Restless Waters: A Left Drowning Novel (Left Drowning #2) Read online

  “Fuck! I’m so sorry. I’m an asswipe! A total jerk! Tie me up, and eat all the bagels in front of me in a form of weird but possibly titillating torture.” He lifts me off my feet and squeezes harder. “Please forgive me!”

  “I…can’t…breathe…” I eke out the words.

  He sets me down and steps back. “Now, let me get a look at you.” He squints and peers intently at me. “Not bad for a bagel delivery girl.”

  “I brought stupid coffees, too,” I snarl.

  “Oh, hell. Someone is very, very mad at Sabin,” he says.

  “Someone did not realize she had been penciled in for a visit between prostitutes,” I spit out with a bit more venom than I intended.

  Sabin blanches. “Well, shit. I didn’t realize you’d crossed paths with, um…um…”

  “Oh my God, Sabin! You don’t even know her name?”

  “I do. Just give me a minute.”

  “I don’t care what her name is.”

  “Evidently, neither did I.” His smile pisses me off. “But she wasn’t a hooker.”

  “I’m so glad that I flew thousands of miles for this welcome. Thanks, Sabin.”

  I’ve run halfway down the stairs when he says in the most pathetic voice, “I fucked up, okay?”

  I stop and wait.

  “I’m really, really sorry,” he says. “Blythe, don’t go. You can’t. I’m going to make this all up to you. Look, I fucked up real bad, but you have to forgive me. Please?”

  I stomp back up the stairs and push my way into his tree house. “The croissant and the black coffee are mine.”

  “Now, we’re talking!” he whoops.

  Despite my severe irritation, the sight of the interior forces me to smile genuinely. It’s absolutely adorable, a studio apartment like no other, with stunning wood walls and floors. It’s a small space, but one that appears to have everything he needs. I walk into an area with a love seat, armchair, and coffee table. Then, I go through the eat-in kitchen, passing a small dining table, and I enter another sitting area—this one, a perfect circle—that’s next to a window overlooking a small pond with a view of the mountains.

  A full-sized futon is propped up for lounging, and Sabin’s guitar rests on the cushion. I trace the shape of it with one finger. This guitar is so familiar to me that I know every shade of color streaking the front, the few scratches and dings from years of being hauled from place to place, and a couple of marks from old drunken sloppiness.

  Sabin keeps quiet as I explore. I’m trying to take in everything so that I can connect with this new life he’s built, but right now, I just feel overwhelmed with how much I don’t know. The guitar is about the only thing of his that I recognize.

  I stand by the window and watch the ducks flapping in the water. Sabin comes to stand next to me, and without looking at him, I take the coffee he hands me.

  “Where do you sleep?” I ask.

  “Look up.”

  So, I do, and that’s when I see the raised ceiling that rises into a tower of sorts with a loft area off to one side.

  Sabin reaches above his head and pulls down a ladder. “After you.”

  The steps are wide, and it’s less of a rickety climb than I thought, which is good because I’m not parting with my coffee. I emerge to a platform king-sized bed under a sloped ceiling. There are built-in shelves where he’s put folded clothes, and I set my cup on the top shelf.

  Because there’s not really anywhere else to go, I crawl onto the bed. I look up through the skylight and watch as branches blow in the light breeze.

  Sabin lies down next to me. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “Are you going to look at me?”

  “It smells like dirty prostitute up here,” I say.

  He laughs. “I told you, she’s not a prostitute. She’s a paralegal.”

  I practically snort. “Yeah, right.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t paralegal. But it was para-something. Paraglider? Paragraph? Parallelogram?”

  “Parasite?” I offer.

  Sabin rolls onto his side and props himself up on an elbow. “Would you please look at me?”

  Reluctantly, I turn my head.

  The hint of a smile hits the outer edges of his eyes. “I missed you.”

  I’m having trouble believing him, so I don’t say anything.

  “I deeply apologize for being such a dick,” he says. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

  “Okay.” I don’t ask him why he blew us off yesterday or how in the hell he could apparently forget about this morning. “I’m not an imposition?”

  He looks as though I’d smacked him across the face. “How could you even ask that? Because of what Chris said? Don’t listen to him. You could never be an imposition.”

  “Okay.”

  “Where is Chris? I thought he was coming with you?”

  I shrug. “He thought you and I might want to spend the day together.” Shadows dance through the skylight. “If you’re not too busy.”

  Sabin stretches out an arm and returns with a cowboy hat that he sets on his head. Leaning over me, he brushes hair from my face and tucks it behind my ear. “I would love nothing more than to spend the day with you. I want to take you to see the horses here. Did I tell you that I ride a little now? Pearce—you know, the guy who owns this joint and the tree-house company—has been teaching me about horses and stuff.” He grins. “Blythe McGuire,” he says loudly and gleefully, “I’m a real fuckin’ cowboy now!”

  I can’t help but laugh. “You are, for sure.”

  “Now, stop with the pouting, and let’s have fun!” He sneaks his hands to the sides of my rib cage and starts tickling me until I’m giggling and shrieking for him to stop. “There’s my happy girl!” He goes back on his side and smiles down at me.

  When I can catch my breath, I tell him a truth that I have to get out, “Sabe…I’ve missed you so much that it hurts. I feel so disconnected from you.”

  His face softens. “Then, let’s reconnect. First, I’ll show you the horses here, and then we’ll get real tacos with the most awesome corn tortillas you’ve ever had. Not that shit you get in the supermarkets back East. The real stuff. You’ll love it. And we’ll eat too much and fart. Then, we’ll…what else do you want to do? Go downtown?”

  “Just talk. Listen to you play guitar. Eat more. Fart more. Take you to the house in La Jolla. Go buy a Christmas tree, decorate, cook for the kids.”

  He laughs. “The kids? I love that you say that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you nurture us all. You’re kind of motherly.”

  I frown. “I am not motherly! I hate children. They’re loud and annoying.”

  “You are motherly. You watch over all of us, and we’re all loud and annoying. And you’re working hard to make the holidays good when they’re something we all used to hate.”

  “A lot of suicides happen around the holidays,” I say.

  “Oh, gee, that’s cheerful. Were any of us planning on offing ourselves this year?”

  I smack his arm. “No, I just mean that we’re all probably prone to getting sad this time of year, and I don’t want that for any of us. Everything changed when my mom and dad died.” I pause. “And I imagine that you guys did not have anything resembling a happy holiday season when you were growing up.”

  “Not so much,” he says softly.

  “So, I just want to undo whatever I can. But this is not the easiest time of year. I miss my parents.”

  “I know you do. They were great people, weren’t they? I have no doubt that they would have been extraordinarily proud of you with the way you got through everything, the way you took care of James. All of it.”

  I think for a minute while I look at him, take in how he’s changed, how he’s stayed the same. “Sabin?”

  “Yeah, love?”

  “Chris says that he’s glad your father is dead. Are you?”

  “Yep. Every fucking second.” He sits up and reaches for our coff
ees, so I sit up, too. “But I don’t want to talk about him.”

  I take a sip from the cup and peer at him over the edge as I do. “Sabin?” I say again.

  He smiles. “Yes, love?”

  “You’re half-naked and stink like a paralegal parasite who’s just been parasailing with a parallelogram.”

  “Very funny. I’ll shower and get dressed.”

  “Will some of that belly wash down the drain?”

  “Oh, low blow, B! Yeah, yeah, I haven’t exactly been dieting here, but you’ll understand after I stuff your face with authentic tacos. I can eat ten at one time!”

  I nod at his gut. “Not exactly something to brag about.”

  “Just because you run ninety-seven miles a day and have a bangin’ body doesn’t mean you get to taunt us flabbies.”

  I raise one eyebrow and crack a smile. “I have a bangin’ body, you say? Really? Tell me more.”

  Sabin actually blushes a little, which cracks me up. “You know what I mean, but that’s my cue.” He slides himself to the ladder. “I’m taking my morbidly obese self to the shower to clean up. And to cry. Please ignore any wailing noises that waft your way.”

  I scooch to the edge of the loft and hang my head down. “Sabin?”

  He looks up at me from the bottom of the ladder and beams. “Yeah, love?”

  “I like your tree house.”

  “I’m glad. Don’t eat my bagels while I’m gone.”

  “Don’t worry. Nobody in their right mind would eat a blueberry bagel. Barf.”

  I hear the shower run, and then Sabin’s beautiful raspy voice reaches me as he sings a song I’ve heard many times. He knows it’s one of my favorites. It’s upbeat, and it makes him reach deep into his chest to belt out some of the lines. Listening to him takes away the last edge of my worry that there is some kind of rift between us.

  OH, LAST NIGHT, I TRIED NOT TO DRINK,

  BUT I WAS SCARED I MIGHT NOT GET MY SLEEP.

  MID AFTERNOON, STUCK IN A BAR SEAT,

  AND SHE SAID, “BABY, WHAT CAN I GET FOR YOU TODAY?”

  OH, BUT SHE GOT

  MORE HONEY,

  MORE HONEY,

  MORE HONEY THAN I CARE FOR.

  OH, AND SHE GOT

  MORE HONEY,

  MORE HONEY,

  MORE HONEY THAN I NEED.

  OH, SHE BLEW MY HAIR BACK.

  MY MIND SAID LOOK AWAY.

  I DON’T WANT NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS PLACE.

  IT AIN’T MY SOUND,

  AIN’T MY SCENE,

  AIN’T MY TASTE.

  BUT, OH, IF SHE HAD HER WAY.

  AND SHE DON’T KNOW ME.

  SHE DON’T KNOW ME AT ALL.

  I sit back on the bed and look around while his song continues.

  Maybe Sabin was nervous about seeing me and everyone else again, and he panicked a bit or something. Whatever it was, I feel better now that we’ve gotten past it. And I feel even better when I see that he has a picture of the two of us on one of the shelves here.

  Last summer, Sabin persuaded a local fisherman to take us out on his boat, so we could avoid the more touristy charters, and we spent the day fishing until we both caught a surprisingly good number of bluefish, cod, and striped bass. We had so much success that we ended up freezing plenty.

  The picture shows us both sunburned, our hair windblown and wild, but we’re smiling and very happy. He’s got an arm over my shoulder, and mine are wrapped around his waist, holding him closely. We’re looking at each other with so much contentment, and we’re so obviously physically comfortable with each other that anyone else looking at this picture might think we’re a couple.

  I’ve seen this picture a thousand times, but still, I’m compelled to pick it up and study it, study us. My finger traces our outline while I think. The photograph, the dynamic between us, looks different to me than it has before. I can’t get a handle on why that is…or even how that is.

  “Lady Duchess Mademoiselle Señorita Blythe?” Sabin yells from downstairs. “Are you ready to discover your inner cowgirl?”

  I set down the picture, inexplicably rattled.

  “B? Did you ditch me?”

  “No, I’m here. Coming down.”

  We walk the path back to the car, and Sabin points out all the different trees. Avocado and orange trees are starting to blossom, and I love the idea that he’ll be able to simply go outside and have fresh produce. People who live out here probably take things like this for granted, but I find the whole idea delightful. It turns out that the trees I thought belonged in dinosaur times are actually banana trees.

  “I’d have hundreds of these planted at my house if I lived here,” I tell him. “What else do I need to know about California?”

  The weight of Sabin’s arm over my shoulder feels good, as does the kiss he lands on the top of my head.

  “I don’t know that I’m an expert yet, but…you might see a lot of lizards—cute ones, not disgusting huge ones. You might—and don’t freak when I say this—see a rattlesnake. The weather is pretty amazing, as you can tell. I hear this is warm for this time of year, so yay for climate change. But, man, the fall here? October was really beautiful. What else? Um…I originally thought I’d want to live downtown, but then this job came up, so I’m little more north than I planned. But it’s only half an hour or so to get in to downtown, so that’s cool. The restaurants are amazing—or so I hear. I’m mostly a taco-truck dude.” He claps his free hand over my mouth before I say anything. “Yes, yes. I know I’m fat.”

  I lick his palm, and he yanks it away.

  “You’re not fat.”

  “A little bit.”

  “You’re…cushiony.”

  He gasps. “Cushiony! I rather like that!”

  “Sabin, I was being mean before. I don’t care how much you weigh. You should know that. I just want you to be happy.”

  “Fat and happy?”

  “Whatever you like, my friend. Or you could come running with me,” I suggest. “You used to work out with Chris. So, you slacked off without him. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Trying to compete with Chris didn’t work out so well.” Sabin kicks a rock off the path and guides us to the left toward the stables. “He’s always been stronger. He’s got more drive and willpower than a human should. I’d rather be cushiony. I can’t win against that shit.”

  “It wasn’t a competition. There was no prize, goofball. He had so much fun with you.”

  “He just liked that I’d sit on his feet when he did sit-ups. Look ahead in the paddock!” Sabin points. “There’s my girl, Mia. Isn’t she a beauty?”

  I know next to nothing about horses, but the horse coming toward us is indeed beautiful. I laugh when she makes a noise as we get closer.

  “She likes you, huh?”

  “Ah, we are good friends, this girl and me.”

  We get to the fence, and I hang back while Sabin rubs his hand over her nose. He turns back and sees that I’m a bit daunted, so he pulls me forward.

  “Don’t you worry, B. She’s a gentle girl. Relax. Horses are very sensitive and intelligent, and they’ll pick up on your feelings. Think of her like a big dog. Dogs know when you’re nervous, sad, all that. Let her know you’re okay.” He faces the calm horse. “Mia, this is Blythe. Blythe, say hello to Mia. Go on, B. Give ’er a little pat, right here on her side. She likes that.”

  Tentatively at first, I pat Mia’s shiny coat. She doesn’t rear up or otherwise freak me out, so I get more comfortable and even inch my pat up her neck.

  “You are a very sweet girl, aren’t you?” I keep talking, partially to convince myself not to be frightened but partially because it really is a thrill. “I bet Sabin gives you extra treats and spoils you rotten, huh?”

  “I certainly do. Isn’t her color awesome? She’s an American Quarter Horse, which is sort of the Labrador of horses. Super friendly breed, really nice temperament. Smart and just all-around good horses.”

  “Her color is lo
vely.”

  Mia has a light-tan coat that darkens to black on her legs, as though she were wearing boots. Her black mane and tail blow in the breeze sweeping through.

  “And she’s so shiny.”

  “Good diet. Pearce makes sure all his horses are fed high-quality products and good supplements. Plus, I groom her all the time, and that doesn’t hurt.”

  Three other horses are in the hundred-foot-long area where Mia is, but Sabin only has eyes for her. It’s rather sweet.

  “So, this is called a paddock?” I ask.

  “Yep. They hang out here and graze on the grass and stuff. Hey, wanna feed her a carrot?”

  “I don’t know. Do I?”

  He laughs. “You do. Here.”

  I take a carrot from the bag he’s brought over, and I take a big breath, hoping Mia won’t swallow my arm. Sabe puts his hand over mine while we feed her. I have never been this close to a horse before, and it’s exhilarating. Mia flutters her lips as she makes what I can only compare to a giant purr, and I laugh with delight.

  “She’s so funny!”

  “This one’s a character, for sure.”

  “Do you ride her?”

  “Oh, sure, all the time.”

  “Get on now! Let me see you!”

  “Yeah? Well, if you want. Let me grab a halter. I’ll walk her around the ring here for you.”

  Sabin runs to the barn and returns with a halter. He hops into the paddock, slips the halter over Mia’s head, and then leads her out.

  I stay outside the fence, but I follow him to an area by the barn. “Now, what are you doing?”

  “These are the cross ties. I just temporarily tie her up here while I brush her to get any dirt off. I love this girl, but she’s a messy one, and I got on these fancy duds to impress you.”

  “Jeans and a T-shirt?”

  “Whatever. I’m a sexy beast, and I don’t need Mia ruining my look. So, now, I’m gonna tack her up.” He looks at my confused face and laughs sheepishly. “Sorry, that means I’ll put on her saddle pad and saddle and then cinch her up. Tighten her saddle with the cinch,” he explains. “Then, on goes the bridle, which is the piece that goes over her ears and forehead and has the metal bit for her mouth. The reins are part of that, too.”