The rest of Chapter 17

I've had a migraine all day, so I've been pretty useless instead of writing loads like I'd planned. I wrote this poem yesterday, so we're in luck--well blessed--I don't believe in luck--and I can get a post out today despite my overall uselessness. I took my last super-duper migraine pill, so I better call my doctor tomorrow.

I do need some help with this. I need a few Latin endearments that Gabriel would use for Alex. Suggestions?

And I wanted to tell you about a cool website I'm going to be a part of. It's called Dear Teen Me and just launched yesterday. They've signed up loads and loads of YA authors to write letters to their teenage selves and post them online for you to enjoy. There's a couple already up for you to check out. I'm scheduled in March--so that tells you how many authors are involved. That should be good timing. I hope to have CAYMAN SUMMER out by then. But that's not going to happen unless I scribble a lot more than I did today. No more headaches allowed.

LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK

POEM #??,

Alex sobs curled in a fetal

ball on the bathroom floor.

Gabriel picks her up,

tucks her in bed,

wipes her face

with tissues. “Come on,

now, my [need a Latin endearment here]

enough.”

I relieve him of the box

of tissues. “Let her cry.”

His handsome face

shows doubt. “Are you sure?”

I nod and sniff, blinking

back my own tears that threaten

to break through the stone

I’ve buried my heart with.

Gabriel bends over and kisses

her forehead. “Goodnight, my Alex.”

He retreats elegantly, looking every bit

the millionaire playboy caught

in caring that’s morphing to love

with every tear Alex sheds.

Once he’s gone, she groans, hiccups.

“I can’t stop. I keep trying.

Gabriel saw me like this.

How hideous am I?”

I give her a fresh wad of

soft whiteness to staunch

the hot snot dripping down

her chin. “He loves you like this.”

“I wish.” She buries her face

in the tissues.

“Cry, Alex. Don’t stop.

Even I still believe

in the power of tears.”

She sobs and sobs,

mourning her hurt, her loss,

melting into new found

tenderness that tinges her tears

with sparks of joy,

flutters of hope

and the dawn of love.

In the morning, she meets

Dani with coolness, but doesn’t

tear all the hair out of her head

or stab her with the knife Alex

straps to her leg when she dives.

Gabriel whisks her away

for a day off in the sun, lazing

on beaches and sipping icy fruit froth.

Dani’s got double shifts

until hell freezes over

to make up for leaving

everybody high and dry.

Seth’s working with her.

The boys have the other boat—

which leaves me my Michael

to dote on all day long.

Bonus.

We leave the dishes undone

and the place a wreck,

drive down to the blow holes,

buy spicy grilled chicken

from a roadside stand,

eat it, sitting side by side

on the bare coral shore

as waves crash against the cliffs

and force water in the cracks

and up through the spouts

to spray white and pure

high into the air.

He picks up a drumstick.

“I’m sorry about last night.”

He bites and chews. “Good  thing

Alex needed you.”

Good thing?

Bad thing?

It used to be so easy

to spot which was which.

I’ve opened the door

to bad thing.

Crave it more and more

every day. Would it

be so bad? Or would

it be the best thing

that ever happened to me?

I lean my head against

his shoulder. “If we would

have gone down to

the beach—?”

His eyes move away

from the intensity of mine

and gather the spectacle

of the ocean’s purity.

“I don’t know, babe.

I don’t know.”