If I Can't Have You (3 page)

“Elliot.”

“Yeah, Mom. Elliot was nice enough to go and get me something cold to put on my head to make the swelling go down.”

Mom shakes her head. “Are you sure you don’t want me to run you to an Urgent Care before we take the tour.”

“No!” I say it fast and with a lot of force. “No I’m fine.”

I think she may be overreacting. It’s not like I’ve never had a goose egg before. I replay an incident from my childhood where there was a head on head collision with another six year old during a game of dodge ball and I had a goose egg as big as a golf ball. What I remember more vividly than anything is the emergency room doctor examining the bump and saying with a smile, “It’s just a little goose egg.”

The sun shines brightly and touches the highlighted tips of Elliot’s crown of gold. His hair shimmers and I notice his watery gray-blue eyes. My chest tightens and I feel the need to relieve myself from this embarrassing moment. Thank God, Mom beats me to it. “Well, sweetheart, you ready to get this tour over with?”

You freaking bet I am. “Yeah, Mom.”

Mom turns to Elliot. “Thanks for being so kind to my daughter.”

Elliot probes me with his eyes. I look away, nervous. “It’s no problem really. After all, I’m the one who hit her with the door. It was the least I could do.”

Mom gives me her you-better-be-polite look. “Robin, you should thank this young man.”

“I already did.” Mom purses her lips and her breathing is heavy and I know if I don’t do what I’m told I’m going to have to listen to her ranting for the rest of the tour. “Thank you, Elliot. Thank you for being so kind,” I say graciously.

I really am grateful that Elliot turned out to be such a nice guy. The guys I know that are gorgeous like him wouldn’t have been so kind. They would’ve hit me with the door and ran away laughing.

Elliot smiles brightly and my heart thumps, beating out of my chest. “No problem, Robin.” There’s a roll to the “R” when he says my name and it’s so sexy that heat rises to my cheeks and I feel like I’m baking in an oven. “Maybe I’ll see you around campus sometime.”

I hope so. “Yeah, Maybe.”

In all reality, I know I probably won’t—see him around campus I mean. There are thousands in my freshman class and who knows how many total for all grades. The small flicker of hope inside of me dwindles away and I frown. Why is it that when you have a random encounter with a gorgeous guy your chances of seeing him again always go from possibly to not at all in a matter of seconds? The thought of it totally bums me out.

I’ve had that before with the lifeguard who saved my life three summers ago. But the thing is; I still see him. Every year when I walk onto the beach he flashes me his perfect smile from his bright red lifeguard chair. “Hey, kid,” he greets me with a chuckle. “Am I going to have to keep a close eye on you today?”

What I always want to tell him is; I hope so. But I never do. I usually end up blushing and look down at my feet, mumbling a string of incoherent words. Elliot makes me feel the same way and I just met him. He makes me feel like I’m a scattered all over inside, bits and pieces of cubed cheddar placed sporadically on a party platter. I gaze at him intensely and he kind of reminds me of Drake, the lifeguard who saved my life and it’s unnerving. I swallow hard and start playing with my fingertips. Will I ever be able to act like myself around gorgeous guys? I snort softly. Probably not.

Elliot smirks and grazes his teeth along his lower lip. “I look forward to it, Robin.” He starts backing away. “Have a good tour. I’ve got my own to get to.”

“You’re a freshman?” I shout as he distances himself from me.

“Yep!”

Elliot smiles and disappears from my view and a wide smile curls on my lips.

For my sake I hope that the “maybe” of me seeing him again turns into a definitely.

~3~

Six Months Later

Missing someone gets easier every day because even though it's one day further from the last time you saw each other, it's one day closer to the next time you will.
 
~Author Unknown~

“Robin Sue Mason! You’d better be up there packing!” Mom shouts from the bottom of the steps.

“I am!” No I’m not.

“Good because we’re leaving in forty-five minutes with or without you!”

I glimpse over my shoulder at my empty suitcase then back at my open laptop. A tiny grin crawls across my lips when I read the post on Drake Robertson’s Facebook wall.

Another summer in Paradise.

I’d asked him if he’d be my friend on Facebook last summer and I honestly didn’t think he’d say yes. But he did and I remember more clearly than anything the palpitations my heart made after he’d answered me.

Heat rises to my cheeks and my face tingles as I admire his picture. He saved my life three summers ago and we’ve been to same beach cottage in Paradise, Maine every summer since. But he’s never looked or thought of me the way I think of him. In fact, most of the times he’s seen me he’d give me a playful punch to the arm and say, “What’s up, kid? You surviving vacation this year?”

I’d roll my eyes and reply, “Yes.” But that I really want to say is I know I’ll survive because you’ll be there to save me.

He’s my own personal superhero. Or at least I like to think of him that way. And it seems like the only time I’m accident prone is when he’s around.

Most of all, I wish he’d look at me like I’m not a kid. Hopefully this year he will because I don’t look the same as I did last year, much less three years ago. I hit puberty late, not filling out until a month before my senior year. Now I feel like I look more womanly, with curves and a b cup-size I can actually fill out.

I close my laptop and plop down next to my suitcase and sigh. If Mom hopes to leave in forty-five minutes, I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint her because I have no idea what to pack.

Just then Whitney bursts through the door singing, “
We’ve got two tickets to Paradise!”
I laugh, falling onto my side as she drops her duffle bag onto the floor. Whit is always so animated. “What the heck are you doing?” she asks glancing from my suitcase to my face. “You haven’t packed anything!”

“I don’t know what to bring,” I whine and puff out my bottom lip.

Whit rolls her hazel eyes. “I’ll help you.” She starts rummaging through my drawers. “I think I’m more excited about this vacation than you are,” she says, elbows deep in my underwear drawer.

“Beats serving cones at the Frosty Dream.” Whitney has a summer job at the local ice cream shop.

“You got that right,” she huffs. “I think sand in my bikini is more appealing than sticky, melted ice cream in my hair.”

I laugh. “So true.”

Whitney stops rummaging and picks up a pair of my undies, turns around and holds them up. “Dude, what’s with all the granny panties? You don’t have one cute pair of underwear in this drawer?” She stretches out the pair of white bikini briefs in her hands. “Haven’t you ever heard of
Victoria’s Secret
?”

“And what is her secret?” I ask sarcastically.

“She designs cute underwear,” Whit says as she slingshots the underwear at my face.

The panties skim my cheek and I pick them up and toss them over my shoulder. “Whit, you know I like to be comfortable and I can’t be comfortable with some skimpy pair of underwear riding up my crack. Besides, nobody is going to be looking at my underwear.”

She grabs a handful of my skivvy’s and shoves them into my suitcase. “You never know.” She gives me a mischievous wink. “Maybe Drake will decide you’re too hot for your own good this year.”

“I doubt it.”

She opens my bathing suit drawer and frowns. “And you don’t own one cute bathing suit either. Geez Robs. You’ve finally got a rockin’ bod and you never show it off.”

“I don’t feel the need to.”

Whitney picks up two bathing suits and tosses them at me and I fold them and put them in my suitcase. “You can borrow one of my bikinis.” I make a face and she shakes her head, knowing exactly what I’m thinking. Wearing your bff’s bathing suit bottom is still kind of like sharing her underwear. “Chill, babe. It’s brand new. Still has the tag on it and everything.”

There’s a knock on the door. “You guys ready to go?” Dad’s muffled voice wafts through the door.

“Ten minutes,” I tell him.

Dad’s footsteps carry down the hall and I get up, thumbing through my closet, trying to decide what outfits to bring. I pull out a few sundresses and Whit plops down next to my suitcase. “I can’t wait to see this Drake guy in the flesh,” Whitney muses.

I pick up a hot pink halter on a wire hanger and point the hanger at Whitney accusingly. “Don’t you say a word about anything to him. You hear me?”

She holds her hands up like I’m pointing a gun at her. There’s a stick up at the ‘Mason Corral’. I am the outlaw and Whit is the damsel in distress. “Hey, my lips are sealed sister.” She lowers her hands. “But I think this guy should know that you’ve never let another guy hold a candle to him for the last three years.”

I’ve dated a few other guys throughout high school and for some odd reason I always wind up dumping them or comparing them to Drake. I don’t know why I do it.

No. Yes I do. It’s because not one of them has ever made me feel the way he has.

“That’s because no guy our age can hold a candle to him.” I take the pink halter off the hanger and place it in the suitcase. “When you see him, you’ll see.”

Whitney sighs. “My lil Robin is crushing on an older man. It’s very
Lolita
of you.”

I giggle at her comment and grab some jeans off the shelf in my closet. I wish that Drake would look at me or think of me the way Humbert does Lolita. I know that’s a strange comparison, but that’s how I feel. He’s never looked at me with lust or adoration, but you never know. Maybe this summer will be different. Maybe this summer he’ll actually see me as someone other than the kid he’d saved from drowning once.

When we’d gone back for vacation the following year, I assumed he’d forgotten all about me. I’d gone down to the beach to watch the sunset like I do every year when we first arrive in Paradise and I was surprised to see Drake sitting close to the spot I usually sat in. But… and this was the part that sucked; he was there with another girl. It was the same lifeguard with the black hair I’d watched him kiss the summer before.

They both turned to look at me as I sat down a few feet away like I’d just interrupted some romantic interlude. But I didn’t interrupt anything as far as I was concerned. I came here every year. Sat in the same spot every year. They were mooching on my territory.

For a moment Drake and I locked eyes and the spark of anger in his baby blues cut into me deep, like he was stabbing me with a knife, twisting and carving out my insides. I was a Christmas ham and he was slicing away my layers every second that he kept his gaze on me. It hurt seeing him look at me like that and I felt my tear ducts kick into overdrive. I blanched, looking away so he wouldn’t see me cry.

Then the sound of Drake and the girl’s whispers carried over to me and swelled in my ears. I’d wiped my tears away in a hurry and stared up into the sky. Then I closed my eyes listening to the sound of rushing water and a rustling noise as Drake and the girl he was with gathered up their stuff. Footsteps scuffed against the sand and I kept my eyes closed until the sound of the footsteps stopped. I opened one eye and noticed Drake staring at me. “Kid? Is that you?”

“My name is Robin,” I said gruffly.

“I remember. The singing bird.” He’d left out the beautiful part. I assumed because the girl who was with him would probably be a little upset about that. Either that or he forgot that he said it. But I didn’t. That was the best memory I had of him. I’d replayed the words so many times in my head I thought that by now I’d be sick of it. I wasn’t and never would be.

He turned toward the girl with him and mumbled something. “This is Sydney,” he said introducing me to his girlfriend.

“Hi.”

She smiled. “Hi.”

They started walking down the beach and Drake shouted over his shoulder, a wide grin on his face. “Try not to drown this year, Robin!” he shouts with a chuckle.

I didn’t answer him. I just sat there and let the hurt consume me, crashing into me just like the white caps into the toasted almond sand.

~4~

A goodbye isn't painful unless you're never going to say hello again.

 
~Author Unknown~

After stopping three times for bathroom breaks and gas and a six hour car ride we finally make it to Paradise. Whit and I unpack our suitcases while my parents go next door to say talk to the Marshall’s. The same family that vacations with us every year.

Dad and John Marshall have been friends since college. And they thought it would be a good idea to start these vacations every summer as a way of keeping in contact. It is a good idea. Dad says that sometimes when you grow up you lose contact with your friends when everyone goes their separate ways. I look at Whit as she folds up a gold bikini and puts it in a drawer. I hope that doesn’t happen with us.