Damian had been way too insistent—the clinic, my finger, his stitches. Any excuse for us to separate.
Maybe we should split up.
The fucker! He was letting me go.
As soon as it’s safe, I’m dropping you off at the mainland.
Don’t forget this.He made sure I didn’t leave the seashell necklace behind.
I ran back across the street, not caring that two cars narrowly missed me. The drivers honked and cursed at me, but all I could see was the door to the clinic. I flung it open and froze. There he was, seated on one of the plastic chairs, shopping bags at his feet, flipping through a magazine.
I backed out slowly, not wanting him to see how panicked I was, how the thought of being cut off from him again was so painful, I could barely breathe. I closed my eyes and breathed.
5, 4, 3, 2, 1 . . .
Again.
5, 4, 3, 2, 1 . . .
Then I went back into the supermarket. For a while, I wandered around, still feeling overwhelmed by the sense of emptiness that had gripped me. I was in love with Damian, completely, utterly, desolately. I had told myself that as long as I stayed with him, he had leverage, a bartering chip to negotiate his safety. Without me, he was an open target. But the truth was, I wanted to stay with him forme, because he had always, always been a part of me. I wanted to stay with him so I could put together all the dented, shattered parts of him, because I could never be whole where he was broken.
I found myself standing before the strawberries. Plump, flame-red strawberries with bright, green caps. I thought of the trampled cake Damian had never gotten to eat and decided I was going to buy all of them. I was going to feed him strawberries and he was going to fall in love with me.
Yes. I loved when I came up with a brilliant, foolproof plan.
I waited inside until the store started closing for the day. When the lights turned off, I headed to the clinic, carrying a shit load of strawberries. Damian wasn’t there. No one was seated in the waiting room.
“Is anyone in with the doctor?” I asked the receptionist.
“No, but we’re done for the day. Sorry, you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
I stumbled back outside, lugging the strawberries behind me.
He’d left me. It had been his plan all along—drop me off at the clinic, have them call it in.
We think it’s the same girl. She came in with a severed finger. That’s what tipped us off. It’s been all over the news, how her father received a piece of it. Gruesome stuff. No sign of the guy.
When that hadn’t worked, he’d made up an excuse to go in himself. Maybe he did get his stitches removed. Maybe he came out, saw me waiting with two bags full of strawberries and decided that leaving me was the best thing he could do. For both of us. And yes, that madesense.I should find the nearest police station and contact my father. I could be back in La Jolla tomorrow, in my sweet room that was twice the size of Damian’s island house, being fussed over and pampered and catered to.Thatmade sense.Not this. Not me running down the streets that led to the harbor, hailing a cab in the mad hope that I could still catch him, clutching on to cartons of strawberries as they spilled all over the seats.
“Stop! Right here!” I threw some bills at the driver, recognizing the dock where we’d anchored, and got out before he came to a full stop.
I ran to the end of the pier just as Damian’s boat was pulling out of the harbor.
“Damian!” I tiptoed at the very edge, as close to him as I could get, trying to catch his attention. “Damian!”
He turned around.
Yes.
There was no clearer way for me to show him that I had forgiven him, that what I felt went way beyond the hurt and pain I’d suffered. I understood the why. I understoodhim. It was his turn now, to let go, to take a chance, to let me stand up for him, to let me standwithhim, come what may.
All you have to do is turn the boat around and come back, Damian.
He heard me, even though I didn’t say a word. Our eyes met and I could see everything he felt. For a few, sky-blue, suspended moments, my heart and his were the same; they wanted the same thing. Then he turned back around and continued steering away.
I let go of the stupid strawberries. I let go of the stupid hope that had swelled up in my chest like a big, stupid balloon. I let go of my stupid pride and sat on the stupid pier and let myself stupid cry.
I had chased after Damian’s boat, just as he had chased after my car all those years ago. But this was different. This was no dry, dusty road. This was clear day, clear sky. Nothing had obscured me from him. He had seen me, and he had heard me, and he had chosen to keep going. Because where there’s hate, there can be no love, and Damian still hated my father.
