Beyond the Point(121)
“One . . . two . . . three!”
HANNAH WALKED OUT of the salon with voluminous hair the color of roasted chestnuts. Dani followed with hair cropped short and bleached platinum. Trailing them, Avery hid behind black sunglasses and a mop of raven-black hair. She looked like a celebrity after a particularly rough night at the club, pulling a hoodie up over her head.
“My head is a white Brillo pad,” Dani joked.
“At least you don’t look like a witch,” Avery shouted. “Sorry, Hannah. You know it’s true. You screwed me on purpose.”
When they reached Avery’s car, Hannah turned around and looked at her friends.
“You guys look ridiculous.” As her chin began to quiver, she laughed. “And I absolutely love you for it.”
Begin Again
One Month Later
January 2007
38
Winter 2007 // Fort Bragg, North Carolina
Avery Adams was pretty sure that yoga was bullshit. But then again, if she’d learned anything in the last year of her life, it’s that you can’t judge a book by its cover—or by willowy women who stand in a doorway and welcome you with their soft voices, braided hair, and lavender scent.
After spending fifteen minutes on the floor of a closet with Wendy Bennett, Avery had decided that she couldn’t simply go on with her life as if nothing had happened. As if Tim hadn’t died and Noah hadn’t cheated. Michelle Jenkins recommended Mona Anderson, a counselor who lived in Fayetteville and practiced out of her home—just a couch and a chair and several built-in bookcases, full of titles like Inside Out, Shattered Dreams, and On the Road to Recovery. The first time she’d walked in, claustrophobia had overtaken Avery, and it took everything inside her to stop herself from turning around and leaving. Mona had white hair cropped short, and was so petite, Avery thought she might crush the woman just by speaking. She’d tried to shock Mona, telling her every sexual escapade she’d had since age fourteen. But when she’d finished, Mona hadn’t flinched. She’d simply looked at Avery and said, “That’s all very interesting. But I’d rather start at the beginning. Tell me about your parents.”
“My parents?” Avery had said, incredulous. “What do they have to do with this?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Mona said. “But I’d like to find out.”
With Mona’s guidance, Avery realized that from a young age, her parents had taught her to run—both literally and figuratively. Her father, unable to connect with his sons, had begun to resent his daughter’s success. Her mother, unable to receive the intimacy she’d needed from her husband, had detached, leaving Avery with a void that she’d filled with anything she could. She’d run to win everyone’s approval. She’d run to find a place in the center of their eyes. But you can’t outrun yourself. The emotions you’ve got, you’ve got. And ignoring her problems had only led to greater problems. Yoga had been Mona’s idea, too—because it was a “practice,” not a sport.
“Practice for what?” Avery had asked at her most recent session.
“Practice at being with yourself,” Mona had answered. “Practice for standing still.”
Though she was resistant to the idea, Avery prided herself on being the kind of person that would try just about anything once. What was the worst that could happen?
THE MORNING OF Avery’s first yoga class, she stopped at the post exchange for a smoothie. Dani had mailed her a new iPod for her birthday, and she wanted to buy an adapter for her new car. The shiny black crossover SUV was the largest purchase she’d ever made, and she’d driven off the lot in tears. She hated saying goodbye to her rusty old Honda Civic but loved that she’d followed Mona’s advice.
“You don’t need permission to be an adult,” Mona had said earlier that morning. “If you need a new car, you can buy yourself a car.”
When Avery complained that she didn’t have enough money, Mona waved her off.
“You have a stable job. You can finance the car and make payments, just like the rest of us.” Mona had paused, seeing the look of surprise on Avery’s face. “You can go today.”
The post exchange, or PX, was like a military minimall, complete with name-brand clothing, a Clinique makeup counter, and an electronics section full of the latest gadgets, all tax-free, of course. Avery picked up the adapter, went through the checkout line, and was waiting at Smoothie King for her drink when the sliding glass doors of the PX entrance opened and Noah walked inside.
Avery’s stomach sank. Her hands grew sweaty, her breath shallow. Had he seen her? Did she want him to?
He’d shaved his beard, but other than that, Noah Candross looked as he always had. He was dressed in a form-fitting gray T-shirt and jeans, since it was Saturday afternoon. He removed his sunglasses and looked right at her. She didn’t have time to decide whether to run toward him or away, because as soon as he saw her, he began moving toward her.
Avery took her drink from the teenager behind the counter and tried to open a straw. The first buckled against the counter, breaking as it released from its paper skin. She grabbed another but fumbled again. Why was she shaking? How did his presence have such power over her body? Noah was standing there, beside her, but she didn’t want to look at him. He reached for her trembling arm.