The Girl of Diamonds and Rust (The Half Shell Series Book 3) (2 page)

Maybe there are some hurts love can’t fix. Maybe there are some things people are not supposed to be able to forgive. Maybe it is better to walk away from someone rather than to try to mend your heart after having someone rip it out.

That’s what Alan said to me. I
ripped out his heart
. Oh God, the memory of the way he looked at me still makes me grow shaky and cold inside. Maybe it’s all better this way, with him walling me out in a way that makes it abundantly clear that I fucked up and we are over forever.

Maybe this is love. Protecting the part of yourself most important to you and knowing when to let go so that you can keep a small piece of that person alive and real in your heart. Maybe this is the only way Alan can keep from hating me.

And really, that’s not such a bad thing. As awful as
this
is, as much as I need him now, it would be worse knowing that Alan hates me. Maybe the best two people can do when they’ve loved each other badly, is to walk away before hating each other.

Maybe someday we’ll get past this and be friends. That would be nice. But I don’t think that’s ever going to happen.

It’s probably better this way.

CHAPTER ONE

April 1993

I sit at the kitchen table, hunched over the typewriter, staring at a blank page. Damn, I’ve been at this four hours and I still haven’t written a single word. There is something so intimidating about a blank page. Some people think only black represents nothingness, but white does as well. The absence of everything, just in a gentler, less-frightening-looking way.

I feel my eyes mist up and I focus on staring at my fingers ready on the typewriter keys.
The absence of everything
. That’s how my life has felt since I walked out on Alan. I don’t even know how I’ve made it through the last three months of school. I feel blank inside like this stark, white typing paper, and numb, as if the world in all its bright spring color in Berkeley exists in total absence of everything.

But it doesn’t. Life, and the world, is marching into the future around me, same as always. Time goes on whether my heart is broken or not, or I’m panicking inside because I’ve got decisions I have to make being forced upon me whether I want to make them or not.

I push away my thoughts and type my name in the upper right hand corner of the blank page. There. That’s something on the page, at least. It’s better that I don’t think about my problems today. I need to focus on the paper I have to write. I definitely have got to finish it; no paper, no grade, and no graduation in May.

A sound causes me to turn and I see Rene racing into the kitchen. She pauses to stare over my shoulder. “Shit, Chrissie, you need to get this paper done. You’ve been at it all day. I still have one to write tonight as well. If you aren’t going to work on it, can I at least have the typewriter until you’re ready to try and finish your homework?”

I avoid looking at her by rummaging through my notes on the table. “I’ll be done in an hour. But if you keep bugging me I won’t ever finish.”

Rene drops heavily into the chair across from me and I can feel her stare dissecting my posture and expression. “Chrissie, what is wrong? You’ve been like this for weeks. Nervous and edgy and preoccupied. You’re barely passing your classes. Jeez, we’ve been here for four years. Now is not the time to fuck up and not graduate. What’s wrong?”

I sink my teeth hard into my lower lip and then slowly lift my eyes to hers. There is so much I haven’t told Rene and I can see that she’s worried underneath that snotty shell of
too cool to care about anything
she has mastered. But Rene does care, she always has, in spite of what people think and say about her. She just doesn’t show it in the kind of ways other people do.

I feel my insides liquefy and weaken. I shake my head. “Nothing is going on, Rene. I’m just stressed and so ready to be done with this.”

Her eyes do another scalpel-like roam across my face and her lips tighten into a not-completely-held grimace. “Bullshit. Do you think I don’t know when something bad is going on with you? Is it Neil? I never thought I’d say this, but I really miss having the jerk around.”

I laugh, not in humor, but because of the way she says
jerk
. Almost affectionately. How quickly everything changes. From Rene despising Neil to missing him… I cut off my thoughts before they drift to my other quickly changing circumstance.

“It’s not Neil. It’s everything. It’s nothing. Can we just leave it alone?”

Rene stares at my face, sighs and then stands up, frustrated. “You’ll tell me. Eventually. You always do. It might help if you told me now instead of waiting until whatever this is becomes a disaster.”

I watch her walk toward the kitchen doorway. She stops and stares back at me.

“I love you, Chrissie. We’ve been best friends forever. Whatever it is, I’d help you if you’d let me.”

Moisture clouds my eyes and my lips curl inward in a tight pucker. I nod. She would help. But I can’t trust Rene with this. I can’t trust anyone. If anyone ever knew…if Jack ever knew…I stop the words before they form in my head…
I’d die!

I suddenly feel sick, like I’m going to vomit, and I struggle to remain composed at the table. Finally, Rene turns and disappears into the living room. Her bedroom door slams a few seconds later.

I let out a heavy breath and fight to hold back the tears. There is no point in crying. Crying won’t change things, it won’t fix a single thing wrong in my life, and I’ve already cried enough over this.

I’ve made my decision and it is pointless to keep looking backward. Alan won’t speak to me, and this is my issue to fix. It’s stupid to agonize over this further.

I shake my head to scatter my thoughts and start to neatly reorganize my notes for this paper. I do a fast glance across the outline for my report staring up at me from my notepad, return my hands to the keys, and start to type.

Forcing myself to continue to write, I ignore the voice inside my head chiding that what I’m typing isn’t very good. Fuck it, I’m just going to finish it. What was it Jack said?
Cs get degrees
. Well, a D on this paper saves me from an incomplete in this course and gets me out of UC Berkeley.

God, I’m so ready to be out of Berkeley, even though I haven’t a clue where my life goes next. Probably nowhere. Probably back to Santa Barbara and Jack. Same old Chrissie. Same old life. Four years at Berkeley hasn’t changed a thing about me.

Three pages later, I’m still tunnel-focused on typing when the sound of the cordless phone ringing makes me jump in my chair.

As I cross the kitchen, my heart accelerates and my limbs grow shaky. It’s not Alan. I already know that, but I can’t make my body not react to the possibility that it might be
him.

I click on the cordless and hold it to my ear. “Hello?”

A long pause where my heart ticks upward in tempo.

“Chrissie?”

Neil.
Everything inside me calms with the instant deflation of my hope since it isn’t Alan. With my back against the cabinets, I slowly sink to the floor to sit.

“Hey, Neil. What’s up? Where are you?”

“I’m in Denver. Last gig of the tour. I should be in Berkeley in a few days.”

“Berkeley?” I repeat, a touch confused.

Neil laughs. “My stuff. Remember? I promised to get the last of it out of the condo when I came off the road.” Another moment of silence. Then, “Chrissie, are you OK? You sound funny.”

I close my eyes, willing myself to try to sound fine. “I’m great. You just caught me writing a final. I’m sort of mentally absorbed with it. American history, Depression-Era to the 70s. Not exactly cheery stuff.”

Neil gives a low chuckle. “Most definitely not cheery stuff. I know how you hate your courses in history.” Neil laughs in that
sharing a memory
way and I feel my heart jump against my chest since it’s sweet how many trivial things Neil remembers about me. “I’m glad you’re OK, Chrissie. I still worry about you, you know? Are you excited about being almost finished with school?”

“Ecstatic,” I say in a silly, heavily exaggerated way. “I hate Berkeley. I can’t wait to go home.”

“So that’s what you’re doing, then? Moving back to Santa Barbara after graduation?”

It sounds funny to hear Neil say that since I haven’t really put much thought into it. It sounds weird.

“Yep, moving back home. At least for a while. What are you going to do after you come off the road, Neil?”

“Visit home for a few weeks, see the family, and then back to Seattle.”

“Things going good for you?”

“Really good,” Neil says, and he sounds upbeat and very happy. For some reason that makes my emotional distress more jumbled. “We’ll catch up when I come to Berkeley to grab my stuff.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“I miss you, Chrissie.”

His voice is so soft I almost didn’t hear him and I debate with myself whether to pretend that I didn’t.

I let out a steadying breath. “I miss you, too.”

It’s the truth. Why does it hurt for me to admit it? Neil is always so calming to be with. My still-water pond. It would be nice to have him here for a while, especially now that every part of my life is a disaster.

“Maybe we can go out, Chrissie. Kick around. If you’re not too busy with your finals.”

Emotion makes it impossible for me to answer him.

“Just as friends. OK?” Neil continues. “I’m not going to push you for anything more.”

With the tips of my fingers I press hard on the end of my nose to keep the tears back. “OK. I’d like that, Neil.”

“However, if you want to push me for something more, I want you to know, that would be OK with me.”

The way Neil says that makes me laugh even though I don’t feel like laughing.

“Sorry. Bad joke, Chrissie. But I really do miss you.”

For some reason, I feel a little better. My laughter intensifies, leaving my body in a more comfortable flow. “It’s OK. I like it when you’re a conceited jerk, Neil.”

I can hear what almost sounds like a sigh through the receiver.

“Good night, Chrissie. See ya in a week or so.”

“See ya, Neil.”

Click. I stare at the phone, and fight to rein in my scattered emotions. Blending with the chaos that’s been consuming me for weeks is now a strangely good kind of feeling, an
I’ve talked to Neil
kind of thing.

I push the hair from my face, rise to my feet, and set the cordless back on the receiver. After I drop onto my chair at the table, without hesitation, I start to type again. I can finish this paper. I can make it through my last days at Berkeley. I’ve come this far, and I’m going to finish. I may have fucked up big time, I may be knee deep in mess, but I am not letting my mistakes take one more thing from me that I don’t want to give.

I can make it through all the things I have to so I can put the last three months of my life behind me forever. I continue to strike the keys, only this time my fingers are pounding against them with the force of my determination. Two hours later I am done with my paper. I staple together the sheets, shove them into my folder and scoop up my stuff from the kitchen table.

I wander down the hallway to Rene’s room and knock. “You can use the typewriter now,” I say through the wood door.

I don’t wait for Rene to answer. I go quickly to my room and close the door behind me. I sink down on the ground beside my carry tote and shove my folders into it. I should probably study a few hours since I have an exam tomorrow, but I’m not in the mood to study Baroque Music History. Everything is running loose and frantic inside me again.

I turn to look at the clock. It’s only 9 p.m. I’m not tired, but I don’t really want to sit in the living room listening to Rene in the kitchen effortlessly crank out paper after paper.

As I grab my pajamas, my eyes fix on Alan’s t-shirt neatly folded in the drawer. Damn, why do I keep it? I should throw it away. I slam the drawer shut, change my clothes and then climb into the bed.

I reach onto the nightstand for the TV controller and click on the set. I start flipping through channels, purposely avoiding the music stations. I need a movie. I need something funny. I need to laugh. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Music blasts from the speakers and I realize I’ve gone too far clicking channels. I’ve reached the music programs. I almost switch off the TV, when suddenly it’s Neil’s face staring out at me from the screen.

I lean forward in bed, focusing on the TV, and I feel a pleasant kind of smile surface on my face. Jeez, Neil looks beautiful on camera. I rapidly try to pick out details of where he is since the darn station doesn’t have a tickertape running on the bottom during this around-the-world-in-a-minute segment. A festival of some sort.

My smile deepens as Neil’s gentle and shy green eyes fill with humor. Totally sweet. Totally humble. Totally Neil, even being interviewed by music TV. Once he is gone from the screen, I flip off the set and lie back against my pillow.

I guess things have started to go really well for Neil if he’s getting this kind of exposure on the music news programs. I’m happy for him, and a little disappointed in myself that I haven’t been keeping better tabs on what’s been going on in Neil’s life.

We were good together, really good. Close to being everything I wanted. Just not quite all I needed us to be. I don’t know why or what was missing. Just something was, and I could feel it. It was almost perfect, and yet somehow, just not enough.

I roll onto my side, staring at what used to be Neil’s pillow beside me. So much has changed and it’s only been three months. Jack is off touring again with his band for the first time since the 80s, and the entire world has fallen back in love with my 60s iconic, legendary father. Rene has been accepted into UCLA medical school. Neil Stanton has a song on the Billboard Charts, and he gets interviewed on music TV. Alan is finally divorced from Nia, and fucking his way around the world. And me?
Nope, don’t think of that. Not tonight. Leave the lockboxes closed tonight.