Double Mountain Trouble

by Katerina Cole

  I froze. The cover story hadn’t come to me yet. Was I supposed to be traveling for the summer on my own? Was a friend on the way to meet me? The only thing I knew was that I wasn’t ready to be Ben Baldwin yet.

  “No, sir. It’s a rental.” I handed the man a one-hundred dollar bill.

  He cocked his head to the side. “Son, it’s ten dollars a night to park and camp.”

  “Oh.” I looked toward the trail covered in scrubby water oaks that led back to the main island road.

  There were plenty of inns and motels on the island. Probably had great little breakfast specials and ladies who told island legends and handed out seashells, but those same places had people. People who might recognize me and sell me out to the highest bidder.

  “You know, I was hoping I could stay a few nights. I’m in no hurry,” I explained as the plan formed.

  “Did you bring a tent? Anything?” The man eyed the Jeep’s backseat.

  I laughed. “No, I didn’t think of that.”

  “Hmm. Well, we do have some campers for rent. They’re the old-style aluminum pull-behinds, but I have them set up real nice and they’ve even been featured in a few camper magazines, if you’re interested. They call them retro-chic or some kind of nonsense.” The man shook his head and tossed his hands in the air.

  Magazines were the last thing I was interested in, but I liked the sound of a camper. The feeling had returned to my hand, but another night in the Jeep wasn’t going to work. A throbbing shoulder here and an achy knee there reminded me I had taken too many hits on the football field.

  “Sold. I’ll take one.” I nodded.

  The man squinted, this time tilting his head to the other side. “Does anyone ever tell you, you look familiar?”

  I kicked my boot along the sandy parking space, careful not to look up. “I must have one of those faces or a twin.” I chuckled, hoping the man would stop trying to place my famous face.

  “Yep, one of those faces. All right. Come on. Let me show you the Silver Sand Dollar.” He walked away in the direction of the beach.

  “Silver Sand Dollar?”

  “My wife named all the spaces and the campers. She did all the decorating too. So, if it’s too much on the feminine side, you can blame her.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine.” I followed him along the narrow path to a horseshoe shaped assortment of Airstream campers. There were five total. I hoped the Sand Dollar was the one at the end, farthest from the others and the rest of the campground. It undoubtedly had the best view of the beach too.

  The man limped past the first camper named “Shark’s Den.” I read the name of each trailer until we arrived at the final one in the group.

  Hot damn. I took in the twenty-two-foot silver structure. I couldn’t think of anything more fucking perfect.

  “Here she is.” The owner pulled on the handle. “Now, just crank down on this twice and the door opens right up.” He ascended two steps into the camper.

  I glanced around at the red-checked décor. At least it wasn’t pink or peach. Peach would have been far worse. Instead, this kind of looked like a picnic table.

  There was a bed at the far end, separated by a bi-fold door. In the center was a bathroom with a standup shower, sink, and toilet; the kitchenette took up the majority of the center space; and the end closest to the path was filled with a U-shaped bench and round table. The panel of windows looked out on the waves rolling along the shore.

  “What ya think?” The man had moved closer to the door. It seemed he was in a hurry to end the tour.

  “I think it will work.”

  “Good. You mind stopping by the office after you settle in and fill out your reservation card?”

  My chest tightened.

  “Reservation paperwork?” I knew as soon as I wrote my name down, this venture into anonymity was over. I’d be found out in two seconds.

  “Nothing major. Length of stay, email address so we can send you our updates. That’s my wife’s idea. She started a monthly newsletter. People seem to like it.”

  I relaxed. “Certainly. I can do that, and I’ll go ahead and pay up for the month.” Maybe if I paid enough up-front cash, they would leave me alone. My host seemed nice enough, but he had already spent more time studying me than I was comfortable with.

  “The whole month? All right. Well, Flora will help you.”

  “Flora?”

  “That’s the wife. You can call her Flo for shorth.” He laughed. “I’m Carl, by the way. See you around.” He tapped on the doorframe before exiting.

  I tucked the corner of the towel along my hipbone. The Silver Sand Dollar had everything I needed and nothing I didn’t. It was pure heaven. It didn’t matter that I barely fit into the standup shower or that after seven minutes the water ran like a drippy faucet. I had run until I had finally found something I didn’t think existed anymore. Freedom.

  I ran a hand through my wet hair and slid into the booth overlooking the ocean.

  The campground visitors had already started setting up on the beach. A few umbrellas dotted the horizon along with a few surf fishermen, and a pack of surfers headed to the shore to catch a wave.

  My head jerked and I hit my elbow when I heard my phone ring. I looked at the name flashing across the screen. Rebecca. I exhaled. I wasn’t ready to talk to her. There wasn’t anything to talk about. Even if the stories weren’t true, even if the press had somehow twisted everything around against her, I couldn’t convince myself anymore that the pictures weren’t real. She was in Hawaii with someone else. Someone else held her hand, laughed next to her on a paddleboard, and fed her tropical fruit. There were too many pictures and too many of Rebecca’s smiles for me to pretend anymore. There was some kind of truth in that trash.

  I exhaled when the ringing stopped. I reached for the phone, ready to delete her number, just as the ringing started again. Dammit. This time it was Rick. I had to answer it.

  “Hey, buddy. What’s happening?” I dug deep into the Texas drawl.

  “Buddy? What the fuck, Ben? Where in the hell are you? I have been looking all over the damn city of Atlanta for you. Where did you go after your charity event?”

  “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 ta
ke 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.

  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 sounds 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.

  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.”