by Isabel Jolie
“I’m not saying you wouldn’t be okay. I’m—never mind. You guys are dating even if you haven’t had the conversation. So, back to my original question. Where’s your boyfriend?”
“He’s hanging with his brother today. I wanted to give them space. They haven’t seen each other in a long time.”
“What’re you gonna do? I’d offer to hang out, but I have a client upstairs I’ve got to get back to.”
“I thought you just sold photos?”
“Well, yeah, that’s the crux of it. But some clients like to correspond.”
“Sext, you mean?”
She grinned. “Yeah, like that. But some I think are just lonely. Anyway, this one guy wants to meet me in person.”
“I’m not so sure that would be smart. I don’t like that idea.” Fully aware I sounded like a parental, I aimed to play it cool, but my parents had thrown too many stories about Snapchat fatalities to feel good about a friend meeting up with a guy who bought her nude pics.
“Duh. I’m probably not going to agree. But he says he’ll come to Wilmington if I say yes.”
“That’s not a good idea, Poppy.”
“Yeah, that’s what Gabe says, too.”
“You’re still in touch with Gabe?”
A slow smile spread across her lips, and her eyes took on a happy haze. “He’s been texting me. Tate gave him my contact info.”
“He did?”
“That’s what he said. But he’s been coming across like more of a big brother. He doesn’t like the idea of me meeting up with anyone at all, but I get the sense he doesn’t like me modeling in general.”
“I can kind of understand.”
“Well, it’s not for him to decide. He’s a random friend of a friend. And, as for you, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get back upstairs.”
“Are you on video?” I still didn’t have a great sense of exactly what her job entailed.
“Only with some clients. Get out of here. Go enjoy your day.”
“Yeah, cleaning up the bunkhouse and preparing for guests. That’ll be fun.”
“Why are you doing that?”
“Researchers. They arrive Monday morning.”
“Fun, fun, fun. See ya later.” She paused with her hand on the stair railing. “Has Tate mentioned if Gabe is coming back to visit any time soon?”
“No, he hasn’t. But he didn’t even tell me his brother was going to be visiting.”
“I’m sure you guys had other things to talk about—or, I mean, do.” A beeping sounded upstairs. “Ah. That’s the warning it’s about to disconnect. Gotta run.”
She bounded up the stairs, and I cleaned her kitchen. I thought about sneaking up the stairs to see exactly what she did when she worked but decided against it. She’s a grown woman and she said she’s happy doing what she’s doing. That’s all that should matter.
As I left Poppy’s house, I checked my phone. No text from Tate. As it should be, given he was with his brother. And no matter what term accurately defined us, we weren’t the couple who texted nonstop when apart, anyway. The silent phone reminded me I should call my family, so I did.
“Hello.” My mom’s voice through the line shocked me enough that I double-checked which number I called. I hadn’t meant to interrupt her on a busy weekend morning. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
“Mom?”
“Luna? Is that you?”
“Mom, what are you doing home? Is Dad okay?”
“He’s fine.” Her voice rang with amusement. “It’s our anniversary today, so I didn’t go to the diner. We’re going out on the boat in a little bit. How’re you doing?”
“Ahm, I’m fine. Everything’s good. Happy anniversary. I’m…that’s awesome you took the day off.”
“Honey, I take our anniversary off every year.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Have been taking it off for about the last twenty years. Ever since I worked late and missed a dinner your dad prepared.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“It’s true.”
“Huh. Well, you should take more time off, anyway. You work too much.”
“You sound like your dad. Who, by the way, has been itching to come up and visit you. This older man has him on edge.”
“Mom, please don’t let him come up here. That’s ridiculous.”
“Well, you’re in luck. He’s not making that drive anytime soon with a broken hip. How are things going? Are you still with him?”
“Yes, since the last time I spoke to you, what, a week ago?”
“Does he make you happy?”
“It’s early days, Mom. Too early for those kinds of questions.”
“Nuh-uh. Not at all, missy. Happiness matters from the get-go. It’s years in that it might not be as relevant.”
I decided to overlook her relevancy comment. “What I meant is, it’s too new to tell if anything is going to come of it. It’s fun for now. And besides, you’re the one who told me a person can have many loves in a lifetime, and each one touches our soul and shapes us.” The first time she said this, I’d been twelve and Brandon had hurt my feelings over something. I couldn’t remember what he did, but I remembered my mom being there for me.
“That’s right. So, in this moment, he’s touching your soul. I want to know that at this moment he’s making your soul happy.” The grin she wore could be heard through her words, and I grinned right back at her. As I twisted the stacked rings on my finger, the mood ring transitioned to blue-green.
“It’s all good. Really, it is. I mean, I’m trying hard not to get ahead of myself, you know? To keep it all reasonable and rational and to remind myself that we’re still getting to know each other. But, Mom, he is incredible. Unlike anyone I’ve ever met. And it’s not just because he’s older. He’s like, if I were to sculpt and create a man just for me, I’d make him. Does that sound crazy?”
“No.” She sighed into the phone, creating a momentary wind funnel. “Just remember, honey, go with the flow.”
Chapter 22
Tate
* * *
“Good to see you.” Gregg pounded my back, his voice gruff.
We’d returned his rented golf cart, and the ferry pulled up to the dock. Only a handful of passengers gathered around, waiting to board.
“Thanks for coming out. I’m glad you did. Next time, don’t stay at the Inn.”
“You’re coming up to visit soon, right? Like in a week or two?”
“I’ll book the ticket today and let you know.”
“And you’ll respond to my text and email? That’s why we have the rectangular devices. Communication.”
I grinned through unexpected emotion. I was shit at texting and emailing. Found it way too easy to shut things off. I’d see a text and plan to respond later and not get around to it.
“I’ll text you my travel plans.” I wasn’t going to promise I’d ever be good at texting, because I didn’t make promises I couldn’t keep. Maybe with time I’d be like all the other people tied to their phones, but right now, half the time I left my phone back at the house or forgot to charge it.
I shoved my hands in my pockets and watched him board the ferry. Then I hopped in my cart and found myself at Luna’s door. The cottage the conservancy provided rested high on a hill overlooking the ocean, and breeze blew the pampas grass along the dunes. The tiny cottage may not have offered much in the way of space, but you couldn’t ask for a better view of the Atlantic.
She opened the door with a hand sheltering her eyes, squinting from the sun behind my back. She wore an old t-shirt that hit above her bellybutton and white cotton panties. Christ, she looked delicious.
“You answer your door like that?” I asked, cringing at how old I sounded. I stepped inside, kicking the door closed.
She glanced down as if she’d forgotten what she was wearing. “It’s no different than if I was wearing a bathing suit. You forget, I spend most of my free time in less than this out on the beach.”
Rationally, I understood what she was saying. But, somehow, white cotton panties felt different than bathing suit bottoms. But I wouldn’t argue with her. Just like differences with my brother, some things weren’t worth the argument. Especially when there were other things we could do instead.
I backed her up to her bed, easy enough to do in the one room. My lips found hers as I pulled her to me, cupping her ass then dipping beneath those soft cotton panties to her silky smooth skin.
“Do you have plans today?”
“I have to welcome a few of the researchers.”
“When?”
“Later this afternoon.”
“Good. This morning you’re mine.”
I lifted her t-shirt over her head and tossed it on the end of the bed. She removed my tee and let her fingers wander over my chest, my abs and farther down. She looked at me like she could devour me. Such a turn on.
She wrapped her long fingers around me and stroked, and I sucked in a breath. Then I pushed her back on the bed, intent on giving her pleasure, on making her chant my name. I kissed my way across her body, worshipping her. We’d only spent one night apart, and yet I missed her. Craved her. Needed her.
When we collapsed beside each other, sweaty and spent, she spread one leg over mine, and her fingers explored. I lifted her hand and kissed the pad on each finger.
“Hm,” she hummed. “You want to go surfing this morning?”
“No.”
I leaned over her and kissed along her neck, over her collarbone, and down to her breasts.
“I want to do this all morning. I want to lie in bed with you, naked, and listen to the ocean. That sound okay to you?”
Her gentle smile told me she approved of this plan. She stroked my back in a light massage, and I relaxed into the motion.
“What did you do last night?” I flipped over and positioned myself on a pillow then pulled her next to me.
“Nothing, really. School work. Met up with Poppy.” She sank her teeth into my chest.
“Ow.” Her tease didn’t hurt, but she held a serious expression when she raised her head to look at me.
“You never texted me back.”
“Crap. You and my brother.”
“Weren’t you with him?”
“Yes, but I mean, you’re all over me about texting.”
“Do you not like to text?”
“I just don’t check it.”
“Where’s your phone?”
“Back at my place.”
“You don’t even carry it with you?”
“No. I don’t. But I’ll try to get better. How’s that?”
She kissed over her bite mark. “That works.”
“So, Poppy. I’ve been thinking about her. Is there something I could do to help her, so she doesn’t have to, you know, sell photos of herself?”
“She doesn’t need help.”
“Did she not like bartending? She could go back to it.” I twisted a long blonde strand around my finger, enjoying the feel of her naked body against mine and the intimacy of talking this way, spread out on her bed.
“Yeah, she could, but she seems to enjoy her current gig.”
“Really?” I’d seen too many brothels in my time filled with women who didn’t have a choice to compute someone having a choice and choosing that. Not that selling nude photos was the same thing, but it sounded like more than photos.
“I think so. She’s thinking about meeting up with one of her customers.”
“That can’t be—”
“I know. I told her. But she’s going to do what she wants to do. It’s her life. Her choice.”
“If she goes, you need to make sure you know how to get in touch with her. Where she’s going. Can you track her phone?”
“Hhmm, we have friends, so I can locate her on that app. But all he’d have to do is turn her phone off. That’s hardly a safety guarantee. I don’t like her going.”
I tilt her chin up to me. “I don’t like her doing it at all. But I’m not one to get judgmental. Just promise me it’s not something you’ll do.”
She sank her teeth into her bottom lip and studied me, then pushed forward to kiss the tip of my nose, dragging her body along mine as she moved. My dick twitched.
I rolled over onto her and intertwined her fingers with mine and kissed her slowly, taking my time, enjoying this. Everything between us felt so easy. No expectations. The perfect lazy Sunday. Just enjoying our time together, without the weight of the past or worries about the future interfering.
After Luna left to greet the researchers, I stopped by the post office on my way to the business center with a goal of following up on a lobbying position I’d applied to. The lone post office sat across from the lighthouse and serviced the entire island. As I approached the wall of mailboxes, I ran into one of the island realtors. Our conversation went on and on, then wrapped up with, “If you ever decide you want to sell your grandmother’s cottage, let me know. Spring would be a great time to list it if it’s something you’re considering.” He reached into his pocket and handed me his business card.
I slipped it into my shorts pocket and pulled out the tiny metal key for my mailbox. They’d crammed so much mail into it, I ripped the first catalog I pulled out. The unwanted catalogs and junk mail I dropped directly into the nearby blue recycling bin. One thick official-looking manila envelope remained stuck in the narrow box. The heavy weight paper reminded me of a college acceptance package filled with important documents. With effort, I pulled it out intact. My skin tingled when I read the return address. Washington D.C.
I ripped it open and skimmed the letter, then headed over to the business center. My lawyer worked magic. Or maybe the Somalian adoption agency case worker had. Whoever did it, it didn’t matter.
The next few hours passed in a hazy whirl. Phone calls to my lawyer, to the adoption agency, to the U.S. Embassy. While I normally purchased airline tickets online, this time I used a travel agent as a double-check to ensure I followed all procedures and could bring my daughter home without issue.
My daughter. When she’d looked at me with those scared eyes, I’d known I had to help her. Adoption wasn’t my first thought. But when the caseworker at the orphanage suggested it, it seemed like a reasonable solution. Plus, applying ensured the adoption agency would keep her in the orphanage and she would be safe.
The agency had said to expect the adoption to take years. Everything I read online corroborated what they said. My lawyer warned it would likely not be possible. Less than one year ago I sat in a chair at Humanity Without Borders and waited for an English-speaking case worker to arrive. One year.
In that time, it seemed the girl I paid to protect had been smuggled into Kenya and paperwork created that would allow me to adopt her. I had told my lawyer I’d pay whatever I needed to. And I would. This girl, to me, stood out as a tangible personification for all the wrong I’d seen that I’d been powerless to correct. My opportunity to make a difference. Not in a whole classroom, like my mother, but in one life. My lawyer had told me how much it might cost, but I didn’t expect the total fee would exceed his original outlandish cost estimate. But it wasn’t like I was going to turn around and tell him money meant more to me than her life.
I listened to my voicemail, and sure enough, I had voice messages dating back since last week from my lawyer. In an old email account I hadn’t been using, I found emails. My lawyer had kept me apprised, I’d just been on my own little island vacation.
The adoption agency provided me a list of everything I needed to do to prepare. For her, not for me. I’d fly to D.C. first, then Kenya.
By the time Tim tapped on the door to let me know they were closing up the business center for the night, I’d put an ad out for a tutor and emailed Gregg to let him know my nieces would now have a cousin. He responded within seconds. Of course. I promised to stop in Connecticut on my way back with her. He suggested I stay for the holidays with them. And, I had to admit, it wasn’t the wo
rst suggestion. I didn’t have a clue how to be a father. And I owed it to him to get to know his wife and kids. No matter what, he’d always be my brother. Family would be good for my daughter. My daughter…
As I cleared out of the business center, an unease settled over me. The kind of unease that said you’d made a poor decision. That you weren’t up for what was coming down the pike. I pulled up Luna’s contact information on my phone but couldn’t bring myself to press her name.
My twenty-two-year-old surfer girl. What the fuck was I thinking, letting myself be with her? I’d thought we were short term. She’d leave to finish her master’s, or for another one-year research gig. I’d expected we’d part ways long before anything like this came to fruition.
And Luna, she’d probably grow attached to my daughter, maybe even do something stupid like consider not completing her degree or come back to a nothing job at the conservancy center so she could stay near us. I knew nothing about being a parent, but I knew what it was like to be twenty-two. I knew a twenty-two-year-old had no business carrying the burden of an adopted twelve-year-old girl.
I’d always hated goodbyes. Never liked emotional communication. The idea of saying goodbye to Luna, of tears welling up in sad brown eyes, it crushed me. I couldn’t do it. I liked how I said goodbye to her this morning, with an expectation we’d be together again. We hadn’t made plans. We had assumed it. We’d been happy.
If I met up with her and told her we had to end things, she’d fight me. She’d argue we could still see each other. That she wouldn’t be sacrificing anything. But she would, and I knew it. A letter struck as the most reliable method of ending things. There would be no risk of my caving. Maybe it would stir up a little righteous anger in Luna. Anger would be good. Someone else would ask her out, and she’d move on to the next guy.
I scribbled in my journal. I might not make it off the island without running into her, but I could try. I liked my plan. Leave with happy memories. No painful goodbyes. No begging for more.