by Isabel Jolie
Tate gave him an annoyed look, and Gabe pushed on his arm.
“What? The Tate I knew loved a good burger, could inhale shrimp, and ate sushi every other day of the week.”
Tate grimaced. “Let’s just say I’m more aware now.”
“Whatever floats your boat, man. Not aiming to give you hell. I certainly don’t care what you eat as long as you don’t care what I eat.”
“What’re you guys ordering?”
He rattled off the names of a few rolls, and I read today’s menu. Tate’s jaw muscles flexed, and I rushed to calm him down. “Jules only offers sustainably farmed fish.” Suzette, the owner, committed to sustainable practices, and her menu fluctuated based on what she could get fresh each day. Today she offered tilapia and wahoo, both responsible choices in North Carolina. I loved that she insisted on carrying lionfish and included a note for customers that ordering lionfish helped the environment, as the population needed to be controlled.
Tate grumbled, “It’s okay. I learned a long time ago that it doesn’t matter. We’re not going to make a dent in the problems by what we order at a restaurant.”
“That’s a rather skeptical view,” I argued. “Suzette only orders farmed shrimp and oysters. It might be one restaurant, but if most restaurants move to this, it could have an enormous impact. When people shop in the grocery store, just looking for a sustainable tag, it can make a difference.”
“Trust me.” He grimaced. “If you went to Asia and saw the hauls those boats bring in. The demand for fish in the Asia market alone. Sharks. You know about them, right?”
I did. Horrible, some of the things going on. Asians loved shark soup, sometimes paying astronomical sums for one bowl. To feed the supply, a fisherman would cut off the fins, the only part needed for the soup, then dump the live shark down in the ocean. The shark couldn’t swim and would fall to the bottom, only to be eaten alive by other sea animals.
Tate swallowed. “I’ve seen hundreds dumped to the bottom of the ocean. That’s one haul.” He held up his index finger for emphasis.
“But it’s being regulated now, right? Finning is illegal almost everywhere. There’s been a ton of press about the issue.”
He looked at me like I was a naïve child. “No one regulates the ocean. Not really. Countries have been banning the practice for over twenty years, yet restaurants still carry fins. And regardless of a sustainable tag, there’s a damn good chance the source is shady. Fishermen make too much money from it. It’s worth breaking the law. Besides, no one is policing it.”
I was ready to argue, to point out the victories we’d had, and all the current environmentalist initiatives. I knew the statistics weren’t positive. A huge percentage of shark species were at risk of extinction. Yes, I heard him and understood where he was coming from, but I had to believe we were making headway. Before I could formulate my argument in a way that sounded knowledgeable and not youthfully optimistic, I overheard Gabe.
“No way. I have an account. What’s your, ah, stage name?” He held up his phone, tapping away on the screen. His back was to us, but I couldn’t help but wonder why in the world Poppy would tell him.
“Stage name? What’s he talking about?” Tate asked.
“Nothing,” I said.
Our salads arrived well before the sushi, and the meal turned into us being paired off at the bar. I peppered Tate with questions about various Greenpeace initiatives. If I kept the conversation on overarching programs, and not his specific experiences, he’d talk. He didn’t hold out much hope for environmental efforts, at least without a global initiative and policing of the seas.
Tate stood to go to the restroom, but something on Gabe’s phone laid out on the bar caught his attention. He leaned over Gabe’s shoulder for a better view. He looked between the two of them, then back at me with disgust painted across his face. Judgment.
“What’re you doing?” he asked Gabe.
“Discussing business with Poppy. That’s all.”
He pulled out his wallet and dropped two twenties on the bar.
“Later.”
Gabe called out, “Man, our food isn’t even here yet.”
He pounded the few steps back to us and dropped a golf cart key onto the bar. “I’ll leave you the cart.”
“Man, just wait. We’ll be done in twenty.”
“I need to get out of here,” he grunted. “Walk will do me good.”
The lightning had abated, but the rain still poured down.
“What did he see that got him upset?” I asked as we all watched him disappear down the hallway.
Poppy’s entire face, neck, and chest flamed magenta.
“Poppy?” I asked.
“He saw my OnlyFans account. But why would that upset him? Is he religious?” she asked Gabe.
Gabe scratched his head, flummoxed. “Nah. I mean, he wasn’t. But who knows now? He’s a different guy, like night and day. The old Tate, he’d know everyone’s name, be laughing with everyone. He was everyone’s friend. Laidback. Loose. Now, he’s, like, I guess…he’s aged. We are older now,” he rambled to himself.
I leaned over to see his screen. It had gone into screensaver mode. It didn’t matter, anyway.
I pulled out my credit card and handed it to Poppy. “Here, use this to pay for me. I’ll get it back from you later. I’m going to go give him a lift home.”
Gabe’s hand engulfed mine. “Nah. I got it. Don’t worry about it. Tell him I’ll be home later.”
It didn’t take me long to catch up with Tate on Wynd Road. His lone, dark figure trudging down the right side of the asphalt wasn’t hard to pick out, given he was the only one walking in the downpour.
I pulled up beside him and shouted, “Get in. I’ll take you home.”
He waved his arm and shook his head.
“It’s pouring. Get in,” I repeated.
“I need the walk. Go home.”
He took the steps to an access point to the beach two at a time, then disappeared down the boardwalk into the darkness, as the rain hammered down and the pampas grass whipped in the wind.
I drove back to my tiny cottage, flustered. It wasn’t like Tate would melt in the rain. He wasn’t in danger walking home along the beach. But his reaction to whatever was on Poppy’s phone confused me. I picked up my phone to research OnlyFans, and it rang in my hand. The photo of Brandon and me lit the screen. I hesitated but answered. I promised him we’d still be friends.
“Hey, there. How goes it?”
“Good. Well, not good.”
“What’s wrong?” I propped a pillow up on the headboard of my bed and settled in, pulling a blanket around my legs.
“Tory’s pushing for us to move in together.”
“Wow. That’s fast.”
“Tell me about it.”
“But if you’re happy, why not? Isn’t that what you want?”
“I thought so. But I wanted it with the right girl.”
Heavy guilt weighed down on my chest. My mom had told me the feeling was similar to grieving, and maybe she’d been right. I did mourn the loss of the relationship Brandon and I had. But I suspected guilt played a much bigger part of this crushing sensation. I fell out of love. The silence across the line threatened to strangle me.
“You don’t think Tory is right for you? Nova said you were happy.”
“And hearing about me dating someone, that didn’t bother you at all?”
“Brandon…did—”
“You really are over me, aren’t you?”
“Brandon, I still love you—”
“But you’re not in love with me. I know. You’ve told me. Maybe one day I’ll fall in love with Tory. She’s definitely way more into sex than you ever were.”
“So, are you dating Tory?” I rubbed my forehead, confused. These weird games were part of the reason I didn’t always pick up when he called.
“Yes, I am. Does it bother you?”
“No! I told you, I want you to be happy.”
&
nbsp; “Are you dating anyone?” A vision of Tate working on the loose screen came to mind, and my annoyance at Brandon evaporated.
“No.”
“You hesitated.”
“I’m not dating anyone. There is a guy that I kind of—”
“I don’t want to hear about it.”
I breathed in and exhaled loudly. Brandon and I had been around and around and around. But he still needed more time. Life would have been so much easier if I’d been happy with him. Regardless, he deserved someone who would make him happy. It occurred to me sitting in my dark room, listening to him breathe, that maybe my picking up the phone when he called wasn’t a kind thing to do. Not when he still hurt.
“Maybe I should let you go.”
“You already did that.”
“I mean—”
“I know what you mean. I’ll always love you, Luna Rey, you know that, right? Always.” His words faltered, and the guilt pressed down around my chest so hard it hurt to breathe.
“Bye, Brandon.” A better person could have come up with a better way to say goodbye. God knew I’d tried over the last two years. I curled up in my bed and traced my inked skin. One with the sea.
Chapter 9
Tate
* * *
As I was pouring my second cup of coffee, the door to the cottage creaked open. Gabe tiptoed in, head down, in stealth mode, until he saw me and straightened. He kicked off his flip-flops by the door and stepped around me for a mug with a conceited smirk plastered on his face.
“Have a good night?” I asked. Although I really didn’t need to. The answer was written all over his face.
“It was good.” He exhaled relief as he sipped his steaming black coffee.
“Awesome.” I tapped the counter with my fist then headed back out to the porch to drink my cup of joe and read more of the news. I had no desire to pry into his prior night’s experience. Back in college, sure, I would’ve been all over him, goading him on to tell all. Things changed.
He followed me out and sank into the matching dirty Adirondack chair.
“Poppy is something else.”
“Stop.” I held up my hand as I scrolled through the Apple News, my coffee perched on the wide armrest. “Don’t want to hear about it.”
“Why’d you tear out of there last night?”
I dropped my phone in my lap and looked over at him.
“What is she? A porn star?”
Coffee sprayed across the porch. “Shit. That’s what you thought you saw? No, she’s not… she doesn’t do porn.”
He looked ahead, shaking his head like I’d said the craziest thing. But I knew what I’d seen on his phone. A revealing photo, on some site or app, and payment options. For all I knew, she picked up clients by showing them her phone and arriving at an arrangement.
After I’d calmed down, I realized that even in the worst-case scenario, she was in a better arrangement than the kids I’d seen. She had a choice. She had options. It wasn’t for me to judge her choices. It was just that I left all that behind me. I didn’t expect to see it here.
“That’s what you thought she was? A porn star? That’s funny.”
“No. It’s not.”
“Have you ever heard of OnlyFans?”
“No.” I went so many years without internet, or really slow speeds if I had it, that I disconnected. Apps, social media, all those things fell into an abyss. I’d only found Apple News because it was a prompt when I purchased an iPhone after returning to the States.
“It’s like, you can see nudie pics and stuff like that. You can also do sexting. It kind of took off during the pandemic, when bars shut down and everybody had to isolate.”
“And she does that?”
“Yep. I’d actually seen her photos. Never clicked. She’s kind of, you know, more of a plus size model. But I might be her biggest client moving forward. I should ask her how much she’d charge for me to be exclusive.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I mean, I don’t really like the idea of other pervs looking at her photos.”
“Are you going to date her?”
“Date? Like, girlfriend? Nah. I live in New York. She’s here. But I like her. She’s…” He trailed off, resting his head on the back of the chair and closing his eyes, a look of near ecstasy crossing over his face.
“Man, if you are gonna sit there and replay last night, go in another room.”
He opened his eyes and smiled. “Last night was fantastic. We didn’t do what you’re thinking. But…I’m not gonna forget her.”
“Do you expect me to believe the two of you didn’t do the deed?” I asked in disbelief. “You know what? I don’t care.”
“She said she doesn’t do one-night stands. Unbelievable, right? A girl who makes a living selling nudies.” He shook his head like he couldn’t believe it. “And nope.”
“But it was still fantastic?”
“Oh, yeah. Fanfuckingtastic. I’ll be back to visit you again.” He grinned.
“She’s young. You know that, right?”
“She’s out of college. She’s not a porn star or anything. When did you become such a prude?”
“I’m not a prude. I’m just saying, we’re older now.”
“She’s the same age as a lot of the girls I date in New York.”
“Seriously?” Dating was one of those things I hadn’t focused on much. I’d spent a lot of time on boats with mostly men. But surely men in their mid-thirties like us typically dated women closer to our age.
“Yeah. I mean, I don’t target the younger women, but I suppose the places I go often—”
“You mean strip clubs?” I interrupted.
He barked out a laugh and nodded.
“So, does Luna do that, too? That app thing?” I’d been wondering that all night.
“It’s not an app. It’s a website.”
I stared him down. I didn’t give a shit about the logistics.
“I don’t think so. Pretty positive, no. I thought about asking Poppy, but I didn’t want to sound like I was into her friend.”
“Considerate of you.” He completely missed my dig.
“Yep. But here, we can look for her.” He whipped out his phone from his back pocket. “Wait. She wouldn’t use her real name. We’d need to know her screen name to find her. Or just look through a shitload of—”
“That’s okay.”
“I doubt she does it.” He put his phone down. “Poppy stumbled into it when she lost her bartending job. She makes a lot of money, though. She’s, like, celeb status. Over one hundred thousand subscribers.” His eyebrow raised. “Her dream is to own a cafe or a bar. I offered to be an investor, but she turned me down. Probably a good thing. I’m not sold investing in a restaurant on this island would be smart. I’d need to see the numbers. I’d imagine there’s a pretty stiff drop-off in the winter.”
He looked questioningly at me, as if I had market numbers to share.
“Don’t look to me. I’m about to spend my first winter here. Right now is considered shoulder, and from what I’ve heard, weekends stay pretty full through Thanksgiving with island weddings, then it goes dead. Only locals around until the spring wedding season kicks in, maybe around March.”
He tugged on his chin thoughtfully.
I stood and stretched. “You wanna catch some waves?”
We strapped two boards to the top of my cart. The storm had passed last night, which meant a rather flat sea could greet us, or it could still be wicked rough, possibly even rip currents. Didn’t matter to me. I needed to meditate.
My reaction last night had been extreme. Something about a woman, or any human being, selling herself. It made my insides curl. Memories I tried to suppress hit full force. Smells, groans and grunts, the dusty grit on my sweaty, grimy skin, all of it swirled around me. The whites of the eyes.
“A dollar? You got a dollar, sir?” Their voices rained around me. Innocent expressions as they offered their mouths. Some girls dropped the
ir hands inside their panties as temptation.
The idea of Luna ever doing anything like that didn’t occur to me until much later that night, after I’d made it back to the cottage. Luna, to me, she was light. Youthful energy, full of hope and positivity. I didn’t want to think of her shedding her clothes for any guy, but especially for payment.
Hell, when I’d suggested she wear more than a bikini, I’d done so because I didn’t like every guy gawking at her all day. And I knew they’d gawk, because I did. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine every curve, the barely there line between her ass and her thigh, the gentle slope of her breasts, the curve of her waistline, and her flat, smooth stomach and the deep, circular bellybutton. Yeah, that made me a dirty old perv. No matter what age Gabe preferred his women, twenty-two was too young for me. I had no business looking at her the way I did, or thinking about pulling on those strings and seeing that scrap of material fall to the ground. No business at all.
Of course, if she happened to be making extra money from selling nude photos…I’d be supporting a friend if I paid for those photos. Right?
Wrong. I knew the answer. It’d been too long since I’d been near a woman. Too many years at sea. Gabe needed to get the fuck back to New York, so I’d stop thinking these inappropriate thoughts.
Chapter 10
Luna
* * *
Sunday morning, I treated myself with avocado toast from Sand Piper, the little coffee and ice cream shop near the marina. After the storm passed, I’d headed out and watched the nests on the beach by myself. Alice must have known the weather would cancel the session with the tourists, so she found me on the beach, alone, sitting between a few cages on south beach.
“I had a premonition,” she told me.
“Yeah?” I’d asked. I loved Alice. She once told me she was a Santeria, and I’d looked it up, halfway hoping to discover it was another word for witch.
“This is what I want you to do.” She tapped my knee and didn’t proceed until I gave her my undivided attention. “You fill a bucket with water. Any kind of water. Understand? From the spigot, from the sea, doesn’t matter the source. Then take that bucket full of water and leave it hidden in his home.”