by J. L. Berg
She made a face, momentarily scrunching her nose but letting it go almost immediately before going for round two. “Nothing out of the ordinary happen?” she said, giving her sauce a little taste before adding a pinch of salt.
I leaned back against the counter, not surprised in the least that she hadn’t given me anything to do yet. She didn’t need help; she rarely did. She just wanted me to tell her all about Cora because Jake couldn’t. Or he wouldn’t.
Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that.
Jake was a stickler for it but living in place where gossip was about as common as salt water, I couldn’t really blame him. Whatever happened inside the walls of that clinic, whether it be a chat with a patient about the game or the results of a test, he kept it to himself. Dealing with a small town, it was the only way he found he could keep it separate—the two sides of himself. And, as much as Molly respected it, it sometimes drove her insane.
Like right now.
“Nope,” I replied, enjoying the sight of her as she fought for answers.
“Are you sure? No one new there? No one you recognized?”
I pursed my lips like I was deep in thought before answering, “Mr. and Mrs. Joyner were there. Lovely couple. They remind me a little of you and Jake—or at least, you and Jake in the distant—”
“Dean Sutherland!”
A wide grin spread across my face. “What?”
Dropping her cooking utensil on the porcelain spoon rest next to the pot, she turned to face me, both hands at her hips, like she was ready to scold a misbehaving young child.
Not too far off, I thought.
“You know well and good what I’m talking about!”
Laughing, I nodded. “Of course I do. So, why don’t you just come out and ask me instead of going through all this trouble to draw it out of me?”
Her eyes tore away from me, a twinge of embarrassment coloring her fair cheeks. “Because. I don’t know,” she replied. “I didn’t know if you’d want to tell me.”
“Why?”
“Because maybe it’s none of my business.”
Eyebrow raised, I pushed off from my spot against the counter. “Since when has my life not been any of your business? Pretty sure it was all your business at one point.”
She threw her arms up. “Exactly my point! Maybe you don’t want to share stuff about another woman with your ex. Maybe that’s weird. Shouldn’t it be weird?”
Walking to the stove, I picked up her wooden spoon and handed it to her, knowing it’d calm her down to have something in her hand to keep her occupied. “No, it’s not weird. It’s never been weird between us, except for that part in the middle when we made it kind of weird.”
She laughed. “It really was weird.”
I nodded. “I’m going to stop using the word weird now. But, to piggyback on what you said, Cora isn’t another woman, Molly. She’s just a woman I used to know, okay? So, she’s moved here. That doesn’t change anything.”
“Why?” she asked, locking eyes with me.
I could see the warmth in them, the genuine concern for my well-being. She wanted me to be happy but not the general kind of happiness that everyone had. She wanted the true, deep-down joy she’d found with Jake, and knowing her, she’d do about anything to make sure I found it even if she had to force it on me.
“Because, Molly,” I answered, “not every story ends in a happily ever after. Some just end, and rather than dwell on it, you just move on. Cora and me, we were just that—a story.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” she fired back. “Because I remember the Dean in that hospital room who told me to go for broke when it came to Jake, regardless of the outcome. You told me to fight for him even if it was just for a single day because a sliver of happiness was better than a lifetime of misery.”
“I was on a lot of drugs in that hospital,” I scoffed.
“Stop it, Dean.”
I let out a huff. “So, what? You think Cora is my sliver? Based on what, Molly? A single encounter? She just went through a divorce, and she’s raising a child on her own. What makes you think I need that kind of baggage in my life right now?”
Her eyes widened, and rather than reply, she just stared back at me like she was seeing me for the first time. Honestly, I didn’t blame her. I barely recognized myself in that moment. The words had flown out of my mouth so quickly, I hadn’t had a chance to realize what I was saying until it was too late.
She took several steps in my direction. “Someday, you’re going to realize your life didn’t end out there on that boat, Dean,” she said, her voice quivering with emotion. “Someday, you’re going to look past those wounds and scars that ripped open your body and realize you have more to give, more to live, and more to love. When you do, I’ll be the first person in line to say, I told you so.”
Turning, she walked back to the counter and set her spoon down on the stove. I watched as she pressed her lips together and swallowed hard, an obvious attempt to keep the tears at bay. She left out the back door without saying a word.
I guessed there was no more to say.
Letting out a deep breath, I headed for the refrigerator and grabbed a beer, my head falling against the cool steel of the door as I let the last few minutes sink in. Had I really meant it? Did I think Cora wasn’t worth the baggage she carried?
No, I didn’t.
In reality, there wasn’t a person for miles who had more emotional baggage than me. I didn’t have the right to evaluate others when I barely had a grasp on my own.
So, why had I said it?
I remembered back in high school when my mother had sat me down and given me the talk. Not the talk, but the one that followed shortly after you started high school when parents remembered their own teen years and began to panic.
She’d told me, if I were ever in a situation, be it a party or an invitation to do something I knew would get me in trouble, I merely had to blame her.
“Blame you?” I’d asked.
“That’s right. Ain’t no skin off my back if those hooligans think I’m a square. You find yourself in the thick of things, you just tell ’em you have curfew or can’t go because you’re grounded. I’ll back you up. The point is, keep your nose out of trouble.”
I’d thought she was a little crazy at first, thinking there was no possible way I’d need such an out in a town like Ocracoke, but I’d highly underestimated the creativity of bored teenagers. While I’d dabbled in the normal stuff, like sneaking liquor from my mom’s cabinet and drinking beer on the beach, I’d definitely had to blame my mom a few times when after-game bonfires got out of hand or I simply wasn’t up for it.
And that was exactly what I was doing now.
Blaming someone else to protect myself from something that could possibly get out of hand. But, this time, it wasn’t a young boy trying to do right by his mother.
I was a scared coward of a man, running from something that could be good. Maybe even great. Yet, even admitting it to myself, I couldn’t change my mind.
I couldn’t take the first step.
No, I could.
I just wouldn’t.
Not now. Maybe not ever.
Dear blog family and friends,
I met a man.
A handsome devil of a man.
I never thought I’d use the term handsome devil in my life without either being seriously inebriated or trying to deliver a clever punch line of a joke, but there’s no other term to adequately describe Blake Ashcroft.
He’s spoiled, a bit rude even, but when I look at him, I turn to mush. We met at a bar. I know; it’s totally cliché. A few of my coworkers had dragged me there after our shift, and I don’t know, we just clicked. I’ve never been into fancy guys. You know the type—the ones with the sharp suits and the designer watches that cost more than a mortgage payment. Well, that’s Blake. His family is one of the wealthiest on the East Coast, and sitting next to him makes me feel so plain. But he says he likes that abo
ut me. My genuineness. He says it’s refreshing after growing up the way he did.
Now, I know what you’re thinking, Dad. I’m sure you’re reading this all the way from Texas, probably while drinking a cup of coffee from your Star Trek mug, muttering under your breath about how you should never have let me move away. But I’m fine.
We’re taking things slow. We’ve been on a few dates, and he’s been nothing but gentlemanly. I have a feeling this is the one, guys. I know that’s crazy to say, especially after a few dates, but I can’t help it.
So, stay tuned. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe this is all puppy love, or perhaps it’s intuition, and I’ve finally found something real.
XOXO,
Cora
“What makes you think I need that kind of baggage in my life right now?”
It was a single sentence, one that hadn’t been meant for my ears, but I’d heard it all the same. That was what I got for being raised by parents who drilled good manners into my marrow and an overbearing need to help whenever possible. Although Molly had pressed that I take a few days to adapt and rest after arriving at the inn, saying that I should think of myself as a full-fledged guest during that time, I couldn’t help but feel an itch burning up my spine after several hours of sitting around.
The need to do something. The need to help. So I went in search of something to do. Anything really—that would help me feel like I was earning my keep.
It used to drive Blake crazy. Being born into wealth, my husband had wanted for nothing in his life, having a full staff in his ginormous house to cater to his every whim. When I had taken his name, he’d felt—no, he’d demanded I do the same.
Unlike the staff that had surrounded him, I hadn’t been nearly as obedient.
I guessed that was where it had started.
Taking a deep breath, I stood a bit straighter, refusing to let those thoughts of the past drag me down, much less a few stray words from a man I barely knew.
I knew they shouldn’t hurt me. What he’d said was true. I was a lot of baggage, and he didn’t know the half of it.
I wasn’t even looking for a relationship. I didn’t think I ever would be. Not after everything I’d gone through.
Yet it hurt all the same.
My eyes stung, and my lips quivered, but I didn’t let it get to me. I wouldn’t indulge the pain. So, instead, I turned toward the parlor, ready to join Lizzie on the back patio where she was currently inspecting every inch of her new home.
Her temporary one, I reminded myself.
But, before I could do so, the door to the kitchen swung open, and I heard a sharp inhale of surprise. Knowing who’d just occupied the space, I didn’t have to guess who was standing behind me.
“Oh, hey,” he said awkwardly as I turned back around.
Always awkward, this man. Like he’d just been recently introduced to the English language after being found in the jungle or something.
Giving him a cursory glance, I couldn’t help but notice how well he’d recovered since his accident. No longer bruised and wounded, Dean Sutherland proved to be quite an attractive man.
But I’d always known that.
Even when he’d been covered in bandages and laid up in a hospital bed, anyone could plainly see the appeal in this green-eyed fisherman. He carried a ruggedness that I was unused to after years of refined living. With a few days’ stubble around his jawline and a well-worn pair of jeans, he looked like his body had been built for hard labor, and God help me, I wouldn’t mind watching it in action.
“Hello?” he said before I realized I hadn’t answered his initial greeting because I was too busy ogling the man.
Oops.
“Oh, hi. Sorry, deep in thought,” I said.
“Right,” he replied, clearly unconvinced. Turning back toward the kitchen for a brief moment, he asked, “You haven’t been standing here long, have you?”
Giving the best innocent blank face I could, I shook my head. “Nope. Why?”
“Oh, no reason. You headed out back?”
“Yeah, I was going to check on Lizzie. My daughter,” I said, clarifying.
“I remember her name,” he said as those green irises met mine.
“Oh, okay,” I replied, feeling little flutters of something I hardly recognized anymore buried deep in my belly.
“After you.” He motions to the parlor where the backdoors have been opened wide to the expansive patio. It’s an impressive view but I can’t help but stare at the man in front of me.
Feeling all sorts of flustered, I marched on ahead of him as I chastised myself for acting like a besotted teenager when I had more important things to focus on. Like finding a house and suitable daycare because, as nice as Molly was, she wasn’t going to be okay with watching Lizzie indefinitely.
If it wouldn’t embarrass me further, I would have put my head in my hands with the enormity of it all.
I hadn’t expected it to be this hard—starting over.
I honestly hadn’t thought about it at all.
My only thought when leaving Virginia was to put some much-needed distance between us and our old life. I’d tried a separate life close to Blake, I did. An entire year of it. But I couldn’t move on when the Ashcroft influence was all around me, squeezing me like a vise.
So, I left it all behind.
It hadn’t been easy, but it was worth it. I’d told myself I’d figure everything out when I got here.
The rest was just details.
“I know that look,” Molly said, walking up to stand next to me.
Being ever the gracious host, she handed me a glass of wine, not bothering to even ask if I was interested. I looked down at it, contemplating its future for a moment before eventually giving in.
“What look?” I asked, taking a tentative sip. I was immediately in love with the fruity taste of the wine, taking another straightaway.
Molly, looking pleased with herself over the choice, joined me, holding a glass to her lips as well.
“The look that says you’re about to tell everyone you’re fine when, in fact, you’re the opposite.”
I nearly choked on the rosé, biting my lip in the process. “What?” I said, stumbling over the single word like a damn roadblock. “I’m—”
“Fine?” She grinned. “I’ve found, in my many years of caretaking, hosting, and dealing with my own bag of crap, that particular word rarely means what people try to pass it off as.”
I took a moment to locate Lizzie in the small crowd. Molly had really outdone herself tonight, inviting the entire houseful of guests to an impromptu dinner—something she apparently did on a regular basis, which, according to Mr. Lovell, was one of the many reasons she was the best innkeeper around.
“I guess you’re right,” I acknowledged, smiling to myself as I watched Lizzie twirl around the lazy shoreline of the bay.
“So how are you really?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I laughed. “I thought if we could just get somewhere else, away from our old life, then I’d eventually sort through everything—myself included.”
Someone had given her a streamer, one that reminded me of my friend Margie, who always twirled a bright green one in the high school marching band. This one, however, was bright purple, and Lizzie seemed perfectly content with running up and down the watery edge as it blew in the breeze behind her.
“I never thought past her,” I said, surprising myself by the candor in my voice. “I rarely do, you know. As soon as you become a mother, this nagging voice takes over with this constant prevailing question that never seems to be answered. How do I make a better life for her?”
“And you think Ocracoke can give her that? A better life?”
I looked over to her, my gracious host with the big heart. I could see in her a kinship, the potential for a friendship I hadn’t had for a great many years.
“I hope so,” I answered honestly. “It’s why I’m here. A brand-new start for both of us.”
“And
what about your family? Are they excited about the change? Or do they miss you terribly?”
The mere mention of family had me halting in my tracks.
Share time was over.
“They’re fine with it,” I replied, setting down the glass of wine on the table beside us. “Excuse me. I’m going to check on Lizzie.”
Our eyes met for a brief moment as I fled, and I could see the shock written all over her face. How could it not be? The about-face in my demeanor had been abrupt, even to the most oblivious of persons.
But I couldn’t risk it.
Friendships, growing attached to someone. I needed to protect my family from the truth. The last thing I needed was a misguided friend reaching out to my parents.
It was a good reminder as I walked past the small group of people I’d started to recognize since arriving. The Lovells, Jake and Molly, and most of all, Dean.
The broken and beautiful Dean.
He was more than a friendship. More than another face in the crowd.
He was something different altogether.
I’d felt a connection to him all those years ago, something I’d refused to acknowledge back that. Something beyond what a nurse should feel for a patient. Something even beyond friendship.
I’d walked away then.
I could do so again.
I’d been berating myself on my horrible behavior toward Molly ever since I walked away before dinner. This woman had invited me into her home and been nothing but kind to me and my daughter, and at the first offer of friendship, I’d basically stomped all over it and walked away.
I had actually walked away.
I needed to make it right, but I wasn’t sure how.
A simple apology sure, but how did I explain my behavior?
Sorry, Molly, I’m a bit of a nutter. Turns out, Dean’s little outburst in the kitchen was totally spot-on. I am a walking, talking, heaping truckload of baggage. So much so that I don’t know what I’m doing from one moment to the next. So, please, don’t try to befriend me. I’m too big of a mess for you. For anyone really.