Page 49 of Chasing Stars
She sighs, turning around and walking over with my bowl of stew. “You know I hate talking about that day, Miles.” Her eyes glisten, and I instantly worry that she might cry.
“I know,” I croak.
“We nearly lost you. And to think you still ride that damn surfboard.” She swats my arm.
“But you didn’t lose me, Mom. I’m right here,” I urge her. “I just need to know. It feels important. I need to know if you know who he is. What is his name?” I’m almost afraid to hear her answer.
My mom staresat me for a moment too long before she speaks. “Oh, Miles.” Her gaze is watery as she takes a deep breath. “He died that day.” Then her tears spill over.
I feel like I got the wind knocked out of me. A knot forms in my throat, and I swallow hard. “What?” I whisper. “He died? Rescuing me?” I blink at her—words aren’t registering properly.
My mother nods, turning away from me.
Tightness claws at my chest and I press my fist against it.My savior died rescuing me.
My fork clatters against my plate as I shove it away. I angrily run my hands through my hair, gripping the back of my neck to hold myself together. I look up, my eyes burning. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”
She winces. “I… Miles, we didn’t want to upset you. You had been through so much.” She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “He collapsed on the beach right after pulling you in. Heart attack from exertion they told us.”
“Well, who was it?” I demand. My anger is misdirected but I am so mad I can’t see straight. “I want a name.”
“I don’t remember his name, Miles, I wasn’t the one who spoke to the authorities. He was gone by the time they broughtyou to us. I think your father spoke to someone but even then, it wasn’t clear.” She keeps her voice calm. I don’t know why she’d lie but I’m still not sure I believe her.
I inhale a deep breath and nod. My mother pulls out the chair next to me and sits. She covers my balled up fist with her hand, her face softer now.
“After it happened, we contacted the police to ask the man’s wife if she would see us. If we could properly thank her. Your father sent flowers on our behalf to a house in town, but I just don’t know, Miles. I wish I did. We sent a card with a phone number, in case she wanted to call us. She did.” She pauses and sighs. “She asked us to stop reaching out. It was too painful for her and her young daughter.” My mother’s voice remains steady. “I never did get to meet them.”
Daughter.The word echoes in my mind.The family on the beach.
I swallow a hard lump in my throat. “How old was the daughter?” The back of my eyes sting.
“I’m not sure. Younger than you for sure.” My mom exhales. “Is that all you want to ask?” Her pained expression lets me know that it’s time I drop this.
I drag my hands down my face as if I can wipe the raw emotions away. “Yeah. That’s all,” I grumble, picking my fork back up and taking a bite of stew but it sours my stomach immediately. I force myself to swallow before pushing the plate away once again.
The front door shuts loudly and I startle. “What the hell is in the front yard?”
Dad’s home.
25
JENNA
“What if they don’t like me?” I wince as I ask myself in the mirror. I’ve worked hard throughout my life to not worry about what people think of me. As my mother used to say, I’m champagne. I don’t need to be everyone’s cup of tea. But every once in a while, self-doubt creeps its way back in and I worry I’m not enough—that people won’t see the good in me or like me the way I am.
All week after Miles and I decided on our costumes, I stressed over whether people would think it was my cliché idea. Would they think I’m trying too hard? Would they compare me to Miles’s ex-wife? Would Miles get to the party and run off with his friends, leaving me to fend for myself? My anxiety is at an all-time high, and suddenly, I don’t want to go anymore. Curling up on the scratchy sofa that my mother loved in 1997 and watching my new TV sounds like a much better way to spend a crisp fall night.But I’m sure it’s just the nerves talking so I swallow them. Everything will turn out fine, I’m sure of it.
Getting ready was actually kind of fun. I put on my nicest black leggings, a pair of heels, and a black workout top that could pass for Sandy’s crop top. I curled my hair and my eyelashesand painted my lips with bright red lipstick. I should feel hot—hell, I can even admit that I look hot—but I’m still feeling a little insecure.
The doorbell rings and a dog barks. Miles. And Pete. Miles suggested bringing Pete over while we went to the party. Then, he could stay over, and we could get an early start on some projects tomorrow. The thought of waking up next to Miles again—now that so much has changed—makes me nervous. I know he’d never force me to do something I don’t want to do; that’s not the problem. The problem is, I want to doall the thingswith Miles. In the bedroom and out. It’s really messing with my plans to leave this place.
I suck in a breath and swing open the door. Miles stands there, looking like he stepped right out of 1956—tight black jeans, black Converse, and a fitted black T-shirt that shows off every inch of his trim physique. His curls are unlike I’ve ever seen them, slicked back in full Danny Zuko style. He looks hot. Pete barks in excitement and jumps on me, but Miles is paralyzed, looking at me in the same way I’m taking him in.
“Wow,” he breathes. “Jenna. You look amazing.”
I grin, tension melting away. “So do you.”
“Really. You nailed it,” he says, snapping out of his trance and walking inside. He tugs me close and kisses my red lips.
