Beyond

Chapter Two

I abandon my rolling cart of books and duck behind a shelf. Maybe, he doesn't know I'm here. Squeezing my eyes shut for a second, I breathe in . . . one . . . two . . . three . . . and out . . . one . . . two . . . three . . .. My heart is banging against my chest; it's hard to focus on anything besides the thumping. How did he find me? I watch him as he disappears among the stacks of books-the History section. Go figure. He was always a WWII buff.

Suddenly, it makes sense and my shoulders relax as I make the connection. It's still very possible that he doesn't know that I'm here. That he didn't follow me from California. He's not here to take me back.

It's been a year . . .

he's moved on . . .

hasn't he?

It's the museum. He's always wanted to go to that WWII Museum. That's why he's here. It has to be. It's not like he can track me down. He's not the FBI.

My heart is racing.

My palms are sweating.

I'm paranoid.

Suddenly, the lights are too bright. The store too loud. My pulse beats in my ears. I take my chance to disappear into the office. Pulling my phone out of my back pocket, I start to type a text to DeAndré. I stop midsentence. Instead, I grab my bag and, dismantling the alarm, I sneak out through the emergency exit in the back of the store. I type out a quick text to Margie.

Code blue. I stepped out for 10 minutes. Do you need anything?

What happened?

I thought I saw someone I left in the past. I'm sorry. I'll explain everything when I get back.

Don't apologize, Shi. There's no need. Grab me a cup of coffee, will you?

You got it, Boss. :)

I thank God every day for Margie. She doesn't know about Bradley. At least not specifically. But she knows I struggle when it comes to my life back in California. A year ago, I ran away. There is nothing and no one there for me. No one place I can call home. Just the strangers that snatch me from my bed and drag me to the pier. The ocean air filling my lungs until I can't breathe. The sun clinging like chains weighing me down.

André is still behind the counter when I walk in. He dances to some 90s pop song. He looks up but doesn't stop dancing when he notices it's just me.

"I need Margie's usual," I tell him.

"Yes, ma'am," he says, still dancing. "Blue eyes hasn't been back today, if you were wondering."

I run a hand over my face trying to hide the obvious reaction from him. For a moment, my pulse slows. "I was not wondering that. Why would I be wondering that?"

"The man had no idea who you were, but he bought you a five-dollar cupcake. He's in love with you," he replies as he moves around behind the counter making Margie's coffee.

"He was just being nice, André."

"Right. Because men never have ulterior motives," he says, making a face.

"How would you know, DeAndré?"

"Honey, I may wear a dress in my free time, but my primal instincts are male. And they are screaming that that gorgeous male wants you."

"Well, maybe, all I need in my life is you," I tell him, smiling.

"You know you're my girl, first and foremost. And no one is going to come between us, but I'm not sleeping with you."

"Why does everything always come back to sex with you?"

He shrugs and hands me Margie's coffee. "I have an audition at 3:30 today, but after that I'm coming over and we're going to talk."

"About what?"

"Everything. Don't think I didn't notice the kicked puppy look on your face when you walked in here. Sleepover. Tonight. Your place."

"You got it, André," I say as I pay for the coffee and turn to leave. "Break a leg."