Page 15 of Nights Without Night
One night, we went down to the beach when it was late and dark. The sea was a pool of ink, the sound of it washing in and out a secret call. On Isadoro’s dare, we’d stripped our clothes and ran into the water, the coolness a relief from the thick summer air.
The half-moon had been a bowl of rice perched on the black. We’d swam around, free in the salt and the waves, pulling each other under in a familiar game.
We’d been our child selves, free of the ties tugging at us beyond the water.
When we tired and let ourselves drift, I remember Isadoro swimming close to me. Remember the moon in his eyes. The way his wet skin had felt against mine. It had almost been a kiss. Almost. But I couldn’t do that to myself. Not again. Not when he was leaving and he wasn’t in love with me back.
Who would have thought that I would be able to resist the pull of the moon at eighteen, and cave so many years later, caught completely in its tide.
CHAPTER THREE
I can’t help the tension that has me on edge during the next few days. Isadoro doesn’t initiate anything, and I don’t know if I’m relieved or not. I have trouble concentrating in class and isn’t that ironic. After years of learning how to compartmentalize Isadoro, he’s seeping through every crack.
As much as I like to hang out with the people at college, sometimes they’re just too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to digest. Sometimes, what I need is to hang out with someone closer to my age and life experience, that’s been chewed up and spit out a couple of times by life.
I knock on Jacqueline’s—Jack’s—door. A thirty-year-old police officer in the city, she’s seen what the world really has to offer. Estranged from her father after she ran away from home with her twin brother after he came out, she has a resilience and drive anybody would admire.
“Come in!” Jack shouts from inside her apartment instead of opening the door.
“Aren’t you in the police force? Shouldn’t you be a little more careful about stranger danger?” I tease. Jack is in the kitchen fixing snacks, and I go straight in to put the six-pack I brought into the fridge.
“I’m going to stranger danger your ass. Sit down, the game’s about to start.”
“You want a beer?”
“I’ve got a pair in there,” she says, her short, dark hair bobbing a little as she nods at the freezer. She’s tall and wiry, chin pointy and features a little small for her face, giving her a sharp look she puts to good use. Though it’s covered up now, I know there’s a sleeve of tattoos on one of her arms, and the beginning of another on the other. She’s also one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. I’ve never seen her in action, but I can guess she’s one hell of a cop.
We sit through the first half of the game in exasperated concentration as our team trails behind on the scoreboard. The opposition scores just before half-time is called, and we both groan.
“Beer,” Jack says, and I laugh, taking the empty ones back to the kitchen and getting us a fresh pair.
“Tough week?” I ask.
“Drunk puked on me yesterday. I fucking hate when that happens,” she grouses. I grimace.
“Ew.”
“Bah. It could have been worse.”
“How?”
“I didn’t get any on my lips this time.”
“Oh my fucking God. That is the grossest thing I’ve ever heard. Why is there so much puke involved in your job!” I groan.
“Well, that was still when I was a beat cop but, yeah. The job is a lot less glamorous than advertised.”
“You love it, though.”
“Love’s a strong word but, yeah. I can’t live without it. Think I’m about to get promoted too,” she says casually. I perk up, turning fully on the couch to face her.
“What! Jack! Congrats!” I say, punching her on the arm. She turns her head from where it's resting on the back of the couch, her body slumped into the cushions.
“Thanks,” she says. “It’s gonna be horrible. I can’t wait,” she laughs. I grin.
“You deserve it. We’ll celebrate when it happens!”
“Knock on wood,” she says, but she’s smiling too. “How’s it going with you, then? How’s Isadoro?” she asks. I immediately stiffen a little, turning back to face the TV.
