Circle in the Sand (4 page)

The waitress stops by to see if we want dessert. I ask for the check before Jax can
answer.

“She’s changed,” Jax says.

“Even if I wanted to, you know I don’t like to show up at my house unannounced. My
mom’s out of town, and I really don’t want to surprise dad while he’s enjoying some
‘free’ time.”

Jax holds a glass of water and looks as though she’s going to say something.

“And before you say it, I’m not staying with you and that surfer kid. And while we’re
on that subject, is your mother aware you’ve turned her family home into a halfway
house?”

“She doesn’t care as long as I help with the mortgage. I’m renting a room to a college
student. Brady’s a good kid.”

I bite my tongue because I don’t want to get into it with her about her myriad of
ever-changing part-time jobs. Instead, I decide her safety is more important. “Yeah,
what about the guy on the couch?”

“That’s his brother, Travis. He just needs a place to stay for a while. Did you meet
him?”

I shake my head.

“Good. That’s a whole other story I don’t want to get into now. Anyway, I have another
place for you to stay. For all of us to stay.” The corners of her mouth turn up into
a devilish grin.

All of us?
I’ve seen that look so many times before I can’t even count. “What’s up?” I ask,
somewhat skeptical.

“I’m house-sitting for a friend. It’s a great place, on Rivera drive.”

“The bayside.” A serene image of me watching boats drift across the bay crosses my
mind.

“Yeah, much quieter. Away from the crowds. Me, you, Emily. You have to go if Emily’s
going.”

There is no way Emily would come to something last minute, but Jax knows this too.
So, this must be her trump card, her way of getting me to go. I’m starting to sense
that I’m out of options, but that might be the best thing of all.

There are three voicemails on my phone when I turn it on. After my lunch with Sage,
we said our goodbyes on the street, and then she got in her car and left for her meeting.
I’m hoping one of the messages is from Eric, Emily’s husband. And I’m sure one is
from Dale. I sit on the edge of my bed and play each one.

The first is from Eric, confirming everything is set for this weekend. Her hunky Hispanic
hubby knows Emily needs a break, but would never ask. She doesn’t know that he and
I have been exchanging messages about her recently and how worried we both are about
her. The next message is from Dale. I play it three times.

“Jax, it’s me. It’s been almost a week since I’ve heard from you. You promised to
call me when you went to the doctor. I know you’re sick of hearing this, but I really
am sorry about all this. Please…don’t shut me out. I need to hear from you and see
what’s going on. I have to make sure you’re okay.”

After the third time, I hit delete. I don’t regret getting involved with Dale, but
I am happy he is back with his wife. I had no hand in their troubles; we were nothing
but friends until he signed those papers. But it just wasn’t there—that spark, that
indescribable burst of excitement that takes over your whole being at the mere thought
of his touch. I wonder if I’ll ever have that awe-inspiring experience with a man.
The closest I came was a kiss when I was sixteen. One magical kiss, under a magical
tree from a guy I’ll never see again. Sometimes I wonder if my mind made the memory
bigger than it really was. Is that what’s held me back? I’ve dated a decent amount
of men for someone my age. I’ve enjoyed sexual relationships with men, but when they
end, I never find myself very disappointed.

I shake my head and vow to put the appointment I had this morning out of my mind.
This weekend will be about my friends, my sisters, and keeping our connection. It’s
one of my fears—that someday they won’t need or want me in their life the way I still
want them.

I play the last message as I walk past Travis, our temporary guest, and toward the
bathroom. The bar I work at wants me to come in Saturday after they already gave me
the night off.
Good luck with that one
. Saturday is the best night to make money, but there’s no way I’m missing a chance
to get Sage, Emily, and me back together.

I enter the bathroom, let out a loud sigh, and yell, “Travis!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he calls from the living room.

If he wasn’t so freaking cute, I’d tell him not to call me ma’am. He doesn’t have
the southern accent his brother does, but his manners are sweet and country. “Have
I told you there is only one rule in this house?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Isn’t it so damn awesome that I only have one rule?” my voice echoes out.

“So damn awesome, ma’am.”

“And did I happen to tell you that one rule?”

“Only ten times, ma’am.” His tone is not angry or sarcastic, only matter of fact.

“Travis, please tell me what my one rule is.”

“Seat down, ma’am.”

I continue to stare down at it, waiting and fully expecting for Travis to appear behind
me to rectify this situation when I sense a presence in the doorway. I turn.

“I’m sorry, Mama; it was me.” Brady stands in the doorway, disguised in puppy dog
eyes.

I’m still not used to his twang. I shoot him a faintly serious glare and a head tilt
before moving to the side. He sidles by me and puts the seat down, all the while eyeing
me with an apologetic grin.

“Won’t happen again, Mama.”

I giggle and tussle his hair like a mother would. I’m not even close to being old
enough to be his mother, but I don’t fight it any longer. Brady started calling me
Mama a week after he moved in five months ago. He began this year as a freshman at
San Diego State University and is so obviously home sick for his mother in Kansas.

I let Brady off the hook this time, but part of me is aware I will do it again and
again. “Uh-huh. So how’s school?”

“Boring,” he says, reminding me of myself. I felt as confined as a prisoner in a cell
whenever I was in the classroom.

I say what I think his mother would want me to say, but I’m not sure why. “Just make
sure you do more studying than surfing.” I proposed surfing when he arrived three
weeks before the semester began, so maybe it’s why I spoke up.

“I’m trying,” he says and then walks out to the hall.

“Got a girlfriend yet?” I ask. I figure there must be at least one. You can’t get
much better than a cowboy surfer with that adorable boy-next-door vibe, sweet dimples,
and ocean
-
blue eyes.

“Not yet, but I’m working on it.”

“You know, my friend Sage has a sister at State. Sierra’s a junior.” I raise my eyebrows
and watch as it registers on his face.

When it does, he smiles and says, “Older woman.” His head is in constant nodding mode
as he walks back to his room.

I waltz to the living room and plop down on the sofa next to Travis. He’s older than
Brady by a good ten years, taller and handsome, whereas Brady is just plain adorable.
Everything about him is darker, too. His hair, his eyes, even his demeanor. With good
reason, too.

“Sorry I blamed you about the seat,” I say.

He’s filling out what appears to be a job application. I’m hoping it’s for Thrusters
Lounge in Pacific Beach where I work and convinced him to apply.

“No worries,” Travis says and glances over with a smile that transforms his darkness
to light for a mere moment. I feel sorry for him that I haven’t seen much of that
since he arrived. He’s pretty much kept to himself, and I haven’t pushed.

“Why didn’t you say something?” I ask.

He shrugs and continues writing. We both know the reason, and it’s something we have
in common. We are both protectors.

“Is that app for Thrusters?”

He nods without looking up. I take the hint and stand up to leave but his voice catches
me. “Jax?”

“Yeah?”

He sets the pen down and sits up straight. “I hope you know how much I appreciate
what you’re doing for me.”

“I do,” I say. I can tell he has more to say, so I stay in the room. I try not to
let my eyes wander to the pile of clothes and shoes in the corner. It’s not his fault
he’s living out of a gym bag.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why are you letting me stay here, and why are you helping me?”

I don’t hesitate or think before answering. “Well, Brady’s a good kid and when he
asked, I couldn’t resist those dimples.”

He gives me a stare that tells me he’s not satisfied with my answer, which is honestly
partly true.

“C’mon, most people wouldn’t bother, especially for someone in my situation.”

“Haven’t you noticed? I’m not most people. Plus, I’m sort of selfish. Helping others
makes me feel good. It gives me a purpose…and I don’t have much else.” I don’t care
how that makes me sound or even if it’s a good reason.

“Whatever the reason, I thank you. You’re a good person, Jax.”

He goes back to his application, and I slip out of the room without saying anything.
His words move me, make me reflect. I sit in a chair by my bedroom window. My house
is not ocean front, but if I lean back and to the right, I can barely see the far
corner of the water. I stare at the one thing that has always brought me comfort,
and I consider walking over. I’ll be heading to Emily’s before long, so I decide against
it.

I grab my guitar and strum aimlessly, thinking about Travis and what he said. Thinking
about this morning, and Dale, even though I told myself I wouldn’t. I need to clear
my mind so I can enjoy time with my friends. As always, my thoughts are in a flurry,
trying to figure out what I want in life. I hear Travis’s words, “You’re a good person.”
It’s not the first time I’ve heard that, but it’s almost always from a stranger. I
have never considered myself a good or bad person. I just am and have always been
me. Sometimes I do crazy, stupid things; sometimes they turn out to be good and sometimes
they end badly, but as long as I stay true to my heart then I’m fine with myself,
no matter what other people think. After twenty years of friendship, Sage and Emily
still expect something more out of me. At least that’s how it feels.

A postcard from Memphis taped to the side of my computer catches my eye. It’s the
latest venue my father and his band, Lazy Uncles, are playing. More than I am, those
guys are his family. They are a mix of soul and country—soultry. I haven’t seen him
in six months, but I’m used to having a part-time father. It’s been that way since
the day I was born.

The summer after seventh grade, my mother shipped me off to Burbank to spend a week
with my dad. He’d returned home from touring with his band and said he needed time
with his little girl. He actually gasped when he saw how much I’d grown and changed.
It had been almost a year since I last saw him.

“So tall for a twelve-year-old,” he said.

“I’m thirteen, Daddy,” I answered with a hand on my hip. Really I was short for my
age, but he had no concept of children. “My birthday was last week.”

“Shit, well I guess we better go out for a celebration.”

I ignored the fact that he didn’t even acknowledge that he’d missed my birthday. I
was just happy that he wasn’t going to cook.

Going out for my birthday turned into going out with some of his Lazy Uncle bandmates
and their women. They ate, drank, talked, and swore as if I wasn’t even there. Part
of me reveled in that rock-star aura—as though I was all grown up and part of the
group. But another part of me couldn’t help but see how whacked it was for a tween-aged
girl to be around that type of influence.

When we all went back to Dad’s house, the party continued. I sat on the couch and
played with his new kitten. I swear he only got it to entice me to want to come for
the week. He was right. I named her JES, after the three coolest future seventh graders:
Jax, Emily, and Sage. I wondered what they were doing without me there to make things
fun. I could picture Emily, still playing with dolls, pretending to be a mommy. And,
Sage was probably doing extra credit even though she already had straight A’s.

Jes and I played with her toys, but she got bored after a while and fell asleep. Dad
and the other men listened to music tracks, while the women were in the kitchen complaining
about them. I knew because I listened when I went in to get a soda. Anita, the only
one to convince a Lazy Uncle to get married, smiled at me and asked if I was doing
okay.

“Fine,” I said.

She twisted a piece of her hair between long, clicking fingernails. “It’s getting
late. I bet you want some time alone with your dad,” she said.

I shrugged, “I guess, but we don’t know each other very well.”

Her face went flat. She stared at me unsure what to say, so I walked back to the living
room.

Back on the couch, I sipped my Dr. Pepper and petted Jes, who was still asleep in
a ball. My dad had left the room while I was in the kitchen. Keith, the bass player,
came over with Brenda, his girlfriend. They sat in chairs opposite me, passing a joint
back and forth. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen someone smoking pot. The smell appealed
to me more than the cigarettes my dad smoked. Once I’d taken one of his cigarettes
and smoked it in the bathroom. I felt cool doing it even though it made me cough.
But then I remembered Dad’s bad breath and decided not to take up the habit.

“Can I try?” I said to Keith, wondering how different it would be from a cigarette.

They both jerked their heads to the side, mouths gaped open.

“How old are you, kid?” Keith asked.

Before I could answer, Brenda said, “Honey, why do you want to try this stuff?”

“Because I wonder what it’s like.” That was a growing trend for me—wondering—and it
was only the beginning.

“It’s not good, kid,” Keith said as if I were an idiot.

“You’re doing it,” I said.

He seemed to enjoy me challenging him. He gazed at Brenda with a playful smile.

“Don’t,” she said.

Keith leaned over, joint in hand, and reached out to me. I almost had my fingers on
it when my dad appeared in the doorway.

“What the fuck, man?”

Keith pulled back. “I was just messing around, Rich. I wasn’t gonna do it.”

“Everybody get the hell out of my house. Party’s over.” Dad walked over to our seating
area. “You want to get my visiting rights taken away?” He kicked the chair Keith was
in.

Keith jumped up from his seat. “Yeah, man, because everything was going so fucking
perfect before that happened. We were about to play another game of Candyland!”

After the house cleared, Dad sat next to me on the couch. “He’s right, you know?”

I nodded.

“You probably think I’m a pretty shitty dad.”

I shook my head. “You’re not a shitty dad.”