by Rose, Emery
While I’d been in prison, he had lost the business. The surf shop hadn’t been running at a profit. Why? Because of John Hart. It hadn’t been enough to send me to prison for manslaughter. He’d gone after my dad too. I had deserved what I’d gotten. My dad had not.
Now, the house was all he had left, and I’d beg, borrow, and steal before I’d let him lose that.
“It’s settled anyway. I’m going to work for Sam for as long as I can.”
“Work for him?”
“That’s what I said.”
Sam took people out on snorkeling and diving expeditions. It did not sound like the right fit for a man with a goddamn brain tumor. The set of his jaw told me there was no point arguing. And who was I to argue anyway? Being on a boat, diving, snorkeling, made him happy. “Now that’s settled, you wanna tell me about Remy?”
“Like I said, there’s nothing to tell.”
“There’s nothing standing in your way now. Nothing to keep you apart.”
Was he delusional? Everything was standing in our way. “Are you playing matchmaker now?”
“I want to see you happy. It’s been too long.”
“Yeah well, Remy’s not the answer to your prayers. She makes me the opposite of happy so stay out of it.”
“Whatever you say.” His mouth quirked with amusement like he didn’t believe me. My dad believes in soul mates. He believes in love that lasts forever even when the person isn’t there. I knew this because he had loved my mom that way. He’d had a few women in his life since my mom died but he always said that a man only has one great love in his life. And he’d already had his.
“It’s not too late for your surfing career, Shane.”
Et tu, Brute? What was it with the people in my life? “Who’s going to sponsor a convicted felon?” I sounded bitter. We’ve had this conversation before. He kept insisting that I needed to do something that makes me happy. As if it was that simple. “It’s not what I want anymore.”
It was a lie. I’d give my right nut to get back into it. But we couldn’t afford it. The pro surfing gig was expensive. Even if I had the money, the pro circuit would never let a convicted felon represent the sport of surfing. What I had done went against the entire ethos of the sport. For me, surfing was sacred, and I would never sully its name more than I already had. The media had called me a ‘disgrace’ to the sport of surfing.
Except for the time I’d Googled Remy, about six months ago, I stayed off social media.
Truth was, even if I could go back to pro surfing, I didn’t have what it took anymore. Not physically. Not mentally. Not emotionally. Thirty years old, and I was all washed up. Cue the pity party for one.
“There are other things you can do in the surfing industry.”
“Can we just drop it?”
He sighed, but he dropped the subject and we sat in silence for a while.
“I just don’t want to think of what might have been.”
“I know,” he said.
“I’m sorry.”
I apologized all the time now. It didn’t stop me from saying things I shouldn’t, but I didn’t want my final words to him to be something I’d regret for the rest of my life. My dad taught me that a long time ago, but I never really took it to heart. Now I knew what it was like to live with regrets. To spend years going over and over what you could have—should have—done differently. That was my penance. They call it prison for a reason. It’s more than just being confined to a six by nine cell. Trapped in bricks and mortar. Your own mind becomes a prison if you let it. I’d done my time, but some days I still felt like I was in a prison of my own making.
“Wanna go surfing with your old man after work tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Sounds good.”
He smiled, contentment on his face. He looked like he was at peace. Happy. And I wondered what his secret was. How had he found a way to be so fucking happy, even though life had screwed him over time and again?
29
Remy
I pulled into a parking space across the street from the fancy deli on Main Street where Sienna used to buy her school lunches—Caesar salads and those fudge brownies she loved. We couldn’t afford it back then but now I could buy anything I wanted, the reality of that hitting me harder now that I was back in Costa del Rey. I made my way around the store, throwing food and drinks into my basket and I ordered salads and sandwiches from the deli counter—all of Shane’s favorite things, and lunch for me and Jimmy.
My GPS led me to an address in Escondido that Jimmy had given me after I begged him to tell me where Shane was working. Unfortunately, he hadn’t warned me what to expect. This wasn’t a construction job. Quite the opposite.
I parked across the street from the demolition site, a lump forming in my throat as I stared out the window. I spotted Shane immediately, tossing debris and cinder blocks into the back of a dump truck. This wasn’t where he belonged.
A hardhat covered his golden-brown hair, the ends curling a little at the nape of his neck. The muscles in his arms and shoulders flexed and bunched under a sweat-stained gray T-shirt and his tanned, muscular calves were cloaked in dust like his work boots. There was no smile on his lips. No expression whatsoever. He was on autopilot, just doing his job. It was the saddest thing I’d ever seen. If he was at least building something instead of hauling away the debris from a demolished building, it would have given me a glimmer of hope. But no. That wasn’t the case.
I was tempted to drive away and pretend I had never seen him. Instead, I took a deep breath and got out of my car. I knew it was a mistake even before I crossed the street, but I put on my brave face and strode across the street to the tune of a few catcalls.
“Hey baby, you looking for a good time?”
“Look at that ass. Shake it, Mama.”
Shane turned his head and his eyes met mine. Hands balled into fists, he glared at the guys—that had been a big part of the problem. He’d always been so protective of me and it looked as if that hadn’t changed. He strode over to where I was standing and hopped over the chain-linked fence, landing in front of me. Grabbing my arm, he walked me back across the street to my Range Rover and around to the side, so we were hidden from the guys’ view. He took off his hardhat and speared his hand through his sweaty hair, his hazel eyes narrowed on me. Today they looked more brown than green. Probably because he was so far from the sea. I used to think that’s what made his eyes greener. That and being happy. Which he clearly wasn’t.
I could smell his sweat and his laundry detergent and him. God, I missed his scent. Even when he was sweaty and covered in a layer of dust and grime, he still smelled delicious.
“What are you doing here, Remy?”
I held out the paper sack from the fancy deli, feeling ridiculous. “I brought you lunch.”
He planted his hands on his hips and looked up at the sky as if it held all the answers. Maybe he was counting to ten, so he didn’t lose his shit. He looked like he was trying to lock it down and the effort was costing him a lot.
Why did I always have to be the thorn in his side?
I took a step closer. He crossed his arms, warding me off, the muscles in his arms flexing, his jaw clenched. So, this was how it was going to be. I sighed.
“It’s just lunch, Shane.”
“I packed a lunch, Remy. I don’t need yours.”
Ignoring the sting in his words, I dangled the bag in front of him. “Mine’s better. Knowing you, you’ve got a PBJ and a gnarly brown banana in your lunch.”
Obviously, that was a joke. I didn’t think he had changed that much.
He chuckled. It was so good to hear. It reminded me of the guy he used to be. Standing in front of Shane Wilder still made me feel like a sixteen-year-old girl with a hopeless crush.
Please take the lunch I’m offering. Please love me.
Pathetic, I know, but true nonetheless.
I was still holding the bag in front of him, but he made no move to take it from me. I snatched it
back. “Fine. If you don’t want it, it’s going in the trash.” I sauntered over to a trash can and pushed the bag against the lid.
His hand shot out and wrapped around my wrist, pulling my arm back before the bag ended up in the trash. He took the bag out of my hand and I turned to face him. His eyes raked over me from head to toe, from the off-the-shoulder short cotton dress down my legs to the strappy, flat suede sandals on my feet and back to my face. I wondered if he liked what he saw.
He moved closer, shielding me with his body so the other guys on the crew couldn’t see me. The air around us crackled with electricity, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. I was holding my breath, my eyes drinking him in. His throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed, and I raised my eyes to his, watching his eyes darken. I knew that look—the wanting, the longing. We were trapped in this silent battle, neither of us moving or breathing a word, the sounds of the demolition site and the traffic on the street silenced by the thrumming of my pulse. My heart was beating so hard and so loudly, I was sure that he could hear it.
His gaze dipped to the compass necklace he had given me all those years ago. “You still have it,” he said, his voice rough.
I nodded without speaking, not wanting to break the spell. Scared that anything I might say would come out all wrong. I ran my tongue over my lower lip. He watched the movement, his breathing ragged. The years melted away under the hot summer sun and for a moment we were right back where we used to be. Back to that place so many years ago, when he still loved me.
But he averted his gaze and took a few steps back, taking my hopes with him. “I need to get back to work.”
I forced a smile and opted for a playful tone, trying to lighten the mood. “I’d stay and have lunch with you, but I’ve got a hot date with Jimmy Wilder.”
A shadow passed over his face. “You’re having lunch with my dad?” His voice sounded strained and I didn’t understand it.
“Jealous?” I teased.
“Yeah. I am, actually.” His answer surprised me and so did the softness of his voice. I didn’t know how to interpret it. I looked over at the demolition site. At his dusty work boots. His bronzed skin covered in a layer of grime and dust. It was baking hot out here and he was working in the unforgiving sun, miles away from the cool ocean breeze. Miles away from the place he used to call his home. The ocean. A wave of sadness engulfed me. It felt like the sun had disappeared from the sky. I wanted to put it back, set the universe right again, but I didn’t know how to do that. All the money in the world couldn’t replace the magic.
“Why are you doing a job like this? There must be something else, something better…” I let my voice trail off. His eyes narrowed, the muscle in his jaw ticking and I knew I’d said the wrong thing. The absolutely worst thing I could have said.
“Not fancy enough for you, Rem? A little different from your glamorous life, huh?”
I let out a breath. “Shane. I didn’t mean it like—”
“Thanks for lunch.”
He stalked away, and I stood there, watching him go, my feet glued to the sidewalk.
“Show’s over,” he told a couple guys who were still watching, more out of interest now, trying to figure out what was going on. Good luck, boys. If you figure it out, clue me in.
“Hey Miguel,” he said to a big Hispanic guy.
“Yeah, man?”
“Here you go. Lunch is on me today.” He shoved the paper bag into the guy’s hands and kept walking. He knew that I was still watching him. He wanted me to see that. Yet another offer of help he refused. It was just lunch but even that had been a mistake.
I climbed into the silver Range Rover I bought yesterday. It looked too new and flashy in this neighborhood. Like me.
I gritted my teeth in frustration and blasted my music as I drove away, the A/C on full-blast and Alice in Chains singing “Man in the Box.” My taste in music hadn’t changed.
For a guy who claimed he didn’t hate me, he sure as hell acted like he did. Come to think of it, he’d never directly answered the question. I didn’t blame him. I’d hate me too. But for a moment back there, I had seen something else in his eyes, a spark of the old Shane. Until I went and opened my big fat mouth and dissed the job he was doing.
Smart move, Remy.
What had I expected? That I’d waltz back into his life and he’d profess his undying love for me?
It didn’t have to be like this. I could make his life better. But I knew he wouldn’t accept any money from me. His pride wouldn’t allow it. I’d just have to find another way to help him.
When I pulled into Jimmy’s driveway, I sat in my car for a while, not moving. I’d always loved this weathered-gray shingled house. It had a good vibe. I took a few deep breaths, gearing up to face Shane’s dad. It seemed that my life was just one long series of deep breaths, gearing up to tackle another one of life’s problems, some I’d created myself and others that had been thrust upon me.
When I had seen Jimmy down at the marina, we hadn’t really talked. He’d been hanging out with his buddy Sam and I’d been with Dylan on the way to lunch. He’d given me his usual smile. No judgment on his face. And had pulled me into a hug like he was happy to see me. But how would it be when it was just the two of us face to face?
Of all the people in Shane’s life, Jimmy had the biggest reason to hate me. To blame me for what had happened to his son. No matter how laid back Jimmy was, there must be a part of him that wished Shane had never met me. I closed my eyes and took yet another deep breath before I grabbed the bags with our lunch and rounded the side of the house. Nobody ever used the front door.
Jimmy was in the backyard, waxing a board, and Jack Johnson was singing about home, the music coming from speakers on the patio. It felt like old times. Same music. Same Jimmy, barefoot in a faded raspberry Jimmy’s Surf Shack T-shirt and Hawaiian flowered board shorts. He still looked like the quintessential surfer dude.
“Hey Jimmy. I brought lunch,” I called.
“Did you now?” he asked with a grin that still looked the same. “I’ll be done in a minute.”
“I’ll grab some plates from the kitchen.”
“Good deal,” he said absently, continuing with his task, like his mind was elsewhere.
It’s nothing personal, I told myself as I carried the food inside.
The house hadn’t changed much, and I took comfort in that. The wood-paneled walls were still painted white. A braided rug sat on the honey-wood floors, a blue and white striped sofa and two overstuffed chairs grouped around a driftwood coffee table. The photos of Shane surfing I’d had enlarged for Jimmy still hung in frames on the wall, but new ones had been added. I moved closer to inspect them, immediately recognizing them as my own. The pier at dusk. The In-and-Out. The sun sinking into the ocean.
My pulse quickened as memories assaulted me, my mind going back to another time. I wondered if Jimmy had made this gallery wall. Or if Shane had. My bet was that it had been Jimmy. If he was displaying the photos I’d taken, maybe that meant he didn’t hate me.
I set my bags on the kitchen counter and took down plates from the kitchen cabinet. As I transferred the salads into serving bowls, my eye caught on a stack of bills on the counter, the top envelope from Jackson Memorial Hospital. I glanced out at the backyard through the sliding glass door. Jimmy was still waxing a board, his eyes on his work. I picked up the envelope and flipped it over. It had been opened. Reading someone’s mail was illegal and wrong on so many levels. I went to return it to the stack when I saw the one under it. This one was from Dr. Bell, an oncologist.
They were addressed to Shane Wilder. They were none of my business. And yet, despite the voice in my head telling me this was all kinds of wrong, I read Shane’s mail. There weren’t enough deep breaths in the world to make this better. The words and the dollar figures blurred on the page.
I steadied myself, gripping the counter, Travis’s words playing in my head.
“…especially now, he’s go
ing through a tough time.”
No. No, no, no. Not Jimmy. Please, God. Don’t take him away from Shane. He lost everything, he couldn’t lose his dad too.
I heard footsteps and then Jimmy was in the kitchen, his eyes darting to the invoices clutched in my hand. I’d been caught red-handed, too shocked to even try to hide the fact that I’d been snooping. With trembling hands, I stuffed them back in the envelopes and set them on the counter.
“Jimmy… what’s wrong with you?” I asked, my voice a whisper as I searched his face for answers.
“Forgot about those.” Jimmy stashed the invoices into a drawer and shut it as if that would make it go away.
“Jimmy?”
“You weren’t supposed to see those. I’m not even supposed to see them. Shane takes them before I can open them.”
“Jimmy…” I said again. Whenever I used to look at Jimmy, I could imagine Shane twenty years down the road. I’d always liked what I saw and that hadn’t changed. But upon closer inspection, I saw the changes from the past seven years. His hair, greying at the temples, was short now. I hadn’t noticed it the other day because he’d been wearing a bandana on his head. He used to wear his hair longer like Shane’s. Was he thinner?
“It’s okay, darlin’. How about this lunch you promised me?”
I swallowed down the lump in my throat, not even remotely hungry for any of the food I’d brought. But we carried it outside to the table and I picked at my food before finally giving up on pretending to eat. Jimmy had barely touched his. He was rolling a joint as if he’d done it hundreds of times before.
I looked from his hands to his face, really taking him in. He was seven years older, but to me he was ageless. He had lines around his eyes from squinting into the sun. From a lifetime spent in or near the ocean. His skin was tanned. He didn’t look sick. Not really.
His eyes were brown, not hazel like Shane’s and they were studying my face. He lit the joint and closed his eyes as he inhaled, holding it in his lungs before he exhaled. Then he opened his eyes again and he smiled. “This is some good shit.”