Jade

by Sarah Jayne Carr

  “Don’t try me,” Miles growled.

  Bo’s eyes blazed. “I dare you.”

  Tension invited itself to the party. I tried to climb the pool ladder, the weight of my dress slowing me down.

  “Both of you are ridiculous,” I reprimanded, feeling judgmental stares from all angles when the soles of my feet met cement. “There weren’t any sharks. Everything’s fine.”

  Eli jogged over from where he prepared a drink at the bar with his tanned chest puffed out, ready to exercise his authority. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothin’,” Bo said. “Mr. Pool Rules here is trying to establish dominance. Maybe his dick isn’t big enough and it’s the only way he can compensate.”

  Miles took a step toward Bo, and I made a bold movement forward to intervene, but Eli clotheslined me in the windpipe hard with his beefy forearm.

  I rubbed the front of my throat and swallowed.

  “You can’t protect your friend forever, kid. Let them figure their shit out,” he muttered without his eye contact straying from Bo and Miles. “Survival of the fittest.”

  Annelies bounced over, trying to make light of the conversation. “Okay, guys. No black eyes for my wedding. That’s not what Chef Jacques’s beef filets are for. Calm down.”

  Miles took a few steps and swiped his cell and keys from the table. “Coming here was a mistake.”

  Sienna whispered to him with a warning stare. “Two thumbs down. I haven’t snapped any pics yet.”

  “Then PhotoShop me in because I’m out.” Miles held his own thumb at eye level for Sienna and then hiked it over his shoulder.

  Bo offered his opinion. “Dude’s like a cloud. When he disappears, this day will be beautiful.”

  “Fuck off,” Miles muttered.

  I watched him walk out through the side gate, letting it swing wide in his wake. No one moved. Utter stillness. Even his picture-perfect girlfriend, Sienna, didn’t seem too bothered by his departure.

  Bo approached me. “That was a fun turn of events.”

  “Something like that,” I replied. “And don’t claim innocence. For whatever reason, you two are like a stick of dynamite and a lit match.”

  “Listen.” He grabbed my hand and curved the subject. “Can we talk?”

  “Sure,” I said absentmindedly, my gaze snagging on the gate swaying back and forth.

  He gestured. “C’mon.”

  I followed Bo across the cement pathway and under the pergola, shivering, water dripping down my back. Plump clusters of purple wisteria blooms hung down through the slats to create a delicate roof overhead, and a few honeybees buzzed nearby as they zoomed in and out of the blossoms.

  I took a deep breath, the scent not quite freesia and not quite gardenia. “What’s up?”

  “Truce?” he asked.

  “Go on.”

  “Dinner. Last night. I don’t like the way we left things between us. It’s bugged me all morning.”

  I opened my mouth and shut it. Part of me wanted to reprimand him for his decision to drive the night before, but a bigger part of me knew bringing it up would make things worse. “We were both—”

  “No explanations. Just write it off. What you and I have is stronger than McCullough interfering in our lives. Okay?”

  I looked around. Sienna posed Annelies and Eli near the pool, scurrying to take a series of pictures from different angles. Lissy hadn’t moved from her sunbathing spot. The energy dipped without Miles. Less electric. More peaceful. Maybe Bo was right; we were better off without his intrusion. Our conversation settled comfortably. Zero pauses. Zero strain. For a few minutes, I forgot I stood at Eli’s, while soaking wet, as Bo and I caught up.

  Cue short-lived moment. Someone had approached from behind, jabbing my shoulder hard. “Ahem.”

  I flinched, silently asking Bo with my eyes if Paige stood behind me.

  He gave a mild nod.

  I slowly turned around. “What’s up, Paige?”

  Her resting bitch face was fully engaged while she held a crumpled piece of paper between her thumb and index finger. “I think you forgot this, teetotaler.” Jeweled fingernails sparkled in the patches of sun streaming between clusters of flowers.

  “Hey, thanks!” I plucked it from her hand before she had a chance to yank it away. “So sweet of you to hang onto it for me.” I cocked my head to the side and paired it with an adorable nose-scrunch-grin-combo.

  “You’re not cute. We both know you left it at K-7 on purpose.” She narrowed her eyes, mimicking my head tilt and leer. “Can’t wait to see the sweet moves you learn from Zoe. Rumor on the street is her last job was a pole dancer down at Stiffies.”

  “And I’m sure she learned all of her pole waxing techniques from you. Want me to tell her hi?”

  Bo made a pained face. “Yikes.”

  The few additional sentences I volleyed with Paige were more than enough. Awkwardness found me again. I remembered I was cold, wet, and hungry. Most of all, I wanted to leave even though the event still had hours to go.

  But I had a card to play, another perfect excuse. Going to Bianca’s. I hadn’t planned on making the drive until later that afternoon but escaping wedding party prison trumped everything else.

  “Gosh, Paige. I’m sad to end this heartwarming moment, but I have to pick up my dress.”

  Paige’s frown didn’t turn upside down. “You… you found one? That fast?”

  “Sure did. Are you surprised?”

  “N… no… not at all,” she stuttered.

  Annelies bounced over with a dramatic pout. “Noo! Did you say you’re leaving? What about the pictures and lunch?”

  “Ooh. Tough call. BBQ fun or pick up my dress for your wedding?” I tried to sound regretful but failed.

  Annelies’s shoulders relaxed, a complete one-eighty from Paige’s reaction. “Good! You tracked one down!”

  “I did. But if I don’t leave soon, I won’t make it back in time for the carnival. And your mom’s shop is closing extra early for the holiday. If you want me to stay instead—”

  “No, you’re right,” Annelies said. “You should go.”

  “Want company, Baby Girl?” Bo asked.

  “Nah. I’m good. You enjoy the party.”

  “Do you need a few bucks for gas?” Annelies asked. “I know funds are tight for you.”

  “Don’t offer her money,” Paige hissed. “She’ll act like a stray, coming back for handouts all the time.”

  Rage vibrated from my body.

  Paige mouthed at me, “Bitch.”

  “Speaks the queen B.” I turned from Paige toward Annelies, trying my best to stay calm. “Trust me. I’m good.”

  Annelies hesitated. “I’m not sure your Jeep can make it—”

  With a frozen smile, I resembled a ventriloquist. “My Jeep is fine.”

  “Okay. If you’re sure. Promise you’ll go to the carnival?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I ensured my phrases sounded sweet like honey even though they tasted rotten. “Counting down the minutes until I get to hang out with everyone again, especially Paige here.” I rubbed her arm and squeezed harder than necessary. “She’s such a joy.”

  Paige wrenched away from me. “I’ll miss you, too,” her mouth twitched downward, and she added a hushed, “but my aim’s improving.”

  I bent down to give Bo a quick peck on the cheek and whispered, “Truce accepted,” in his ear before darting off to grab my tote bag and excuse myself. I offered a brief goodbye to Lissy and Sienna and touched my throat where Eli clotheslined me, thankful he wasn’t in view.

  The metal latch clinked when the oversized gate closed. That punctuated sound confirmed my separation from everyone. Ball-and-chain unlocked. Freedom. I leaned back against the sidi
ng of the house, allowing it to support my frame.

  A slight breeze caressed my face, drifting from the backyard. It smelled of summertime: freshly mowed grass, charcoal briquets, and chlorine. I tipped my head skyward, the sun warm on my skin. “Only three more days. You can do this,” I whispered to myself while rubbing the sore spot in my shoulder for a few seconds, stretching my neck to ease the pain.

  With renewed pep in my step, I headed toward the Jeep. The trip to Ocean Shores wouldn’t be short, but I needed time to decompress before the carnival. I made a mental list of my blessings.

  The sun shone bright.

  Fourth of July was my favorite.

  Teddy and Iris weren’t around.

  Roxy stopped blowing up my phone.

  The Triple C was closed— no Beatrice, no Kenneth, no Leif, and no Joyce.

  I had a long, peaceful drive ahead of me.

  Alone.

  After I finished counting, I began to look forward to the miniature escape… a little. Maybe the day would improve yet.

  But I spoke too soon.

  When I rounded the corner and headed toward the driveway, all of that changed.

  Miles sat on the curb, elbows on his knees and his forehead supported by the heels of his hands. I glanced farther to the right, surprise siphoning the blood from my face.

  Holy shit.

  Three of the four tires on his truck were slashed, the once-round circular rubber looking like it’d half-melted into the hot asphalt below. The Ford visibly tilted, tipping upward on one corner. My eyes widened when I scanned higher. I’m pretty sure I stopped breathing. Someone used cherry-colored spray paint on the front fender and driver’s side door, each letter sloppily applied in all caps.

  HISTORY LIVES

  Gravity pulled at the lower edges of the lettering, dribbling down in a few thick drips. The effect left it resembling a bloody mess. An accompanying message on the right half of the windshield was to the point, written in white.

  DIE, TRASH

  Maybe I overanalyzed it, but the grammatically correct comma was an interesting touch along with the contrast of living and dying. To top it off, a poorly drawn penis, with unnaturally small balls, had been keyed on the side of the truck bed.

  “What the…” I muttered under my breath. Pages of Cannon Cove citizens turned through my head like a flipbook. Bo, Sienna, Eli, Paige, and Annelies couldn’t be guilty. Not even Lissy. They were all in the backyard with me. Aside from Miles, I was last to arrive. That left the entire wedding party innocent.

  I lifted my foot to take a step backward, unsure of where to go. If I returned to the party, I’d have to explain myself… and endure Paige. Moving forward meant crossing Miles since he parked directly behind my Jeep. Both choices left me screwed. A dog’s loud bark made my decision from down the street. Startled, my right flipflop met the edge of the gravel, crunching to announce my existence.

  Miles’s eyes trailed up toward me slowly and then his focus turned back to the ground. “Don’t start, Doc.” Defeat filled his voice, “I’m not in the mood.”

  I stood and stared, waiting. For what, though? More acidic remarks? Commentary on my clothes? Another dime? None of it happened. Miles McCullough kept his head aimed downward.

  Man, I deserved a gold star. A big one. So many sassy retorts were ready, and I should’ve beamed with pride for not using a single round of verbal ammo. So, why I didn’t feel better about my influx of willpower? Instead, and with caution, I walked over to where he sat and stepped off the curb to sit two feet away from him. Each word was picked carefully like daisies in a field.

  “Who’d do this?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “In this town? Who wouldn’t.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “Right.” He laughed through his nose. “No cop in Cannon Cove will help Seth McCullough. Trust me.”

  A scratchy layer of quiet blanketed the conversation. No backhanded comments. No cheap shots aimed my way. The forlorn, lost look on his face as he kept his head low maintained the solemn mood. The way his arms rested atop his knees reminded me of the tattoo on his back. That same melancholy feeling returned to my chest when I first saw it during his massage. His armor of biting sarcasm being absent left him vulnerable.

  More than a minute passed. I’m not sure what caused me to pull the trigger on my next move. Pity? Benevolence? Empathy? No square-shaped peg of a word fit the round hole. I reached to pull out my phone.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  I ignored him and scrolled through my contact list.

  EDDIE

  Hey, hope you recovered from the chicken. Remember when your sister was in town, and she pinched her sciatic during that shin-kicking competition?

  Like it was yesterday! Nan was a raging bitch.

  K. Remember how I made those five house calls because she couldn’t walk, and I told you I’d call in a favor to make up for it?

  Name your price! Thanks to you, I got rid of that old hag three days early.

  I’m up at Whitaker Estate in Cannon Cove. There’s a gray Ford parked on the street needing new shoes…and a flatbed truck. Can you help?

  Sure thing! I’ll send Wesley and Maynard this afternoon.

  Leave the key on the rear tire if no one’s around.

  Thank you!

  Miles’s words were demanding, “Third time, what are you doing?”

  I put my phone away and noticed I’d tuned him out.

  His interrogation continued, “Snitching to the neighbors about an eyesore, so their uppity HOA finds a way to fine me?”

  I zipped my tote bag. “No.”

  “Contacting the media, so the town can smear this around their lousy paper and have another reason to hate me?”

  “Still no.” I put on my sunglasses.

  He turned his head. Dark eyes stared into mine, the color distinction between his irises and pupils no easier to differentiate up close than when he’d sat in the waiting room at The Triple C. Maybe it had to do with him being near, but something was different I didn’t see before— a flicker of fear hid behind them. “For the last time, what did you do?” he asked sternly.

  “I’m trying to be nice, but your attitude makes it freaking hard,” I said, wondering how long it would take to regret my decision. There, karma! See that? A good deed! Now, let’s get these next few days over without drama, so I can have my life back. “Fast Eddie, a mechanic over in Steele Falls, owes me. The flats will get fixed. Paint and penis are your problem. He said to leave the key on the back tire.”

  Miles’s posture straightened in shock. He didn’t offer any words, just a few random consonants. Maybe a vowel. It all happened while his lungs spoke in stuttered hisses, deflating like a balloon.

  “And now I have to pick up a hideous dress, which isn’t Legit Lime, for the record. See you around.” I tightened my grip on the rope handles of my tote bag with one hand and braced my other palm on the edge of the curb.

  “The tux,” he said in an elongated groan with drooping shoulders.

  I surveyed the state of his truck again.

  Miles glanced toward the backyard before he closed his eyes and rubbed his face.

  I heard Sienna barking out directives of where Eli should stand and how to pose. If narcissist Annelies had any say, hours of photo work remained.

  Opportunity? It knocked. The question remained whether I’d answer the door. I eyed the keyed depiction of a shriveled nut sack, then at Miles, and last at my Jeep. Wheels turned swiftly in my head, much unlike the ones on his damaged truck. Was it risky? Yes. Was I confident? No. But getting answers to my questions about Miles McCullough resulted in a barricade at every turn. The source itself seemed to be the only solution.

  I swallowed, wondering at what point the offer w
ould bite me in the ass. The question was difficult to surrender as my invisible gold star exploded tenfold. “Do… you want a lift to Ocean Shores to snag your tux?”

  His answer was immediate, flat, and simple. “No.”

  “Fine,” I replied with the same rapidity, feeling the need to block his verbal punch with one of my own.

  Cut and dry. Black and white. I pulled the keys from the outer pocket of my tote bag and rifled through them with shaking fingers for the bulky fob. Molten anger flowed through me like lava because, once again, I became the idiot. Maybe I should’ve been thankful for my me time.

  Next, I made the mistake of glancing out the corner of my eye and saw Miles watching me. “What now?”

  His face harbored the faintest spark of curiosity. “That was a joke, right?”

  I stood up. “Guess I missed the punchline.”

  He got quiet before his snark revved to full-throttle again, his eyes narrowed into slits. Maybe he glared. Maybe it was the sun. Maybe both. “What’s your MO? Recruiting people for your ‘be late everywhere’ team?”

  The saying proved true. That sole beat of the butterfly’s wings? It created the hurricane. No more “shit wit” for me. “Have it your way,” I pointed at his truck, “but I’m pretty sure you’ll be late anywhere driving around in your deflated dick-mobile with the drawing of an undersized beanbag.”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners, and the left side of his mouth turned upward. “Did you just say—”

  “Forget it. I’m leaving.”

  The conversation fell silent, my signal to walk. If Miles wanted me to beg him to tag along, he’d be sorely disappointed. The flip-flops smacked between the ground and my soles with each brisk step, increasing the distance between us.