Page 97 of Wilder Love
“Will God answer my prayers?”
“Maybe He will and maybe He won’t.”
“What’s the point in praying then?”
“You gotta keep the faith.”
On my wayhome from work, Remy’s song came on the radio. I call it her song because Bastian Cox was singing it. Not only was the song about her, she had obviously told him about the blue ghost fireflies and he’d used it in his lyrics. She hadn’t even mentioned the song to me and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it or the other songs from the album that I ended up downloading after I got home and showered. A Post-it note on the refrigerator informed me that my dad had gone to dinner with a few of his old surfing buddies.Don’t wait up, he’d joked.I might get lucky. The man was a comedian. I chuckled to myself as I crumpled up his note and tossed it in the trash. Then I retrieved it from the trash and flattened it out on the counter, smoothing my palm over it. I added it to my shoebox of memories and letters.
I had lied to Remy. Not all of her letters had gone unread while I was in prison. In the beginning, for the first six months, I read every letter she sent. I’d read them so many times I knew them by heart. Her letters were funny and sweet and selfless, a heartfelt attempt to buoy my spirits rather than dwell on whatever she was going through. I’d even penned responses, but I’d never sent them. I wanted her to live and to move on and to do big things, not stay stuck in the past, thinking about someone who could no longer give her a future. With five and a half years left to serve on my sentence, I had stopped reading her letters. I’d told myself that I was doing it for her, that it was in her best interest to cut all ties with me. And at the time, I’d truly believed that.
But now that I’d listened to “Blue Ghost”, it dawned on me that this Bastian guy had gotten to see another side of Remy that she’d kept hidden from me. If the lyrics were really about Remy, which I suspected they were, she hadn’t moved on with her life at all.
I decided to go surfing to clear my head and sort out my feelings about the song, and about Remy. As I stood at the top of the staircase leading to the beach, there she was, floating on her board. She turned her head, her eyes seeking me out as if she’d been expecting me. By the time I paddled out to her, I was seeing everything more clearly. I didn’t know what had changed, but something inside me shifted. I’d been so selfish and so self-absorbed, only dwelling on my own problems and not thinking about how my actions and careless words have been affecting Remy. Sometimes it’s the people you love the most that you end up treating the worst. And I loved Remy. I had never stopped loving her. But I’d stopped believing that I was good enough for her.
She gave me her Mona Lisa smile and I gave her my real one. “If it isn’t the Blue Ghost, haunting my dreams. How dare you star in all my dreams, Firefly?”
She sat up on her board, the one that I made for her, those ocean eyes locking onto mine. “If it makes you feel any better, you always stole the show in mine too. You heard Bastian’s song,” she guessed. I nodded. “What did you think of it?” She gnawed on her bottom lip, waiting to hear what I thought.
I looked out at the horizon. The sun was starting to sink into the sea, but we still had another hour or so of light to surf by. “It’s a beautiful song,” I said. “It reminds me of you. But I hope you weren’t sad for seven years. I never wanted that for you.” I turned my head to look at her. She was so sad and tragic and beautiful, like all her stories without happy endings. “I wanted you to be happy.”
“I know,” she whispered. “But the world was so cold and lonely without you.”
“Firefly. I’m here. Right beside you.”
“If I hadn’t come back, would you have looked for me?” She shook her head. “Don’t tell me. I already know the answer.”
“I thought I was doing the best thing for you. I thought you’d be happier without me.”
“That’s such a load of bullshit. I never took you for a coward.”
“I’m just being honest. My life has changed. Drastically. I have nothing to offer you anymore.”
“How can you even say that?Youare enough, Shane. It doesn’t matter if you’re working a demolition job or you’re a pro surfer.”
“I have no money, no prospects, no future to offer you. I’ve got nothing.”
“You’re such an idiot. Is that what this has been about?” She threw her hands up in the air. “Is that why you’ve been treating me like shit? Because ofmoney? All I’ve ever wanted was you. God, you’re so infuriating. I want to punch you.”
Her hands curled into fists and her eyes blazed with fury.
I laughed. I didn’t know why but it struck me as funny. She smacked my shoulder.
“It’s not funny.” She growled in frustration and punched the water. It made her look like a toddler throwing a tantrum. That made me laugh even harder.
She glared at me and I pretended to cower. Thinking she’d catch me off-guard, she tried to shove me off my board. When that failed, she took off, paddling hard for a wave. I was still laughing loudly enough for her to hear it. Which pissed her off even more. She popped-up on her board and flipped me two middle fingers which would have looked badass if she’d managed to keep her balance. I shook my head and clucked my tongue as she pitched over the nose and tumbled into the water. She came up spluttering, her hair plastered to her head, her middle finger in the air.
It was fucking fantastic.
I caught the next wave and did my arrogant little hair flip move for her entertainment. “I hope you faceplant,” she shouted as I zipped past her, riding that sweet spot. Why she was still hanging out in the impact zone getting slammed by waves was anyone’s guess.
God, I loved her.
We paddled back out, side by side. Her arms might be thin, but they were toned, and she had fierceness and determination on her side. We were nose and nose when we returned to the lineup. She gave me a triumphant smile. “Spaghetti arms, my ass.”
I chuckled and straddled my board, admiring the view. Remy’s back straight, head held high, the last rays of evening sun setting her skin aglow. She’d always been a warrior. Strong and brave and true. She’d never given up on me even when there had been times I’d given up on myself.
“I’m tired of being sad,” Remy said, stretching her arms over her head, her face tipped up to the sun, her lips curved into a smile. Midnight black hair brushed the top of her bikini bottom and her long, graceful neck was arched. So delectable, I was tempted to take a bite out of it.
