Heartless (2 page)

I set my sunglasses on the bridge of my nose. “Some other time, Josh Hansen.”

“When? At least give me your phone number?”

I smiled at his persistence but shook my head.

His face fell as I put the car into reverse. I half wondered if he was going to jump back into the car before I pulled out into traffic. He didn’t. In my rearview mirror I watched him stand where I left him, his arms by his sides, his helmet in one hand. He looked so forlorn as he watched me drive away. I didn’t turn the stereo back on for the rest of the ride home.

Even though I was sure I’d done the right thing, I felt achingly disappointed when I pulled into Marsha’s and Wayne’s driveway. What was I so afraid of? If I’d had one iota of beach-girl’s confidence, I would have risked sharing a coffee with a cute guy. I would have given him my phone number. I felt a sinking in my gut, as if I’d missed taking a scenic detour on the highway of my life. I sighed. Until recently, I hadn’t thought of my life as having much forward momentum. It had come to a dead stop three years ago and ever since I’d been idling, recovering, hiding. But earlier this year, I’d finally decided to start over. The past was behind me now and the future was mine to create. Aunt Marsha had encouraged me to apply to college and Miranda, my therapist, had supported the idea. I had been accepted into three colleges in different states but I’d decided on the closest one, UC Santa Cruz. Marsha had been thrilled. I’d gone from part time to full time at the paint shop to save up for living expenses. I had a goal and a plan, at least for the short term, and these were big steps for me. Maybe big enough. Getting involved with a guy right now might tip my newly acquired balance. I sighed again, resigned to the fact that I had done the right thing. Yes, I had.

I spent the weekend emptying the kitchen cupboards in preparation for the reno starting Monday, but I was frequently distracted by thoughts of Josh Hansen. Those blue eyes, lips the perfect shade of blush pink—no lipstick company had quite nailed that color—tanned, flexed biceps, cut pectorals, broad shoulders, trim waist… He was taller than I was, but I wasn’t sure by how much because I had been sitting in the driver’s seat. And he was agile, with that leap into and out of the convertible. That had been a terrifyingly sexy move. And I had let myself be more affected by my terror than his sexiness. I kind of regretted it now, but I also kind of didn’t. He actually might have been a Hitchcock-type psychopath.

I wondered what he ended up telling his friend when they met up later (how much later, I wondered guiltily, having abandoned him on Fairfax). The friend would have been expecting a happy ending, I’m sure, which would not have included seeing his friend back so soon. Or so disappointed. Unless he wasn’t. He probably found another girl to pick up for some Friday night fun. What might have happened if I hadn’t kicked him out of Aunt Marsha’s convertible? If I had acted as if it was my car, and hot guys hopped into it all the time, if I really had been heading to the beach to party? If I had been someone other than who I was. If I had actually been the girl Josh though was cute.

Ugh! I was driving myself crazy. I had no idea what guys like Josh were really like and I doubted that I would ever find out. I hadn’t been with a guy for three years, not since Ethan. And now, at nineteen going on twenty, I was a completely different girl from my 16-year-old self. Back then I thought I knew who I was. Now I had no idea.

On Saturday, to alter my sinking mood, I climbed into the Porsche and drove the Pacific Coast highway to Malibu. Just for fun. Just to feel the wind in my hair. Behind the protective shield of my sunglasses, my eyes followed the curving yellow lines of the highway while my inner gaze conjured up detours. I imagined Josh roaring up behind me on his motorcycle… I’d notice him in my rear view mirror, smile, and he’d rev his engine loudly in response. Then he’d speed up, pass me, gesture for me to pull over but I wouldn’t. I’d drive faster, taking the curves like a racing pro. But he’d outpace me on his speed-demon bike and aggressively force my car to slow down, and then he’d nudge me off the road, to a pull-out that curled up against a forest banked against the hills where there would be a small creek and sunlight filtering through green branches. He’d pretend he was an undercover cop and make me get out of the car. He’d tell me to spread-eagle against the hood and then he’d search me…

Damn, what was I doing? I pulled off the side of the road to catch my breath and recover my senses. My cheeks were flushed and I felt warm and wet between my legs. I wanted to touch myself, but I couldn’t. This rest stop was full of families disgorging from their cars with towels and other paraphernalia that they toted to the beach across the street. But I would have touched myself if I had been in a more private place. Miranda had helped me see that it wasn’t wrong—those feelings of desire and the urge to do something about them. It was healthy, she said, not a sin. And I didn’t have to be that good girl anymore. I was allowed to be myself. But I would have to discover who that self was and that would take some experimenting, likely a few mistakes, lots of trial and error, and a willingness to try new things and take a few risks. Miranda thought I was ready, and so did Aunt Marsha and Uncle Wayne or they wouldn’t have gone away for the summer, but I knew I was still holding back. I still didn’t feel ready. I still didn’t trust myself.

I made the next safe u-turn and headed back to the city. But I couldn’t help it; everywhere I turned I found myself looking for Josh Hansen. Los Angeles was one massive sprawling city and the odds of running into him again factored from nil to zilch. But I was crazy with this weird hunger now, a hunger fueled by ‘what if’ scenarios. As I played them out in my head I felt warm and happy. When I came down to earth after my seductive imaginings, I felt empty and bereft.

The problem was that my mind had just run away on me. I had to rein it in again the way my therapist, Miranada, taught me to. I was more motivated to do this when my thoughts veered to the horrible, painful, sad moments of my past. It was harder to rein in pleasurable thoughts that begged to be wallowed in. But I recognized the obsessive nature of my ruminating and I had to do something about it.

Labelling and storing the boxes of kitchen paraphernalia helped, as did following a relaxing hypnosis meditation recording. I took an evening walk down the leafy streets of Larchmont, where Aunt Marsha and Uncle Wayne lived, and when it got dark, after 10 PM, I watched a movie on Netflix. I didn’t mean to choose Hitchcock’s Psycho. It just kind of happened. On Sunday morning, I decided that I would experiment with taking baths for a month.

By the end of the weekend, I had managed to put Josh Hansen in a category of ‘quirky memories’. The ‘what if’ scenarios were not my life. Regardless of my penchant for pretending to be beach-girl, I had acted exactly the way the true Heather Redmond would act; I had calmly booted a potential psycho out of my aunt’s car. I was back to my normally conservative, cautious self by the time I climbed out of the the bath Monday morning.

That’s when I heard pounding on the front door. It wasn’t even 8 o’clock yet. Then I remembered the kitchen renovation started today. It must be Leo, the contractor. Aunt Marsha had left me copious notes and already I’d forgotten my duties. I dried myself quickly and threw on a pair of panties, shorts, a bra, and a tank top. With wet strings of uncombed hair and bare feet, I raced down the stairs to more loud banging and hearty bellows of, “Bonjourno! Bonjourno!”

I yanked open the front door and found myself face to face with a tanned, thickly built, fifty-something man with a handlebar moustache and twinkling brown eyes.

“Bonjourno, Bellisima!” His arms flew wide open and I swear he was about to pull me into a bear hug, but I stepped back, shrinking in his effusive presence, and so he bowed with a flourish and said, “Leonardo Grantana, at your service. You must be Hedder.”

“Excuse me?”

“Hedder Red Mon?”

Oh, it was just his accent bashing up my name. I smiled back and nodded. “Yes, Heather Redmond. This is the right house.” I opened the door a little wider for him. “You must be Leo.”

“
Leonardo
,” he said holding up one finger. “I am an
artist
when I work.”

With a big smile, I repressed a giggle. “Please, come in.”

As he walked past me I saw that his van was parked in the driveway blocking in the convertible. “Um…” I started to say, but Leonardo had already bustled past me and was in the process of spreading blueprints on the dining table.

“Today I measure and get supplies. Tomorrow we begin the banging,” he said.

Uh, oh. Just how messy was this renovation going to get?

“My assistant starts tomorrow, Miss Hedder. His demolition skills are
fantastico
.”

He looked up at me and grinned, which made his moustache lift at the edges. Seeing the look on my face, he frowned and furrowed this brow. “Don’t be worried, Miss Hedder. We build you
magnifico
kitchen. Once it’s
finito,
you will magically be a master chef!”

I laughed out loud at that. “There’s not enough magic in the world to make that happen, Leonardo.” I think he was happy to finally see me smiling because he pulled out his measuring tape and began whistling a tune.

I ran upstairs to finish getting ready for work. I didn’t bother to ask Leo to move the van. I had enough time to walk and it was a beautiful summer day.

I clocked in at Color My Life a few minutes before nine. As usual, my boss, Brian, was happy to see me. He didn’t think I noticed but he always gave me the once over and looked deeper than necessary into my eyes to make sure I was okay. Being a good friend of Uncle Wayne’s, Brian had been willing to give me a part time job a couple of years ago. First I started with one afternoon a week stocking the storeroom, and then I gradually worked up to two days a week helping Brian with orders. This past year I had upgraded to full time and had just started to work out front. It turned out I was good with the customers. I even had some creative design ideas when it came to choosing paint colors. Brian now trusted me to lock up the store if he needed to leave early, and he let me help with the regular customer accounts.

Brian was among only a handful of people who knew I was living alone this summer. For the first time in three years. Marsha and Wayne considered it a bit of trial run before college. Plus they had needed a break. A childless couple taking on the guardianship of a niece, after a terribly traumatic series of events, had added a lot of unexpected stress. I knew they loved me, more than anything really—they hadn’t been childless by choice—but the circumstances that had brought our little family together could not be dwelled upon forever. They had to be overcome. My therapist, Miranda had been hired to help me with that.

“How was your first weekend alone?” asked Brian.

“Quiet,” I said, which was true. Though the beginning, with Josh, had been rather exciting.

“We received a new shipment of primer and stain. Can you start on the restocking? Help yourself to coffee first though. I just brewed a new pot.”

I nodded and pushed through the back door to the staff room to hang up my purse. I poured a cup of coffee—for Brian’s sake. He always tried so hard but his coffee always tasted like dirt. Eliana, the bookkeeper-slash-designer, used beat him to the punch in the morning. Her coffee making skills were above average, but since she’d had her second baby, she often came in late, which Brian didn’t mind. It was a kind of loosey-goosey maternity leave. Brian loved kids, so he wasn’t going to deny a mother time with her child, so long as Eliana could keep her design appointments with clients and have the books up to date by the end of the month.

I added milk and sugar to my mug and carried it up to the front with me. I wasn’t even that fond of coffee, but since it made Brian happy when I drank it, I managed to stomach a few sips. Miranda said I could only have two cups each day and not in a row, which was fine by me.

“Eliana said she’d be in at 11 today,” said Brian. “She hasn’t been getting much sleep these days. Those newborns will do it to ya’.” He smiled and shook his head. His eyes had a far off look to them, as if he was remembering.