Out of Reach (17 page)

“What does that mean?” He’s
apprehensive.

“I don’t know, but I’m hoping it’s a good
thing,” I tell him hesitantly. No condemnation ever comes from Z
when I talk about Gwen, but I cringe all the same, a conditioned
response since I’ve become so used to the lack of faith from the
rest of the Wanderers. A half smile stretches my face and I change
the subject. “Let’s get some sleep,” I say gesturing for him to
take the guest room down the hall. “We have a long day ahead of
us.”

I’m facedown in bed when the pounding
begins. Clutching my head I cover my ears in a vain attempt to
block out all sound. Head throbbing I continue to lay there. The
noise in my head starts to take on a familiar rhythm that I can’t
place this early in the morning.

Bang, bang, bang ... Bang, bang, bang.

About the time I figure out the racket is
someone pounding on the front door and not my wine headache, my
cell phone rings. Swinging an arm haphazardly, I try to snag the
thing off the nightstand so I can turn it off, thus ending at least
one of the barrages of sounds assaulting my senses this morning.
Unfortunately I miss. In my second attempt I manage to reach it
with the tips of my fingers and gently pull it over into bed with
me. Rolling my eyes when I see who’s calling, I answer it before
the call goes to voicemail.

“Hello.”

“Are you gonna let me in?” Melanie asks in a
happy trill.

“No, I’m ignoring you.” Rolling over in bed
I confirm it’s only 7:30.

“Oh no you don’t, I need retail therapy and
you’re already committed.”

“Fine,” I capitulate. “Come back after ten.”
Ending the call I lay back down onto my pillow, knowing I have
about two minutes before Melanie busts out her key and lets herself
in. Rolling over again I wrap the covers tightly around my body and
prepare to hold on with my Kung Fu grip.

The opening of a door, followed by
footsteps, alerts me that the five-foot four-inch predator has
breached the outer defenses.

“You know, I’ve had a key to your place
since like the third grade,” she shouts from down the hall.
“Gwen?”

The bedroom door squeaks slightly on its
hinges as it’s slowly pushed open. This sound is closely followed
by the muffled thump of a body hitting the floor.

“Mother fucker!” Melanie screams from where
she landed face first on the floor. Struggling to disengage herself
from the pile of clothing at her feet, she hollers at me, “You
know, you really should do something about this mess. A girl could
get seriously hurt walking around in here.”

Smiling to myself under the comforter I make
a mental note to thank Ben when he gets home for so effectively
booby trapping the house. Who would’ve guessed his mess is actually
the second line of defense around here.

I grimace as the covers are pulled back from
my head revealing Melanie’s radiant face.

“Come on, Gwenie! Let’s go shopping!”

“Ugh. Has anyone ever told you that your
exuberance in the morning is beyond annoying?”

Still beaming, she answers, “Yup, you have.
On multiple occasions, but luckily for me I rarely listen to
you.”

“Fine.” I flop my legs over the edge of the
bed and sit up, still clutching the blankets. “I’ll get ready,” I
announce waddling to the bathroom, covers and all. Her shriek of
delight is the last sound I hear before slamming the door closed
between us and turning the shower on. Forty-five minutes later we
are out the door and on our way.

* * *

Six shopping bags, three boxes of shoes, and
two purses later, I pull the Mini Cooper into an empty space
outside Red Robin. Since we maxed out the Mini’s trunk capacity
after our first stop at the Carlsbad outlet mall, most of our
purchases line the back seat.

Sagging back against the driver’s seat, I
look at Melanie, who is currently rummaging through the bags in the
backseat, looking for her new Jimmy Choo’s. I feel like we’ve
driven the length of California and back today.

“Do you want anything while I’m back
here?”

“Not right now,” I tell her, too tired to
enjoy our many purchases at the moment. “If you’re ready, let’s go
get some food.”

“I’m good, I’m just dying to wear these
shoes,” she says, slipping her slender foot into the delicate peep
toes. Striking a sexy pose as we exit the vehicle, she asks, “How
do I look?”

Smiling at Melanie and her carefree,
impatient nature that has led to the fashion nightmare standing in
front of me, I answer her.

“Ridiculous.”

“Ha!” She struts her stuff into the
restaurant. “Not in these shoes, baby!” she throws back at me.
Shaking my head I’m reminded that Melanie’s high heels and sweat
suit combo isn’t the funniest thing that’s happened today.

An hour ago I received a frantic phone call
from Ben.

“Gwen, please tell me your credit card was
stolen.”

“Huh? No, what are you talking about?”

“Well, I was hoping there was a reasonable
explanation as to why our bank account is suddenly empty.”

Laughing out loud, I responded, “Please,
babe, you’re loaded.”

“No, my parents are loaded. We won’t be
loaded until they die,” he jokingly reminded me. “You girls have
fun.”

Leaning across the arm rest Melanie and I
said, “Goodbye, Ben!” in perfect sing-song unison.

Catching up to Melanie at the hostess
counter, I overhear her say we’ll find a table by the bar. Skipping
up the two steps separating the bar from the rest of the
restaurant, Melanie and I snag stools and order a couple hard
lemonades. I savor that first long drink as Melanie flirts with
Patrick, the cute bartender.

Handing her my purse and telling her to
order me a bacon cheeseburger, I head to the restroom. Appraising
my appearance in the mirror as I wash my hands, I note the dark
circles under my eyes. I need more sleep. Between fretting about
work, my weird gut feeling, and today’s shopping extravaganza with
Melanie, I’m beyond frazzled. Promising myself an early bedtime
tonight I grab some paper towels and dry my hands, taking an extra
moment to fluff and finger comb my red locks before rejoining
Melanie at the bar.

The wave of exhaustion that’s been
threatening to capsize me for days finally rolls over me as I sit
back down on my stool. Next to me Melanie is silent, which is more
than a little unusual for her, but I fail to notice at first.
Taking another gulp from my glass, the hush all around me begins to
sink in. As my senses extend outward, other sounds start to filter
in, background noises usually lost among the usual bustle of a
crowded restaurant.

The evening news is on and I note all of the
other patrons appear glued to the screen. Following suit I turn my
head in the direction of the closest television screen above the
bar. I feel Melanie’s hand squeeze my wrist reassuringly just as my
eyes lock onto the anchorman and the short clip of footage playing
beside him on the screen. The caption reads, “Fire
detected—Cleveland National Forest.”

“How bad is it?” I ask automatically,
throwing up a mask of stone cold indifference. Watching the looping
feed of the fire, my heart races but on the surface I appear calm,
nothing more than a concerned citizen.

“It’s too soon to tell. From what the
reporter was saying, it hasn’t spread far. If they can get it
contained quickly there’s no reason to worry, Gwen.”

“I know,” I reply, focusing on the burger
I’ve just been served. Being one of my oldest friends Melanie knows
I’m not going to worry needlessly. Unfortunately, she also knows
that I sometimes use clinical detachment as a cover. So I order a
second drink and do my best to engage her in light-hearted
conversation, aware the more introverted I become the more closely
she will watch me.

After her second drink, I feel her attention
slacken, her focus shifting. Her stare no longer holds the level of
critical observation one tends to adapt when dissecting a
complicated organism. I welcome the change, be it a result of my
brilliant acting skills, the alcohol in her system, or some combo
of the two I don’t know. I don’t care. I’m merely grateful she
doesn’t pursue the topic any further.

* * *

Pulling up outside Melanie’s apartment I
wish for a second time she’d driven herself instead of being
dropped off at my place this morning.

I’m so ready for this day to be over.

After helping cart her shopping bags inside,
I don’t linger like I usually do. The jumble of thoughts and
emotions currently taking up residence in my brain need to be
released, and I really don’t want anyone around when I open the
door.

Hugging her briefly I quickly say, “Thanks
for the fun, girl.”

“Anytime,” she tells me.

Already making my escape down the stairs, I
pause when a light pixie voice laced with steel floats down from
the landing.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,
and that you’re worried. I’ll be in touch.”

Damn it.

I continue my descent to
the parking lot. Apparently I’m not nearly as smooth as I thought,
and now I’ll have to deal with Melanie’s mothering. Could this day
get any worse?
Probably,
I answer my own rhetorical question as I slam the
driver’s door closed.

I barely make it out of the parking lot
before my mental shields come crashing down. Anger, my go-to
emotion, is the first to leap out. My driving takes on an
aggressive edge typically unusual to my style.

I race around the other vehicles on the
freeway like a bat out of hell. I’m upset. At stupid people in
general. The ones who throw lit cigarettes out their car windows
while driving. Who don’t take proper care of their camp fires, or
aren’t responsible with fireworks. I’m mad at Ben, too, who
selflessly volunteers to help instead of selfishly protecting his
own ass for me, because, hello, I’d like to keep that guy
around.

What my favorite emotion is
masking, though, is fear—
my
fears to be precise. The crazy ones I have every
day of losing Ben or of him getting hurt. But mostly it’s hiding my
fear of not being in control. So I speed around the cars that can’t
seem to move fast enough tonight as I externally and internally
rage about not being able to do a damn thing about this potential
situation. Mother Nature is such a cruel bitch.

One thing my anger does allow me to do is
compartmentalize. I push the miniscule things I don’t have the time
or patience to deal with now away, which allows me to deal with
bigger concerns individually, and for as long as I deem necessary.
By the time I get home, I have objectively ordered my concerns and
walled off the ones most likely to elicit a spectrum of useless
emotional responses, like crying or wallowing. Securing my mind
around the fact this fire is not currently out of control, Ben is
not working it, and thus unlikely to be hurt in the near future, I
head inside to calm the fuck down. My restored peace of mind has
done little to calm my sympathetic nervous system, which still has
me pumped up for fight or flight. So after changing into my
favorite sweats I do what any OCD person would do at 8p.m. when
they’re wired: I start to clean.

Basal rolls into town at about 4 p.m.,
totally spent. He hits the couch shortly after arriving to grab
whatever sleep he can before our scheduled adventure back to
Preston-Ward. I slip out around the time he arrives to help Zafir
pick up provisions and prepare for our mission.

I let myself into Z’s apartment, knocking on
the door at the same time so he knows I’m here.

“What are you doing?” I ask, appraising the
situation in the bedroom.

“Packing,” he says looking up, a little
befuddled.

“Well, I don’t think the crossbow or the
semi-automatics will make it through customs.” Sitting down on the
edge of the bed I riffle through his bag, watching Z debate which
of the forty thousand weapons spread across the comforter needs to
go with us.

“You haven’t packed any clothes!” I exclaim,
laughing.

“Shut the fuck up,” he tells me, stomping
arrogantly over to the dresser. He removes articles of clothing,
haphazardly shoving the lot into his duffle when he returns.
“There, now you won’t have to stare at my naked ass while we’re in
the desert.”

“I’m sure the natives will likewise be
grateful,” I say as I jump off the bed. Zipping his bag closed and
setting it by the door, Z gently begins to put away the arsenal
that didn’t make the cut and won’t be accompanying us on this trip.
I help him silently, remembering to handle each item with care; Z’s
weapons are like his children.

“Two minutes, bro. I need to make a call,” I
say ducking back into the living room. After tonight we’ll be gone
for a week or more and I still have a couple loose ends to tie up.
I’ll be gone under the guise of attending the International
Conference on Drug Discovery and Therapy in Dubai. I quickly call
the only two people who might possibly note my absence to make my
goodbyes. I’m not surprised when both calls go straight to
voicemail.

After leaving an identical message for both
my girls, I hang up to find Z watching me from across the room.
“It’s done,” I tell him, my words not in harmony with my tone.

“You’re not planning to cross Adil on this
one?”

Rubbing the tense spot on
my neck, I stare out the window. “I don’t know, I guess
not.”
It’s not too late to grab Gwen and
force her to go with us. The addition of Basal complicates things a
little, but I’m sure we could come up with a workaround even for
that.
“If she can’t help, he’s right,
she’d just be in the way. She could get hurt,” I admit, tossing up
my hands, defeated.