Thirty Nights (American Beauty #1) (33 page)

“
Con toda mi vida
.”

With her whole life.
She holds my face with her nutmeg-scented hands and marks a cross in the air, over my forehead.

“
Bendita,
” she whispers as she blesses me. She stands slowly and takes my hand as we trudge to the door. At the threshold, she kisses my cheeks and combs my hair with her fingers.

“I love you,
Mamá
.”

She has earned it.

Maria closes her eyes and puts her hands together in prayer.
Keep my girl safe, keep her safe.

* * * * *

In the car, Reagan takes over with the plan for my last two stops. I wait outside Aiden’s house while she packs my things. I recite the periodic table in English, Spanish and Italian as I wait. Finally, she bursts out with my rucksack, Benson on her heels. He looks severe but holds out his hand. I take it.

“Would it be futile to ask you to ignore everything you heard today?” Benson’s voice is staccato as if he wishes he could say more.

“I could ignore what I heard but not what he admitted. Whatever his reasons, the price was too high.”

Benson looks like he’s choking on unspoken words.

“Goodbye, Benson. If you’re ever in England alone, call me.”

His forehead shifts and locks, his eyes widening in terror. “England?”

“It’s my only home now. Thank you, and thank Cora, for everything.”

“Solis may still make it,” he protests, running his hand through his hair. He doesn’t understand that even saving Javier couldn’t fix losing Aiden. “What about Bob? Your green card? Your future? You said you were signing,” Benson presses urgently. His voice is higher than I thought it capable of getting. I risk a peck on his cheek.

“Take care of him. Make sure he sees Corbin.”

I turn quickly and get in the car, while Benson stares at me without blinking. Reagan hits the gas. In the rearview mirror, I see Benson sprint inside. I leave a similar message for Corbin from Reagan’s phone. Bless its lithium heart, it waits until I hang up to die. We’re all running out of life.

In our apartment, I pack my parents’ treasures and clothes for the next two weeks. When I open my knickers drawer, his shirt button rolls forward. I shove it back. I watch everything outside of my body. When dreams end, unfortunately, they don’t kill you.

At PDX, there’s only one flight at 6:55 p.m. $2,050. It’s 6:10 now. How can a day undo four years in mere hours? But if lives have to end, let it be mine.
If I brought you to life, I want you to live it
, he said. The memory sends my chest into convulsions. I feel like I’m missing something vital, but I have no power to analyze it because his admission overrules everything. So many unknowns we still have about each other. It was a beautiful beginning amidst a most devastating end. The abyss of his extinguished light yawns under me, livid because I escaped it once. This time, the ravenous depths claim me as I fall.

I vomit in the restroom until nothing but acid comes out. Reagan holds me with words I don’t hear. By the security line, she picks up
The Oregonian
and looks at me, tears streaming from her eyes.

“Your tradition,” she sniffles, and tucks it inside my rucksack, probably next to my first newspaper that I bought in the States.

We hold each other until they call my name.
Elisa Snow
…exactly like in my nightmares, but Reagan is here until the end.

“Take this,” I say, pulling the camera he bought me off my neck. “These are all our spots, all our life. Go visit them for me sometime.”

Reagan takes the Nikon, sobbing.

“I love you with my life,” I tell her.

“I love you too. I’ll see you in two weeks. I’ll bring any American man I can find along the way to marry you and bring you back.”

Security attributes my pallor to anxiety and walks me to the gate. Reagan waves behind the liquid curtain of my tears until I can see her no more.

Inside the plane, I stuff my rucksack under the seat and stare out of the window unblinking. I don’t want to miss a glimpse of my American un-dream. In the distance, the sun sets over the West Hills that nestle his home. I wonder if my soul is still on the Rogue. It will never catch up with me in England. It will always float here, keeping tabs on the Solises, Reagan and
him
. I guess if you travel far enough, the soul splits.

Beneath me, America fades. Perhaps it’s the height or the hollowness inside, but on this flight, I’m not carrying ghosts. I am one. Shivering, I reach for my rucksack to get my scarf. Aiden’s dog tag comes out of my blouse but I ignore it, because as I unzip my pack, on the very top, held with a purple ribbon are the yellowed, sealed envelopes and a folded white note.

I reach for the note, wondering if it can bring me to life. My ghostly fingers make contact with the crisp piece of paper but they no longer touch. They simply work: grip, pick up, unfold. I read the unfamiliar slanted handwriting, one blurry letter at a time.

Elisa,

I’m breaking Mr. Hale’s rules by giving you his letters in hopes that they will lead you to the man you
know
, not the one you heard today.

Don’t make a mistake you will both regret for life.

Benson

Oh!

About the Author

Ani Keating is an attorney, daughter, sister and wife, living in the City of Roses (Portland, Oregon). When she is not in court or at the office helping clients sort through legal issues (and complaining about the photocopy machine), Keating explores her childhood passion for writing. Her first novel,
Thirty Nights
, is a sexy and heart-tugging story about love’s power to save and redeem us even at our darkest moments. Read it with a supply of Baci chocolates and English roses by your side.

You can connect with Ani on Twitter:
@A
niKeating
, and learn more about her and the story at
www.anikeating.com
.

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eBooks are
not
transferable.

They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B

Cincinnati OH 45249

Thirty Nights

Copyright © 2015 by Ani Keating

ISBN: 978-1-61923-128-3

Edited by Tera Cuskaden

Cover by Kanaxa

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
electronic publication: November 2015

www.samhainpublishing.com