Forever Innocent
Page 43

The wind whipped Corabelle’s hair into a frenzy, and she fought it constantly, twisting it in her free hand, holding her shoes in the other. This was probably a good thing, as it kept me from reaching for her, which I knew was too much for the moment, despite the other night. She was distant and reluctant, and I had to tread carefully.
“Do you come down here much?” I asked her.
“Not this far. It’s quiet.”
We’d walked about half a mile from the parking lot, the umbrella rentals, and the beachgoers trying to get a last weekend of sun before it got any colder. Compared to New Mexico, the temperature was downright chilly, but I had gotten used to it. “I prefer to stay away from the crowds.”
“You always did,” she said.
Rocks rose to our right, brown and sparse and dotted with tide pools. The great expanse of the ocean spread to our left, blue and sparkling, occasional white crests breaking across the surface. Gulls swooped along the shore, their distinctive caw the only sound other than the roar of the waves. It seemed we were the only two people in the world.
Shouts broke the peace of the moment and we turned to the rocks, where a father and his two sons scrabbled along a path. “Wait for me!” the dad called. The boys were young, maybe seven and four. The little one tripped and skidded in a bit of sand. Before he could cry, the father had scooped him up. “Almost there, Champ, no tears.”
I realized I had stopped walking, watching the man with the boy the age Finn would be now. Corabelle slipped her hand in mine, and I knew she was thinking the same thing. The threesome continued past us back the way we’d come and I forced myself to look ahead, not to turn and see them go. The missing part of our picture was very real and all my optimism that Corabelle and I would move on together began to crumble.
She leaned her head on my shoulder. “It is always that hard for you?”
“No. I normally don’t pay any attention.”
“Then it’s me.” She tried to pull away, but I gripped her hand hard. Her hair was completely wild, blowing like a black specter, a haunting image against the backdrop of the tumultuous sea.
“I’m glad it’s you,” I said. “I didn’t know how numb I’d been until you came back.”
She nodded, her expression lost in her hair.
“Here,” I said. “I think I remember how this goes.” I dropped my shoes and let go of her hand to gather up the wild mane. She turned into the wind so it all blew back and I separated it into three sections. I learned to make a braid when we were in middle school, after she left me one weekend for a slumber party with other girls. I felt lonely and betrayed and when I asked her why she chose the girls over me, no doubt with some pathetic sulky look on my face, she said they could fix each other’s hair.
I stole one of my sister’s dolls to practice this, working out the pattern. The dolls were easier than the real thing, though, as the layers and head shape made the lengths inconsistent, and I never quite knew what to do with the ends. But I wanted to learn. I wanted Corabelle to never find me lacking in any way.
My fingers felt fumbly and uncoordinated as I tugged her hair into a braid. When I got to the end, I told her, “Hold this,” and reached for my boot, swiftly removing the lace. I tied her hair down, weaving the lace back and forth across the bottom half of the braid so that it wouldn’t come out easily.
When I let go, she ran her fingers along its length. “Not too bad.”
I scooped up all our shoes, lashing them together with the ends of the other lace, and didn’t hesitate, but took her hand again. She accepted this, more relaxed than before. It wasn’t until we resumed walking, this time with our feet in the water, that I realized we’d gotten past that hard moment together, and I felt sorrow for all the other times we could have shared those hardships instead of bearing them alone.
“So are you going to feed me or do I get to walk for hours on an empty stomach?” Corabelle asked. She looked so young with the braid, her face so innocent, a few stray tendrils curling along her forehead.
“We’ll have to turn back to La Jolla for food,” I said. “Ahead is Black’s Beach and there’s nothing there but naked sunbathers.”
Her eyes grew wide. “I’ve heard about that beach. I’ve never been.”
Just the idea of her there, her body laid out in the sand, made my blood start jumping. “Go with me and I’ll be your slave forever.”
“You’re already my slave forever.” She cracked the smallest smile, but still it was a smile.
“We’d get arrested. I couldn’t possibly keep my hands off your delectable body.” I pulled her toward me, letting the shoes drop again.
She didn’t resist, tilting her head up so that I could kiss her. She tasted like sand and salt, and her cheek beneath my thumb was gritty. I pictured her skin drenched by the sun, and I could scarcely keep myself in check, pulling her in so tight that she fitted against me, my mouth feverish over hers, tongue sliding between her lips into her warm waiting mouth.
When our hips moved together, she broke away, gasping. “This is so hard,” she said.
I pressed her face into my shoulder and just held her. “It doesn’t have to be.”
“I don’t know what I want.”
“I do. I know that I want you.”
She shuddered against me. “The butterflies. I destroyed the mobile.”
“That’s okay.”