Page 85 of Come Apart
"Perfect."
It's warm outside, but there's a pleasant breeze. The air smells faintly of salt and the sun is bouncing off the concrete. Alyssa digs her sunglasses out of her purse and slides them on. She's practically hiding behind them.
But still, she presses her hand against mine. She squeezes tight.
There has to be some way I can get her to open up here.
"You were at the movies when I called Saturday," I say.
She nods. "Yeah."
"What did you see?"
She swallows, squeezing my hand a little tighter. "Some thriller. It wasn't all that memorable."
"Where did you see it?"
She pulls her hand away. "What are you getting at?"
We walk past Third Street, past the long string of chain stores and restaurants.
I try to take her hand, but she keeps it pressed against her hip.
"Will you please tell me what it is that's upsetting you?" I ask.
She presses her thumb and forefinger together. "I recall you promising you wouldn't ask me anymore questions about if I'm okay or not."
"Fine. I won't ask any questions. But are you going to stay a million miles away or are you going to be here with me?"
Her voice lowers. "Hey, I'm trying. Also, I'm not the one who ran off to go save my ex-girlfriend."
Okay, I'm getting closer here.
"Is that really what's bothering you?"
She stops at the light. Second Street. Two blocks from Ocean Avenue, from the winding path overlooking the beach.
Alyssa takes a slow breath. "Part of it."
"Care to fill me in on the rest of it?"
She shakes her head, but she squeezes my hand again. The light changes and we walk across the street.
Her breath is slow and steady, but there's still dread in her expression. She squeezes my hand a little tighter, her head turned towards the ground.
We stop at the red light on Ocean Avenue. Alyssa opens her mouth like she's going to say something, but she takes a long sip instead.
The light turns, and we walk across the long street, to the path better known as Palisades Park. It's a mile or so of sidewalk sandwiched by greenbelt and a steep cliff that drops onto Pacific Coast Highway.
Alyssa walks to the edge of the path. She presses her hands against the railing. The ocean is maybe a quarter mile away and the skyline is an expanse of blue.
She takes another long sip of her drink. She turns to the street, pressing her back against the railing. She points to a restaurant on Santa Monica Boulevard. "That's where Ryan asked me to marry him."
"Yeah?"
She nods. "That was barely six months ago."
What is she trying to get at?
