Quiet Angel (3 page)

“If your mind starts to wander,” the instructor said, “simply bring yourself back—gently.”

She promised herself she wouldn’t think about Gage anymore. She hadn’t come all the way to Georgia to meet a boy. There were plenty back in Houston or wherever life would take her, wherever home might be. She was on the island to do exactly what she was trying to do—calm her mind, protect her soul, find some balance. There was no time or energy for boys, for love – especially since she had no idea how he felt about her.

She thought again to look down at his house, but the instructor’s voice caught her. “Picture your whole body breathing in and out,” he said. “Imagine all your energy, your love, as light flowing out into the universe.”

Layla closed her eyes and let her chest rise and fall, taking deep breaths, the warm, salty air flowing through her. She tried to focus on his words, but it was hard with the voices in her head so loud. A few days at the beach couldn’t take away what had happened, what was still happening. A few days with a perfect boy couldn’t take away her fears. Still, the last few days had been good. She could feel a slight shift, at least some weight lifted.

“Listen to what the universe is telling you,” the instructor said. “So often we talk, but now is the time to listen.”

She focused on the seagulls, the crashing waves, her own breathing, far different sounds than the usual. She moved a strand of hair from her face, finding the usual chocolate brown a shade lighter, her normally pale hands, like the rest of her body, now slightly kissed by the sun.

The instructor continued on, “Everything is going to be OK.”

Layla wasn’t sure that was true, but his soothing tone was nice and continued to settle her. At least now she was safe. She could be a normal teenage girl. And maybe, if only for a few months here, she could send love into the world and hopefully get some back.

She moved into a downward dog position, her hips in the air, her hands in the increasingly hot sand, wishing she had a mat like the rest of her classmates. She once again told herself to focus; there was no reason to think about her classmates, let alone be jealous of them.

So she set upon a harder move to steady herself. From the downward dog position, Layla lifted one leg in the air and held it up, closing her eyes and focusing on her breathing, the seagulls, the waves – anything to steady her body.

But after a few seconds, her arms started to shake, and her bottom leg started to buckle. With the bright sun beating down, she let out a moan and began to feel dizzy, her mind and body on the verge of betraying her.

She opened her eyes. Everything appeared black, except for a golden hue which looked like sand. She squinted her eyes and found it wasn’t sand at all. She was looking up, not down. She was looking at dirty blond hair—straight at Gage, her butt in his face. She popped to her feet.

“I was just looking, um. . . .” He stopped when Layla turned her attention to the instructor wrapping up the class. He wanted to bury himself in the sand—there couldn’t be a worse stopping point—but there was no point in continuing if she wasn’t listening. When the instructor finished up, Gage finished his thought. “What I was saying was, I mean, I wasn’t looking at you. I was, um, looking for my dad.”

“Your dad meditates?” she asked, dusting some sand from her hands.

“He comes to these when we’re here in the summer.”

“Was he in the class?”

“I guess not today.” Gage gripped his messy hair. “He must’ve gone running.”

“Why are you looking for him?”

“He and I were supposed to go flying later this morning, but it might rain, so my mom made other plans for them. She wanted me to tell him. I’m sure she’ll find him.”

Layla shrugged and picked up a thin round shell. She took in its smooth edges, with a few jagged spots, and held it out to him. Gage took it from her, his fingertips grazing her hand. “I used to call these mermaid coins.”

They started down the beach together, and their steps soon fell into a rhythm, neither one of them knowing or saying where they were going. Grey clouds gathering and hours passing quickly, Layla pointed out other shells along the shore. Gage didn’t know the first damn thing about sea shells but followed along with everything she said, listening as if his life depended on it.

He fixated on her every word, on her hands holding the shells, on her hair whipping across her face. If she wanted to talk about sea shells all day, he was fine with that. And he was fine keeping them in his pockets for her. But a part of him wanted to move things along. He wanted more. He wanted a chance with her. He didn’t want to get stuck in the friend zone.

The clouds darkening some more, he looked down at her hand, mere inches from his own. He wanted to hold it, to massage it, to rub her sunburned knuckles with his fingers. But something told him not to. He didn’t want her to pull her hand away. He didn’t want to screw up things. He tried to tell himself there was no reason to worry. He’d held plenty of girls’ hands before and kissed many of them, too.

But this girl was different, definitely smarter, more aware of herself and her surroundings. She was on a different level. She didn’t seem to care about shit like makeup, clothes, impressions—like the island girls from summers past, always talking about an upcoming party or the latest gossip. Layla didn’t seem to have time for that. It was hard to believe she was in high school. It was hard to believe she was 16.

Gage took a deep breath and gathered some courage. He inched his hand closer, slowly, carefully, his heart about to burst. He stretched his fingers out a bit, closing the gap even further, knowing he was so close, almost there, the promised land within reach as they moved stride for stride. He closed his hand, ready to feel her soft skin, to massage her sunburn, to change the world forever, but he only found air.

He looked to the side, and she wasn’t there. He turned around to find her crouched down a few feet behind him, scooping up another shell from the slushy sand.
Crap.

“This one is a marine mollusk,” Layla said, handing him a brown and white shell. “Hang on to this one, too.”

Gage could only smile and put it in his pocket with the others. “How do you know so much about shells? There’s no beach in Houston, huh?”

“I don’t know too much really. But Galveston is pretty close by. There’s a beach there. My family would go sometimes.”

“You still go there?”

She shook her head and looked in his eyes. No boy ever looked at her the way he did, sweetly, intently, like there was no one else on the beach but her. A drop of water touched her face. “Is that rain?”

They looked up at the dark clouds, spilling a few drops to the ground, turning into more, then more. “Come on!” Gage said and took her hand. “That’s my house right there. We can make it.” They ran about 50 yards then up a few steps to his back porch. He slid open the glass patio door and pulled Layla inside, closing the door behind them. “Let me get you a towel.”

“You don’t have to,” she said, letting go of his hand and rubbing her bare arms, shivering. “I’ll be OK.”

Gage looked down at her, teeth chattering, rain drops sliding down her skin, her body up against the glass patio door. He began to rub her arms, pressing his body softly against hers, then took one hand and gently brushed a strand of wet hair behind her ear. He leaned in closer, setting his eyes squarely on her mouth.

Layla pushed her own hair from her face and stepped aside. “Aren’t your parents home?”

“No,” Gage said. “My mom made plans for them to go to lunch with some friends.”

Layla shivered again, placing her hand on the doorknob behind her back and peeking out the window. “It’s really coming down.”

“It should pass pretty quick,” he said. “Always get these quick showers in the afternoon. You hungry?”

“Starving,” she said, keeping glued to her spot.

“I’ll make us some sandwiches,” he said. “Just let me go change out of these wet clothes.” He pointed towards a hallway. “My room’s just down the hall. Only bedroom on the first floor.” He started towards the hallway then turned back. “And you don’t need to stand by the door. You can walk around inside wherever. I’ll be right back.”

Gage raced to his bedroom, telling himself not to mess up this chance, not to make any more stupid comments like where his bedroom was. She looked nervous enough when he said his parents weren’t home. He hoped they were having a very long lunch. They were always pretty strict with him: he wasn’t supposed to be alone with a girl in the house, ever. And there were no exceptions for bad weather. He changed clothes as fast as he could, hoping she didn’t bolt while he was gone, and grabbed a blanket from his bed on the way out.

Layla stood frozen at the door. She’d never been alone in a guy’s place before and wasn’t quite sure how to act, especially in a beach house worthy of the cover of
Coastal Living
. She didn’t want to drip water all over the pine wood floors, or leave water spots on the slip-covered sofa and chairs. She scanned the large open space in front of her, the entire first floor decked out in different shades of white, with hints of pale blue in accent pillows, draperies, and vases, an open kitchen nestled on one side with stainless steel appliances and white and glass cabinetry. She glanced at a baby grand piano sitting in the far corner of the room, a guitar propped up on its bench. She started to take a step towards it but stopped upon hearing footsteps coming down the hallway.

Gage handed her one of his sweatshirts and pair of his high school gym shorts. “I’m sure these are ten sizes too big, but at least they’re dry.” He pointed to a door off the living room. “Bathroom’s right through there.” She took the clothes and left to change.

Gage tossed the blanket on the sofa and moved into the kitchen, keeping an eye on the bathroom door, his mind drifting to the hot girl dripping wet, wondering what she looked like naked, supple breasts, long flexible legs. He heard the doorknob and hustled towards the refrigerator, opening it to see what was available for lunch, the cool air blowing over his raging hormones.

He turned to find Layla walking gingerly to the kitchen. He tried not to stare, her chocolate brown hair cascading down the sweatshirt hanging to her knees, making it seem like that was all she was wearing. She put her wet clothes on a kitchen chair. “You can grab the blanket if you’re still cold,” Gage said.

Layla shook her head and strolled around the room, making her way to a white marble fireplace holding several framed photos. “Who are these guys?”

Gage looked over from the kitchen. “That’s my sister, her husband, and my niece.”

“Wow, she must be a lot older.”

“Ten years,” he said. “And she acts like she’s my mother. You have any brothers or sisters?”

“Just a half-brother,” she said. “He’s much older, too.”

Gage got back to the business of making lunch, but his mind stayed on Layla, roaming around in his clothes, likely without a bra. He finished up and made his way towards her when he realized he hadn’t even asked what she wanted to eat. He thought to turn back to the kitchen, to start over, but then she turned around to find him holding two plates.

“I hope you like turkey,” he said. “My mom hasn’t stocked the fridge yet.”

“That’s fine,” Layla said. “Can we eat in here?”

“Yeah.” He put his plate down on the coffee table. Layla did the same and sat cross-legged on the white sofa. He sat down facing her then reached for the blanket. “You still look cold,” he said and draped it around her shoulders.

Layla felt his warm breath on her neck, as he tucked the blanket around her shoulders. She glanced out the floor-to-ceiling windows to steady herself. “I think it stopped raining.”

“You don’t have to go, do you?”

“Not right this second,” she said. “Is that your guitar?” Gage nodded. “Play something.”

“Right now?”

“Sure. Play something for me.”

Gage swallowed hard and felt like he could throw up. He got his guitar and sat down beside her again. He held it in his hands and strummed a few chords, thinking of a song to play. He scrolled through a variety of songs in his mind, wanting to land on something that would impress her, something that was unique, but wasn’t too sappy or serious.

He cocked a smile and started to play—certain no one in the world would attempt to play hip hop, Shaggy’s “Angel,” on an acoustic guitar. Layla busted out into a cute little giggle, as Gage, grinning from ear to ear, kept on strumming and singing. She moved her body to the rhythm, keeping the beat he was playing, playfully waving her arms in the air.

Gage got to his favorite part—about the woman standing by her man during his incarceration—and was barely able to contain himself. He couldn’t go on any longer, both of them laughing so hard, Layla doubled over on the sofa.

“I love that song,” she said. “But I’m not into ex-cons.”

“What kind of guys are you into?”

Layla bit her bottom lip and gave a little shrug. “Maybe guys named after tools.”

He smiled and reached for her cheek, cupping it in his hand, and leaned forward slowly, his eyes focused on her mouth. Layla smiled, her dimples on full display, and leaned back just slightly, teasing him, making him come to her a bit more. Gage loved how playful she was, how sexy she was, all while wearing his clothes. He couldn’t contain himself any more.

He moved quickly towards her. Layla fell all the way back on the sofa, with Gage landing firmly on top of her. He looked down at her, gazing into her crystal blue eyes, and ran his fingers through her wet hair. He leaned his head down to her, picking up a flowery scent as he got closer, something like lavender. He saw her eyes close and lips part, and he moved in for a kiss.

“Shit! My parents!”

*