Nowhere Girl (Foundlings Book 1) Page 9

  We were silent, but my thoughts were screaming at me, invading my mind with emotions I couldn’t handle.

  The crimson and rust glow of the setting sun melted into the rippling water within the marina. There were several sailboats tied to slips and moorings, with even more heading in toward the small space of breakwater. The muggy breeze was welcome against my dry skin.

  I studied my silent partner while approaching the long iron fence along the marina wall and decided to keep walking. His hands seemed anxiously stuffed in his pockets as he walked almost at my side, a change from the expected cool demeanor he normally exhibited. I stepped onto the rock path of the breakwater, the narrow route providing a buffer between the untamed Gulf and the peaceful marina.

  I counted my steps…thirty-six…forty…and sat along the edge, my toes tangling into the warm air of the Gulf with my back toward my new home. Jameson’s right thigh pushed against my left leg as he sat beside me, his hands balancing his weight behind him on the path. With my hands knotted and tucked into my lap, I quietly observed the mirrored sunset that decorated the water. The quiet crackle of Jameson’s voice broke the comfortable silence.

  “Last weekend,” Jameson paused. “That was really great, Soph.”

  “Yeah,” I admitted in reluctant agreement.

  More silence.

  I turned to look at Jameson, who hadn’t hidden the fact he was watching me with the same curiosity I held toward him.

  “So my aunt’s boyfriend,” I nervously indulged his silent request of me. “He’s this rich guy who owns a real estate company down here. He’s fine, I guess. He’s nice enough to me. He doesn’t ask any questions and doesn’t try to be my dad.”

  “I know him.” Jameson nodded.

  More silence. However, Jameson continued to watch me with an expression of curiosity that tickled my neck with warmth. I pulled my knees up to my chest, resting my chin against them as I exhaled. My gaze slowly returned to the water.

  “I had a panic attack last night,” he admitted with a whisper. “I had this dream about my parents or something and I woke up screaming. It was just too real.”

  “What happened to them?” I probed, hoping he would indulge my interest, but his head shook as it hung forward from his shoulders.

  “Ah,” he groaned as he lifted his face back to my level, “I can’t.”

  The sunset dimmed, fading away and taking our comfortable silence along with it. I came close to snapping, demanding to know what Jameson wanted to discuss, the urgency of his visit, or even just the reason why he interrupted my relaxing bath on a school night. The solemn expression upon his chiseled face suggested that demands from me weren’t welcomed.

  “Sometimes,” I swallowed, inhaling deeply to ground myself before continuing, “I sort of hope for the nightmares.”

  It was silent, but for the steadying hum of gentle waves as they rocked against the breakwater walls. I bit my lip, praying it would stop more foolishness from pouring from my mouth. Still silent.

  “You hope for them?” Jameson broke the muteness that hovered around my words.

  A hesitant nod was my only reply. I heard him exhale, releasing more than simply air, before his hand reached for mine on my leg.

  “I do,” I scoffed at myself, surprised at my own realization.

  Looking up, I noticed Jameson was smiling. His face held a gentle, innocent grin of…acceptance?

  “Tell me why,” he said, the light squeeze of his hand encouraging my divulgence.

  “I…I get to see her again. It’s traumatic.” I shuddered. “But I get to see my mom again and she’s there for a fleeting second in my reality, and she’s alive.”

  “They keep her alive for you.”

  His understanding was my release. My hand tore from his gentle grasp and covered my face as tears streamed down my cheeks. They were pouring like a monsoon over my skin and I couldn’t stop them. I turned from Jameson, enveloped in embarrassment and fear. What had I done?

  Instantly, my body flew from the rocky pier, pulling my legs into a run that increased in speed with each quick exhale of breath.

  “Soph,” he called after me.

  It felt good. My lungs heaved, full of my sobs, and filled with muggy Gulf air. Simon’s Saab was now in the driveway, next to Jameson’s. Jules’s car was missing.

  I was alone again.

  Again.

  I noticed my aunt’s tendency to turn off the air conditioning if the temperature outside went below 80. She also didn’t enlighten me with the security code for her air conditioner system, which she clearly paid more for than her small house required. I was still wiping away tears as I closed the front door.

  For the first time in three weeks, I was thankful to be alone. I was relieved that Jules was at Simon’s house and I could let these strange emotions unfold without her concern or attention.

  Inside my room, I turned on the ceiling fan and cracked the window. I tossed my clothes into the laundry bin and pulled on a tank top and pajama pants, quickly dressing and climbing into bed—face first, smothering myself in the overstuffed pillows on my bed.

  The doorbell buzzed twice and I ignored it, but the tapping at my bedroom window pushed my blood pressure through the roof. Rolling over, I stared out the pane of glass as another pebble from Jules’s garden flew against the window. My instinct curled into a shriveled ball inside my stomach as my mind forced me to look outside, against all sense of intelligence.

  I raised the pane higher, creating a gap big enough for my face to fit through the empty space. He was standing beneath my window, holding a third pebble, with his eyes on fire. They caught the moonlight, melting into puddles of gold that poured into my gaze.

  “Go away.”

  “Why did you run away?” Jameson could have been asking about a number of things, but my heart could only answer about today.

  He must have noticed something preventing me from being as forthcoming as he wished because he looked down for a moment before returning his stare to me. Those eyes.

  “Why did you run away from me, Soph?” he quietly pleaded, his voice bursting with concern, as his glowing eyes widened in anticipation of my reply.

  “Because…I don’t know you, Jameson, and you know too much about me.”

  “Let me in?”

  My heart fluttered. Let him in? In my house? My mind? My heart? The effect Jameson had on me was unnerving, as though just the sight of him tenderly reattached loose fibers of my heart, begging my mind to fall into his hypnosis. I quickly inhaled, trying to gain control over my faulting nerves.

  “Go away.”

  “Please, Soph.”

  He was already running around to the front door before I could answer, my heart pleading with my mind to close and lock the window before burying myself further into my covers.

  Instead, I followed Jameson to the front door, holding my breath as it opened. The electricity between us set my heart aflame as Jameson stood across from me, his hands clutching the sides of my face as though he had to ensure I was real, tangible, and alive.

  “What are you doing…”

  “I don’t know.” His whispered reply was a harmony with which I agreed.

  Jameson’s head shook in disbelief as a low chuckle escaped from his parted lips. He reached behind him to close the front door and took my hand, his thumb caressing my fingers as his grasp tightened.

  “Your aunt isn’t home?”

  I shook my head in reply and walked with him to my bedroom. It was the only space in the house in which I really felt secure. I had never let a boy in my room in Oregon—I don’t know what was different now…

  There was something about Jameson, something that filled the air with memories we had yet to endure, something that covered my soul with an unknown familiarity. The lights remained off; the only glow coming into the room was from the swollen moon.

  “Soph?”

  “I’m really scared, Jameson.” The admission left my lips in a whisper. “I don’
t let people in.”

  “I don’t either.” He watched me sit on my bed, pulling a pillow to my chest. “And you certainly don’t owe me an exception, but you make me want to divulge every last secret I have kept, Soph. The sight of you makes me want to tell you things I haven’t even thought to do yet. Thinking of how hurt you are infuriates me, and the fact there is nothing I can do about it kills me! I’m thinking about you, all the time, Sophia. Hearing your name even drives me insane.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No.” He came to my side, grabbing my hands, filling the space with an electric hum. “Yes, we have known each other for a minute, but you’re changing me, Soph. I want to know you. I want to know what it is that hurt you, who I can hurt to help you…I need to know you, Sophia, and the thought of needing to be around you so much scares the hell out of me.”

  I couldn’t speak even if I had something to say. Jameson was glowering over me, his eyes intensely focused on me as he eagerly waited for a reply before continuing.

  “I’m not this kind of person. I have a wall. In fact, I have about three hundred walls. They’re tall and thick, and they keep people out. But there’s something with you, Soph, it just crumbles them with every glance you give me or even each breath you take. When I see you, one topples over another like dominoes. I don’t know what to do.”

  My stomach turned, rolling into a tightly bound mass of anxiety. We both had secrets and walls larger than China, but this new boy that flooded from Jameson’s heart did to me what he felt I did to him. I wanted to pour myself out to him, flooding my pain into a bottle so he could smell, see, taste, and know what I felt so I could spare the hurt of reliving it with someone new. I couldn’t even reply to him.

  “Jameson,” I yawned, “I…”

  “You need to sleep.” He smiled. “School tomorrow.”

  “You won’t be there,” I realized, considering his comments from earlier. “When will you come back?”

  “Tuesday. Maybe.”

  He must have seen my face sink, for I surely felt my expression melt. Jameson came to my side, resting against the edge of my mattress.

  “Can I stay with you tonight?” His eyes glowed, the golden honey reflected in the moonlight.

  His words stopped my breathing. His hands, cupping my face as his eyes continued to search mine, stopped my heart.

  “You might want the nightmares,” he continued, “but I know that part of you is going to need me when you wake up from one.”

  What worried me more than anything was how right Jameson was, especially after barely knowing me.

  “Need you,” I repeated his words.

  “You’ll need me, Soph, because I know what the nightmares are like.”

  “Thank you,” I quietly whispered, hoping to prevent the appreciative sob forming in my lungs.

  I rolled to my right side, away from the window and the moonlight that illuminated Jameson’s face. I felt his weight behind me as he, without question, lay down beside me on his back. I should have felt anxious. I should have been uncomfortable, but Jameson’s presence created the opposite effect. I felt I could breathe.

  “Soph?”

  “Yes?” I turned over, rolling on my side to face him.

  He took my right arm out from his side and pulled it across his body, allowing my hand to rest over his pounding heart.

  “That’s better,” he mumbled.

  I closed my eyes, waiting for the nightmare and knowing he would be there.

  ***

  I walked through the backyard, my boots filling quickly with rain. I loved the rain. The clouds hung heavy with the promise of more and I couldn’t be happier. I could smell the meal my mom was making for me. It was a special occasion. Garlic and rosemary swirled around me, calling my name back to the house.

  I heard her call my name, but my feet were stuck. I couldn’t lift them from my boots that continued to fill with black water.

  “Sophia! Ma chère! L’heure du manger,” her song flowed out to me, but I was stuck.

  I heard things break, shatter…my boots were off and I was standing in the kitchen. She was lying face down, holding the pie slicer for the berry pie I baked for her. Her ivory skin was breaking apart, falling from her bleeding body.

  “Soph.” Jameson shook me. “It’s okay, Soph. It’s just a dream. Hey…”

  My eyes fluttered open with my mind still lying with my mom on the floor of our kitchen.

  “Just a dream,” he repeated, stroking my cheek with his knuckles. “See?”

  I didn’t believe him, but he reached over and cupped my face in his hands, resting his forehead against mine to prove I was conscious. My breathing quickened. I couldn’t control my response to this nightmare. Jameson brushed some hair behind my ear and pulled me to him, holding me prisoner against his body.

  “When my panic attacks started,” his voice was a crackling whisper, as though discussing this pained him, “my dad sent me to some whack of a doctor who prescribed a pile of pills that didn’t help. It helped when he would hold me. I would forget the panic.”

  He squeezed me, tightening his restraint. It hurt, but the pain grounded me and I could breathe again.

  “Your dad?”

  “He’s dead,” he replied without hesitation. “My mom too.”

  “My mom too,” I whispered, admitting a truth I had for so long buried in the dark place, refusing to admit, and twistedly craving nightmares to deny.

  “Everyone has a story,” Jameson whispered.

  I nuzzled against him, deeply inhaling the intoxicating scent of his body wash through his faded shirt. My mind was set on repeat, overanalyzing every detail that just occurred between us. He opened up to me, he came after me…he stayed with me through a nightmare. Jameson was protecting me, just like Mr. Fitzgerald mentioned on Monday.

  “Good dream?” Jameson’s giggle was whispered and I opened one eye in response to gaze at his smiling face.

  “What?”

  “You’re smiling. You must’ve been having a good dream this time.”

  “No.” I closed my eye and returned to his chest, pausing before speaking again. “Mr. Fitzgerald thinks you’re my protector.”

  My eyelids weighed on my cheeks again, beckoning me back to my dreams. It was quiet, but for the distant marina noises and nocturnal hum of animals. I felt Jameson’s hand caress my cheek, my heart skipping seven beats once he lightly kissed the fingers I had placed against his chest.

  “I am,” he murmured. “I will be.”

  I barely heard him. I could just make out the sound of his voice as it tickled the air around my ears, swirling emotions through my mind. I didn’t have a nightmare again that night. In fact, I didn’t even dream.

  I woke to my alarm clock, buzzing against the sound of Jules in the kitchen slowly singing in melancholic French. I was still on my left side when my eyes regretfully peeled open and the smile drained from my face.

  Jameson was gone.

  Of course he was—he couldn’t stay to greet Jules and he had to leave.

  Some protector.

  I began getting ready for school, week two swiftly coming to a close. It didn’t matter what I wore today, there was nobody to impress. Wait. Since when do I think about that?

  “Sophia,” Jules sang from the hall. “Breakfast, darling.”

  I pulled on a navy sundress, covered my shoulders with a yellow cardigan, and floated toward Jules’s voice. Simon was there, emptying a bowl of sliced fruit onto three plates. He smiled at me when I took a seat at the table, reaching for his massive cup of coffee in a white ceramic mug. I studied the chip missing from the handle as Jules sat down next.

  Simon and Jules made breakfast. The sun was out. It was like last night didn’t happen. Everything was how it already existed and it would be so for the next six days. I wanted to go back to bed.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  DAY TWELVE

  Simon was the sort of guy who longed for the days of being young and, therefo
re, he stuffed himself into a ritzy corner office of his real estate company in an attempt to afford every toy his heart desired.

  Granted, Simon was kind to me and really seemed to love Jules, so I couldn’t judge him much. He balanced Jules, seeing as his corporate nature was the antithesis of her cottage-dwelling, lavender-growing, bohemian tendencies.

  He was cooking dinner for Jules and me in the narrow galley kitchen on Friday night, filling the small house with the aroma of herbs and oils.

  “Darling,” Jules called to me as I leaned against the kitchen doorframe. “What are your weekend plans?”

  “Sitting in my room, avoiding people.”

  Simon looked up at me from the stove and laughed, easing my nerves.

  “She’s asking because we’d love to invite you to my condo for our Memorial Day party,” he interjected. “Bring whomever you would like. Aren’t you friends with Dr. Hart’s daughter?”

  “Olivia,” I corrected. “Yes. We’re friends.”

  “I’m so glad you’ve found friends, ma chère,” Jules purred to me while squeezing her arms around Simon as he stirred onions in a pan.

  “And who else?” Simon probed, his attempt at pretending to be a parent figure fell somewhere between endearing and annoying. “The Grafton girl?”

  “Michelle. Yes. We’re also friends. Who else, Simon?” I giggled, a smile spreading against my normally emotionless face, as Simon pressed for information about my life and revealing his protective parenting tendencies.

  “Judge Kerry’s nephew.” Jules beamed, buzzing between Simon and I in the kitchen, switching from chopping food to filling her wine glass.

  Simon’s gaze lifted toward me, flashing between Jules and me.

  “What?” I spoke mid-bite, watching their nonverbal exchange.

  “Nothing,” Simon replied, shaking his head. “I just didn’t know you hung out with Jamie.”

  “Jamie?” Jules questioned, glancing at me. “He has a nickname?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” I lied. “Who is Judge Kerry?”

  “County judge,” Simon replied, mindlessly adding ingredients to his pans and pots that adorned the small gas burners on Jules’ stove. “I wouldn’t want to cross him.”