of Joel Cornaro’s men.
5
Safe For Now (Valerie)
Many Years Ago
The sun shines down through a soft breeze.
It’s a perfect day for the beach. We’re playing in the sand, flinging little puffs from the ground, then grabbing big handfuls and shaping it carefully.
It’s just me and this boy.
I’m young, too. Little. He’s older than me.
We’re busy, building up a sandcastle. He’s helping, stacking sand on the towers, making them a little taller than I can reach.
It’s a lot of fun. We’re focused and laughing.
Then he stands up.
He gives me a wild look, and a second later, stomps on my pretty little palace with both feet, kicking sand everywhere.
“Ha! You thought I wanted to waste the day building this dumb old thing? Now we’re having fun, poopy-pants.” He laughs into his hand.
It makes me sad, but I don’t cry.
It’s almost like I’m used to it...
To him acting like this, ruining everything I do, so I just swallow the pain down and wander off, looking for seashells. It’s a big beach.
I find a conch shell before long, probably something abandoned by a surfer. Mommy says they like to have big parties around here. I’m playing with it, dusting it off, when a shadow falls over me.
The boy is back. He wants to see it. He’s chasing me around, trying to grab behind my back where I’m hiding it.
“No fair! Lemme see, you stupid little—”
“Ray, don’t!” I try my best to hide the shell behind my back, not wanting him to see it.
He always makes me show him things, and then he says they’re his.
Not this time. Not this conch.
It’s mine, but I say we can share it, even if it makes my stomach feel all gurgly.
Ray says okay, and he snatches it away from me, running off.
Now, it’s later, and I’m looking for my shell. I can’t find it anywhere.
I look high and low. Behind some big rocks, I find Ray.
He’s sitting on another little boy’s back, pushing his face into the sand, snarling like this scary animal. Ray’s hurting the boy.
“Stop!” I tell him. “Don’t, Ray, you’ll...”
I don’t even know. But I’m scared.
The kid finally pokes his head up, coughing. Crying. Sand sticks to his patchy red face from the tears. He looks hurt.
Ray just laughs. “Now’s your chance! Run, you big dummy! Or do you want some more?”
The kid takes off, stumbling as he flies across the beach, still making this awful sound.
Then it’s just me and my big brother.
He talks so much.
He tells me the boy stole the conch shell and that he had to get it back. Then he says the shell is his. That we aren’t sharing anymore. It was always his, and I’m lucky he even let me borrow it.
I’m so sick of him being so mean.
I turn to run, saying I’m going to tell on him, but he grabs my arm and won’t let go.
He’s shaking me.
Present
My eyes snap open.
Holy crap.
Something about the sudden view of overgrown road and palm trees is scary, disorienting.
I try to control the gasping mess I’ve become. My chest heaves and my eyes burn like I was crying. My heart wants to spring right out of my chest.
“What’s wrong, Val?” Flint asks, sitting bolt upright in the driver’s seat next to me.
His big hand is already on my arm, applying that gentle, calming pressure that’s totally his style.
I relax instantly.
Jesus. It was him holding my arm. Not the boy in my dream. Not Ray.
“Another nightmare?” he asks, releasing my arm. His gaze cuts through me, a pleasant fog of sea glass blue tonight.
All I can do is nod.
“I’m fine. Just focus on the road.”
Silly. It was just another dream. But it felt more real than that, too.
More like a memory, a terrible one.
I feel like it’s still there, floating around in the back of my mind, this hazy, cruel image projected on a screen. I can sense the emotional punch, even if I can’t quite recall specific scenes.
It’s so strange how the human mind works. Or doesn’t work in my case.
“We’re almost home,” Flint says.
I close my eyes, still seeing that vicious kid. My lips don’t want to work, but I make them.
“So, hey...did I ever mention anybody named Ray?”
“Ray? Hell, I don’t know everybody you do, honey,” Flint says quietly.
It’s almost a quip. Surprising. Strange.
I do a double take, looking at him slowly before turning back to the view outside my window.
What’s the deal?
I try not to be frustrated, mainly because I like him—of course I like him, I’m freaking married