Between Us Girls (9 page)

Twelve

In a grassy area at the base of a bluff, across the street from the beach, Jasmyn pressed her hands against the back of a park bench. With one leg extended and her head down, she smelled the just-off-the-rack scent in the lime green T-shirt. Her socks were unworn brilliant white, and her running shoes a very cool neon yellow. Piper the fashionista had voted for them.

Unbelievable
. For the second time in less than six months she had bought a brand-new basic wardrobe. Jeans, shirts, underwear, socks, shoes, pajamas, and running clothes. Piper had pressed her to buy a skirt, sweater, and some nice slacks, but Jasmyn resisted. She didn't need everything all at once. The basics were enough.

Jasmyn switched legs and glanced over at Sam, who was in the middle of a flamingo stretch. Limber as the bird itself, she effortlessly pulled up one leg until her foot seemed to touch above the waistband of her black shorts.

At least five years younger and several inches taller, Sam would run circles around her.

“Did you run cross-country or track in school?”

“No.” Sam released the leg and lifted the other one. “I just ran. How about you?”

“Just ran.” Jasmyn let go of the bench and laughed. “Not even the cross-country team wanted me. I'm slow, really slow.”

“This isn't a competition.” Sam's smile came and went like the flicker of a lightning bug. She tugged a black ball cap lower on her forehead, stuck
tiny earbuds in place, and fiddled with the iPod in the holster on her upper arm. “Ready?”

They jogged down the narrow lane called the Strand. To the left were endless stretches of beach, ocean, and sky. To the right were homes stacked on top of each other, a crazy mix of dumpy cottages, trendy all-glass structures as tall as the bluff behind them, and every style in between.

Jasmyn loped crookedly, stumbling along like a newborn colt.

Sam slowed and pulled out one earbud. “You okay?”

No, not really.
“Guess I haven't found my California legs yet.”

“Shorten your stride a little.”

Jasmyn wanted to sit down and cry. But a run was what she needed, so she followed the advice and finally fell into a rhythm. “Back home it's all rolling hills. Nothing like this.”

“Hmm.” Sam had replaced the earpiece and was fiddling with the iPod.

“Did you grow up here?”

“No.” She increased the pace.

So much for small talk.

Her first impression of Samantha Whitley as an uptight, aloof career woman still held. Which was why she had been surprised to be invited to run that evening. Although Sam was polite—offering to take her on a three-mile route—she apparently considered a run was a run, not to be confused with a social outing.

Jasmyn would have agreed if it weren't for her loneliness. For as long as she could remember, she had run for the quiet, for the escape from life's uglies. Now, though, she felt a friendship void. Despite everyone's kindness at the Casa and Liv's comforting mom demeanor, Jasmyn wasn't exactly at home. Nor was she exactly on vacation. She was an outsider in a no-man's land.

She should go home. But…she didn't want to go home. Not yet.

Jasmyn's leg muscles ached already. No wonder. For days on end she'd been sitting or playing in the waves, not exercising.

The beach was nearly deserted, nothing like the jam-packed place she had enjoyed. It was the end of summer, and people had gone back to school or work. Back to their regular lives.

Tears stung her eyes and the scene blurred. Even if her things hadn't been stolen, she wouldn't be going back to a regular life. She didn't have a regular life back home, either. She really didn't have a home.

But she knew how to throw a pity party. That had to count for something.

Jasmyn concentrated on the slap of her feet against the pavement, one after another. She breathed deeply through her mouth, in and out, in and out.

Eventually she noticed a huge, multistory condo structure. It blocked the beach route, but they followed the Strand as it curved up a gradual incline and intersected with a street. They hopped onto a sidewalk, eventually passed the condos, and came face-to-face with a harbor.

Jasmyn breathed out a
whoa
at the picturesque scene. A red, white, and blue lighthouse replica rose above a sea of sailboat masts.

“Arizona.”

Jasmyn glanced at Sam. “What?”

“Arizona. That's where I grew up.” She spoke between huffs, the earbuds on her shoulders. “In the north. I ran through wilderness. Think Grand Canyon–type topography.”

“Wow. That would be different from this.”

Sam's smile flashed. “A little.”

“Do you miss it?”

“No.” A few strides later she said, “Yes.”

“Me too.” Lungs afire, Jasmyn panted. “No and yes. I miss—Can we stop?”

“Sure.”

They slowed to a walk and drank from their water bottles. Across a parking lot they reached a sidewalk that led them along the harbor. Docked yachts and smaller boats bobbed. Rigging clinked softly. In the distance, the sun ducked behind low-lying clouds.

Jasmyn wiped her sleeve over her sweaty face. “I miss the wide open spaces. The cornfields and the woods.”

“I miss the wide open spaces too. Canyons and mesas.”

Jasmyn smiled. “This city is sort of confining, isn't it?”

“Like a straitjacket.”

“Exactly. Well, except for the ocean. It's so incredibly beautiful. I had no idea.”

“You'd never seen it before?”

“Nope. Never seen a mountain or a desert either. I really couldn't afford to travel before the tornado hit. You heard about that?”

“Liv mentioned it. I'm really sorry.”

“Thanks. The upside of it all is that I made a lot of money from the house insurance. Then I sold the land and my grandparents' farmland to a development company. For the first time in my life I could afford a brand-new car and a vacation. A long vacation, like a whole entire month in Southern California.”

Sam winced.

It was too much information, but Jasmyn's pent-up thoughts tumbled out. “I never really fit in as a kid. I was from the wrong side of the tracks…or the cornfield. The only place I felt safe was by myself. Valley Oaks is a wonderful place. Everyone rallied around me after the tornado. Unbelievable charity. But then I sold the land and whoa. People were not happy. I mean, I still have friends—Well, it's not like we get together a lot. Except for Quinn. Her parents invite me for holidays. And my regular customers are always sweet, but…”

Jasmyn frowned. The next part was awfully difficult to admit. She went on. “The thing is, the company I sold to is putting in a strip mall between the town and the interstate. Yikes. It'll be such an easy stop for travelers. Too easy. They won't have to come into town to shop or eat.” She paused for a breath and a peek at Sam, who kept right on walking, her profile a stoic mask, her businesswoman brain probably thinking how Jasmyn had robbed her town.

Which she had.

Jasmyn sighed. “I know, it sounds awful and I admit that part bothers me too. It was a hasty decision and I can be so gullible. I could have lived on the insurance alone for a while, but this company came to me. They'd been scouting the area for months. What was I supposed to do? I didn't want to rebuild. I listed with a Realtor, but nobody was interested in buying. The farmer who leased land from me is old and he didn't want to— Well, you get the picture. I guess. Look, I'm sorry for running off the mouth like that. My grandma called me a vocal fire hydrant for good reason.”

That tidbit usually got a smile out of people, but not Sam.

Jasmyn felt like a total idiot for gushing on and on. “So. You said you don't miss some things about home either, huh?”

Still no reaction.

Way too personal.

They walked past several docked boats and headed out to what appeared to be the arm of land that separated the harbor from the ocean. She spotted a restaurant and a motel.

Even after her land sold and the village cold shoulder aimed itself at her, Jasmyn had not considered changing anything about her life. After all, she had dealt with plenty of hardships. Her grandparents died. Her mother died at fifty-one. Growing up, she'd worn used clothing and was teased for it as well as for her not-so-bright grades. She dated a few guys. Two were losers; one upset her. Okay, he snapped her heart in two as though it were a twig, and by the time she got over him, she'd sworn off men.

Seriously, what was one little tornado?

After a few weeks she had moved from Quinn's couch into a furnished studio apartment, no big deal. When she dropped a platter of barbecue ribs and the sauce splattered the ceiling tiles and three diners, including the school board president, Danno said yes, it was a big deal. No, he said the tornado was a
huge
deal.

He told her she was a basket case and to take a vacation. He told her to go find her smile. And that San Diego was his all-time favorite place for finding smiles.

His words struck a chord. She realized she was living not only under a black cloud, but inside of it as well. How had she not seen that before? When she hugged Quinn goodbye at the airport, the darkness lessened. When she set foot on the beach, it went away.
Poof.

Then came the car theft, and now there she was again, on the verge of tears, running off the mouth to a virtual stranger, putting on her dark basket-case self again as though it were a sweatshirt, wishing—

“What I don't miss…” Sam glanced at her. “I don't miss breathing the same air I breathed when I was a kid living in the middle of a nightmare. I don't miss living near those memories of not feeling safe with others. Like you.”

The words resounded in her head, as loud as the cracking of an old oak in a storm. Trunk, limbs, and words all hit the ground with an echoing boom.

Memories of not feeling safe…like you.

That described her to a tee.

Thirteen

Two weeks after moving into the Casa, Jasmyn poured a cup of coffee, her first of the morning. Quinn's voice filled the cell phone at her ear, but warm fuzzies muffled her friend's words. What had brought on the happy attack? A dream? What could make her so deliriously giggly?

Her temporary ID and replacement credit and debit cards had arrived. She had her own new cell phone too, a smarter one than her lost one. Its built-in camera was better, and it meant she didn't have to replace her camera yet. But those things made life easier, not exactly a cloud nine experience.

Two weeks at the Casa could easily explain it. Nestled under Mama Liv's wing, she couldn't help but feel good.
Mama Liv
. That was what others called her at times. She clearly affected everyone with her nurturing vibes.

The woman would not let her pay rent. Instead, she gave her chores, little ones. Jasmyn cleaned the laundry room and the office, weeded flower beds, swept the courtyard, and ran errands. Almost daily she and Liv either ate together or went to the coffee shop down the street.

And the neighbors. They kept inviting her to do things. Well, all except for Keagan. Jasmyn was okay with that because he wasn't exactly friendly. Liv said he was an angel, but the woman tended to be over-the-top with positive thinking.

Everyone else, though, treated her royally. She'd gone running three times with Sam, went to the ice-cream shop with Riley and Tasha, played Monopoly with Noah and his daughter in the courtyard, eaten meals at
Inez and Louis's, gone with Piper and Chad to a Japanese restaurant where they cooked everything right at the table on a huge surface, and watched an old video with Coco, the generous cream sharer.

Smiling, Jasmyn added cream to her coffee now, tilted the phone from her mouth, and said to the soundproof wall that divided her cottage from the neighbor's, “Thank you, Coco.”

“Coco?” Quinn interrupted herself. “You're having hot cocoa in the land of perpetual summer?”

“No. I was talking to Coco Vizzini. I told you about her.”

“I can't keep them all straight.”

“She's the sweet, doddery ex-movie star in Cottage Twelve. I should say,
film
star. That's what she says. She's so cute.”

“Is she there?”

“Where?”

“With you, Miss Sun-Soaked Brain. In your little
cottage
number whatever.”

Jasmyn rolled her eyes. “Nope. I was just using the second carton of cream she's given me, and so I thanked her through the walls. Did I mention she danced in a 1950s movie that was nominated for a Best Picture Oscar?”

“You're talking to some nonexistent woman.”

“She exists.”

“Somewhere else. She's not there with you.”

“Sheesh, you sound grumpy.” Teasing sometimes took the edge off Quinn's demeanor. “Have you had your coffee yet? Mine is so good with this cream. Mmm.” She slurped from her mug.