Where the Stars Still Shine(62)

The combination of fried food, fresh air, and snorkeling takes its toll on me before we’re even through Bradenton, and I curl up on the bench seat to sleep, my head against Alex’s thigh.

I dream I’m a mermaid, my lower half a tail made of iri-descent blue and pale-green scales, washed up on a Florida beach. Around me, people are basking in the sunshine, playing Frisbee, and applying pi?a colada–scented sunscreen. I close my eyes, enjoying the kiss of the air and the warm sand beneath my back, until a shadow blots the sun. I open my eyes and Alex is standing over me with my old, familiar Hello Kitty nightgown in his hands. It’s only then that I’m aware that my top half is naked, so I pull the too-small nightgown over my head and squeeze my arms into the sleeves. Alex kneels down on the sand beside me and leans in to kiss me. His face morphs into Frank’s as the whiskers under his lower lip brush against my cheek, making me scream.

I wake as the truck swings wildly off the road and skids to a halt on the shoulder. My heartbeat is wild, and although I’m almost certain it’s Alex behind the wheel, I don’t trust my own eyes. I’m pressed against the passenger door, as far away from him as I can be.

“Jesus Christ, Callie.” It’s Alex’s voice I hear as he throws the truck in park. “You just scared the shit out of me.”

My fingers scrabble for the door handle. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” he says. “I just put my hand on your cheek and you freaked out.”

I grab his hand and examine his palm. There’s a frayed callus at the base of one of his fingers, one that could easily feel like whiskers against a sleeping cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize for having a nightmare.” He twists his wrist to hold my hand. The callus feels normal now. Familiar. Like Alex. “But you screamed as if you were terrified. What the hell was that about?”

“I need some water.”

I get out of the cab and take a bottle of water from the cooler. The label, wet from soaking in melting ice all day, disintegrates into tiny blue-and-white bits in my hand. Alex lowers the tailgate and sits, waiting patiently as I take a long drink. The steel of the tailgate is warm against the backs of my thighs as I slide up next to him—and tell him all about Frank.

Tears stream down my face as I talk, but it feels as if some of the poison inside me has been released. I don’t feel clean, exactly, but cleaner. Lighter. Alex has left the tailgate and is pacing a path in the gravel on the side of the road, his fist clenching and unclenching, as if he wants to hit something. Or someone.

“That bastard is so goddamn lucky I don’t know where he lives,” he says. “I’d slit his fucking throat with my dive knife and laugh all the way to prison.”

A tear-soaked laugh escapes me.

“That’s not meant to be funny,” Alex says.

“It’s not.” I wipe my face on my sleeve. “It’s just—I don’t know. In a weird way that makes me happy, because he said no one would believe me if I told.” Fresh tears fill my eyes. “And for so long I thought it was true.”

“I believe you,” he says. “And even though he has issues with me, I think Greg—”

“You can’t tell him.”

“He needs to know, Callie. Your mom should be held accountable for this, and if they can find this Frank asshole, he should be arrested, too.”

“No.”

He runs his fingers up through his curls, then drops his hands to his hips. “Cal—”

“She’s my mother, Alex. I can’t do that to her.”

“She doesn’t deserve this kind of devotion.”

I meet his eyes. “Neither does your dad.”

“No.” He regards me silently for a moment. “But my mom does.”

“And so does Greg,” I say. “This truth isn’t going to make his life any better than it is right now. Please. Don’t tell him.”

“Fine,” he says, as a black-and-tan Florida Highway Patrol car rolls off the road behind him.

A female officer gets out and walks over to us. “Is everything all right here?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say. “I think I had a little too much sun today at the beach. I felt like I was going to throw up, so we pulled over so I could get some water and …” I gesture toward the brush along the side of the road, inferring that I’d vomited in them. My eyes, swollen from crying, seem to solidify the lie.

“There’s a Walgreens at the next exit,” the trooper offers, her official tone a little softer now. She smiles. “I’d recommend some Pepto and maybe a few minutes in their air conditioning, instead of hanging out here on the shoulder.”

I hop down from the tailgate. “We’ll do that. Thank you.”

We pull back onto the highway as she returns to her patrol car. She follows us for a couple tenths of a mile, before U-turning southbound. Even though I’m in no danger of actually throwing up, we take the next exit to Walgreens, where we buy a couple of Drumsticks and eat them in the magazine aisle.

I fall asleep again when we’re back on US 19, but this time my dreams are untroubled and I wake when Alex pulls alongside the curb on Grand. He laughs when I sit up. I tilt in the rearview mirror in my direction as he gets out of the truck, and discover seat marks embossed on my cheek. Also, my hair is pushed up on one side in a righteous case of bed head.