Killer Swell

20

Emily asked me to drive her home because the gin had worked its magic on her. The bourbon had tried to do its thing with me, but I was gallantly fighting it off.

Her town house was in Del Mar, several miles up the coast from La Jolla. We took Torrey Pines Drive north, canopied by the giant trees, past the Scripps Institute and through the UCSD campus, and then fell onto Camino Del Mar, a thin strip of the old Pacific Coast Highway that let us glide right next to the moonlit water.

“When did you buy the town house?” I asked, guiding the Jeep over State Beach.

“Two years ago,” she replied, shifting uncomfortably in the seat. “Nearly got married and then after we called it off, I dumped what little money I had into it.”

“Why didn’t the wedding happen?”

“We both chickened out two days before,” she said, smiling ruefully. “It was the right thing to do. Neither of us wanted to be married. We were going through the motions more for show, I guess. Got caught up in the whole process and then didn’t back out when we both knew we should’ve.”

I changed lanes. “Your mom pissed?”

She laughed and tucked her blond hair behind her ear. “Mom came out of the womb pissed. I have only been able to add to it.”

I remembered Kate having said something similar in high school, but I couldn’t recall her exact words. There was always conversation about how her mom was regularly angry and unsatisfied.

Emily directed me off Camino Del Mar and up Carmel Valley Road to a cluster of stark white town houses perched at the top of a small hill just north of Torrey Pines State Beach. The homes were square and angular, something you might see above the Mediterranean.

“Come in for a second,” Emily said. “There’s something I want to show you.”

I parked the car in the alley next to her garage. We took a narrow and steep set of stairs up to her door, which allowed me to notice that Emily possessed very nice legs.

I told the bourbon to shut up.

Her home was bright and modern. Blond wood served as the floor, an expensive-looking cream rug covering a portion of it in the middle of her living room. A black leather sofa rested against the one wall, affording a great view of the water to the west through floor-to-ceiling windows. A glass table centered the room, two tall bookshelves decorated with books and pictures resting on either side of the sofa.

“Another drink?” Emily asked, kicking off her shoes and heading toward the black-and-white kitchen that opened into the living room.

I knew that I shouldn’t. I already felt awkward, a result of being at Emily’s place and stealing glances at her legs.

“I think I’ve got some bourbon in here somewhere,” she said, opening a cabinet.

Dammit. “Sure. That’s fine.”

I walked to the sliding door. A small terrace extended off the windows, two chairs and a table looking lonely on it.

“This is a great place,” I said, watching the water roll under the moon.

“I bought it from a friend who moved to Boston,” Emily responded, setting two glasses on the kitchen counter and filling them with ice. “She had to get rid of it quick. Only way I could’ve afforded it.”

I walked over to look at the bookcases. Several pictures of Kate looked back at me. One was of her wedding day, Emily the maid of honor. Kate looked remarkable in a brilliant white gown with a matching smile. Randall stood next to her, tall, handsome, confident. It was the first picture of Kate that I’d seen in eleven years, and I couldn’t rid myself of this tremendous sense of loss.

“Here,” Emily said, coming up next to me and handing me a glass. She nodded at the picture. “Seems like a million years ago.”

“I’ll bet.”

“She mentioned you that day.”

I took a sip of the drink, the bourbon smoothing its way down my throat. “Her wedding day?”

Emily nodded. “Yeah. We were getting ready. I was helping her fasten her necklace and she said she wondered what you were doing.”

It was an odd thing to hear, and I didn’t know how to respond. I stared at the picture again.

“She should’ve called me,” I said quietly.

“Noah,” Emily said, putting a hand on my arm and reading my thoughts. “Do not for a second think any of this could be your fault.”

I took another sip of the drink, thinking exactly that. “I don’t.”

She looked at me for a moment, her eyes at work, trying to discover if I was being truthful.

“I almost told her about that night when you came over,” Emily said.

I shifted uncomfortably, guilt immediately seeping into my gut. “But you didn’t?”

She shrugged. “I thought about it. Felt like I needed to come clean with her. But then I thought it was stupid, nothing really ended up happening, so I kept my mouth shut.”

Standing in front of Kate’s picture, I couldn’t get myself to talk about it, as if she’d jump out of the photo and take a swing at me for nearly hooking up with her sister.

“You wanted to show me something,” I reminded her, uncomfortable under her stare.

She paused for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. Hang on.”

She disappeared down the hallway. I took a deep breath, then finished my drink. I felt warm and fuzzy.

Emily reappeared, a small silver key in her hand. She held it out to me.

“What is it?” I asked.

“A key.”

“Thanks. I mean a key to what?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Kate spent the night here the first night she got into town because the hotel was full. I found it in the bedroom she slept in.”

I laid it on the glass table and sat down on the sofa. “A stray key isn’t a whole lot. Not unless you know where to stick it.”

“I wish I could give it back to her,” Emily said, rightfully ignoring my attempt at humor. “I know that’s stupid but I just wish I could.”

She leaned back into the sofa with me and we sat there quietly, each of us staring at the key on the table. I heard Emily’s breathing start to chop up, then her hands went to her eyes, the tears spilling out over them. Her body shook, the sobs racking her and shaking the sofa.

I reached my arm around her and held her. She pressed against me and cried harder.

Finally, the tears stopped.

But neither of us moved.

I felt her head shift against my chest and against better judgment, I looked at her.

Her eyeliner had smudged at the corners of her eyes and her cheeks were flushed, bright red. Her blond hair was tossed over to one side.

We stared at one another, knowing what was coming, but not sure what to do about it.

Maybe not caring.

Maybe going back in time to finish something we had started a long time ago.

I don’t know what the right thing to do would’ve been. I probably should’ve left. Or started talking, rambling on about anything. Ordering a pizza might not have been a bad idea.

But I didn’t do any of those things.

Instead, we did other things.