“You’re welcome,” he returned. He gave me a short kiss on the lips. “I have three more to install. Corner, back exit, and your apartment.”
Instead of arguing that he was working too hard, and shouldn’t be doing all this, which was my first inclination, I smiled and said, “Have a minute to help me get something out of the Jeep?”
“Sure.” Sam followed me around the corner, and back to the Jeep where Gary smiled mischievously. “Who’s this?” Sam asked.
“Say hello to my new friend, Gary.”
“He’s cute, but Willie might be jealous,” Sam grinned. “You know, when you first told me your idea,” Sam said, lifting Gary out of the Jeep, “I was skeptical. But, the more I think about it, I can really see it being a winner.”
I smiled. “Well, hosting a book party isn’t exactly run-of-the-mill, but neither is Tipee Island.”
“True. Besides, it’s not just any old book. It’s Frankenstein. Who doesn’t love Frankenstein?” he continued, lugging old Gary into the store.
“Have you read it?”
“Saw the movie, a few of them, actually,” he grinned.
I shrugged. “Good enough.” Sam perched Gary on the counter and then left me again to continue his work. Henry, the girls, and I got to work as well, planning and brainstorming. First, we created a sign, or I should say, Raina created a sign while Henry, Rachel, and I supervised. On a background reminiscent of Munch’s The Scream, Raina wrote – in cool drippy blocks – 8 Days Until Frankenstein Fright Night!
After seeing her finished work, I was reminded of the graffiti at the Peacock, the drippy edges of the heart painted against the charred concrete of the mermaid. And reliving that somewhat gothic image, the redheaded woman skidded into my thoughts. Valerie Kent had been real. Maybe the redhead was, too and I wasn’t as cuckoo as I thought. I sighed, clearing my head.
I had eight days to transform Beach Read into a dark and mysterious party straight out of a gothic novel, and no time to spend pining over crimes that did or did not happen. The whole idea made me nervous and excited. And perhaps my new gargoyle Gary would lure people to Beach Read the way his ancestors encouraged people to church. I could only hope and pray that he also kept the demons away.
Chapter Twenty
Why not… Tequila?
The Romantic Poet, Percy Bysshe Shelley wrote: The fountains mingle with the river and the rivers with the ocean, the winds of Heaven mix for ever with a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single, all things by a law divine in one spirit meet and mingle – Why not I with thine? I couldn’t help but to ask the same question. Why not? Why not I with thine?
Sam’s loving gesture of replacing my light fixtures was followed up with a pleasant dinner and then a leisurely stroll back to my apartment. I’d shared all my ideas and hopes concerning the Frankenstein Fright Night, and he told me all about his drug training (a little too much detail, if you ask me. What do I care about how many times cocaine is cut before it reaches an addict or what it’s cut with or what ‘cut’ even means?). He also revealed that there were no leads in the Valerie Kent case, and the department itself was torn between whether she was a targeted or random victim.
Jason Kent opted for the former, noting his wife’s disciplined routine. Others weren’t convinced. Another mugging had happened the week before – a tourist out for a late night walk down the pier – and since the tourist had no measurable routine, most officers thought that both were simply crimes of opportunity. I had to agree. No one in their right mind would target Valerie Kent – wife of the chief of police anyway. The fact that she was Amazonian in muscle strength and could run like the Road Runner solidified the random theory.
Once all the “shop” talk was out of the way, Sam told me that he’d Googled godparents, and we talked about all the ways we could be a secondary family to the babies Raina would bring into the world in a few months. And we were still laughing joyfully when we arrived back at my apartment over Sam’s idea to practice our baby skills. “We should get a couple of footballs, put diapers on them,” he said as we climbed the stairs, “and practice juggling two at once.”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to juggle babies,” I giggled, unlocking the door.
“I beg to differ,” Sam returned, grinning. “Taking care of two babies at once is going to seem just like juggling.”
Sam followed me inside, where I promptly dropped my keys on the kitchen table. He closed the door, but lingered there, unsure. Sam had grown progressively uneasy about our time alone in my apartment. He had us stuck on first base, and whenever I tried to steal second, he pulled back, making me feel a little like a sex-crazed teenager only a few kisses shy of begging. He’d even stopped with all the fun innuendo he used to dish out, as if worried that would encourage me.
How awesome would it be, I often considered, to lock Sam Teague up in my apartment with a bottle of Tequila and just get all of this newness out of the way? Purge the feelings, have the sex, and embarrass ourselves with the vomiting. Then, all the doors would be wide open. No more hiding. No more shame. I longed for that closeness, the sort I already had with his soul, but lacked in real life.
“I was thinking about you today,” he started as I kicked off my sandals.
“Sounds promising,” I grinned.
I stood oddly on the other side of the kitchen table, waiting for him to continue, while he stayed near the door, as if he wanted a quick getaway. Sam wasn’t only catching on to my deficiencies, he was studying them, evident by him suggesting, “Let’s go back to the Point.”
My shoulders fell. The Point was the center of two memories: first, it was the place Sam took me when we were teenagers, the beach where we fell in love. Second, it was where I washed up on shore the night Mavis Chambers tried to kill me. The waves had pounded me until losing interest, leaving me there like a beached whale. Water had almost killed me – twice in my life. Was it so wrong to not want to face it?
Seeing the distress on my face, he continued, “If we went, together and you were in control, it could be like immersion therapy, you know? They always tell people who are afraid of flying to get on a plane. This’ll be just like that, just facing your fear. We could relive our day, comfortably, safely and then, you won’t be afraid anymore.”
“No,” was all I could say. Just the idea of being on that beach again made my heart race and my hands tingle. I could almost feel the salt water drizzling down my throat and stinging my eyes.
“You don’t even walk on the beach anymore. You came here because you love the ocean and the beauty of this place, but you can’t even enjoy it.”
I pulled a chair out from under the kitchen table and plopped into it. Sam moved a chair in front of me, and kept talking, like a dummy. I needed that bottle of tequila just to get through this conversation.
“When I see something’s wrong, I’m going to try and fix it. That’s the way I am. And I know you, with that fierce determination and stubbornness of yours, you think you have to handle it all yourself because you always have. That’s not true anymore. You have me. And some problems are bigger than one person.”
“A day at the Point won’t fix anything,” I argued. “It’ll just make it worse.”
“You don’t know that. We could at least try,” he countered.
“I don’t want to,” I said. “I just need time and a little distance between me and the sea. That’s all.”
“Avoiding it won’t make it go away,” he replied, as if he knew what I’d experienced. He hadn’t screamed awake from his nightmares or felt his heart clanging in his chest. “If not the Point, then we should think of a plan-”
“A plan?” I repeated. The panic gave way to a much more powerful emotion. Anger.
He sighed heavily and held my hand. “We can handle this, but you have to let me help-”
“It’s not that simple. I’ve been dealing with this my whole life to some degree and it’s not a switch I can just flip because you say so. You’re making
me feel broken. Can’t you just love me the way I am and not try to fix anything?” I tried.
“I do-” he insisted. I yanked my hand away and jumped out of my seat. I paced into the living room, back and forth from window to window. Nervous energy and irritation bubbled inside me.
“Then, stop messing up this perfect night by making it all about my problems,” I ordered.
Sam met me at the moon drenched window, stopping my steps. “It’s a destructive force in your life, and it’s growing-”
“The only thing that’s growing is my irritation,” I returned. “This is exactly why I didn’t tell you. I don’t need you to fix me-”
“I just want to help-”
“If I need your help, I’ll ask for it. But, I don’t. I’m handling it.”
He huffed sarcastically. “If you’re handling it, then let’s take a walk on the beach. Let’s get our feet wet.” I scoffed, and he added. “Yeah, I can see you’re doing a bang up job so far.”
“Stop treating me like a project,” I fumed.
“I’m not!” he argued. “I’m just worried-“
“I don’t need your worry or want it-“
“How am I supposed to love you without caring for you? What do you want?”
“I just want to be with you, to be with you! I want to laugh and talk and be distracted from all the bullshit, and believe me, I don’t need you telling me about my bullshit. It’s in my face and burrowing in my head! It’s around me, all the time, suffocating me! And you – you’re the air I breathe! I want to know you, really know you, and do for you the way you do for me, and I want to make love and get lost in your kiss and your embrace! What I want, what I need, is for you to just love me.” I stopped ranting and took a deep breath.
He stepped closer to me, like he was about to grab my hand and tell me everything was okay. I shook my head. Compassion mixed with confusion on his face. I added to the latter by giving him a gentle shove toward the door. A little quieter, I said, “If you can’t do that, then you might as well leave.”
Sam moved closer. His hands went to my face, where he swiped his thumbs over my cheeks. “I love you more than anything.”
“Then, show me,” I begged, leaning up to kiss him, “Let me feel it on my lips and on my skin. Let me breathe it in, and soak it up.” I kissed him again. “Let me swim in it. Hold nothing back.”
His kiss deepened. Hands roamed up and down my back. He leaned into me, and hoisted me up. My legs wrapped around him, and he carried me to the bed, where he softly laid me down.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. His lips slid down my neck.
It was going to happen! Finally, the moment was here, no tequila necessary. Like the rivers with the oceans, our spirits were going to mix and mingle, bonding us forever. My heart was full and spilling over. I wanted to tell him so, to say something that would stick in his mind forever.
“I-” I started to say.
Music broke through the quiet of my bedroom. It rang out suddenly and loudly, and everything stopped. Sam huffed, and rolled over on the bed. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, and amazingly answered it. I sat up thinking, what?
A male voice echoed through the quiet room. Sam knew it. He rose from the bed and moved over to the window, pressing it harder against his ear.
“I’ll call you back, few minutes,” Sam said, before hanging up. He breathed out heavily. He leaned against the windowpanes, staring out into nothingness.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s, um,” he started to say, and shook his head. “Aunt Bev, I have to go.”
“Is she okay?” The male voice could have been a neighbor, a doctor, an emergency technician. My mind spun.
He nodded, and smiled. “She’s okay. She just needs me for something.”
I cast him a curious, pained look. “Right now?”
He answered with another nod without looking at me. Sam moved across the apartment. “I’m sorry.”
“Will you be back?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he answered. I didn’t get out of bed to see him to the door, but sat there, stupefied.
My bed swayed. Up and down. The currents pulled at my feet, at my legs. I couldn’t fight it. Farther out to sea, you bitch! A roaring motor disappeared into the darkness. I screamed, only to hear the sound again. A boat charged me, large and unstoppable. There was nowhere to go. The gray hull buried me in a wet coffin.
I sat up, heart racing. I was drenched in sweat. The clock read 2:44. I slowed my breathing with a few deep breaths, and then erupted into tears. Why not I with thine, I repeated over and over to myself. I didn’t know the answer, but I filled in the blanks with a myriad of possibilities, none of them good.
Chapter Twenty-One
Imitation
The mimic octopus changes color and transforms itself so that it can hide in plain sight. Unlike other sea creatures with this talent, the mimic octopus is a multi-impersonator: sea snakes, lion fish, flatfish, jellyfish and it picks the deadliest sea critters to copy, knowing that these are the ones that will frighten predators away. The mimic octopus uses its power, not just to hide, but to prey on its own victims, too. It masks itself as a flirtatious charmer or the damsel-in-distress, pretending to be a victim, making it the queen of manipulation and nasty tricks.
To solidify my relationship with Sam, I’d have to mimic a normal girl-next-door, an idea that plagued me after our almost-encounter. Emergencies aside, how awful was it for a guy to take a phone call mid-making out and then leave? I was stunned and self-conscious and overall just baffled.
My work life wasn’t helping.
The day after my Countdown to Frankenstein Fright Night went up, my aunts posted their own sign, Countdown to the GRAND Re-Closing of Beach Read. 71 Days until October 31st. Mimicry in pink cursive on a light pink background, vicious disguised as pretty.
On Saturday, the front page article in the Gazette was not about Beach Read’s upcoming event (that was on page six), but rather Family Feud Face-Off, with a picture of our storefronts and their opposing signs gracing the spread. This topped a story called Boardwalk Stick-Ups about the two armed robberies in four days – the tourist and Valerie Kent. My name wasn’t mentioned. And while I was always happy to be ignored by Clark’s paper for once, I was a little irritated, too. He does a full layout for my “supposed” encounter with a woman in distress, but fails to even mention me for helping the very real Valerie Kent. It was clearly in Clark’s best interest to keep the community guessing about my sanity.
But, I pressed on. The spiral verse-of-the-day gift Raina had given me had become my mantra: For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind and I kept this one posted, though there were hundreds of other verses to flip to. Tipee was not going to make me crazy, I decided (though Sam might).
Willie pawed at the glass door of Beach Read, smudging the glass that I had just cleaned an hour ago, and giving me that weepy dog look. I’d been hanging white twinkle lights from the metal bars of my awning for the last hour. With Henry on a walkabout, Willie had been cooped up all day and was anxious to stretch his legs. I ignored his pleas until he started whining. I can’t stand whining.
Determined to make this a quick alley visit, I leashed Willie and left Beach Read unlocked. But, the alley didn’t do it for him – picky dog – so we travelled through the bushes, across Via’s parking lot, and spat out to Coral Avenue. At the end of the road nearest the ocean and across from Britt’s Donuts, sat Love Rentals – a four-car garage decorated with every type of beach vehicle you can think of from dune buggies to skim boards, all available to rent. The sign drew me to it, however. We padded down the sidewalk and crossed the street. Love Rentals was written in bold blue and green letters – graffiti-style bookended by two red hearts. David Love owned the business, so the name made sense. But, the icon reminded me distinctly of the mermaid at the Peacock. Could the heart on the mermaid have been a reference to David Love?
As Willie and I pondered this question at the open entrance to the store, I spotted David Love on the other side of the back door. He was giving someone a big chunk of his mind. Willie and I moved to the right to see the recipients. My mouth dropped with surprise. Ricky Wakefield and J.J.
Willie and I moved inside, eyeing the surfboards and bikes blankly, but the conversation ended without a single overheard word. David Love re-entered the store, exchanging his frustration with a smile, and the two boys headed down the back alley.
“Oh, hey,” he greeted, “Ms. Duffy, nice to see you.”
That people I hadn’t met before knew who I was shouldn’t have been surprising, thanks to Clark’s incessant newspaper coverage, but it still made me stutter. I shook his hand. David Love sported a split lip and a shiner, at least a few days old, but ugly. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Love.”
“Call me Dave,” he said. “What can I do for you today?”
I sputtered. What was I doing here? I’d left the store unlocked and unmanned, and here I was browsing for adventure sports gear? I can’t even get near the water, let alone surf, skim, or boogie board it. I just said the first thing that came to mind, “So, I see you know Ricky and J.J.?”
He huffed. “Not really.” He spat those words out almost too quickly, and then added, “Um, nothin’ but worthless punks if you ask me. Ricky used to give my daughter Amber a hard time in school.”
“My cousin Rachel, too,” I added.
“I don’t want ‘em hangin’ around near my store,” he said, peering out the back door to make sure they’d moved on. “So, what can I talk you into rentin’ today?”
I ignored his question, and said, “I can see why you wouldn’t want them hanging around, especially after what Ricky did to your wife’s science lab.”
Dave’s brown eyes squinted together. “Ricky’s a psycho, that’s for sure, but Ally never thought he caused the fire.”
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