Jade

by Sarah Jayne Carr

  After Karmin walked away, I took a sip of soda, letting the sweetness combat the stinging carbonation on my tongue. Ice cubes clinked against the glass as I set it back down on the table.

  “Was today improvement over yesterday?” he asked.

  “Anything’s better than last night.”

  Bo puffed out his cheeks. “I didn’t mean that. I meant work.”

  “The Triple C’s closed. Remember? Roxy flew off into the Maui sunset.”

  “I forgot,” he said. “So, what did you do with your freebie day?”

  “Ehhh.” I absentmindedly rubbed at my neck.

  “That nerve thing bothering you again?”

  “Always, but it’s no big deal. And the day was weird,” I replied. “I went to Seamless. After her highness changed the color scheme for my dress, I tried on this nuclear-colored piece of ‘art’ as Sabina called it. She doesn’t have what I need in-stock, and it’s too close to the wedding for her to order one. Now, I have to go to Bianca’s so I can transform into a lighthouse.” I unfolded my cloth napkin and set it on my lap. “I’d rather wear a potato sack through town.”

  He cocked his head to the side and stared at me like I overreacted. “It can’t be that bad.”

  “Um. Excuse me. Is your tux a fire hazard? You lose your right to an opinion.”

  He took a long drink. “Uh huh.”

  “You haven’t seen the dress,” I argued. “It’s bad.”

  He fought back a chuckle.

  “You wear it then!”

  “All of that’s valid reasoning for you to miss out on PT.”

  “I’m sorry.” My heart grew heavy, even though he wasn’t serious. “I told you I’d go to all of your appointments.”

  “And you made it with a few minutes to spare. No big deal. Same song and dance each time,” he said. “You don’t have to come.”

  “You say that every week, and every week I tell you I want to be there. It’s what friends do. Plus, I would’ve been on time if it weren’t for that jackass who held me up at the dress shop.”

  He stopped mid-reach for his drink “Seriously? Someone held you up? Like at gunpoint?”

  “No.” I laughed. “Held me up from leaving. The Dick Giblet struck again.”

  “McCullough?” A swift shadow of anger crossed his face. “He’s why you were late? I thought you were dress shopping.”

  “I was, but he stopped in to pick up his tux and then… you know what? Never mind.”

  I held back from talking about Sabina’s decision to not rent Miles a tuxedo and her stony attitude toward him. Knowing Bo, he’d give me an, “I told you so.”

  Bo pursed his lips. The lightheartedness surrounding our table dimmed. “I don’t like you hanging around him. McCullough’s a tool.”

  “I wasn’t ‘hanging around’ him.” I kept the summary brief. “For the record, I got to the dress shop first. Then, he walked in, we argued, and Sabina said some stuff that made him storm out. It happened so fast, and I still don’t get it.”

  “Maybe that’s for the best,” Bo replied, downing his remaining drink in two gulps.

  “What does that mean?”

  He let out a deep breath. “Look, Jade. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into with a guy like that.”

  “Spit your words or swallow them. Why are you being cryptic? For the love of… why is everyone so ambiguous when his name comes up?”

  “It bothers you, doesn’t it?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “Not knowing everything about someone in town.”

  “There are plenty… a few people around here I don’t know details about.”

  “Uh huh.” He reached across the table. I watched Bo grab a sugar packet from the metal holder, and he picked up the saltshaker. Keeping eye contact with me, he unscrewed the silver topper on the salt.

  “Mambo Rodriguez!” I reprimanded. “We aren’t teenagers anymore. Leaving the saltshaker lid barely attached at a restaurant is an immature prank.”

  “Give me some cred.” He took a cream-colored cocktail napkin from beneath his drink and unfolded it into two distinct halves. Carefully, he poured a tiny mountain of salt on one of the two squares. On the other half, he tore open the sugar packet and dumped its contents. “Close your eyes.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Humor me.”

  I did as he asked, unimpressed with Bo’s game.

  “Open them,” he said.

  My lids fluttered, but everything in front of me appeared the same.

  He gestured toward the napkin in front of him. “Which one is sugar?”

  “Why?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  Both piles of miniature grains appeared identical when I looked at them. “That one.” I pointed. “Sugar.”

  “Maybe I spun the napkin around. Maybe I didn’t.” He slid it toward me a few inches. “You one hundred percent on that?”

  I held my ground. “Sure am.”

  He rested his elbows on the table. “Willing to wager?”

  “Game on.”

  “Winner buys dinner?”

  I reached toward the water glass and touched an ice cube with the pad of my index finger. “Totally confident.” Next, I rested my wet fingertip to the top of the pile on the left and raised it to my mouth, pressing it against my tongue. The expectation of sweetness was a bitter disappointment while the sharp taste of salt made me still.

  Bo’s face exhibited the “I-told-you-so” look I’d predicted earlier.

  “Whatever. I had a fifty-fifty shot. Your point?”

  “Salt and sugar look alike. Watch who you trust.”

  “This isn’t about trusting anyone, but now I’m concerned because the conversation curved to white powder. Am I supposed to read between the lines? Is Miles a cocaine dealer?” The more I thought back, it could’ve explained some of his erratic behavior and moodiness.

  “You drove your struggle bus way off the topic trail, Baby Girl.”

  I waited for him to elaborate.

  “I don’t know what he does in his spare time, and I don’t care. You shouldn’t either.”

  “I don’t… arguing isn’t my MO here. I just want to know who I’m walking down the aisle next to and if I should be concerned. With his attitude and the way everyone reacts to him? He’s raised some legit questions,” I said.

  “That’s exactly it. I don’t know the person you’re walking down the aisle with. Not anymore. And the fact he came back to Cannon Cove after everything…”

  I curled my toes to withhold my frustration. Another door with a potential answer slammed in my face. Bo’s overprotective nature wasn’t a topic I wanted to dive into. “I want this whole wedding thing behind me. For multiple reasons.”

  Dinner interrupted our conversation.

  “Steak?” Karmin asked.

  Bo gave her a single nod and gestured to the space between his silverware setting. “That’s mine.”

  “And you’re the chicken.” She smiled and then it quickly fell from her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you a…”

  “It’s fine.” I blinked and forced away a scowl. She was right. Roxy’s voice played out in my head.

  “Another correction. You mean, perfectly scared shitless. Face it, Nash. You’ve given up.”

  She’d nailed me with the steel-toed kick to my dick mitten I’d expected. That sonofabitch hurt every time. I refused to admit it aloud, but Roxy spoke the truth. My middle name read “chicken shit”, and I wore it well.

  Without knowing it, Karmin gave me an additional strike to the lady bits. It was the turning point that made me begin questioning my life.

  My appetite vanished. It said a lot. Every Wednesday,
I looked forward to the juicy chicken strips, and the golden fries were the best around. That night, each bite tasted like steamed sawdust while I considered what Bo said. Our current conversation was equally bland, spent mostly in silence. I didn’t dare ask more questions after his reaction over Miles. Bo’s body language conveyed discomfort, and I didn’t trail far behind him. It was unlike any dinner we’d spent together. Usually, we had the perfect ratio of laughter, seriousness, and life catch up. We never missed a beat. That night, elements were missing, which left gaping sinkholes in our exchange like one of the blind date bombs Roxy set up.

  A pair of hands clamped down on my shoulders and I jumped, dropping the fry I trailed through a puddle of ketchup.

  “Jade. Bo,” a baritone voice said from behind me.

  I immediately regretted tipping my head upward. “Hi, Eli.” The sweetness on my face didn’t match the saltiness in my mouth or soul.

  “What’s up?” he asked, flashing an abnormally bright smile. I wondered if his grill could glow in the dark from his countless rounds of teeth whitening. Eli massaged my shoulders with no technique. Without warning, he dug deep into the muscles, each fingertip causing its own individual stint of misery.

  I tried to shrug away. In turn, he squeezed harder, keeping me cemented in place. All right. Sitting still it is. The pained evening intensified.

  Eli noticed. “Come on, Jade. Don’t play. You act like I don’t give award-winning massages. Ask Annelies. She knows I’m great with my hands. Besides, you probably don’t get many chances for a rubdown. Sit back and enjoy.”

  I forced a fake laugh.

  “So, what are you two kids up to tonight?” Eli asked.

  I hated it when he called us kids, and Eli did it every chance he could. Both Bo and I were two years his senior.

  “Dinner. Usual Wednesday bit.” Bo wiped his mouth and set the napkin down on his lap. “You?”

  “Meeting up with a buddy in the lounge. A last hurrah before the old ball-and-chain clamps on and doesn’t let go.”

  “Speaking of your fiancée, where is Annelies?” I asked.

  He rolled his eyes. “Being Bridezilla. Something about the caterer; I wasn’t listening.”

  “What did you think of the news?” Bo took a long drink from his fresh glass.

  Eli’s pressure remained intense. “News?”

  “About Nate’s replacement. For the wedding.”

  The confusion on Eli’s face wasn’t difficult to decipher.

  “Didn’t Annelies tell you?” Bo asked slowly.

  Eli winked. “Annelies says a lot of things, but as long as I keep her mouth full, it shuts her up.”

  “Gross,” I muttered.

  “She said to not worry about it.” Eli let his left shoulder jump with a shrug. “I didn’t ask details.”

  Who wouldn’t care about the identity of the best man in their own wedding?

  “Dude, I’d be pissed.” Bo didn’t hold back his burst of laughter.

  “Why?” Eli asked.

  He set his broccoli-filled fork down. “She really didn’t tell you who replaced Nate? Just gonna be a big-ass surprise?”

  “Who?” Eli sounded like an owl.

  Bo forced out a strained exhale. “I shouldn’t be the one telling you this.”

  “Tell me what?” Eli demanded.

  “McCullough is in town.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Eli’s hands suddenly nudged me to the border of my pain threshold.

  I fought to regulate my breathing, muscles crying in agony.

  Bo nodded. “Put it together.”

  Eli shook his head slowly, and the pinched nerve in my neck burned like fiery coals while numbness shot down my arm. “Bo. If you tell me he’s the best man in my wedding….”

  Bo gave off affirmation without uttering a syllable.

  Eli’s fingertips grazed bone.

  “Stop!” I couldn’t take it and wrenched away from his hold.

  Eli’s hurried apology was absent of any regret.

  Bo held his palms outward. “Hey, the decision wasn’t mine. Blame Annelies and Paige. Well, ninety-five percent Paige.”

  “Annelies needs a new best friend. Paige always meddles in shit,” Eli growled and unbuttoned the cuffs of his dress shirt. “I gotta go.”

  He thundered off toward the lounge without saying goodbye while I was left to rub at both of my shoulders. “What was that?”

  “Beats me,” Bo replied. “See? I’m not the only one around here who isn’t stoked about McCullough being in the wedding. You should act accordingly.”

  “I never said I was jazzed about…” I watched the door swing closed behind Eli, and even without his unwanted grip, he had a hold on me by way of the conversation that’d played out. “Can we not talk about Miles… Seth… whatever his name is anymore?”

  “Best idea I’ve heard all day,” Bo replied, finishing his drink before flagging Karmin for another. The next would be his fourth since we’d arrived.

  Bo and I settled back into our groove of clumsy quiet. I methodically chewed, diving deep for a topic that would launch us into casual conversation, coming up empty-handed. Instead, I filled that hand with fries that fed my throat hole until the waistband of my pants felt too tight. If my mouth stayed busy, maybe he wouldn’t notice the discomfort at our table, which meant it didn’t exist.

  When the bill came, I paid with my credit card and without complaint. Any other response would lead to Bo acting high and mighty. I had no interest in hearing it. The napkins of salt and sugar on the table caught my eye again. Is it so hard to tell them apart? I studied the grains, determined to find a distinction but couldn’t.

  Was Bo right? Did I cross a line? Was wanting to know a little background about the person I walked down the aisle with too much? I chalked it up to harboring guilt about the soggy file in the office and the struggle to fill in the blanks to make myself feel better. Thanks a lot, Gwen.

  Damn me for limiting my friend pool on Isolation Island. The only two people I could talk to were Roxy and Bo, and they’d both shoot me down in an instant with “the look.”

  After I signed the receipt, Bo and I headed back across the street in silence. His vehicle was the only one in the physical therapy office’s parking lot. No racing. No joking. No teasing. The surrounding mood held constant at somber.

  I was the first to speak. “So, guess I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

  “You know it,” he replied, but it didn’t sit well with me, like a bicycle chain not grabbing onto its gear. His smile didn’t feel right either as if it wasn’t intended for me.

  Usually, we lingered, talking about the latest town gossip, which was minimal but worthy of dissecting. Other times, we watched the stars on clear nights. I’d tell him about Roxy’s latest problems with Will, and Bo’d tell me about what went down at work. But our theme that night continued; we were at a loss. I didn’t like it. Miles, present or not, acted as an invisible wedge between us. Friendship shouldn’t have been that difficult. At that moment, I made a promise to myself— no more bringing up Miles in front of Bo. It’d be best for both of us because damaging our solid bond wasn’t worth it.

  As I reached into my purse for keys, I expected to hear a jingle from Bo grabbing for his. My mouth was ready to suggest I give him a ride after he drank like a fish at The Kraken. Instead, he pulled a flask out from the inner pocket of his jacket. The etched silver with his initials MJR was dinged and scratched from being dropped twenty times too many.

  My approach needed caution, and I aimed for subtle humor. “Whatcha got in there? Water?”

  “Sure. Strongest water I’ve had all day. You want?” he asked, extending the flask toward me with a jiggle. The remaining liquid inside sloshed audibly against the sides.

  “Nope.”
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  “Ah. That’s right. You don’t drink,” he said. “It’s cool. I’ll have enough for both of us.”

  I remained concerned. “Not funny.”

  “What? It’s been one hell of a twenty-four hours. Don’t you think?” He took a swig, sucking air through his teeth afterward.

  “You drove.”

  “Your sleuthing skills are on fiy-ah,” he overenunciated the last word one octave higher than the others.

  I continued, “Plus, you had four JDCs at The Kraken.”

  “Keepin’ count now, Baby Girl?”

  “No! I just…” I crossed my arms and glanced down at the flask. “What time did you start today?”

  His eyes flicked up toward me before he headed across the lot. “Start? A better question is why haven’t I crossed the finish line with it yet?”

  “Bo, don’t get behind the wheel.” I spoke each syllable with an authoritative tone that bordered on shaking, hoping to drive the point home with no pun intended that time. “You shouldn’t with—”

  “Don’t.” He balled his free hand into a fist. “Don’t. Start.” Those two syllables blasted into the air. The remaining words he spoke smeared into a trail, “Trust me. I’m real familiar with my limitations.”

  “I wasn’t going to say ‘your limitations.’ I was going to say with how much you drank.”

  “Right.”

  Our skyrocketed tension made my stomach feel cold and slippery inside. Part of me was afraid I’d unswallow my dinner in that parking lot, much like the Brady’s cheesecake from a few nights before. It didn’t happen often, but even once was more than enough— I hated it when Bo put me in the position to turn parental on him. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “Don’t watch then,” he whispered sharply.

  Maybe I misinterpreted what I saw, but I swore he blinked back tears. In a few ways, Bo and I were a lot alike. Similar humor. Similar personalities. Maybe that’s why we got along so well. But we also had matching internal pitfalls. We both drove our emotions on the same path, a fork in the road funneling how we handled them. His release was through the bottle, whereas I dealt with mine through laps in the cove. It was our biggest likeness and our biggest difference. Over time, my need for swimming intensified while Bo leaned harder on his liquor crutch.