The Girl of Sand & Fog (16 page)

I take in a steadying breath.

I’ll do my line.

“Very little,” I murmur, not looking up from my
food.

That earns me a smile.

Alan relaxes back against the kitchen island.
“You look good,” he says, more in his natural, charming way. “How do you like
living in Pacific Palisades?”

Really? After a year? That’s what you want to
know? Meaningless bullshit you could get from reading my Facebook page.

“I fucking hate it here.”

His eyes widen, surprised. Don’t act like you
never heard the word before, Alan.

“How’s your mother been?”

Everything inside me turns over and erupts.

That’s it for Kaley time.

You look good.

How do you like it here?

And now you’re ready to blow past me, Alan, to
pump for information about my mother.

I slam the pasta container on the counter. “I’m
out of here.”

Before he can respond, I’m into my bedroom. I
lock the door behind me, lean back against the wood, and clutch my stomach. It
feels like someone has knocked the air out of me and I can’t pull in oxygen.

I stare at my room, not knowing what to do.
Somehow I find myself in the bathroom. I take a quick shower to wash the smell
of sex from my body, put on fresh clothes, and then grab my Vans from the
closet.

No sounds for the rest of the house. Crap, it’s
still quiet. What’s going on out there? I grab my cell from the bed.

Me: Alan is here.

Mom: I know, sweetheart.

I stare at the screen. Well, that wasn’t helpful.

Me: What
do you want me to do? I can stay if you need me to or I can spend the night at
Zoe’s.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. I stare at the screen,
biting my nails, watching the little bouncing dots that tell me Mom’s typing. Why
is it taking so long to answer that one?

Mom:
Text me when you get to Zoe’s. Text me in the morning. I love you, baby girl.

I shove some stuff into a small duffel and head
for the door, grabbing my tote from the entry hall before I hightail it into
the driveway.

So much is running through me. The seeing-my-dad
aftereffect. Guilt over abandoning ship during my mom’s moment of crisis. That
hideous crackling uncertainty of life about to change and spin and not knowing
in what direction.

The sense that tomorrow everything will be
different in my world—I don’t know how, but Alan is here about to go through
one of my mom’s classic bombshell moments—and my entire world will change.

It will all be different.

Like it was when my mom left Neil: poof, up and
gone.

Like when my mom left Alan—
hasta la bye-bye
,
no warning—and married Jesse before she’d even unpacked.

Like when my mom had Khloe and a week later I
found movers in the house and we were taking apart our life in Santa Barbara
with Jesse.

When Chrissie makes a move—which isn’t very
often—she moves boldly and unexpectedly.

It’s going to be the same with this latest
Chrissie life-altering moment. Everything is going to be different. My mom, my
dad, my sisters and brothers. Everything—
but me.

CHAPTER 16

I
park in the alley behind Bobby’s house, pull my keys from the ignition, and
grab my stuff. After punching the security code into the back panel, I hurry
across the lawn praying I don’t run into anyone. Getting caught sneaking into
Bobby’s bedroom means discussion time with Linda.

Linda would take one look at my face, know shit’s
going down in my world, latch on and pump me for the full 411. Linda knows and
sees everything. It’s a freaking nightmare how on target she can be without
ever being told anything. As for keeping my shit private, there is no such
thing in the domain of Linda Rowan.

I make my way around the pool, slip into Bobby’s
bedroom and flip on the light. Frowning, I drop my junk on the floor.

Where the hell is he?

I only left an hour ago.

I pull my phone from my pocket and check my
texts. Nothing. Of course, he doesn’t have to tell me everything. He wasn’t
expecting me back tonight. But, damn, I’m in crisis here.

I plop on the bed and start to type.

Me: Where are you?

I stare at the screen, expecting my usual
rapid-fire response, and when nothing comes I fight the impulse to text him
again and toss aside my cell.

Fuck. My gaze settles on his laptop still open on
the bed. I slide it toward me and hit a key. His Facebook page comes up with an
open chat box.

My entire body grows cold.

What the fuck is Caroline doing texting him? I
scroll through the messages.

Caroline:
Bobby, call me now. I fucked up big. I can’t reach anyone. I need help. NOW.
Definite emergency. Don’t talk to Seth. Call me now!!!!!

Really, the
I can’t reach my boyfriend, please
come, fembot in distress
bullshit?

Emergency
my ass.

I continue to read. Crap, it doesn’t say what’s
going on or where they went. Bobby must have called her. My insides grow queasy
and chaotic. I can’t believe he jumped for her. I can’t believe he went. And I
can’t shut off the voice inside my head wondering how often she has
emergencies, how many times he’s run to the rescue, and what the fuck else I
don’t know about.

Stupid?

Maybe.

Irrational jealousy?

No doubt, since Bobby isn’t a player.

But I can’t contain my spiking temper. He’s my
guy. He should be here when I need him, not with
her
. You’re going to
have a lot to answer for, Bobby Rowan, when you get back.

I exhale loudly.

Crap, I wish he were here.

My nerves feel like they’re about to snap.

Fuck.

What’s happening at my house?

Why is Alan in Pacific Palisades at long last?

I start clicking away, cyberstalking my dad. It’s
galling that I have to surf the net to know what’s going on in his life. I hit
a link. Nothing. Another. Nothing. Why isn’t there ever anything useful on the
Internet? But nope, no answers here about what’s going on in my dad’s universe.
Just the standard PR bullshit—blah, blah, blah—and Kodak tabloid moments.

Damn. I’m going to be a fucking mess until I know
everything is all right with my mom. Maybe I shouldn’t have left the house,
even though Chrissie wanted me to. I know it was just because she didn’t want
me to hear if everything exploded but, fuck, I’m not a little girl and really
there’s not much I can go through at this stage in my life any more intense
than the shit I’ve already been through.

I type in my mom’s name on the search bar. Lots
of links. Nothing new. At least there isn’t any gossip about Chrissie online
yet. There never is. Mom’s about as boring a recording artist as they come.
But, oh, there will be. Once the shit hits the fan, the rag sheets are going to
be running full press 24/7.

It’s how it works whenever Alan drifts into our
world.

Tabloid-mania.

Going back to school after winter break is going
to be an all-out nightmare.

Grabbing my phone, I text my mom to let her know
I’m at “Zoe’s.” My eyes widen when I hear the ding. She answered back—
Love
you. Have a good night.
I didn’t expect that. Maybe things aren’t going
into the crapper the first minutes of Alan’s return.

Maybe it will be OK.

For Chrissie’s sake I hope so.

Then maybe we’ll be able to move on to
my
issues with Alan.

It sucks to be the oldest and always have to
wait.

First born.

Last priority.

That doesn’t seem right.

Exhaling loudly, I try to figure out what to do
now. Maybe I should go to Zoe’s. Or should I wait for Bobby? I check my phone
again.

Still no text.

My stomach turns.

Like hell I’m leaving before he comes back.

By 9:30 p.m. I’m ready to explode. How could he
just blow me off this way? It’s been hours with no answer. What the fuck is he
doing with Caroline?

The door opens.

I leap up off the bed and cross the room, my
entire body twitching with anger. “Where the fuck have you been?”

Bobby freezes just inside the room. He frowns.
“What are you doing here? I thought you had to stay home tonight.”

Really? That’s how he wants to play this?

“Don’t even try to lie to me. I know you were
with Caroline. Where were you?”

He blinks at me, shocked. “Nope, not answering,
and I’m not even going to ask how the hell you know who I’ve been with. But the
spying shit, Kaley, not cool. You either trust me or you don’t.”

He grabs a beer from the small fridge, twists off
the top, and tosses it into the trash before sitting on the foot of the bed.

“Then we’re over. I don’t need one more liar in
my life and not answering me is a form of lying. You just don’t want to tell me
what you’ve been doing. Pretty clear confirmation that you can’t tell me.”

He gapes. “Over? Is that really what you want to
have happen here tonight?” He stares and has the gall to look angry at me. “Do
you really think I’d cheat on you?”

“You’ve been with her,” I snarl. “It doesn’t
matter what you did together. That’s a form of cheating.”

“There are times you have totally fucked-up
logic.”

He swallows down half his beer, then sets it on
the floor and tries to reach for me, but I twist away.

“Baby, why are you crying? I know you don’t
really believe that I’d mess around with Caroline. What is going on, Kaley?”

I become aware of the light trickle of tears
spilling down my cheeks—
fuck, when did those start?
—and I brush at them
furiously.

“I’m surprised you care,” I counter petulantly.

His jaw clenches.

His eyes flare and widen.

He picks up his beer and polishes off the
remainder. “That’s fucking sad because you shouldn’t be surprised.” He sighs
and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m answering your question because I want
to. Maybe you’ll figure out how fucking wrong you always are when you let your
anger take control of your brain. I’m telling you this not because you
threatened me but because I love you and I want to.”

I cross my arms and wait. I’m way out of line, I
know it, but something in me won’t let me relent.

“I’ve had a fucking miserable day since you
left,” he says after several minutes of squaring off with our eyes. “Caroline
hooked up with some guys from Simi Valley that she shouldn’t have. The party got
rough. She got scared and called me to come get her. She’s a friend and I’m not
leaving her somewhere dangerous because my girlfriend might get pissed off. I
picked her up. I drove her home. End of story.”

End of story, my ass!

He’s keeping something from me.

“It’s only like an hour each way to Simi,” I
murmur accusingly. “You’ve been gone six hours, Bobby. What did you do? Stay to
comfort her after the trauma of making an incredibly stupid decision? Is that
part of you being a friend, too?”

“No, saving her from fucking gangbangers about to
rape her and a pit bull attack falls into the friend category,” he snaps and
every ounce of steam in me evaporates. He shakes his head, and I can see now
he’s struggling to control his anger over whatever happened with Caroline.
“Those fucking bastards had illegal fight dogs. They let one loose when they
saw me cutting out with Caroline. I don’t know what the fuck would have
happened if I’d left her there with them. Crazy shit was going down. The dog
nearly got her before I shoved her into the car. I don’t know how I managed to
keep it off me. It kept snarling and coming at me with its mouth open no matter
how hard I kicked it, and I thought, ‘
Shit, I’m going to have to kill this
dog to get away’
and then some guy from the house next door shoots it, and
Caroline and I just fucking burned rubber out of there without sticking around
to see what happened next. Fucking insane.”

I pale and drop down on the bed beside him. “Oh
God. Are you all right? Are you sure the dog didn’t get you anywhere?”

He nods, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “I’d
really appreciate it if, whatever is going on with you, you’d keep the anger
and verbal attacks at a minimum tonight. I’ve just pissed off a Simi Valley
gang, saw a dog be executed, and have had to listen to Caroline wail for the
past five hours.”

He leans forward, elbows on knees, and drops his
head into his hands. It’s then I notice his muscles are still quivering from
the adrenaline rush pumping through his veins from everything that’s happened.

As calm as he looks and sounds, he’s really
shaken up. The events of my afternoon now seem trivial in comparison.

I stare down at the ground, not touching him.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone off on you the way I did when you walked
through the door. I know you wouldn’t cheat on me. Especially not with
her
.”

He doesn’t look at me. “No, you shouldn’t have
pounced on me that way. And definitely not over
her
.” He sits up. “Are
you going to tell me what happened with you today? Don’t tell me nothing. I can
feel it when shit’s going down with you.”

I shrug. “Nothing as dramatic as your evening.
It’s just…well, I saw my dad today. At my house. Alan’s back.”

His eyes widen and grow serious. “Fuck, are you
OK?”

Now I want to cry. How the hell can he worry
about me after the crap he’s been through?

I shrug. “Sure, why wouldn’t I be? He said I
looked good. Ask me how I like my new home. And that was it. My mom wanted me
out of the house and I came here. Pretty fucking uneventful.”

He pulls me into him and kisses me on the head.
“It’s more than that and you know it.”

I battle back fresh tears. “It’s OK. Same shit.
New day. Nothing to get worked up about.”

“Then why are you worked up?”

I lift my chin. “I’m not.”

“Bullshit.” He stands and pulls off his shirt.
“I’ve got to pop into the shower. It was a pigsty there. I’ll just be a couple
minutes. When I’m done, I expect you to tell me everything you’re not telling
me.”

I roll my eyes. “There’s nothing to talk about.
That was it. Really. Nothing else happened. It’s all peachy in my world.”

His mouth forms a tight line, but he doesn’t
argue with me. He goes into the bathroom. The water turns on. I hear the shower
doors open and close.

I listen to him, my head at the foot of the bed
and my feet kicking over and over against the pillows. Maybe I should leave and
really spend the night at Zoe’s. Dumping more crap on Bobby doesn’t seem right
tonight, but it’s definitely there, a whole lot of shit, simmering inside me
and wanting to come out.

I know it and so does he.

Fucking Caroline.

I’m anxious, worried, totally a mess post-seeing
my dad, and she’s like a fucking arctic wall preventing me from working through
what I’m feeling with my best friend.

Crap, I can’t believe I actually threatened to
break up with him.

I don’t want to be like Caroline.

Drama Queen from hell.

I’m not like her.

The fridge door makes a squeak and I find Bobby,
a towel wrapped around his hips, pulling out another bottle. He stretches out
on the bed beside me, sitting with his back against the headboard, and twists
off the top of the beer.

“You going to tell me the rest of what happened
today?” he asks.

“I told you everything.”

He take a long swallow and just sits there, watching
and waiting. I struggle not to look at him. It’s hard because the crazy-girl
nonsense is a sure tell I’m not doing OK. And Bobby really does care. It makes
it painful not to share with him, but the junk inside me is just too raw right
now.