- LOUISA -There's a beach-themed restaurant called the Sand Dollar Shack right next to the lot where we left the car. I'm quick to discover that their fried shrimp is positively orgasmic - or at least good enough to make me temporarily ignore the fact that my clothes are sopping wet. Or that everyone at the patio tables around us is staring at me in my dripping jeans like I'm insane. Which, to be fair, I kind of am.The shrimp comes with what the waitress tells us is their "secret sauce," which is both spicy and sweet. I take one bite and then smother my entire basket of fried goodness with the stuff. Ward appears to be digging his crab cakes just as much."These are insane," he says around a mouthful of food. He holds his next bite toward me. "Try some."I lean forward and close my lips around the fork. The crab cake has a spicy tang that sets my entire mouth on fire, but he's right - it's amazing."Good, right?" he says."Now you have to have some of my shrimp." I grab one by
- LOUISA -We decide to get one of those giant road atlases of the United States they sell at gas stations. We have to dig through three layers of racy magazines to find one on the shelf at the place we stop, but I'm just grateful they still sell these things at all. Most people would just pull up an application on their phone or something. But my cell is back at the estate with the rest of my things, and Ward's phone is several years old - he can't do much but make calls and send text messages.We prop the atlas up against the dash of Ward's car and flip through it page by page. Each map is a web of roads, a tapestry of colored lines. There's a page for every state, as well as close-ups of all the major cities. There's also a larger map of the entire continental United States. When I look at that page, when I see how everything connects, it really does feel like we could go anywhere.I've always loved maps. But I haven't held an atlas in my hands for years. My father gave me one on
- LOUISA -It's my smell that comes back first. I smell food. Something smoky. Somewhere far away, my stomach rumbles in response to the delicious scent.I gulp in a mouthful of air. My cheek is tingling. My whole face is throbbing.And someone is shouting."...hit her! What the fuck?"I know that voice. That's Ward's voice. Ward is shouting. Why is Ward shouting?I try to move, and pain shoots through my skull. It comes back to me slowly - the fight, my interference, Ward's eyes suddenly going wide - and I realize I was hit. The waiter punched me in the side of the face."What the fuck is wrong with you?" Ward shouts at the other man.Carefully, I sit up. The world only spins for a minute, and I take that as a good sign. And then hands - Ward's hands - are on me, lifting me to my feet. Everything falls into focus around me. The newspaper stands have been knocked over, and several dozen images of my face are scattered across the floor. When I look up across the dining room, I f
- LOUISA -"Your pick," I say, nudging the atlas in Ward's direction.We're sitting in the car, our book of maps propped up against the dashboard. Ward rubs his chin as he studies the network of roads on the page."I say we follow the highway into Delaware," he says. "Then New Jersey. We'll hit Pennsylvania on the way to New York."We crossed over into Maryland this morning. We decided to skirt Washington D.C. - given the state of my face, it seemed like a good idea to avoid large cities. Ward's purchases last night also included some makeup and a pair of over-sized sunglasses for me, but neither is particularly successful at hiding the fact that the entire left side of my face is black and blue."Sounds like a plan to me," I say, sliding the sunglasses up onto the top of my head and studying the map. "They don't look that far apart. Think we can hit them all today?"He nods. "Honestly, I'm guessing it's probably only about four hours from here to New York City. But that's assumi
- LOUISA -Afterward, Ward slides back over to his side of the car, and I collapse against my seat, too exhausted and too overwhelmed to move.My body is still trembling, and my skin is burning with heat. I'm damp with sweat - both his and mine - and my hair is plastered to my neck and cheeks. I'm perfectly satisfied - stretched and sore and buzzing with the pleasure he gave me - and I let out a contented sigh.I know I should be a little more worried about the fact that we forgot the condom, but it's hard to muster any regret after an experience like that. If I'm being perfectly honest, I wanted to experience him that way - as truly and fully as possible. I can still feel the heat of him between my legs.I tilt my head and look over at Ward. He's leaning back against his seat, and his chest is still heaving. His hands are resting on his stomach, and one of his fingers taps a beat against his skin. He's staring at the roof of the car, probably listening to the rain that still pound
- LOUISA -I need to tell him.I've been putting it off, trying to figure out what I might say to prepare him for what's to come. I need to just drag him into a supermarket and show him the magazine - or at the very least, get over myself and spit it out already - but every time I open my mouth to say something, he'll grin or laugh and look so happy that I can't bear to take that away from him.I could watch him for hours. Study every little movement in his face. Count the times he bites down slightly on his lower lip as he hums along to a song on the radio. Admire the variations of color in the stubble on his cheeks and jaw.Soon, that face will be everywhere. All over the gossip sites on the internet. All over the tabloids in every supermarket.I only saw the magazine last night. Maybe he can live in ignorance for another few days. But if the situation were reversed...I'd want to know. And if he's going to hear it sooner or later, it's better that he hears it from me. Before thi
- LOUISA -I tell myself that Ward and I are ready for anything, that no number of magazine articles or posts on gossip sites will shake us. Let them say what they want. Let them speculate about our relationship and dig up our secrets. It won't change how Ward and I feel about each other.But I'm used to this. Not that you ever really get used to that sort of attention - but at the very least, I've learned how to live with it. It never stops being strange seeing your face on the cover of a magazine.Ward, on the other hand, is dealing with this for the first time.The day after I tell him about Celebrity Spark Magazine, we stop at a gas station to refill and pick up some snacks. I slip away to the bathroom, and when I return to the front of the convenience store, I find Ward looking through the racks of magazines.He has the latest issue of Celebrity Spark in his hands, and he stares down at the cover for a long time before flipping it open and finding the article. I don't try to
- LOUISA -I've never seen Ward like this. Not at Huntington Manor. Not even when I was punched. He's perfectly still.And then all of a sudden his hand darts out. He grabs the magazine off of the rack. Tears through the pages.They didn't even bother to come up with a different title for the accompanying article. They just repeat the same, cold phrase across the top of the page.Edward Carolson: Dead at 58.I know that headline. I saw something similar on dozens of publications when my father died. On a hundred websites. It's always the same: blunt and sensational at the same time. Like the people who appear in these magazines are fictional characters, and every event of their life is just one more scene in that massive soap opera. Like they don't leave behind real people who have to see reminders of their loved ones wherever they turn.Ward's hands are shaking. He's still holding the magazine open, but the pages are fluttering. I don't think he can even read the article.I'm s