Soul of the Sea

by Jasmine Denton

  “Well, I lived on my boat…” He lifted his glass of water, his eyes meeting Mykaela’s over the rim as he took a drink. Her heart jumped when he looked at her, as if someone shocked her with electricity. She tried to decipher what the look meant. Did it mean he’d told, or did it mean he’d keep her secret? Was the eye contact simply an accident?

  “I see,” Blanche repeated. “Where are you from?”

  “A little town, not too far from here.”

  “Why’d you leave?”

  “Mom,” Mykaela said in a half-whisper. She didn’t know why she’d spoken up, but she’d grown tired of the grilling. “Some of us don’t care where he’s from or why he left.”

  Blanche’s eyes widened a little in surprise, then she turned back to Dylan. “She’s right. It doesn’t matter. I just need to know two things. Are you in trouble, Dylan?”

  Mykaela cringed every time her mother said his name. It was as if she was using it as some form of intimidation.

  “No, ma’am. It’s nothing like that.”

  “Is anybody looking for you?”

  “No.”

  She nodded, a firm, decisive movement. “Well, summer’s coming. It’s a busy season, and we’re looking for some help. Pay is five dollars an hour under the table, plus a room downstairs and meals. Are you interested?”

  Mykaela wanted to grab her mother and shout are you crazy! This guy, this homeless guy who’d lived on a boat, could ruin everything for her.

  “I couldn’t impose.”

  “See? He doesn’t want the job.” The words were out of Mykaela’s mouth before she realized she’d spoken. She curled her hand into a fist under the table. Calm down, or they’re going to get suspicious.

  “A position has recently…”

  Mykaela felt her back stiffen at the mere mention of the job opening. When Blanche glanced at her, she glued her eyes to her plate. She knew how delicious the food was, but she couldn’t find the desire to eat now. Grimacing, she put her fork down and leaned back against the chair.

  “Opened up,” Blanche finished. “You wouldn’t be imposing. I was going to run an ad in the paper, but the position is yours if you want it. It’s only seasonal. You would be helping with the room preparation and upkeep.”

  “I do need the work,” he said. “That’s a very kind offer, thank you.”

  “You can start tomorrow, after you get some rest.”

  “Today is fine,” he said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I feel fine.”

  “Well then, welcome to the Seaside Inn, Dylan. After breakfast, Mykaela can show you the basics.”

  Mykaela wondered why her mother was being so nice to Dylan. It wasn’t like Blanche to be welcoming—sure, she was nice, but she wasn’t the welcome-drifters-into-your-home type of nice—unless paying customers were involved, of course. She just called that good business sense.

  Mykaela was starting to go into full-blown panic mode. She’d have to get Dylan alone and tell him to keep his mouth shut.

  When they finished breakfast, Jared left for work and Bobby went to repair a leaky faucet in one of the guest rooms, but Dylan stayed to help Blanche clear the table.

  Mykaela carried her plate to the trashcan and raked her unwanted food into it.

  “You didn’t eat?” Blanche’s voice was soft with concern as she joined Mykaela by the trashcan.

  “I’m just not hungry.”

  “You’ll eat lunch then,” Blanche said. “No excuses.”

  Mykaela nodded. It was better than bringing out her mother’s stern side.

  “Are you okay with Dylan taking the open housekeeping position?”

  You mean the position that opened up when Charity died? Mykaela couldn’t help but notice how carefully her mother worded the question. As if that could lessen the blow, or ease the pain. It didn’t. “It’s a little late to ask me.”

  Blanche tilted her head, giving her that pitying look Mykaela’d been dodging. “I’m sorry, Mykaela. But…we all have to move on sometime.”

  “Mom, it’s just a job. It’s fine.” She rolled her eyes and edged past her mother to take the empty plate to the sink. Move on? She was joking, right? How could someone just…move on and forget such a loss?

  “Will you show him the ropes?”

  “Today?” Mykaela asked. “Mom, I know you’re a slave driver, but he just washed in from the ocean like a piece of driftwood.”

  “Very funny,” Blanche said, swatting her playfully on the back of the head. “You heard me; I tried to get him to rest. He insists he’s fine.”

  “All right.” Mykaela shrugged and looked past Blanche to Dylan. “Are you ready to start?”

  He nodded, and although his face was white, he showed no other signs of the fragility and pain she’d sensed when she found him. “Yes.”

  “Right this way.” She led him into the main lobby and up the grand staircase. It was her favorite part of the house. Hand carved in 1853, the banister was decorated with little doves perched on top of olive branches.

  “This is where we keep the linens,” Mykaela told him, pushing open the door to the walk-in closet. She grabbed the handle of one of the carts filled with sheets, pillowcases and towels.

  She reached for a stack of sheets on the top shelf. They were just out of her reach, and grabbing the ones she could reach would make the whole stack topple over. “Can you get that for me?”

  “Sure.” He stepped inside as she moved to get out of his way. When his back was turned, she slammed the closet door and pushed the cart against it, closing them both inside.

  He spun around, alarmed at first. Then the slightest hint of amusement turned up the corners of his lips.

  She stood between him and the door. “Okay. Spill. What the hell is going on?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You save my life,” she said. “Then you disappear, and now you wash up on the beach just like Charity did. And you were stabbed.”

  “I wasn’t stabbed,” he said. “I just got scratched somehow. I wrecked my boat, remember?”

  “But why did you take off? Why didn’t you call for help after you pulled me out and left Charity to drown?”

  He took a step closer, his expression losing the amusement, and she realized barricading them in the closet might not have been such a good idea.”I didn’t leave her to drown. She hit her head, there was blood everywhere. She was already gone.”

  “Still…you didn’t even call the police?”

  “Look,” he said, lowering his voice, “haven’t you ever…done something you shouldn’t have done? Just because you were scared or freaked out and didn’t know what else to do?”

  She felt a pang in her chest when she remembered how she ran, how she didn‘t call for help—she was no better than him.

  “If I’m making you uncomfortable, I can leave,” he said. “Just say the word and you’ll never see me again.”

  “Don’t you have anyone worried about you?” she asked. “Any family looking for you?”

  His head snapped back as if he’d been slapped across the face. He swallowed. “No, I don’t.”

  She felt guilty and rude for asking. She knew what it felt like—to be reminded of something you didn’t have. After Charity’s death, every little thing—from going to the widow’s walk to stepping onto the beach— reminded her of the friend she no longer had. “Well, you did save my life,” she said in an attempt to lighten the mood, but it sounded more heartfelt than she’d intended. “You can stay on one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I won’t tell anybody what you did,” she said, “if you don’t tell anybody I was there.”

  “You didn’t tell anyone? You didn’t call the police or—“

  “No,” she said, interrupting him. “So do we have a deal, or not?”

  His gaze scanned her face for a second, as if he could see her reasons for such irrational behavior in her eyes. Then he nodded. “We have a deal.
”

  “Good,” she said. She took a deep breath, shaking off her guilt. “I guess we should get started.”

  She shoved the cart out into the hallway and turned toward the rooms.

  “Let me push that for you.” He reached out and put his hand on the handle, a hair away from touching her.

  She smirked. “I’ve been doing this every day since I was ten.”

  “Please.” He flashed a charming grin. “Indulge me.”

  “Suit yourself.” She shrugged and stepped back. “Do you have a masculinity complex, or are you just one of those rare true gentlemen?”

  He laughed, glancing at her. “Neither.”

  She pointed ahead to a Do Not Disturb sign hanging from a doorknob. “If you see that, don’t go in the room until it’s gone. Also, it’s a good idea to leave the doors open when you’re cleaning.”

  “Got it.”

  She came to a stop at a door and pulled out her set of keys. She looked at him and laughed as she opened the door. “You look so funny in Jared’s clothes. He’s, like, six inches taller than you.”

  He looked down at himself, in the T-shirt that swallowed him whole and the baggy jeans, and gave a nervous chuckle. “I guess I need to find some clothes.”

  “There’s a store in town.” She yanked the blankets from the bed and tossed them onto the floor. “I could loan you the money until you get your first paycheck. That’ll probably be next Friday.”

  “I can’t take your money.”

  “It’s a loan, remember? Besides, you saved my life,” she said with a wink. “I think I owe you one.”

  ***

  Mykaela rolled over and buried her face in her pillow, not having slept decently. Summer was rolling in, and normally, she and Charity would be sneaking out to have bonfires on the beach. They’d make shapes out of the stars and daydream about what lay beyond the ocean’s horizon. It was a tradition they’d enjoyed since they were eight years old.

  Charity was dead. Just the thought of it chilled Mykaela to the core.

  She rolled over on her back and wiped away the tears. Unable to sleep, she climbed out of bed and took her familiar midnight stroll down the hallway and up to the attic.

  Her house was centuries old, and she suspected, with Jared’s recent enrollment in the police force, it would someday belong to her. She couldn’t wait until her mother retired, so she could own the place, be in charge of it, the way every other woman in her family had been.

  Her imagination bubbled over with ideas of what to do with the place. She would take down the heavy, dreary, red drapes and replace them with sheer white valances to let in all that natural sunlight she loved. Maybe she wouldn’t hang them at every window; the guest suites could keep their gloomy swags and matching oriental rugs. The hallways, the dining room and the lobby would be brighter and more cheerful. While most seventeen-year-olds she knew were determined not to follow their parents’ example, Mykaela couldn’t wait. She’d spent many hours of her childhood rebuilding the house in her minds’ eye, refinishing the creaky, wooden floors to bring out the vibrant cherry wood.

  Once she was outside on the widow’s walk, she leaned her elbows on the banister and looked out at the water. She loved the way it looked beneath the moonlight—whitewashed, pale, with darkness at the edges.

  She wondered what was out there, in the water. She’d love to see a dolphin, a whale, or even a shark—as long as it was a safe distance away, of course. She’d like to see something besides the seagulls lurking over the surface.

  She heard the floorboards in the attic creak and turned in time to see Dylan top the stairs. At first, she felt a territorial instinct. This was her spot. He’d no right here.

  Then she remembered—without him, she wouldn’t be up here, either, so she let him step onto the walk with her.

  “I saw a light on in the attic.” He stepped over to the rail, leaning his elbows on it just a few inches away from hers. “I got a little curious.”

  She looked up at him. She wanted to know what he was doing here at the Inn in the first place. And, of course, she wanted to know why a beautiful guy like him was rescuing drowning girls in the early hours of the morning.

  “You come up here often?” He gave her a sideways glance so adorable she needed to remind herself to breathe.

  She shrugged, swallowing to moisten her dry throat. “When I can’t sleep—which is pretty much every night now.”

  He nodded, his eyes scanning the beach and the water that rolled against the sand. “Tragedy will do that to you.”

  Her attention lingered on the word tragedy. He meant Charity’s death, she realized, and she didn’t know whether to be angry at him for reminding her just when she’d been thinking of something else—him—for once, or sad to remember that Charity was gone. “What’s your excuse?” she asked, deciding to try to change the subject. “You were hurt this morning, insisted on working a full day and now you’re still awake? I’d be exhausted.” She’d barely made it through work and the search party the day he’d rescued her. If he’d just been through a shipwreck like he claimed, his energy should be wiped-out.

  “I slept a little,” he said with a shrug. “I guess you could say I bounce back easily.”

  She drummed her hands against the balustrade and stole a glance at him. “Look, about…what happened. I never got a chance to thank you.”

  He kept his gaze on the water. “What were you doing out there?”

  The words bit at her, as if what he’d really meant to say was you were stupid for being out there. She remembered how Charity begged to leave, and felt the crushing flood of guilt and shame all over again.

  “It doesn’t matter.” He faced her, his eyes searching hers. “It’d be a good idea to stay out of the water.”

  Turning, he headed for the door. She stared after him, confused and bewildered as he descended the stairs and disappeared into the attic. She couldn’t help but feel as if he knew something she didn’t. And she wondered why she wasn’t afraid.

  ***

  On an errand for the inn the next morning, Mykaela went into Mike’s everything. She moved past shelves filled with canned foods and loaves of bread, the ancient freezer with its bags of frozen veggies and TV dinners, and tables piled with a multitude of other items for locals as well as visiting sportsmen. Toys, clothing, bait and ammunition… Shaking her head, she wondered if even Mike himself knew what all he stocked. “Hey, Susan,” Mykaela said, stopping at the counter in front of her friend.

  Susan was the same age as Mykaela, but her ice-blue eyes and long, wavy black hair made all of the guys in school—and even some who already graduated—drool after her.

  “Mykaela.” Susan beamed. “It’s good to see you. You haven’t been around lately.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Mykaela tapped her nails against the counter. “Mom said you called about the stationary.”

  “Right, that came in this morning.” She knelt down behind the counter and stood back up holding a large cardboard box. She set it on the counter and slid it over.

  “Thanks. Did she prepay?”

  “If her name is Blanche Whindom.”

  “Yeah, I should have known better.”

  Just then, the door swung open, and Mykaela turned to see Brad in the doorway. His eyes landed on Mykaela and his jaw tightened. Glaring at her, he clenched his hand into a fist.

  She watched him, frozen and unsure of what to do.

  He whipped around and went back outside, letting the door bang shut behind him.

  Susan eyed Mykaela with sympathy.

  Mykaela shivered. “If looks could kill.”

  “I’ve tried talking to him,” Susan said. “He’s just going through a rough time right now. He was crazy about Charity.”

  Mykaela raised her eyebrows. “Who wasn’t?”

  “He’ll come around.”

  She forced a polite smile and scooped up the box. “Thanks. I’ll see you around.”

  As she turned to leave, she spo
tted Dylan in the clothing section to the right of the store. Between a shelf of shoes and a rack of shirts, he stood in front of a mirror, holding an oversized pair of pants to his hips, looking completely confused and bewildered. Laughing, she approached him. “Having trouble?”

  He whirled around, knocking a stack of jeans off the shelf. “Mykaela. Hi.”

  “Graceful.” Chuckling, she knelt down and reached out to pick up the clothes. He bent down, stretching his hand out at the same time, and their heads crashed into each other.

  Mykaela pulled back, rubbing her head. “Ouch.”

  “I’m so sorry!” Dylan stood, trying to place the jeans on the shelf. “I’m such a klutz.”

  “It’s okay,” she told him as she got to her feet. After his cold warning about the ocean the night before, it was nice to see him lighthearted and a little flustered. It made him seem less threatening. “It barely hurts.”

  He chuckled and scraped a hand through his blond hair. “This is embarrassing.”

  “What? Me seeing you fumble with the clothes, or you attacking me when I call you on it?”

  He laughed and gave a worried glance at the clothes. “Both.” He looked at her again and slid his hands into his pockets, looking boyish. “It’s just…I’m not quite sure what to buy.”

  “First problem is that you’ve got the wrong size.”

  Eyeing the sizes, she went through the stacks until she found a pair of jeans she thought would fit him. Yanking them from under the oversized pairs, she turned to him. “I think these would look good.” She pressed the jeans against his hips, and his back stiffened.