I'll Catch You

by Lauren Milson

  “Hey,” I hear a male voice say behind me. I close my eyes and let out a breath. I would know that voice anywhere, even though I’ve only met him once. It’s Peter. It’s Peter and his distinctive, deep voice.

  “Hello,” I say, turning around with my arms folded across my chest. “I didn’t expect to see you here this evening.”

  “I didn’t expect to see you either,” he says, peering past me at the patch of beach I’ve disturbed. “So is this your side hustle? Maybe you should open a shop. I hear a lot of gullible city people will pay big money for cute crafty stuff.”

  “You’re making fun of me,” I say, bending down to grab my metal detector. I try not to let the smile that’s threatening to spread across my lips show. I don’t want to like this man. I’m supposed to hate him. Part of my identity is wrapped up in hating city people without knowing very much about them. It’s not a good quality. I’m aware of that. At the same time, my pre-judgements are not unfair. He did come here to try to take my restaurant away from me. Still, maybe hate is the wrong word. Strongly dislike. He couldn’t know what the restaurant means to me.

  “I’m not making fun,” he says, taking a step toward me. When he gets closer, I have the opportunity to get a better look. His dark brown eyes heat me up with his gaze, wrapping around me and making me feel a little off-balance. His broad chest is covered with a simple black tee shirt that shows off his thick shoulders. If I didn’t already know he was from the city, I’d think he worked out here as a day laborer on construction sites.

  After what feels like too long, I break away from his heated gaze and turn my back to him with a tickle in my belly that’s still telling me to gaze into those eyes of his, in spite of what my better judgment is telling me to do.

  “What are you still doing out here, anyway?” I ask over my shoulder. I feel him following me as I kick the sand back into the hole I dug and continue my search. My detector beeps as I glide it past a beer can. Peter bends down next to me and picks it up. I nod in his direction. That was nice of him. Maybe he can build a house with it. A house for ants. That’s crafty, right? And then he can sell it in this little homey arts and crafts shop he’s instructed me to open without knowing why I’m doing what I’m doing. For a moment I’m actually thankful for the distraction. Yes. Just like earlier today, he’s provided a welcome distraction. And like all distractions, he’s here to do a job and then be forgotten just as quickly. He’s a cheese doodle.

  “I’m in town for the week,” he says. “I rented a house. It’s actually really nice.”

  “You say that as though you’re surprised.”

  “Not surprised at all,” he protests with a clarification. “It was just a little unexpected.”

  “How is that different from surprise?” I arch an eyebrow at him. He’s looking at me in this odd kind of way again. I look down and when I see what I’m wearing I remember that I stripped my top off some time between shoving a s’more into my mouth back at the bonfire at Brent’s and when I dripped chocolate on myself. I tug on the wire of my bathing suit top that I wore as a bra today. I’m not indecent. It’s the beach. Peter should really stop staring. Or at least if he’s going to be looking at my eyes the way he is, he should shift his gaze lower. Look at my boobs. That’s easier to handle because it’s the way plenty of guys look at me.

  “I expected to feel a little itchy when I got here,” he replies, kicking a little sand with the heel of his deck shoe. “But I don’t. It’s refreshing.”

  “Uh huh.” I roll my eyes in his general direction. I don’t mean to. It just kind of happens. Another rich guy romanticizing the big, open sky, the white sand beach, and what I’m sure he thinks of as folksy, common people. He came through here expecting to inspect our down-home ways the way a sociologist would. Instead he met actual people. How charming for him.

  I wait for the other shoe to drop. He’s here to ask me again if I want to sell. He’ll start prattling on about other properties he’s purchased, how he’s kept them as close to what they were before as possible, and how I’m giving up a valuable opportunity. I know he’s going to sound like someone in a late-night infomercial. Phrases like “act now,” “while supplies last,” and “buy one, get one free” flash through my mind like foghorns. I’m not susceptible to those kind of manipulations. My father trained me well in the fine art of negotiation. Go with your gut, Claire, that’s what he always told me. You can run circles around men with your intellect all day. Don’t be blinded by it. Don’t get too comfy on your high horse, because the other side might have a step stool and they’ll take you down slowly if they have to.

  “Have you always lived out here?” Peter asks. I look back at him. In his own, sweet way, he’s actually very nice. His smile is genuine and his question seems the same. Maybe he isn’t the blood-sucking vulture I thought he was, circling like I’m a carcass.

  “Yeah, so far,” I reply. My voice sounds pinched. My fingers fly to my temple and I feel warmth between my foot and the sand.

  “Oh shit,” Peter mutters, erasing the distance between us. I feel my knees weaken and I tumble toward him, my hand splaying against his chest. I’m woozy and it’s not his eyes that are doing it to me.

  Blotches of purple and black swim in front of my eyes as Peter lifts me into his arms and cradles me against his chest. I regain my composure and peer past his forearm at the trail of blood dripping from my foot.

  The last thing I see before my eyelids fall are Peter’s big brown eyes. I think I might get lost in them if I weren’t about to faint.

  6

  Peter

  I hop off the couch and grab two beers from the refrigerator when Claire starts to wake up. By the time she’s peeling her eyes open, I’m back by her side.

  “What happened?” she asks as she looks around.

  “You got a little cut on your foot,” I tell her, putting a beer in her hand. I did some detective work while she was out, but not before Cassie assured me she’d be okay. Sometimes she gets a little faint if she hasn’t eaten and she hates the sight of blood, clearly. Once Cassie helped me bring her in here I checked her out on social media. I saw that one of her favorite things to do in the summer is take a late afternoon nap after a full day of working and then waking up to an ice-cold beer. At least this is the story I made up in my head about her. In truth, all she wrote on social media under the picture of her hand wrapped around a glass bottle on what looked like a picnic table was “best day ever.” I’m so into this girl that I’m not just making up stories for our future together, I’m making up stories about her past.

  “Thanks.” She puts the neck of the bottle to her thick pink lips and takes a long, slow pull. “Yep. Needed that.”

  I feel my lips pull into a tight line and take the bottle away from her, placing it on the coffee table. Maybe she was a little bit too enthusiastic about the beer. Though, if my girl had a problem with drinking, she and Cassie would have been playing a drinking game when I walked into Crabby’s earlier today. I’ve found that people who have a drinking problem are the first to pull out the booze at the first mention of having nothing else to do. Though, on the other hand, the people with the drinking problems are also the people who’ve already tied one on long before they let boredom sidle up next to them.

  I lean back on the little plush couch and watch as Claire goes to the window, peering down at the beach and over to the bonfire where her friends are still partying. Her plump ass is calling to me, the bare skin beneath the hem showing off a hint of the swell hidden inside. I watch her tits as they rise and fall softly, her body turned slightly to the side. It makes me wonder if her nipples are hard and small or soft, plump. What color they are. If they’re the same shade of pink as her shapely lips. I’m always hard around her and I wish I could go over, crush my lips to hers and show her what it’s like to be claimed by someone who cares for you more than they should given how recently you’ve met. But I have to go slow with her.

  “Don’t worry,” I tell he
r as I uncap my beer. “Cassie knows where you are. She even helped me get you in here.”

  I can see she’s working out in her head whether to trust me. She quickly resolves that she can. Cassie is still down there galavanting like most women these girls’ age like to, and if I were kidnapping Claire right now I wouldn’t know her best friend and cousin’s cousin’s name, or whatever the hell Cassie explained she is to Claire. It turns out Cassie is a talker. Apparently it took all of her will and discipline to not cut in on the argument Claire and I had this afternoon. I got an earful of it when Cassie and I got Claire in here safely.

  “I don’t remember that,” she tell me dismissively. As though I’m lying about how I got her here. In case she doesn’t remember, she’s the one who passed out on the beach after cutting her foot on something she may have herself unearthed.

  “Do you remember telling me you’ll sell?”

  Her lips gape and she turns toward me with a hitch in her throat and her hand over her heart. She thinks I’m a bad influence on her subconscious mind. She’s right. I am. At least I’m trying to be.

  “I did no such thing.”

  “Did I have you fooled?”

  “No.”

  She prances toward the door to see herself out and I stand to follow her. If I hadn’t seen the blood myself I might think she were faking her injury to get into my house and now she’s changed her mind because she thinks she was close to actually agreeing to whatever I’d ask from her in the small space of just a few minutes when she was flirting with unconsciousness.

  I make her a little nervous. Good. A girl as strong and fixed as she is must give off the impression to most men that she’s unflappable. Now I know the way to get under her skin. Next I need to figure out how to stay there.

  “Thank you,” she says as I grab the door for her. She gives me a defiant look with her chin in the air as I try to usher her out the door. Her lips part and I think she expects me to make a move. I want to, but there’s something I need more. I need her to see how serious I am, so I hold back. But I give in a little, deciding to split the difference and do something that’s just for her.

  I take her chin in my fingers and tip it up softly. A gasp escapes from her chest and she turns soft in my hand, her chest brushing against me. Her breasts in this triangle bikini try to spill out the top and I feel her nipples tighten, puckering between us. I put my other hand on the small of her back and rub my thumb along the line of her ribs. She’s soft. I like that. If I were doing this for me, I’d spin her around, yank these shorts down and see how soft and plush her thick ass is and how good it would look disappearing behind my hands as I slice through her.

  No. I hold off. This is just for her. Though her eyes aren’t just giving me permission. They’re begging.

  “Have a good evening, Claire,” I say against her ear. Her hollow breath asks for more.

  I pull away from her and she falters softly.

  “What…” her lips struggle to find what she’s looking for.

  “Mike is right across the street waiting for you. Brynn is with him. Cassie is at her place, safe and sound. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I put my hand out to shake hers and she gives me her hand, her bones like liquid as she look between our hands and my eyes.

  “See you tomorrow,” she says. I usher her out, close the door and peer through the window next to it, pulling the thick curtain aside. I watch as my girl ambles down the two steps to the sidewalk. As promised, Mike is waiting in his car across the street. Claire takes a final look up at my rented house and shakes her head, but I can also see the smile on her face as she gets inside and shuts the door.

  7

  Claire

  I slept better than I have in six months. I guess I happened to get up on the right side of the bed. Having already dropped Brynn off at her friend’s house for a playdate, I feel the wind under my feet as I step onto the dock at the market. My phone startles me and I reach into my purse to grab it. I guess I was a little too distracted with…nothing. I was distracted with nothing. My mind and body were in sync and they were just kind of here, in the moment. The air feels thin out here today, as though I’m at a higher elevation instead of at ocean level. It’s odd.

  Maybe I’m still feeling woozy from last night. It was touch and go there for a while. Maybe I didn’t lose a lot of blood, but I feel like I definitely lost something last night when Peter put his hands on me and then refused to throw me over his shoulder like I wanted him to. Is it possible to be dick drunk without having sex? Because that’s how I feel right now. Dick drunk. I mean, not exactly. All of the dicks I’ve ever come into contact with until now have been body-safe silicone.

  “Hey Cassie,” I say into my phone. I wave hello to the fishermen as I make my way down the dock to my regular guy. “I have to admit that I’m slightly disappointed that you left me alone with Peter without any supervision.”

  “But that’s where you’re wrong,” Cassie says. “I had Brent’s telescope propped up on the edge of his balcony and I watched everything.”

  “You did not,” I argue. A little pang of curiosity punches me. “Did you?”

  “Yes,” she says. “Peter also gave me a check for fifty grand dated with today’s date and he wrote a note and his phone number on the back to say that if anything were to happen to you he’s the man to investigate.”

  I stop in my tracks and look out over the water. It’s sunny today. The weather is almost too perfect.

  “This is a tall tale,” I reply. I get to my usual fish guy and wave hello to him. He’s busy sorting the day’s catch. At seven in the morning this is later than I’m usually here. Maybe getting up on the right side of the bed was a result of slipping into a deeper sleep than normal.

  “No, this is the honest truth,” she replies. I can feel her holding the check at arm’s-length through the phone, cocking her head to the side and putting one of those peppermint sticks between her teeth. “He’s coming by today to pick it up from me. I guess he doesn’t trust me to rip it up like I promised I’d do once I talked to you and confirmed you hadn’t been abducted or anything.”

  “But Mike…” I look down at my sneakers.

  “I know Mike picked you up last night, but I told Peter I wanted to get the proof for myself.”

  “So you think your husband is corruptible?”

  “Yes,” she replies, deadly serious. “Mike would sell us both out for a hot plate of surf and turf. Throw in a wet nap at the end of the meal and one of those cute lobster bibs and he’d turn in his own mother.”

  “Nothing is adding up right now,” I say, taking a perch on the edge of the dock. If I’m not careful I’ll get splinters in the backs of my thighs but I need to take a load off my feet for a minute. “Did I hear you say Peter is coming by today?”

  “Yep, he needs to get to me before the bank opens and I can cash this check and then run away with a bag full of his money.”

  I guess I should have assumed Peter would come by the restaurant today. He did say last night that he’d see me tomorrow.

  “It’s Sunday. Are the banks even open?” I know they are.

  “Just get here as soon as you can. You don’t want to miss Peter.”

  “I don’t care if I get to see him today or not.”

  “Just get over here.”

  She hangs up before I have a chance to say anything else. I do care if I get to see Peter today or not. I would strongly prefer not to see him. I should call in sick and take the day off. I think I have a migraine coming on. I get those sometimes. The kind where it isn’t just a headache - the partial vision loss and the hammer in the side of my head and behind my left eye is a real thing. I can’t be working around knives and stoves with a migraine. I slip my phone back into my bag and take a deep breath of the fishy ocean air. I like it. It feels familiar. I get up from where I’m sitting and make my way over to my fish guy, Walter.

  “Hey,” I say to him as he approaches me. At over sixty and with a bi
g white beard, tanned skin and etchings of wisdom on his face, he looks just like a fisherman should, mixed with a healthy dose of hippy-dippy tie-dyed everything. I don’t know if he smokes pot, but I bet he does.

  “Morning, Claire,” he says, putting a foot up on the dock. “Good catch today.”

  It’s Sunday, which is the busiest day of the week aside from the Fridays during Lent, though what counts as busy now isn’t what busy used to mean. Walter shields his eyes from the veil of the sun behind me and smiles before going to pack up my usual order. It’s also payday so I go into my bag to grab the cash I owe him for the week.

  “Not necessary,” he says, putting a hand out and handing me the cooler with my parcel of catch. Before I have a chance to ask why he’s turning down money he’s owed, he says, “someone named Peter was here this morning and paid for last and next week’s supply."

  “Dammit,” I mutter under my breath, stashing my cash back in my wallet.

  “He also paid for a couple of lobsters and said that if you wanted to pay him back you can let him cook for you tonight.”

  I say nothing, hitching the cooler on my hip. I’m not letting him cook for me. I consider calling Cassie back and telling her to cash that check right away before Peter has a chance to intercept it. If Peter thinks he can buy my affections he is sorely mistaken. They say possession is nine-tenths of the law, and with that check in Cassie’s custody, as far as I’m concerned the fifty grand is a small tax for Peter to pay for taking up so much of my headspace.

  “He seems like a genuine guy,” Walter offers. He conveys his take on Peter with his eyes. I agree. He is a genuine guy. He genuinely sees an opportunity.

  “Thanks, Walter.” I wave goodbye and make my way back to my car. When I’m inside, I put my hands on the steering wheel and my forehead drops to them. Maybe Peter is worth listening to. Brynn is well taken care of from the life insurance policy my sister had. She was good at planning things and always prepared for the worst possible scenario. The only time she didn’t prepare lead her to having Brynn and it was the best thing that ever happened to her, and to me. But even though Brynn will be alright regardless of whether I sell or not, I am going to have to do it eventually, even if it isn’t right now. Even if it isn’t six months from now. But within a year, I believe, I will have to sell and I start to seriously entertain the thought.