the first in line.” She smiled and looked
at her watch, her eyes growing round. “Oh my god, Jo! Look at the time. We have
to go!” She air-kissed Michael and rushed us out the door. We hopped into
Macy’s car and drove back to her house on the beach to get dressed just in time
to make it downstairs to her family’s party.

When we arrived at
Macy’s house it appeared completely transformed. Beautiful twinkling lights lit
the entire stone driveway and walkway around the house to the beach. Garlands
of flowers weaved through the deck railings, and giant lit candles flanked the
entryway doors. Although the Daugherty residence was a traditional coastal
beach home with natural wood shingles, white trim, and dark grey roof, the
inside now looked like a Manhattan penthouse and Diane, Macy’s mom, had outdone
herself. Instead of their usual, casually elegant beach furniture, a ballroom,
complete with a wood dance floor and lavish floral arrangements, had
materialized. The smell of hyacinth and roses filled the air, their blooms taking
up residence in every available nook and corner. Servers stood in the entryway
readying trays of champagne, the band warmed up in the far corner of the living
room, and the bartender set display bottles of wine and beer on top of the
temporary bar in preparation for the soon-to-arrive guests. I had never seen anything
quite like it.

“Macy, wow. This
is amazing,” I said, looking all around me. “Are your mom’s parties always like
this?”

“No,” she
answered, “they haven’t been this elaborate,” she said, completely unaffected
by the splendor all around us. “I’m graduating next year, and she’s afraid once
I do, I won’t come back to Cannon Beach to celebrate with her. So she’s trying
to make me remember why I should.” Macy let out a small sigh and looked around,
almost bored. Oh, to be a child from a family like this, I thought, where my
mom throws a huge party essentially for me, just so I remember. I took a last
look around and we quickly climbed the stairs to Macy’s room upstairs to get
ready.

I pulled on my
dress and put on the shoes I’d borrowed from Macy for the evening. Thankfully,
although we didn’t look alike, Macy and I actually wore the same size shoe so I
didn’t need to buy any just for the party. The shoes were silver, strappy, and
very tall, which had the unfortunate effect of limiting my freedom of movement.
But they looked lovely with the icy blue of my dress and I had no appropriate
heels of my own. I stood up and walked over to the floor length mirror on
Macy’s wall. I gasped. The mother I hadn’t seen in over a decade was staring
back at me in the mirror. I put my hand up to my face, my hair, my neck, and my
mother in the mirror did the same. I remembered my mother telling me how much I
looked like her, but until this moment, I hadn’t put much stock in her words. But
I did now. A longing hit me like a wave crashing into the rocks outside. I
missed her. I missed my mother desperately. And here I stood, about to walk
downstairs to a party Macy’s mom threw for Macy, in an attempt to keep her
daughter from leaving. I sat down on the edge of the bed, lost in my thoughts
and my memories of my mother who I lost so long ago.

I looked up to see
Macy walking out of her bathroom, a sea of cotton candy pink perfection,
smiling from ear to ear. “Well, what do you think?” she said, twirling around. I
took a deep breath and attempted to regain my composure. This night is about
Macy and being her friend, not about me or my mother, I thought to myself.

I plastered the
brightest smile I could manage on my face and answered, “You’re stunning as
usual. How about me? These shoes work, right? Are you sure you don’t mind if I
borrow them?”

“Of course I don’t
mind, and you look fantastic,” Macy answered. “Come, let’s get some champagne
and forget this is my mother’s party. I’m ready to have some fun,” Macy said,
linking her arm in mine and pulling me out the door and down the hall.

We walked down the stairs, our hands running over the bannister
lit with tiny, twinkling lights, to the first floor of the house filled with
live music, the smell of fresh flowers, and tray after tray of champagne. While
we dressed upstairs, all sorts of people had arrived, decked out in evening
dresses, tuxedos, and enough jewelry to stock an entire Tiffany’s. It had to be
the largest gathering of socialites and their exhibition of wealth in Oregon
outside of Portland. I felt out of place, awkward, and ungainly thanks to
Macy’s heels. Macy handed me a glass of champagne off a server’s tray, gave my
arm a reassuring squeeze and melded into the party and the society in which she
belonged. I found myself alone in a sea of people, most of whom I had no
interest in, and I assumed the feeling was mutual. I looked down at my silver
shoes, wishing they were ruby red and could transport me away from here and
back to my small, comfortable apartment with a few quick clicks of my heels.

Feeling the weight
of a stare on my face, I raised my head and saw a pair of women who appeared to
be the same age as Diane, Macy’s mom, giving me the once over. They had a
conspiratorial bent to their heads and when they realized I noticed, they
turned away and pretended I didn’t exist. “Okay, that was strange,” I thought
to myself. “Do I have toilet paper stuck to my shoe or something?” I looked at
my feet but they were fine. I shrugged it off and walked over to the food set
out in an elaborate display of ice sculptures and chocolate fountains. I picked
up a strawberry and was about to drown it in chocolate in an attempt to improve
my mood, when I looked up and saw Diane giving me the same stare. “Okay, this
is ridiculous!” I almost said out loud, as I put my plate of uneaten food on
the nearest discard tray and walked outside. “I might not be from money, and I
might not fit in with most of the guests, but I received an invitation too and
had every right to be at the social,” I thought to myself, feeling all at once
indignant and offended. “I have manners and can blend into a crowd of people
just like the snobs who attend one of these things,” I thought. I walked
outside to the Daugherty’s expansive deck, took a deep breath of fresh ocean air,
and tried to calm down.

“That good, huh?”
said a voice to my right. I looked over and saw Colin, dressed in a tux with
scuffed up, checkerboard Vans on his feet. Although I was surprised he’d
actually talk to me after our strange exchange at the beach party almost two
weeks before, I appreciated the attempt at conversation.

“Can you tell
these parties aren’t really my thing?” I said with a sheepish smile. I didn’t
love the idea of chatting with Colin again, but he was William’s brother, and I
didn’t want to make anything uncomfortable for Macy.

“They aren’t
exactly mine, either,” he said as he looked down at his skater shoes. He
smiled, his dark brown eyes coming to life beneath his thick brown lashes. His
friendliness caught me off guard and I smiled at him despite myself. “So, you
never told me how you and Macy met, does your family own a beach house here
too?” he asked.

My smile quickly
disappeared, as I responded, “No, I’m not one of the in-crowd. We met working
at the Red Barn, and Macy insisted I come to her mom’s social this year,
allegedly for moral support, but,” I said looking around me, “I don’t think she
needs my support at one of these things at all. I’m just an ordinary person who
works at a restaurant and makes enough money to keep the lights on and food in
the fridge.” I shrugged my shoulders and turned back to the ocean.

“Sorry, I didn’t
mean to offend. I obviously made assumptions I shouldn’t have, although
honestly, dressed like that, you do look the part.” He offered me an apologetic
smile, but then continued, “I take it that means your family isn’t one of the
Cannon Beach royalty?”