Skipping Stones - COMPLETE

Chapter 4

THREE DAYS LATER

LAST NIGHT AT the visitation and today at the funeral, there were so many people approaching us that it went on for hours. My poor grandparents had to finally get chairs because they just couldn't physically handle all the standing. There's apparently a whole part of our family I've never met. They hugged me like they'd known me for my entire life. They cried on my shoulder telling me how sorry they were. I felt like, instead of them trying to comfort me, it was my responsibility to comfort them.

I tried to act myself, but I just couldn't. I still can't. How am I supposed to stand around for days and hold it together? I just lost my father. My mother doesn't even know she's a widow. She's fighting for her life, barely recognizable from the extensive burns she suffered.

The stench of burnt skin. The scene. The sound. All of it comes flooding back into my mind, and I shudder just thinking about it. It's as fresh as it was in those first moments. Sleep is impossible since I can't bear to close my eyes. Every time I do, I'm assaulted with vivid nightmares.

The pills my grandparents' family physician prescribed seem to be helping me. I don't feel like I have a ton of bricks on my chest at the moment. In fact, I don't feel anything. I'm sure this numbness is partially medically induced, but I'm sure the other part could be described as shock.

Guilt, maybe? Guilt that if I hadn't asked to go to the bathroom, then they wouldn't have felt rushed to get to the airport. Guilt that if we hadn't been a little behind schedule that they wouldn't have been in that exact spot at the exact same time as the drunk driver. Guilt that I wasn't with them.

Then there's the anger. The anger that's consuming me. The anger I have for the man who was so selfish that he thought he was fine to drive after getting completely and utterly plastered. This is what drives me to my feet, through the front door, and charging down the side street that leads to the creek.

The creek is my comfort zone. It's the place where I know I can be all alone because right now those bricks are coming back, and I need to be able to breathe without feeling like I'm suffocating.

It only takes a few strides before I can see it – and him.

Slowing my pace, I debate whether to keep going. My need to be alone doesn't win out because something keeps my feet moving. I don't think it's my brain. Well, maybe it is. It's more curiosity. In all of these years of coming to my grandparents' house, there have never been other kids here. Definitely not guys that look to be my age.

I think part of me is relieved to see a stranger. Someone who doesn't know me – for a person to maybe look at me like normal. Not with the look of pity and regret.

When I get to the creek, I just reach down and start throwing rocks into it as fast and hard as I can. I don't even look at him because I'm not sure I care about anyone else right now. I'm not sure anyone else is worth it.

"Grr!" I grunt as I continue throwing the stones, my pace getting faster. I see out of the side of my eyes that he's completely stopped and his arms are crossed. I think he might actually be laughing at me. What a jerk.

I turn a little bit. "What the heck is so funny?"

"Oh nothing." He points down to the pile that I've been pulling from. "Just help yourself," he says amused.

"Oh." Ordinarily I'd apologize profusely, but not today. "Bug off."

I start to run away because I feel tears coming. The bricks are returning. As I start to sprint down the road perpendicular to the creek, I hear him.

"Wait. Stop! I didn't mean it like that."

I can't stop. It's like I'm treading water in the open sea. If I stop, I'm going to sink. I'm going to drown.

I hear footsteps pattering behind me. "Hey! I said to stop. I'm sorry."

I know I can't outrun him if he's already caught up to me this fast. I can't speak a word. Just trying to open my mouth causes my chest to burn. I shake my head no in protest.

As he reaches my side, he says, "I didn't mean to get off on the wrong..." He looks down and chuckles, "the wrong foot."

He's just making my heart hurt even worse. Any other time I think I might have been excited to meet him. I got a good look at him before I took off, and now that he's at my side I see his muscles even more. He's gorgeous, a total jock. Tall and lean body, dark hair, sun-kissed skin, his eyes are the color of milk chocolate. He must play sports. I can see the ridges of his muscles behind his snug white tank top. I'm not used to seeing bodies like that except in magazines. Perfection. Not too buff, just right. There's something about those sculpted, exposed shoulders. My eyes don't spend much time on them because they are drawn back to his magnetic eyes.

I can't speak. I wish I could. My mouth opens, and it's like I'm sucking in salt water. I feel my lungs filling. All I want to do is cough it out. Except, instead of the water coming from my mouth, it gushes out of my eyes.

Suddenly I stop, placing my hands on my knees, and then walk to the side of the street and sit down. My legs are sweaty as I wrap my arms around them. The humidity has already started, and it only contributes more to the feelings of suffocation.

Burying my head into my lap, I release the floodgates as my chest starts to heave up and down. The aching in my side, the coarseness of my throat, the burning of my eyes are all reminders of the physical toll crying non-stop for days has taken on me.

A warmth comes over my body as he sits beside me, but he doesn't touch me. I'm not sure if I want for him to. There is already so much guilt from the sheer emotions of his mere proximity. My dad just died and desire for a hot guy consumes me.

My dad. The sobs grow in their intensity. My daddy. This has to be a nightmare. This can't be real.

"This is clearly something more than my comment to you. What can I do to help you?"

That does make me look up briefly, as a smile curves onto my lips. I try to speak, my voice quivering. "Okay, so maybe you're not a jerk."

"No, I'm not. Apology accepted." He reaches his hand, hesitantly to dry my tears. "I'm Andrew, but you can call me Drew, and you are?"

"Alex," I whisper, "Alex Hart."

He smiles the most dazzling smile I've ever seen. I'm not sure I've ever seen a guy that I thought was as cute as he is. He surely has a girlfriend, though. Guys this easy on the eyes are never available.

"What has you so upset, Alex? And don't say it's my pile of rocks."

I can't help but giggle. The bricks start to change to butterflies with each word he says, with each look he gives me. "My...I...I can't talk about it," I whisper.

"Okay. Can you walk again?"

"Probably, why?"

"I'd like to share my pile of rocks with you. Skipping stones always helps me when I can't talk about stuff, too."

I breathe a sigh of relief. That's all I want to do. Well, except I can't skip a stone for the life of me. I'm excellent at throwing them. "I can't skip stones."

He bursts out laughing. "You can't skip stones?"

I shake my head. "Nope."

He stands, reaching his hand out to help me up. "Well, let's see what we can do about that, Alex."