Losing Mr. Right

by Natalie Charles

  I felt lonely walking by myself. And then there was a blink of joy again, a twinge of excitement. Again, I traced that thread to its source, turning my thoughts over like rocks. Was it the idea of people walking? No. Was it seeing that boy throw a Frisbee to his dog down the beach? Nope. Was it the weather? No again.

  It was the loneliness, I finally realized. Because when I realized that I was lonely, I also thought of what I wanted to do about that, and my answer was to go check up on Mindy. See? She was always there, on the periphery of my thoughts. She was maddening in a unique way, sure. But I had to acknowledge this for what it was. Mindy, the idea of her, made me feel something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

  • • •

  I FOLLOWED the uneven white boards on the beach that led back to the sidewalk and the bike path. Seagrass tickled my legs as I passed. A butterfly landed on my shoulder and then flew away. Someone had left a dripping bottle of coconut-scented sunscreen on top of a round municipal trash can, and I could smell it warming in the sun.

  From that point in the sidewalk I only had a few blocks to go, and while I walked, I prepared my speech. Hey. I’m sorry about last night. I was out of line. Or maybe, Hey. I was a jerk. I get that way sometimes. I went to apologize, I really did. But as I climbed the hill to the cottage, I saw Mindy sitting beside the front door wearing a goddamned gold bikini and eating cereal out of the box. She was so odd, and I loved it. And when I saw her, I felt that happiness again and I forgot my apology. All I could do was smile. But I guess that was okay because she was smiling, too. “Hey you,” I said.

  “Hey. Breakfast?” She shook the box of cereal.

  “Nah, I ate.” I pointed at her gold getup. “Sunbathing already?” I wasn’t complaining. Her body was incredible. I couldn’t dwell on that, in case I created an embarrassing situation for myself.

  “Vitamin D,” she replied. “You know, people of Asian descent are more prone to osteoporosis.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Nana’s had it for years.” She pushed an Adirondack chair in my direction. “Want to sit?”

  “Sure.” I took the seat and stretched my legs in the warm sunshine. “What are you up to today?”

  Mindy paused to chew a mouthful of cereal. “Vaughan’s running a whorehouse.”

  Ah. I squinted and set my head against the back of the chair. “Yes, it does seem that way, doesn’t it?”

  She closed up her box of cereal and set it down calmly on the gray brick. “She has turned my grandparents’ quaint seaside inn into a whorehouse. Nana’s really upset about that, and so I’m going to stop it.”

  Of course she was. I tapped my fingertips on the armrests of the chair but didn’t ask a follow-up question. Mindy glanced over at me. “Do you want some coffee or something? I should’ve asked sooner—”

  “No. I’m fine, thanks.”

  “I’ve been here for seven days, Brett. One week.” She held a finger in the air for emphasis. “This is the worst-kept secret in the world. Everyone seems to know that the girls at the Bayberry Inn are giving out happy endings, and yet”—she turned her palms toward the sky—“it continues.”

  “Huh.” I stole a glance at the stately white inn, with its wrought iron gate and its stone wall. It was the image of New England elegance. “So what are your plans? Seems like the police already know.”

  Mindy frowned at me. “Is that a joke? You’re not being helpful.”

  “I guess I don’t have a lot of experience in shutting down illicit businesses.”

  Mindy brought one bare foot to rest on the seat of her chair and wrapped her arms around her long, lean leg. “I know exactly what to do,” she said, with remarkable calm. “I’ve thought about it all morning. I’m going to drive her out.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know the specifics. Yet.”

  She toyed with her hair, which she was wearing loose and wavy. “The first thing I need to do,” she said, “is find the rental lease. It’s got to be in my grandmother’s house.”

  “That blue one across the street, right?”

  “Yes. I’m going to find the rental lease and comb through it. There must be something in there, some term that Vaughan’s violated.”

  I smoothed my beard and considered the strategy. “That makes sense. Of course, you’d have to go through the courts. A proceeding would take some time. And the story would generate some interest and land in the newspaper.”

  “Nana would die from embarrassment.”

  “But it’s not a bad place to start,” I said. “Vaughan doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who wants to go to court. Maybe you could put pressure on her.”

  Mindy dropped her purple hair. My gaze followed it to her shoulders but I managed to stop it from roaming farther. “I’m still mad at you for last night. I’m trying to help my grandmother, and maybe I’m not perfect. But you have no right to judge me.”

  I took a breath before replying. “You’re right. I crossed a line. I’m sorry about that.”

  She was quiet for a moment, and then she shrugged. “It’s okay.” She combed her fingers through her hair. “I liked the kiss, though. You’re a good kisser.”

  That sent my heart hammering, skipping beats and knocking against the wall of my chest. “You too,” I said. That was true, if not exactly witty.

  The entire time, she watched me with this sexy smile that told me she knew exactly what she was doing. The blood rushed to my face and I looked down at the ground, overwhelmed. I started laughing. It all made me uneasy as hell, but in the best way possible. Sitting there, flirting with this beautiful girl, made me feel alive again. “You wanna go for a walk with me?”

  Mindy gestured down at her almost-naked figure. “I should probably get dressed.”

  “Sure. Go get dressed.”

  “Okay, give me a few minutes.” She stood. “I’d invite you in, but Beau is here and he’s grouchy in the morning.”

  “That’s fine.”

  I reclined in the chair and tried hard not to think about what Mindy was doing inside the cottage. How she was taking that tiny gold bikini off. How her skin was probably warm from the sunshine. How she kept coming on to me and how I kept trying to be a gentleman. And what if I hadn’t tried so hard? If I’d followed her inside of her apartment after our first dinner, would she have invited me inside right now for another round? All of the blood was being redirected from my brain to my cock at the thought of what she might feel like, all hot and—

  “Ready?”

  Mindy was standing beside me in a loose purple tank and denim cutoff shorts. I took a quick moment to admire the shape of her bare legs and adjusted my own shorts before standing. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 8

  BRETT

  WE WALKED THROUGH the center of town and past the cluster of vacation-home neighborhoods. We took a wooden footbridge over a saltwater marsh that led to a small island circled by a narrow dirt path. “I’ve never been here,” Mindy said.

  “I like it. The town looks different.”

  Mindy paused to turn and look behind us at the downtown area. “It’s so crowded. I didn’t even realize. Or maybe it’s quiet here.”

  “A little of both.” We started walking again. “I come out here to think. Watch your step.”

  I took her hand to help her up a steep slope. She thanked me without letting go, and for a while we walked like that, holding hands. The tide was still out and the marsh was low but not dry. When it was dry the mud stunk. Now, the long seaweed in the marsh floated on the surface of the water, waving slightly. “It must be pretty when the tide comes in,” Mindy said.

  We were still holding hands and I felt like a teenager, light-headed from the contact. “I like to walk out here. I feel like I can think.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. I always feel better after moving.” She paused. “Can I tell you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “I didn’t come to West Portsmouth to take care of my g
randmother. That was kind of an excuse.” She dropped my hand and stuffed hers into her pocket. “I came here because there’s this guy at home that I kind of have a thing for, and I found out he’s marrying someone else.”

  Ouch. This was new information. “A thing?” I asked, keeping my voice casual. “What kind of a thing?”

  She waved a hand dismissively. “You know. A little crush. I’ve known him for ages, and I don’t know. There’s something about him.”

  Don’t freak out, I told myself. A crush was manageable. But even so … “You left town over him. It must be more than a crush.”

  “I sort of get intense. And we’re friends and it’s awkward.”

  “What do you like about him?” What makes him so great? Is he better than me?

  She considered the question quietly. “He’s funny, you know? And he always knows what to say in any situation. Me?” She rested one hand over her heart. “I lose my cool. I get angry about things. Like, super angry.”

  “You have a passionate streak.”

  “That’s a nice way of putting it.” She smiled faintly. “You seem like you’re mellow.”

  “I guess. Maybe it’s all the walking.”

  Mindy shoved her hand back into her pocket. “Anyway, this guy back home. He’s good-looking. And he’s really ambitious.” She absently kicked a rock out of the path. “My parents always told me that I should marry a man who can provide, which I know is old-fashioned. But I understand what they mean. I don’t want to have to worry about money.”

  Money. My skin prickled. Was this what Mindy was after? “Money’s important to you?”

  She half shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, my dad lost his job when I was little. We could’ve lost our house. We were close to it.” Her voice grew quiet as she slipped into the memory. “I remember my mom crying a lot, worrying about money. Saying she would stop crying if Dad could get a job. And then he did. We were fine. It’s just that I remember those times.”

  “And you link money to happiness?”

  “I guess.” She began to laugh. “You’re like a walking therapist with these questions, you know that? Is this what you do on your walks?”

  “I must. It comes naturally.” I smiled at the path. “My godfather’s a psychoanalyst.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. He used to take me out for ice cream and hammer me with all these questions. He brought dolls and made me reenact arguments with my parents.”

  Her eyes widened. “No.”

  I chuckled. “No, I’m kidding. He’s pretty normal.”

  She clicked her tongue. “I can’t believe I fell for that.” Then she looked at me. “You get it though, right? Your parents must have told you to go to college so you could get a good job.”

  I don’t know why this bugged me so much, all this talk about money. “My parents were hippies. They always told me to follow my passion.”

  “So, people walking?”

  She laughed a little, and I guess it hit me in the wrong spot. So much for being mellow. I felt defensive all of a sudden, like I’d brought her out here and I didn’t want to hear about how this guy back home compared to me. But before I could respond, she said, “I don’t want you to think I’m shallow. I would never marry someone for money. He’s just a great guy.”

  “Sounds like it.”

  “We have a history. That’s all.”

  For a second, I thought about telling her everything. I am worth hundreds of millions of dollars. Want to grab dinner? But my stomach had wrapped itself into knots. Mindy seemed great, but if anything happened between us, I wanted it to be genuine. I didn’t want to be liked for my money.

  “I don’t think I’m ever going to get married, though,” she continued. “My relationships never work out.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I dunno. They leave, or I get bored.” She paused. “Plus I’m too selfish.”

  “Too selfish?” I frowned as I mulled that one over. “Says who?”

  “Everyone.”

  “Really? Everyone in the world thinks you’re selfish?”

  She bumped my shoulder with hers. “No, but my parents do. They say I’m self-absorbed.”

  “Because … ?”

  “I guess because I think of myself a lot.”

  I smiled at that. “No, I mean, what’s the evidence that you think of yourself a lot? See, from my perspective, you’re a nice young woman who’s giving up her summer to care for her grandmother. That’s the opposite of selfish.”

  “I’m not actually a great granddaughter. Until Nana fell, I hadn’t visited in months.” Mindy stooped to pick up something in the path and turn it over in her fingers. “Just a rock,” she said, and tossed it back down again. “Plus I like having nice things. Always have. I like to feel pretty, and when I was younger I was always asking my parents for this or that. Chase agrees.”

  I blinked. “Chase?”

  “My crush.”

  “Hold on.” My hand flew to the back of my neck. “This guy thinks you’re selfish. And you still talk to him?”

  She looked up at the sky and sighed. “He just says that I’m high-maintenance and that’s why no guy will ever put up with me.”

  I sat with that one for a few moments. Mindy—confident, beautiful, intelligent—was actually believing all the terrible things this one guy had said to her. “Mindy, you realize that’s bullshit, right? That he’s doing that to control you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He puts you down in order to keep you from losing interest in him. He makes you believe you can’t do any better. He’s not a friend. He’s abusive.”

  This was yet another piece of information I’d picked up from my mom, the women’s studies professor. I hoped Mindy would understand, thank me for the insight, and then pledge that she’d never speak to or think of Chase again. But instead she rolled her eyes and said, “All right, moving on. Let’s talk about you.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Why did you quit your job and move here?”

  I shrugged and said simply, “Because my brother died.”

  • • •

  DAVID HAD everything. An Ivy League education. A Juris Doctor from Stanford. A loving family and a girlfriend who thought the world of him. The last time I’d seen him had been the day before his birthday, when I went to dinner at his house. I was in town just to see him and I’d made reservations at a place that filled up six months in advance. David wasn’t interested. “I don’t want to go out. Let’s do dinner here.”

  Yeah, I was pissed. “You know what I had to do to get these reservations?” Of course I hadn’t planned ahead. I never did. So I was stuck bartering with the owner, who fortunately was a client. The reservations would cost me a pretty penny in free programming. “David. Don’t be a douchebag.”

  We were on the phone, but I heard the firmness in his voice. “It’s my birthday. All I do is eat in stuffy restaurants.”

  “For work?”

  “Yes, for work.” He was an associate at the San Francisco branch of an international law firm.

  “I’m surprised they let you get away from your desk.”

  “They do. And then I just have to work until midnight to make up for it.” He paused. “It’s my birthday.”

  I was disappointed. I’d reserved a tasting menu for us. Exotic foods paired with exotic wines and for a few hours, just the two of us. We didn’t see each other enough. And while I thought David was being a dick, he was right. It was his birthday.

  I offered to pick up takeout. He didn’t want it. I offered to cook something. No go. “I’ll make something,” he said. “That’s what I want to do. Bring a bottle of wine.” I offered to bring a birthday cake, too, and at least he agreed to that.

  That was David. He was stubborn and had a temperamental streak. I didn’t think much beyond my irritation. David was being David, the spoiled younger sibling. All of my annoyance evaporated when I arrived at his condo the next night. He greet
ed me at the door in a chef’s apron with a huge grin on his face. “Happy birthday!” he said.

  “It’s your birthday.” I stuck the end of the bottle of wine into his stomach. “Smells awesome. What are you cooking?”

  He’d made homemade butternut squash ravioli with a butter sauce, homemade bread, and a green salad. “I know it’s not urchin butter on crackers or foie gras truffles,” he said as he ushered me inside. “But it’s Mom’s recipe and I’ve been craving it.”

  Mom and Dad were in Japan. They’d talked for ages about making the trip, and David didn’t seem to care that they had planned it during his birthday week. He was in good spirits. The meal was surprisingly comforting. “You know, this was my favorite meal as a kid,” I said as we cleaned up.

  “I know.”

  I’ve gone back to that moment a hundred times, trying to understand why he’d invited me to his house and served me my favorite meal. I want to believe that David was telling me the truth: that he was craving Mom’s cooking and a simple night at home. I fear it was his way of saying good-bye. David hanged himself three days later.

  Nothing made sense after he died. I went numb for days. David had everything. He was smiling and happy when I saw him. He and his girlfriend were talking about marriage. He wasn’t a suicide risk. Gradually, reality set in and I looked for an explanation, some clues. I remembered he didn’t want to talk about his job. “Work is boring,” he had said that night. “Lots of paperwork, lots of fighting about bullshit that clients believe is important. You know, I think all the time that I should’ve been a people walker.”

  We had been eating his birthday cake at the kitchen table. We just grabbed two forks and dug in. “A people walker?”

  “You remember when we talked about that?” David reminded me of how he’d come up with that idea the day when we were practicing soccer in the backyard. “Sometimes when I’m chained to my desk, I think that would’ve been fun—to walk people around. I miss that connection. Sometimes this job … I feel lonely.”