Girl of Mine

Chapter 9 - 25 girlfriends

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Rosalie's POV (Sal)

When parking the car, we'd gone into the foyer for Elvis to drop off his bag. He packed light—but brought with him his guitar case. I had returned his now damp leather jacket. Leaving it to dry in the sun; we hung it over the white patio railing. Awkwardly we'd taken a seat by the kitchen island on the far end of each other.

Biting my lip, he looked at me with his lip curled. He must have realized it was weird of him to just barge in on me at the end of summer, having heard nothing from him?

Releasing my lip, I raised my brows and peppy voice. «I don't know if you'd noticed Elvis, but this is neither Madison nor the door you'd say you might come knocking on—in Madison.»

Chuckling at my sharp comment with one raised elbow on the island, he gestured his relaxed hand to his eyes. «I don't know if you knew this, but I ain't blind.»

«Good to know—since you drove here.» I frowned funnily, accompanied by my smile.

«You didn't lose your edge over the summer, girly.» He shook his head with a breathily laugh. «I just... I need a few days. That's still okay, right?» Clearing his throat, his eyes and voice grew unsure of himself.

Sending him a gentle smile, I nodded in a soft voice. «Yeah, I'm staying here for another week.»

«Thank you.» He smiled crookedly, his eyes falling to his now folded hands.

◌ ◌ ◌

Leaning back, stretched out on my elbows, I could feel the warmth from the last rays of sunshine. My eyes wandered over the glistening dark water, reflecting the green woods all around us. It almost looked like a painting. Closing my eyes, I laid my head back on the old pier with a towel under me. The lake by our white wooden mansion had one old pier, grey and almost rotten to its core. There were still a lot of needed renovations to be done, but we had to prioritize what we spent our hard-earned money on. Still, I had basically grown up jumping off this pier, fishing, and reaching skipping stone records with Patty. It had its charm.

As I breathed in, I heard the flipping of a page two feet away from me. Blinking, I turned my head in Elvis's direction, shading the sun with my left hand. With his legs crossed and nose deep in a book, I sat up, confused.

«Where'd you get that from?» I asked, curious as to how he managed to manifest a thick beige book out of thin air. After settling in, we headed down to the lake for some peace and quiet—as Elvis confessed to not feeling too well. He needed to rest. Hours had gone by, with him mostly staring into nothingness. He'd taken his shoes off earlier and folded up his pant legs to wade through the shore at the quaint beach to the left side of us—Where Rachel had been this morning, reading as well. Now though, we'd sunned for the past hour or two.

Lowering his book, he slightly gave me a second or two of his gaze. His blue eyes and profile caught the shimmer of the water around us. He seemed awfully gloomy, and I guessed this had something to do with him turning up at my place. Driving all the way from wherever he came from—I had no idea what Elvis had been up to, so God knows what he tried to run from.

«Elvis?» I said, as gentle as the small waves found in a still lake.

Closing his book, I tried to catch a glimpse of which book he had. It said The Prophet. I had no idea what it was about.

«I eh... You dozed off for a second; I went and got it from my bag.» He slowly explained, almost as if every word pained him to say.

«Oh... Okay. What's it about?» I asked him, feeling like I was snooping in on private matters. Being a complete stranger to him, I really had no business in his personal struggles. I had avoided the topic of how distressed he'd looked when he first arrived. He did in fact willingly come here to spend time with me though—so how much did I really need to worry about treading carefully? Letting my shoulders relax, I let it go.