“Rick. Rick. Rick. I’m fine.” I stood in front of the window and stretched. The lukewarm shower had barely touched the tightness in my neck.
“There’s nothing fine about you being missing.”
“I’m not missing. I’m on the phone with you. Man, it’s ok.” I opened a few of the kitchen cabinets, hoping Flo had stocked it with some snacks. A cold beer sounded spot on right now. There might not be another way to get through this phone call.
“How am I supposed to know we didn’t have another Rebecca Campbell situation?” Rick stopped mid-sentence. “That’s not what I meant. Hell, I meant—that something happened to you or—”
I shook my head. “I know what you meant. You don’t have to explain. I haven’t been kidnapped. I’m perfectly safe.”
“Fuck, man. You must be taking this hard. I can call her agent and find out what the deal is with the guy in Hawaii. It’s just the press. She wouldn’t run out on you like that.” Rick’s tone had softened. “Just tell me where you are. I can help.”
I paused my search for beer. There was no way I was telling anyone where I was, not even my agent, who usually had my every waking move scheduled on his calendar.
“Rick, you know I really appreciate that, man, but you need to let Rebecca and me take care of whatever is going on. Ok? I can handle it.” I slammed the last cupboard, not finding a single saltine cracker. My stomach grumbled. I hadn’t eaten anything since the bag of peaches last night. I smiled, remembering there was still another bag in my Jeep.
“Got it. I get it. You need your time. Understandable.” Rick sighed into the phone. “Here’s what we’ll do. You take a few days. I’ll handle the appearances on your schedule and tell them you have the flu or something. I’ll let everyone know you need a few days to get your strength back—yada, yada. I’ll take care of it. Just tell me what day you’ll be back.”
A group of boys emerged from the dunes in the distance. They had on pirate hats, and two reached for invisible swords. I watched, fascinated as the scene unfolded in front of me. Clearly, someone was going down for stealing the treasure.
“Ben? Day. What day are you coming back?” Rick had lost his sympathetic patience.
His sharp tone shook me from the pirate scene. I pulled the phone from my ear and looked at the screen. Ten minutes. I had already been on this call for ten minutes when I could be doing something much more enjoyable. Like playing pirate.
“I might not, Rick.”
“What the fuck? Are you fucking with me right now?” the agent fumed. “She’s just a girl, man. She’s not worth all of this.”
I sighed. I would never be able to explain any of this to Rick. Not everything revolved around Rebecca; it never did. And she had figured that out.
“You’re just going to have to take care of this for me for a while. I’m taking some time off. Which also means, don’t shop around for any new films for me. I’m on permanent hiatus.” I didn’t know the words would feel so good. “I’ll be in touch, Rick, and thanks for taking care of everything for me.” I pressed end and tossed the phone on the table before I caught another earful. I didn’t need it.
I had been a spy, a World War II hero, an ambitious politician, a fighter pilot, the romantic catch, but now nothing sounded better than playing pirate. I was going to take my life back, no matter the cost. And that was going to start with a cold beer and some food.
CHAPTER FOUR
Chelsea
Derek leaned over my back and whispered in my ear, “Did you hear Paul’s having another bonfire tonight?”
I straightened my posture and cleared my throat. Mrs. Sawyer was standing at the register, paying for sunscreen and a stack of gossip magazines. I nudged Derek away with my elbow. I hoped Mrs. Sawyer didn’t see the way I had turned a deep crimson.
“Here you go, Mrs. Sawyer.” I slid the magazines into a paper bag and handed over her change.
“Thank you. Today’s my first beach day all week, and I can’t wait to get caught up with my celebs.” She patted the bag.
I smiled, unable to relate to her fascination with gossip. But Mrs. Sawyer lived across the street from my parents and I couldn’t be rude to one of their neighbors. Although, on Brees Island, everyone was technically a neighbor.
“Bye, Derek.” The woman winked before leaving through the storefront glass door.
I twirled on my heels and shot him a stern look. “What was that all about?” My neck still tingled from his breath. It annoyed me that it felt kind of good.
“What? You think I should ask Mrs. Sawyer to go with me instead? I think she’d say yes.”
I lowered my voice and looked down the aisle, making sure there weren’t any other customers in the store. “You know what happened between us was a one-time deal, right?”
“One time? I don’t think so. That’s what you said the last three times.” Derek shoved a piece of gum in his mouth and arched a shot with the wrapper. “Score.” The paper landed in the center of the trash can.
“I’m serious, Der.” I could tell he wasn’t taking any of it seriously—not my attempts to deflect his advances or dissuade him from asking me out.
The flirting had been relentless since high school. He had cooled things off when I left for college, but now that I was home indefinitely, he was in hot pursuit. It didn’t help that I had stayed over at his place. I blamed the dullness of the island—that and his body. Derek definitely didn’t look like that when we were in high school. He was athletically built, tan, and eager to show me his new wave tattoo. Although, ever since we had crossed the friendship line, I feared that we would never be able to get back what we had on the other side. We weren’t even sleeping together, but maybe I was wrong thinking guys were better equipped to handle casual hookups.
And what exactly was I doing? Hooking up but not having sex? It was stupid.
“I will pick you up at eight.” He pointed at me as he backed out of the space behind the register.
“Der, you’re not listening.” I jammed my hands on my hips and gave him my most severe glare. It wasn’t working. He winked in response.
Then the words smacked me. They came out of nowhere.
“No, you’re the one not listening. See you then. I’ve got to get all the kayaks checked in. It’s that time.”
I didn’t hear the last part. I had already ripped a handful of register paper from the feed and grabbed a pen from the mason jar on the counter.
Why can’t you give me what I want?
It can’t all be in my head
It’s so easy to feel since we’ve met
Could it be that you’ve always known
And you’re ok leaving me alone
I tapped the pen against my cheek. Gah! I couldn’t get the next verse out. As suddenly as the words popped into my head, the rest had slipped away. Time was the only answer. Time with my guitar, my hammock, and no more distractions.
“Miss, do you have any crab nets?” An older gentleman whose shorts were embroidered with marlins stood in front of the counter.
“Huh?” I shook my head. “Oh, crab nets. Yes, yes, we have plenty of crab nets.” I walked from behind the counter, leaving the lyrics next to the register.
I guided the man to the side of the store lined with fishing tackle. “Do you need child size or adult size?” I asked.
“There are different sizes for different size crabs?” He scratched his head.
I repressed a sigh. Tourists. “No, I meant is the net for a child or an adult? We have some with extenders that makes it easier for the kids to scoop up crabs if they’re crabbing from the piers.”
He chuckled at his mistake. “Oh, I see. Well, we need both. We’ve got the whole family here for two weeks. My grandkids, my son, and his wife. It’s going to be a big time.”
The register paper fluttered when the air conditioning kicked on. Panic gripped me as I saw it slip to the floor. I should have stuffed it in my apron pocket.
I forced a smile. “That so
unds nice. Where are you from?”
This was part of the job—making small talk with tourists. My parents had been in business for twenty-five years, but my grandparents had run the store before them. It was a family business based on southern hospitality, and I needed to keep my manners even though my lyrics were lying somewhere on the floor.
“Pennsylvania. Our friends from church vacationed here last summer, and they couldn’t stop talking about it. Thought we’d give it a try. This is our first time on the island.”
I resisted the urge to tell him how obvious that was. “Well, I hope you and your family have a great time.” I reached for the crab nets. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“How about some of these fishing gadgets?” He pointed at one of the pink lures. “The boys might want to try it. They’d have fun trying to catch something.”
“You need some tackle? Did you bring any rods with you?”
The man studied the fluorescent fishing gear. “No, I guess I need some of that too.”
This time I wasn’t able to hold back the sigh that escaped my lips. I closed my eyes. Time to refocus. “Ok, well let me put these nets behind the register for you, and you can tell me all about your fishing needs and we’ll get started on that next.”
I trudged to the register and placed the nets against the wall. My father was never around when it was convenient, like when there was actually a customer who needed help. I knew exactly where he was. Anger singed along my temples.
The Pennsylvania man was focused on the filament lines and silver weights. I had at least a second to find the paper with the freshly minted lyrics. I dropped to the floor and reached under the bottom of the shelf to rake my fingertips along the floorboards. I hit something soft and gooey. Ick. Derek needed to do a better job with the floors. It had probably been a year since he had gotten under here.
“Miss, do you think my grandson should have this graphite rod or something a little heavier?”
Still on my hands and knees, I shouted over the counter, “On my way.”
As usual, the lyrics would have to wait.
CHAPTER FIVE
Ben
I pulled the handle on the campground office door. Bells jingled as it closed behind me. On the other side of a laminate desk sat a woman with short gray hair. This is not how I had pictured someone named Flora. She was missing bangle bracelets, fluffy curls, and sweet perfume.
“Good morning.” I grinned.
“Ahh, good morning. You must be—” Her lips twisted around as if she was trying to recall my name.
I extended my hand. “Jake. I’m Jake.”
I had settled on a cover story while I got dressed. I was going to be Jake, the writer. It was a little Hemingway-esque, but I knew it was the kind of character I could easily play for as long as I was on the island.
“Nice to meet you, Jake. I’m Flora. My husband said he put you up in Silver Sand Dollar.”
“Yes, ma’am. She’s great.” I winced, knowing my Texan enunciation of ma’am had slipped out. I was rusty with the accent work.
“I’m kinda partial to the Sand Dollar, but Pearl of the Oyster is a close second in my heart. I really wanted to go with a picnic theme. Picnic at the beach.” Her hands stretched across the air in front of her. “Carl told me to have at it. He’s not much for decorating.” She giggled.
“Yep. I got the picnic part with the red checks. Very nice.”
Flora pulled a folder from the desk drawer and licked her thumb as she flipped through a few pages. “Ok, if you could fill out your name, email address, and length of stay right here.” She pointed at the open lines and twirled the folder around for me. “How many nights? We charge in advance.”
I reached for the pen she had offered. Earlier this morning I had told Carl I would stay all month, but it didn’t feel right. “I’d like to take the Sand Dollar for the entire summer.”
Flora jumped in her seat. “All summer? My, that’s a surprise.”
I kept my focus on the three lines I had to fill in.
“Did Carl tell you the nightly rate for the campers?” She had retrieved a calculator from the same desk drawer, and she began counting the rest of the summer days on the calendar out loud.
“No, but I have cash. It’s not a problem.” I shoved my hands in my pockets and rocked back on my heels. I would need to go into town and buy something other than boots.
The campground hostess whistled. I got the impression she wasn’t used to long-term camper residents. She scribbled a few numbers, and then punched them into the calculator.
“All right. If you stay until the end of August, that’s ninety-two days at sixty-five dollars a night.” She paused to see if I was going to interrupt her. “With tax and water fees, that comes to sixty-five hundred dollars.”
I handed her the pen. “Ok. I need to run back to the Sand Dollar, but I’ll bring the cash in a few minutes.”
Flora looked at me suspiciously. That was the last look I wanted to see.
“Promise. I’ll be right back.” I smiled my best movie star grin and darted out of the office door.
I jogged the trail to the camper, tugged twice on the handle, and reached for my duffle bug. Everything I had was in that bag, along with several wads of cash. I formed two stacks with the bills until I had all sixty-five hundred dollars ready to hand to Flora. I shoved the money in my front pockets and slammed the door behind me.
The salt air hit me the same time my phone started ringing. I clenched my jaw and fist as I pulled it from my back pocket. Rebecca. I pressed decline and tucked the phone in my jeans.
Rebecca wasn’t going to give up until she talked to me. One of the things I had liked about her from the beginning was her persistence, but right now, it was the one thing that was pissing me off. Funny how cute, endearing things could suddenly turn into the ones that were the most aggravating. I smacked a mosquito against my neck as I trudged back to the campground office.
***
I pulled into an open space in front of Davis General Store. Flora had told me I could find everything I needed from beer to flashlights at the island’s largest store.
I didn’t recognize the song playing on the local station, but I liked the words. Something about summertime, sand, and dancing. It wasn’t anything like Texas music, but the lyrics were catchy. I adjusted the volume on the radio. I wanted to play it loud since I had the top of the Jeep rolled down, but part of staying incognito was not drawing unnecessary attention.
My boots hit the gravel parking lot, and I took the steps into the store two at a time. On the other side of this door was a twelve-pack with my name on it. Who cared if it was only ten in the morning? It was time to get this indefinite vacation started.
“Welcome to Davis,” a guy wearing an apron called across the store. He was stocking the freezer with beer.
I walked in his direction. “Thank you. That’s just what I was looking for.”
“Sure, man.” He handed me a case of beer. “Chelsea should be back at the register now. She can ring you up—unless there’s something else you’re shopping for today.”
Something about the store reminded me of my hometown in Texas. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what seemed so familiar. I was about as far away from Shiner, Texas, as I could get.
“Actually, I have some more shopping to do.” I knew my list was longer than just a case of beer.
“How about I take that for you, and you can have a look around?” The clerk gripped the sides of the cardboard carton and headed toward the front of the story. “Holler if you need anything.” I couldn’t help but notice how friendly the guy was.
“Thanks.” I began browsing the outer perimeter of the store. There wasn’t much in the duffle bag I had left in the camper. A few T-shirts, another pair of jeans, my running shoes, and enough boxer briefs to make it through the week. I didn’t need much.
I eyed the wall of board shorts. Now that I was living at the beach for the summer, I would
need a pair. Unless there was a red carpet event and Lana Pine insisted I participate in the black tie selection, I had no interest in clothes. T-shirts and jeans fit every occasion. It felt strange to stand in front of the wall display of bathing suits. I reached for pair. They were simple. I needed simple.
Behind the swimwear was a rack of suntan lotion—something else I hadn’t thought to throw in my bag.
On the other side of the dressing room was a stand stacked with flip-flops. Exactly what I needed to fit in on the island. Beachgoers didn’t wear boots, especially not fifteen-hundred-dollar designer boots. I snatched a pair.
I strolled back to the other side of the store where the grocery aisles were. Yesterday I had avoided junk food. Tom, my personal trainer for the past two years, would punch me if he saw me eyeing the row of cookies and chips. The hell with Tom. He wasn’t here to force raw eggs and protein shakes down my throat. I tossed two bags of corn chips under my arm.
Trying to balance everything, I dumped it all on the counter. I looked up in time to hear an auburn-haired girl with the prettiest frown I had ever seen, curse under her breath. One of the bottles of lotion rolled off the pile and bumped against her hand, jarring the pen she was using.
I thought I heard her groan. She scooped up the note and tucked it into the front pocket of her apron.
“Is this all?” She sounded annoyed.
“Sorry about that.”
I wrapped my arms around the stash and tried to bring it back together in the center of the counter. As soon as I let go, a bottle of hot sauce toppled to the side and headed for the floor. I reached out and snagged the glass container before shattered on the wood.
“Wow. That was quick.” The girl had perched on her tiptoes to witness the great save.
I placed the jar upright next to the register. “Catlike reflexes.”
“Hmm.”
She started scanning tags before placing the items in paper bags.
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