Surviving Us (11 page)

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you asked,” I reply shyly. I know our affectionate behavior earlier was in public, out in the open for everyone to watch and pass judgment, but I don’t necessarily want to discuss the fact I’m hooking up with a stranger for a summer fling either.

“I’m only giving you a hard time, sweetie.” She loops her arm around my shoulder and gives me a quick squeeze. Turning her direction to the door of the main house, she waves over Val, who we met last night at dinner.

“Well, our small group is all here and accounted for now,” Ashleigh announces to the group. “Val, Bristol, and I are off to bond. We’ll see the rest of you at dinner in a while.”

The three of us, drinks in hand, wander off down into the pristinely manicured gardens and find a couple of benches to get comfortable on, starting the first group session of the trip. I wished we would’ve waited around a little while for everyone to meet up before we broke off, but I didn’t have a good reason to suggest it other than wanting to see Davis again.

Not surprisingly, Ashleigh leads our discussion, giving a quick recap of her story, most of which I already know, but is still disturbing to listen to nonetheless. It hits too close to home.

Ashleigh’s dad had hurried home from work to pick up her, her mom, and her brother one Tuesday afternoon in October 1989, to take them out to dinner where they could watch what was supposed to be the first World Series game between the San Francisco Giants and Oakland A’s on a big screen television. Only ten years old at the time, she remembers making them run late because she hadn’t listened to her mom and put her shoes on when she was told.

They were on the freeway when the infamous Loma Prieta earthquake struck, causing the upper deck of the section they were on to collapse on top of their car, as well as many others. Forty-two people were killed in the small section of roadway that gave way; one was saved by a man from a nearby car. The miraculous rescue of Ashleigh was captured on live television, and on every anniversary of the earthquake, she’s forced to see footage of the horrendous natural disaster that took her family from her.

All three of us have wet eyes by the time she finishes her story, and I’m beginning to agree with Davis—reliving these stories
is
depressing. Thankfully, Val must share my sentiments and decides to talk about the charity she began in her children’s memory for underprivileged kids to receive musical instruments. Her two teenage daughters, who were killed in a boating accident—a boat she was at the helm of—were both actively involved in the band at their high school. Providing instruments to other youngsters who would otherwise not be able to participate due to the expense is how she honors their memory.

“I’d like to do something like that,” I blurt out, moved by her generosity, “but I’ve got no idea how to even start or who I’d do it for.”

“May I ask what happened to bring you here?” Val asks softly, tucking her long gray hair behind her ears.

“Tornado,” I answer, not ready to talk about it anymore than that. For years after, Granny sent me to psychologists, where I relived the story so many times I began to feel like a broken record. The
broken
part was the truth.

“I’m sure you can look up tornado relief programs online and see how you could donate your time. That may be a good place to start and become familiar with the different avenues of assisting.”

I smile a genuine, heartfelt smile. “I’ve always thought I wanted to stay as far away from anything having to do with tornadoes, but listening to you talk about the joy you get in giving back, I think I’ll check it out when I get home.”

We talk a bit longer before breaking to freshen up for dinner. On my walk back to my room, I pass a few others, including Davis sitting on the ground with Isaac and Lynnette. His back is to me, but I can tell from his body language—shoulders slumped and picking blades of grass—he doesn’t want to be there. His obvious unhappiness tugs at my heart, and I pause unconsciously, resisting the urge to do something silly like go throw my arms around him just to make him smile.

I’m not sure if he feels my presence or it’s just pure happenstance, but nevertheless, he slowly twists around, locking his eyes on mine. A goofy grin breaks out across his face, and though I feel a little bad about distracting him from the group, I smile back and wave before scurrying off down the dirt path.

BACK IN MY ROOM,
I’ve got about thirty minutes to change into a dress, fix my windblown hair, and apply a little makeup before dinner. After all of those things are done, it leaves me just enough time to stare in the mirror and ask myself if I really know what in the world I’m getting myself into with Davis.

My virginity was lost several years back in less than spectacular fashion, so it’s not my innocence or virtue I’m worried about. I simply need to remind myself whatever this
thing
is I’m starting with him will most definitely end in less than two weeks, and I can’t allow myself to develop any substantial feelings or attachment in the meantime. This is about having fun and being carefree, forgetting my troubles for a little while, indulging in my short-lived youth, not anything else.

Typically, I wouldn’t be concerned about this at all; I’ve purposely never been in a relationship other than a casual hook-up here and there. I’m too focused on school and work to get involved in unnecessary drama. Occasionally, I’ll allow Lyv to talk me into going out with her on our night off, which sometimes leads to a much needed release of pent-up sexual energy, but that’s it—one night and I’m out.

But there’s something different about Davis, and I’ll admit it scares me a little . . . just not enough to stay away from him. There’s no possible way I can deny myself the opportunity to be with someone like him, even if it is for a short period of time. I’ve been able to handle purely physical relationships for the past four years, there should be no reason I can’t do it now.

A knock on the door interrupts my internal pep-talk. “Bristol, you still in there?”

I hurriedly unlock the door and open it to a freshly showered and shaven Davis, dressed in grey slacks and a black Tommy Bahama button down shirt. My heart skips a beat at the sight of him all cleaned up and smelling downright edible in whatever cologne he’s wearing.
I’m in so much trouble.

“I’m still here,” I smile, “was just about to head down.”

“Good. I was hoping I didn’t miss you while I was in the shower.” He grabs my hand, intertwining our fingers like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Let’s go eat. I’m hungry.”

We stroll lazily down to the restaurant in comfortable silence, both enjoying the peaceful surroundings. A little ways before we get there, he unexpectedly stops to pick a fuchsia hibiscus from one of the hundreds of plants lining the road. Catching me off-guard, he slips it behind my ear with a gentle kiss on my cheek, and my insides liquefy into girlie gooeyness.

“Perfect,” he murmurs as he redirects us on our path.

I reach up with my free hand, lightly trace my finger around a petal, and beam up at him. “Thank you.”

Dinner is downright delicious, even better than last night’s steak and the fish tacos from lunch. Of the three options on the menu, I’ve never heard of any of them, so I let Davis order for me—trusting he’ll choose something tasty—which he does. Having no qualms about eating heavily in front of a guy or anyone else, I damn near lick the plate clean of the pork something-or-other and mashed yucca potatoes. I limit myself to only two glasses of wine, enough to feel a faint tingle buzzing through me, but also preventing another hung-over morning. Plus, I want to be aware and alert for whatever may happen after dinner.

We sit at a table with Ashleigh, Charlotte, Kayden, Isaac, and Peyton; I’m in-between Davis and Charlotte, while he has Peyton on the other side of him, which I’m trying to convince myself is pure coincidence, except for the fact she’s so close, I’m afraid she may sit in his lap at any moment. The older adults, mainly Ashleigh and Isaac, lead the conversation, which centers around how St. Lucia compares to other places they’ve traveled to. Since I have absolutely nothing to add to the discussion, and because Davis isn’t big on talking much anyway, we sit there relatively quiet, just listening to the others.

“Davis, have you been out of the country before?” Isaac asks, trying his hardest to bring the new Enduring Life member out of his shell.

“I’ve been to Mexico and Costa Rica,” he nods, setting his fork down, “but never overseas. The beach here is pretty similar, a little more secluded, but the water is the brightest shade of blue I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh, you should see the water at the Maldive Islands,” Kayden pipes up. “I think I prefer it to anything in Central or South America. The temperature is perfect year-round.”

The table turns their attention to Kayden as he continues on about his travels, and I’m pretty sure I hear Davis grumble something, but I can’t make out what exactly. I remain silent, growing more and more ready to leave. I know I’m young and still have a long time to travel and see the places I want to visit, but everyone discussing vacations they’ve taken with friends and family makes me sad. Once I realize I’m sad, the familiar guilt settles in because my parents, as well as the rest of the people who lived on my street, will never be able to travel to any of the places they wanted to. Then I feel like an ungrateful bitch.

“You okay? Ready to get out of here?” Davis leans over and whispers into my ear, his hand resting on my thigh.

I nod, keeping my gaze down as I feel the numerous sets of eyes watching our exchange. “Yes, please.”

Davis scoots his chair out from under the table, the legs scraping across the floor, drawing even more attention. “Well, folks, it was great having dinner with y’all, but after the day in the sun and all that emotional prodding this afternoon,” he looks directly at Isaac and grins, “I’m exhausted and gonna call it a night.”