Souvenir (21 page)

Thirty-two

A
FTER FOUR HOURS OF DRIVING AWAY FROM THE FIASCO WITH
C
LAY
, M
EG
was thick into south-central Florida under a sky whitewashed by heat. Colorless grassland flanked the pale gray highway for as far as she could see. Here, long miles away from anything that would attract a tourist’s dollar, the landscape looked desolate. She hadn’t seen another car—except abandoned ones wearing rust like barnacles—in an hour or more.

There was a numbing simplicity to the view and the hum of her tires on the road. She was nowhere, she was no one, she was contained, she was safe.

She was lost.

The road came to a T and she slowed the car, then stopped, unable to decide which way to go next. She needed some road signs—sticks with placards nailed to them if nothing else, signs with arrows pointing the way to “Salvation” or “Cure” or “Do-Over.” What she saw, though, was tall grasses and shocked, barren, limbless trees reaching skyward. A toppled jug that once held radiator fluid. The carcass of a washing machine, a few yards away. She turned off the Lexus and got out.

Heat like a blast furnace enveloped her; this part of the state was its own special hell, it seemed, with its roads to nowhere and its heat and its dust. She began to sweat immediately, tilted her face upward to the blank sky so that the sweat streamed into her hair and ears. There was a fetid smell, as of small fish and crustaceans decomposing in the hidden swamp, and the only noise was the sound of grass against grass, a slight hiss in the barest of breezes.

She wanted to yell something, to say, “Why, God?” To make promises, barter her way back to good health. She would welcome the devil, even, if he was the one to offer her a commutation of her sentence. Anything, anything but the failure of her body and of her efforts to do right, to be right.

“Please,” she whispered.

Nothing.

Thirty-three

“M
ODEL THE BIKINI FOR ME
,” K
YLE SAID, AS SOON AS HE AND
S
AVANNAH
were inside the hotel room. “You brought the flowered one, right?”

“What? Like, now?”

“Yeah now.” He put his arms around her shoulders and pushed her playfully backward, against the wall. With his full body pressed against her, he kissed her—first just lips, then tongue, too. This felt fabulous; this felt right. He drew back. “I just want to see you in it; been thinkin’ about it all day.” He pushed his hips in tighter, and she felt the hard length of him, bulkier, she thought, than her friend Jonathan. Because Kyle was older, maybe?

She liked this, what they were doing; the thought of changing into her bikini and modeling it for him, though, the thought of being scrutinized, embarrassed her. “You can see me in it when we go to the pool.”

“No, no,” he kissed her neck. “It’s not the same in public. C’mon, please?” He kissed her mouth again. “Do it for me?”

“I’m shy,” she protested.

“Oh, shy, huh?” He stepped back a little and looked into her eyes. “Well, you don’t look shy—but okay. Okay, I think I know what to do about that.”

He took her hand and led her to the bed. “Have a seat,” he said, stripping off his T-shirt and dropping it onto the top of the low bureau. “I know just what you need.”

His skin was darker in the room’s dim light, his nipples tiny and hard. She wanted to slide her hands over him, palms wide open, every nerve connecting with his trim muscles and solid shoulders….

“Here we go,” he said, pulling a baggie from his pocket. “Inside this little bag is the recipe for relaxation.”

It took Savannah a second to understand just what exactly was in there. “Oh—I don’t—I mean, I’ve never—”

“No? Well, there’s always a first time, right?”

Not for her. She wasn’t stupid. Drugs screwed up your brain, and she happened to like hers the way it was. But…to be fair, pot wasn’t as bad as a lot of the other stuff. Supposedly it wasn’t addictive at all—and, she recalled, they’d legalized it in Canada. Maybe she should just try it
once
, and then she’d know firsthand if it was something she wanted to avoid in the future.

She said, “Okay, yeah—first time for everything.” If it helped her relax, that would be a good thing. She wouldn’t
need
to do it again, after they were…more familiar.

Kyle took a thin white joint from the bag and lit it up, then he sat down next to her. “The trick is to start small, right? Put it to your mouth like this,” he showed her, “then pull in just a little toke. Here, try it.”

She imitated his actions, feeling foolish, but adventurous too.

“Just breathe it in and hold it as long as you can,” Kyle said. When she managed to do it just as he said, not coughing or anything, she felt pleased with herself.

Letting out her breath, she laughed. “That isn’t so hard. And I actually like the smell.”

“Sweet Mary Jane,” he said. “Okay, try it again, but take a bigger toke.”

This time she coughed a little as she inhaled, but did it once more and succeeded. Kyle slid his hand along her bare thigh, pushing her gypsy skirt up until she was sure her panties must be showing. She held the smoke in as long as she could, then blew it out. Piece of cake. “Again,” Kyle said, and this time she felt like a pro. The smoke was hot and harsh in her throat, but strangely smooth, too. And she didn’t feel different at all.

“I don’t think it’s doing anything,” she said.

“Give it a minute, virgin girl; it’s good shit, I promise you that.”

Virgin girl, he’d called her. If this stuff worked like he said, if it relaxed her, she thought she could pull off acting experienced; then he’d never know she was a sexual virgin as well.

When Kyle took his turn, she put her left hand on his back, experimentally, then ran it upward, over his shoulder to his neck, caressing the spot just below his right ear. She’d heard guys liked to be touched here—who told her that? She couldn’t remember, and she wasn’t sure if Kyle liked it or not, but she liked doing it.

He grabbed her right hand and pulled it over to his chest, then pushed it onward, down his belly—he had other ideas, better ones. She let him guide it to the trail of hair she’d thought of so often that she felt she already knew it intimately.

“Your turn.” He handed her the joint and leaned back on the bed, creating a gap between his belly and the waistband of his shorts. Savannah took the joint with her left hand, put it to her lips and inhaled, her eyes all the while watching her right hand with fascination. She could do it, she could slide it right down into that gap anytime she wanted…

“Careful now,” Kyle said, and she thought at first that he meant her hand, but he was talking about the joint, which had gotten very short. He took it from her, took one more hit, then got up quickly to go put it out. When he sat down again, he reached for her shirt and tugged it up. She lifted her arms reflexively and the shirt came right off.

“Now go change,” he said. “I’ll wait right here.”

She hardly knew that she was on her feet and in the bathroom pulling her bikini out of her purse, but suddenly she was. The surprise of it made her laugh. In the mirror she looked the same as always, but she felt giddy and light. “It works,” she called out. The rest of her clothes came off fast, and she was in the bikini without a second thought. He was going to love what he saw, she decided, smiling at her reflection. Who knew pot gave you such confidence? She glanced at her purse, at the bottle of lemon-juice solution meant to prevent pregnancy if you rinsed with it just before sex, and decided it was too awkward to bother with. She’d ask if he brought condoms—and if he hadn’t, it wasn’t that big a deal. Nobody got pregnant the first time; half of her mom’s patients were women who couldn’t seem to get pregnant no matter how hard they tried.

“Okay, babe, here I am,” she said as she left the bathroom and strode back into the room. She stopped in surprise. Kyle was still there on the bed, but he was sitting against the headboard, naked.

He said, “Oh, wow—stand right there.”

Savannah stood still; she felt that’s all she
could
do.

“Now untie the top—that’s it.” He stared, then looked up at her face and smiled. “Check me out,” he pointed to his lap. “Didn’t I tell you? This is what you do to me. Now just, like, slide your hand into the bottoms.”

One part of her felt as turned on as he clearly was, but she also felt strangely disconnected from the whole thing; part of her mind seemed to be outside her, wondering if this was how foreplay was supposed to go. She was excited but a little confused.

“Kyle, I don’t—”

“Come on over here,” Kyle said. “Am I freaking you out? Sorry.”

Savannah went eagerly, ready for the passionate kissing and stroking, the body-to-body contact that was
her
idea of foreplay. Kyle pulled her down beside him, and for a minute—or it might have been longer, it was hard for her to pay attention to time—they kissed and he stroked her back, then her breasts, then lower.

“You like it, don’t you?” he said, his voice a rough whisper.

His touch was a little rough too, and she wasn’t sure if she liked it or not, but she said, “Oh, yeah.”

“You are
so
hot—I knew you would be. I knew it’d be just like this. Now let me feel that sweet mouth.”

He shifted and reached for her head, pulling her down so that she had to catch herself with her hands to keep her balance. And then she was staring right at him, at the erection she’d been so curious about; well, she was seeing it now! But she had no good idea how to do what he wanted; she felt muddled and a little intimidated and a little ridiculous—but fine, she thought, how hard can it be? And the question set her to giggling. How
hard
can it be? She pushed away from him and sat back on her heels, hands over her mouth, unable to stop laughing.

Kyle got onto his knees too. “Chicks don’t usually laugh at it,” he said, then he pushed her a little. “Lay down.”

When she started to turn over onto her back, he said, “No, on your stomach.”

She did it, still giggling a little. He peeled off her bikini bottoms and then pushed her legs open. “That’s such a great view…” She felt his hand between her legs again, then suddenly his whole weight was on her, pressing down and in with such abruptness that she stopped laughing and gasped in pain.

“Not a laughing matter, is it?” he whispered, his mouth against her ear. She could tell he was teasing, that he meant this to feel good—it was supposed to feel good, that’s what it was all about, right?—but it didn’t. It stung badly at first, and then it hurt every time he thrust.

“You on the pill?” Kyle asked after a while, she had no idea how long.

“No,” she gasped, trying to just endure. It would feel better next time, she was positive; she should have told him she was a virgin so he’d take it slower.

“Bad girl,” he said, pulling out and off of her, and then he let out a series of short groans. She felt hot fluid on her lower back—better there than inside.

He plopped down beside her. “Man, you make me crazy,” he said, and she watched how his dimple deepened when he grinned. “I got carried away. Now, how old are you really?”

“Twenty, remember?”

“Give me a little credit.”

How did he
know
? “Eighteen, okay? I’m eighteen.”

“You’re sure?” He trailed a finger across her belly.

She started to laugh again—something about the way he raised his one dark eyebrow and gave her that dimpled smirk. “Okay, fine—I’ll be sixteen in a couple weeks.” There, she’d said it. Now he knew the truth.

“You’re
fifteen
?” he said. “Fifteen? You’re not shitting me?”

She shook her head.

“Oh, man. Fifteen.” His face clouded, and she was scared, suddenly, that she’d gone too far with her deception. “Was this your first time?” he said. “For, you know, the deed?”

“I’m sorry, I should’ve said—”

“No, babe, it’s cool.” His smile returned. “You just can’t tell anyone, right?”

“But Rachel and her sister already know. They brought me here.”

“Do they know how old I am?”

“Huh-uh.”

He pulled her against him so that their hips were pressed together. “So then,” he kissed her neck, “life is good.”

A
S STUPID AS THE THOUGHT SEEMED TO HER
, S
AVANNAH EXPECTED THAT
when she got home Sunday afternoon her mom would look at her and
know.
She had so little experience with outright deception; guilt of this measure felt strong enough to be smelled, if not seen. She knew before she walked in, though, that she had extra time to disguise any traces: both of her parents’ cars were gone.

As she was supposed to do, as the minute she was in the house she called her mom; she got voice mail, and left a message to say she was home. For all anyone knew, she could be calling from Iceland and making the claim. They were so irritatingly
sure
she’d be responsible and honest…which was her own fault, for having been that way all along. Yet, taking advantage of their trust made her feel almost as weird as she felt about having just spent a whole night with a guy, smoking pot and having sex. Deception wasn’t her style any more than drugs and sex were. Who had she become, in the short space of twenty hours?

She flopped down on her bed and stared up at the ceiling. Her thigh muscles ached, she was surprisingly sore between her legs, and her brain felt sluggish. Her heart, though, seemed fuller than it ever had before. Yes, she’d deceived her parents and she’d smoked pot and she’d tried out most every sexual thing Kyle wanted, and maybe all that was out of character for her—but that was the old Savannah. The new Savannah had a sexy, funny, older boyfriend who thought she was
scorching
, who said, when he dropped her off a couple blocks from the house, that he was afraid he would never be able to get her out of his mind. The way he’d looked at her—as if she was the best, most important thing in his life—gave her butterflies even now, just remembering it.

The new Savannah was smart enough to use whatever she needed to get what she wanted, just like the old one; only the stakes had changed. Laying there on her flowered bedspread, she vowed not to lie any more than she had to, vowed to stay clearheaded and drug free in the future (if only so she’d remember all the details better), and vowed to be the best girlfriend Kyle ever had. With this happy thought in mind, she closed her eyes and caught up on a few badly needed hours of sleep.