Capítulo 62: 62. Chapter 62
Alexis nudges his hip as they walk down the boardwalk. She shifts the bag to her other shoulder and pushes her sunglasses back to look at him.
"What?" she says, grinning a little at him.
He shrugs. The stubble already sprinkling his jaw makes him look older than he is; she's often gotten looks from grandmotherly types who seem concerned that she's evidently dating such an older man. Of course, she still looks eighteen, the curse of her mother's genetics.
"Just. Your mom," Rafe grins back.
She blanks for a moment, because Rafe has never met her mother. And then she realizes he's not reading her mind at all, he's talking about her mom. The woman who has been her mom for the last five years.
"What about her?"
"She's pretty amazing." Rafe, even under the olive skin, looks to be blushing.
Alexis laughs as they step to the end of the boardwalk and down into soft, white sand. The look on his face makes her laugh again, delighted with him.
"You kind of have a crush on my mom, Rafe?"
He huffs at her, but his cheeks are pink. "Kinda."
She grins widely at him, slips her hand in his. "She's pretty great. And beautiful."
"It's not the - well, sure it could be. But jeez, don't tell your dad that I think his wife is hot. Yeah?"
"Hot?" she asks, raising an eyebrow at him, letting him twist a little.
He narrows his eyes at her. "You know what I mean. Good thing you take after her."
Alexis can't help laughing at that. "You do realize we don't share any genetics, right? Step-mother. . .?"
"I know that. But I think this is a case of nature versus nurture, babe."
"And nurture has won?"
"Most definitely. You act like Kate. I didn't know that until I met her."
She stops at a likely spot; they've gone ahead to save beach space for the rest of the family. Ellery sobbed when Kate accidentally pinched her skin getting her into her swimsuit, so Kate called a break for the kids, made them stop for lunch. So Rafe and Alexis went on down alone.
"How do I act like Kate?" she murmurs, watching Rafe take the towel from her and spread it out. He gestures for her to go ahead and sit, then he opens the umbrella and spikes it into the sand. Evidently he's got to think about this for a minute.
Alexis pulls the sunblock out of her bag and watches the way the sinewy muscles of his arms flex as he rocks the umbrella back and forth to dig it deep in the sand. She's the fairest of all of them, so she'll probably need it as the afternoon goes on, but for now, the kids will probably play under its shade.
She smears more sunblock on the tops of her shoulders, which feel too hot despite the layer of factor fifty she put on in the condo. Then she dabs her nose and cheeks, gets her ears really well.
Rafe drops down next to her in the sand. "Okay. So, for one. You guys roll your eyes the same way."
She grins. "Yeah, even Dad said I did that. Way back. It's handy."
Rafe laughs, low and delicious, nearly in her ear. "Oh really? Well. You've got it down, that's for sure."
"What else?" she asks. It makes her proud to think that she's at all like Kate.
"Mostly. . .that sense of passionate compassion. When you talk about the kids you work with, the way their stories touch you, and not just affect you, but you take it on, you make it a part of yourself. Your mom. . .she looked the same way this morning, when we came in."
Alexis stops fiddling with the sunscreen, watches the ocean break against the shoreline. She hasn't said anything to him about it, but he's picked up on the current of tragedy all on his own.
"Kate's mom was murdered when she was 19," Alexis starts, then has to clear her throat. It does affect her; she does take it into herself. Even this, an event that happened before she knew Kate. Because it's so much a part of who Kate is, and why Kate does what she does.
"God, that's terrible," Rafe says, reaching over to take her hand, curling his long fingers around her palm. His hands are huge compared to hers; she loves how he swallows her up, makes her safe. Like her father.
"It's why she became a cop. It's what. . .started everything, shaped her. Remember when I had that children's psych class last year?"
"Ah, which one?" he laughs.
True. Good point. "With Loeb. The class was on domestic violence and how it affects the victims. He spent a whole semester on how children were different from adults when it came to childhood traumas."
"Oh right, and you got ticked because he never talked about teenagers."
She grins at him, pleased he remembers. He's got everything in his head, memorized like a favorite recipe. He remembers each ingredient and the flavor of their conversation. It's impressive. "I did. But when we did talk about it, he said that teenagers have a combination - both adult and child - and that makes it difficult to treat."
"Ah, so children?"
"They are first and foremost broken-hearted. Guilty. They take it into themselves and assume that the parent is right in whatever behavior he exhibits. So if the parent is right, then the child must be wrong. This brings a sense of worthlessness and guilt, leading to an adult life filled with an inability to achieve success and an innate sense that this behavior is the only way to solve problems-"
"Okay, very clinical. Got it, Allie. And the adult response to domestic violence?"
"Can be complicated by a variety of things. But most often the need to set things to rights. Fix it. It might be to fix whatever it is within themselves that caused the behavior, much like a child, but it also has an outward direction - fixing the other person, or in general, fixing the world. You get a lot of leaders and service professionals this way."
"Huh, so it can, actually, be a driving force for good."
"An obsessive force. Not so healthy."
"And so how does this relate to a nineteen year old Kate?" Rafe asks. Smart man. She loves how his mind works, races along beside hers, faster and faster, speeding to the inevitable conclusion or suddenly switching tracks to wind up at something else, something far more interesting.
"Kate, as a teen, experienced a pretty traumatic instance of violence. Obviously." It feels funny to profile her mom out loud like this, but she's done it again and again in her head. With every new psych class she took, she kept drifting back to Kate, to her own father, to the things which shaped them. Motherless and fatherless. "So she developed that sense of guilt, of bringing it on, and also the need to put it right."
"So it makes for an obsession that can never be assuaged," Rafe says gently, sighing. "That's sad."
"Kate has told me, before, that when she first started. . .well, when she and Dad got together, she felt that she was betraying her mom. Because if she was happy, then it meant her mother's death had brought her that happiness."
"You think she still believes that?" Rafe hooks his arms around his knees, hands clasped together. His dark grey eyes reflect the ocean.
"I don't think she wants to believe it. I think that's why my dad is so good for her. Because he doesn't let her think like that."
Rafe nods slowly. "I could see. . .that your dad fixes it for her, or maybe he just helps her fix it - the world. Because whatever happened to that couple we met, it was broken, and Kate wanted it to be healed, right? And when she couldn't do that, your dad healed it with her. As best they could. Which doesn't sound so great, it sounds strange maybe, but really it's powerful and-"
"It's okay. I think you're right." Alexis shrugs at him, fingers the edge of her towel. "You. . .do the same for me." She sighs on a breath and glances up at him, glad she took her sunglasses off.
Rafe's hand comes to the back of her neck, thumb stroking along her jaw. "Allie."
She shivers, her knees pressed together as she watches his eyes devour her. She's not good saying things out loud, never has been. At least, not things like this. She can say she loves him over and over, no problem. But the more intimate things, the things which touch the vulnerable places. . .she's gotten good at hinting around those things. But after what they've gone through to get here, he ought to know what he does for her.
Rafe leans in and slides the rough grain of his cheek along hers, his mouth at her ear.
"You fix everything - you make it right," he murmurs. She feels the sharp squeeze of his fingers at the nape of her neck and then he's gently sighing against her mouth, touching their lips together slowly.
She didn't know. How could she know? How the world is remade when you love someone.
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