Thin Love (Thin Love, #1)(115)
Her reflection in the driver’s side window of the black Camaro looked odd, unfamiliar, and Keira moved her head, inclined to see her face clearer against the yellow street light blinking in and out above her. She looked at her lips, the curve of her neck, felt the cold, untouched plane of her chest and realized, with a shudder, that was where Kona’s mouth would always belong. That was where he would never be again.
And then, just then, the elusive hook came to her. She wanted to smile, to let the bunch of worry tightening her shoulders free. It was a song she’d been writing for months. It was what she’d toyed with anytime Kona made her angry; anytime she felt the bite of his accusations, his anger. Staring at herself in the reflection of his car, the words trickled into her mind, then grew and surged like a wave. She had it all. Kona had given her a child. And he had given her enough heartache that her song came to her.
How dare you
Trample with your words
Tatter who I am
Poison with your lips
Give it gram by gram.
How dare you
Steal what’s left of me
The parts already thin
Toxic to my heart
Broken through my skin
Pretty words hide the truth
Fracture all my hope
Poison in every sound, lies in what you spoke How dare you?
She watched herself as though she drifted above everything, as though that was not her threading her keys between her fingers. That was not a calm, rational or even moderately sane Keira kneeling down next to Kona’s beloved Camaro.
She didn’t care that the letters were too big, white scratches against that midnight black paint. She didn’t care that she was destroying something precious, something that mattered, because Kona had too. He had crushed her heart under his heel and this act, this callous, juvenile act, would be a companion to her curse. He wouldn’t soon forget her words just as he wouldn’t be able to quickly be rid of the large letters marring his car.
Keira dug in deep, funneling her despair, the crushing bend of her heart into every line she made and when she was done, she didn’t look back. Just picked up her bag and stuffed her keys in her pocket and left her mark on Kona’s heart, on the pristine effort he’d made to make that car beautiful.
The bus station was five blocks away and despite the slow drizzle overhead, Keira set out on foot, leaving behind everything she knew, the one person she loved with the angry letters; the solitary reminder of how much he’d hurt her.
THIN LOVE scratched into that black paint and “never again” whispered to her shattered heart.
The Market hasn’t changed in the eight years that Kona has been away from the city. There are still the bunched assortment of vendors; smiling salespeople pawning their beads, their silver jewelry and food. It is cleaner now, somehow bursting with more exuberance than had been the vibe in Market before Katrina hit. But since that time, the city, the people, the entire attitude of New Orleanian pride has heightened and everything is shiny in its own way; smiles, stores, enthusiasm. Kona really loves this new New Orleans.
Despite the few glances of recognition he draws, Kona feels good with his mother on his arm, taking in the bustle of activity around them; her with a wide-brimmed hat covering her small face, and Kona smiles with the memory of his childhood here, the times he and Luka would run away from their mother to see if they could lift a loaf of French bread or a square of fudge from a distracted vendor. Kona shakes his head, lets a cool breath expand his lungs. That is the second time his brother’s memory has come back to haunt him. It is the city, the stinking recollection of the life he once knew that ushers in his twin’s ghost.
The air is cool with the sweet snap of heat just on the edges of the breeze, and the humidity and moisture that Kona has missed living up north. He didn’t realize how much he’d missed home; the bipolar weather, the rich, decadent scents that hang on the breeze and the easy laughter of the folks around them all make him feel like returning to the place where it all began is the right decision. California had been great. Colorado had been freezing, but New Orleans wraps him up in its heavy arms and reminds him that he hadn’t wanted to leave in the first place.
“Oh look, Keiki kane, they’ve got the hydrangeas in.” He means to follow his mother, make good on those promises of buying her whatever she wants, but more attention comes his way and two boys stop him, thrusting a chewed up pencil and slip of bare paper into his hands and his mother nods, walks ahead to pick out a bundle of flowers.
“What’s your name, buddy?” Kona asks the smallest boy, smiling at the missing teeth on the top row of his mouth and the snotty nose that needs a wipe.
“Matty,” the boy says, running his sleeve across his face.
“You like football, Matty?”
“I like you, Mr. Hale. Is it true you’re gonna play for us? You coming back home?”
He pauses while several women drift nearer, holds an arm over Matty’s shoulder while phones and cameras snap pictures, then he returns the gnarled pencil and paper back to the boy. “You never know, man. I just might.”
Kona signs several more autographs and moves away from the crowd, tossing a wave to Matty and his friend and he smiles at the widening of the crowd, at the occasional nods he gets here and there.
Ten tables ahead, Kona’s mother is speaking animatedly to a vendor, likely haggling over price and Kona rolls his eyes, wanders toward a kiosk of Mardi Gras masks, thinking idly that his manager’s twelve year-old would like one, when a glimpse back at his mother catches the sight of long hair waving down a slender back.