by Mark Stone
My grandfather’s words rang in my head. In so many ways, Boom was still my “fat friend who ate all our leftovers”.
In the corner of my eye, I saw an etching in the side panel and immediately knew which booth I had slid into.
A weathered heart greeted me. The initials D.S. + C. C 4-ever sat inside, almost mocking me with its nearness. This was the booth where we’d sat that night; the night when D.S. (Dillon Storm) and C.C. (Charlotte Cooper) made a couple of those promises I had no business trying to keep.
We were kids back then though, children who thought life might be simple enough to plan out looking out over the water. We had no idea then just how much life would be like the water. We didn’t know that - no matter how well you knew it— you could still get lost out there. We had no idea that - even when it looked calm— waves could come and tear everything you’d built into pieces.
We knew it now though, and we knew that 4-ever wasn’t nearly as long as we’d imagined it might be.
“Dead man’s still dead,” he said through a mouthful of the freshest snapper you’d find anywhere. “Starving myself’s not going to change that.” He picked up a fry and stuffed it into his trap. “Besides, I’m missing dinner what with all this working late.”
“About that. How about you stop stuffing your face long enough to tell me what’s going on?” I said, pulling the basket away from him and breaking off a chunk of the fish and popping it into my mouth. The damned thing nearly melted the instant it touched my tongue, salty, meaty, and most of all, fresh from the gulf. There was something about fresh fish that tasted different from the shipped stuff. It was like seeing color for the first time, or something like that.
“I know what I told you,” he said, wiping his mouth, his voice dipping away from “Boom” territory and right into “Police Chief Anderson Boomer” country. “The cell had your number typed across the screen. I guess the poor bastard was about to hit send when he was murdered.”
“But why?” I asked. “I called my ADA friend after I left you and, aside from being shocked as all hell he was dead, she didn’t know anything about Sheets trying to get in touch with me.”
The waitress came by, a lithe girl with a brown ponytail and the kind of bright smile reserved for people young enough to not know how hard the world was. If it was twenty years ago, Boomer and I would be giving her a hard time, asking her for her number and if she’d sneak us a few beers while no one was looking. As it was, she probably saw two old men sitting in front of her, two old cops.
“Can I get you something?” she chirped, her smile barely wavering as she spoke. “Oysters are on special tonight. A dozen steamed for $6.95.”
“Don’t bother steaming them. Just bring them straight,” I said, looking up at her. “And some lemon.”
“Anything to drink?” she asked, writing it down.
“Half sweet tea, half lemonade, and just enough bourbon to taste,” I said, turning my attention back to Boomer. “He was working for my bro-for Peter when he died, and he was about to call me. That can’t be a coincidence.”
“I can’t arrest on coincidence,” he said, still working on his fries.
“Maybe not, but we’ve both investigated on less.” I drummed my fingers against a booth that hadn’t seen them in a dozen years. “Get me a warrant. I’ll go into that building, go into Peter’s office. I’ll find out what Sheets was really doing here and why he wanted to call me, because I’m sure as hell not buying that whole “power of attorney” crap.”
Boomer sighed loudly, dropping the fry in his hand. “Slow you’re roll there, Storm. You know as well as I do things don’t work like that. Our tech guys are still going through the phone and Sheet’s computer. After that, if the evidence points toward Peter, then I’ll see about getting a warrant, which won’t be easy, bud.”
“Boom, you just—”
“Your father just died, Dillon, and he was connected to nearly every powerful person in this city.” Boomer shook his head. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s going to be for me to find a judge willing to sign a warrant that lets me upend the Storm building a week after the patriarch dies?”
“Our hand is already shown, Boom,” I said, anger flanking my words. “Why else do you think Peter showed up there if not to test the waters and see if he’s a suspect?”
“I figured it was a tearful family reunion,” he said sarcastically.
“Hardly. The bastard told me to stay away from the funeral,” I answered.
Boomer leaned forward, his hands stretching across the booth. “That’s promising.”
“Is it?” I asked, my eyes narrowing.
“Bottom line is; I can’t get a warrant. At least not now and — even if I could — your skinny ass is the last person in the world I’d send in there. You’re too close to all of this, but maybe we can use that closeness.” He nodded. “You came here to go to your father’s funeral. So do it. Go and, while you’re there, see what you can see. Find out enough for me to get that warrant.”
A shadow settled over me and I assumed it was the waitress.
“Until then,” Boomer said, his eyes dragging up to the shadow and smiling. “I’m sure you’ll find something to keep yourself busy.”
I followed his gaze, but didn’t see the waitress, at least, not the one I was expecting.
There, standing before me, dressed in a Rocko’s shirt, was a vision I hadn’t seen since an awful, stupid night in this very booth. Her brown eyes were just as intense. Her red hair was just as intoxicating, and the freckles that danced across her face still sent sparks through my body. Damn. She was still gorgeous.
“Half sweet tea, half lemonade, and just enough bourbon to taste,” she smiled. “I couldn’t believe it when Felicia gave me that order. I had to come and see for myself.” She shook her head. “You haven’t changed too much, have you, Dilly?”
I swallowed hard, looking up at one of only three people in the world who could call me that, the same woman whose initials were etched into “4-ever” in a heart right beside me.
“Hey there, Charlotte.”
6
There she was, red hair and freckles, standing in front of me like the entire world hadn’t been upended since the last time we’d come face to face.
I wasn’t sure what to say. Twelve years ago, this would have been the trifecta. My favorite girl with my favorite drink in my favorite place; how could it be wrong?
Now everything was much more complicated. Now there were years, miles, and memories between us, and I wasn’t sure how that had changed her…or how it had changed me for that matter.
“How have you been?” she asked me, brown eyes cutting through whatever feeble defenses I’d thought I’d built up over the years. I couldn’t help but think of the last time I’d seen her, right here in this very booth. There were tears in those brown eyes then as she made me a promise she wasn’t able to keep.
“Hey,” Boomer said, leaning toward me as he wiped the grease from his face with a half crinkled napkin. “I forgot that I promised to try and fix the dishwasher tonight. I’d better run.”
A lie, of course. Boomer didn’t have a dishwasher to fix. He was probably going to go home, crack open a beer, and fall asleep with his wife in front of the television. He was hitting pavement for the same reason he brought me here, so that I could talk to Charlotte.
“You’re a son of a bitch,” I muttered just low enough for him to hear, though I couldn’t deny there was a pretty sizable piece of me that was excited to talk to Charlotte alone.
“Don’t I know it,” he said, grinning. “Now get your ass to that funeral and get me something I can use.” He patted me on the shoulder. “And tell your grandfather I’ll see him in church this weekend.”
With that, Boomer nodded to Charlotte and made his way out of Rocko’s probably feeling very satisfied with himself.
“You didn’t know I worked here, did you?” Charlotte asked, setting the oysters down in front of me, grabbing a lemon a
nd squeezing it liberally over the plate. I usually hated it when people did that. Not that you could find an oyster worth a damn up in Chicago, but I liked to season myself. Somehow, it never bothered me when she did it.
“Not a clue,” I admitted, smiling nervously. “I guess Boomer forgot to mention it.”
“I guess he did,” I said, locking eyes with her. A familiar sensation grew inside my chest, one that took me all the way back to before I left, one that threatened to blow a hole in my chest if I didn’t taper it down.
“You think that was intentional?” she asked, her inviting lips parting into the sweetest smile this side of the Mississippi.
“I’m betting,” I answered, unable to pull my eyes away from hers.
She laughed, looking away to break the tension and tucking her red hair behind her ear. That move, that simple action, used to drive me crazy. She had done it once when we were teenagers and, God help me, I had never felt desire like the kind that swelled up in me then, like the kind that was swelling up in me now. It was all consuming. It was body altering.
I swallowed hard, moving my hands from the table, and clenching them into fists once they were out of view.
“You never answered my question,” she said, biting her bottom lip.
“What was it?” I asked and, though I was sure my words would come out desperate and hungry, they sounded more mature somehow. They sounded like those of a reasonable man and not of someone drowning in a memory.
“I asked you how you’ve been,” she reminded me, swaying back and forth slightly as she looked down at me.
“I’ve been okay,” I said, nodding just a little as I dared to look back up into those eyes. “Winters are cold, people aren’t as friendly; but I do important work up there, and that makes me happy.”
Something passed through her eyes and, though I was a damned good detective, I couldn’t tell whether it was relief or hurt.
“I’m glad you’re happy,” she said, blinking at me.
As the words left her mouth, I began to reconsider my assessment. These days happy was relative. Happy was learned. But I remembered when happy was something else entirely. I remembered when happy was sneaking out onto the water late at night, borrowing one of the boats my grandfather was fixing up, and laying out with Charlotte watching the stars and naively planning out the rest of our lives. I remembered when happy was as simple as her lips on mine, as the feel of her skin under my fingertips. I remembered when happy looked like lace and cotton crumpled up in a ball on the deck. Too bad happy hadn’t lasted.
“What about you?” I asked, suddenly realizing I was afraid of her answer. “Are you happy?”
She looked at me for a beat and then shrugged. “I’ve got things to keep me busy, and it’s hard to be too sad down here.”
“It is paradise,” I answered, my hands still clenched into a ball. I thought if I let them loose, if I let my guard down in even that small way, then I might come apart altogether. That was the sort of effect this woman still had over me.
“More or less,” she answered. Her eyes then flickered down to the oysters sitting in front of me. “Are you going to eat?”
I looked down, remembering only now that they were here. “I don’t like to eat alone,” I said.
“You never did,” she said, shaking her head.
“Seems a shame to let them go to waste,” I said, a sly grin tugging at my lips. “They always were the best in town.”
“Still are,” she said. “Probably haven’t been out of the water for more than two hours.”
She leaned down, scooped one up with a cracker, and tossed it into her mouth. Though I didn’t eat one myself, I looked at Charlotte, the memory of what a real fresh oyster tasted like filled my mind, causing my mouth to water. That briny, almost creamy flavor as it gave way under your bite was a beautiful thing. In fact, it was probably the second most beautiful thing about tonight.
I looked at Charlotte, breathing her in and letting the last of my defenses crumble sweetly against her gaze. I had been stupid to ever think it would go any other way. This girl was wrapped up in who I was. Even up in Chicago, she was right there in my bones.
“Take a walk with me,” I said, swallowing hard.
“I’m at work,” she answered, her eyes widening just a little at the idea.
“Take a walk with me,” I repeated.
She looked at me for a long moment, the smile fading from her lips.
“Give me two minutes,” she said, and started back toward the bar, already pulling at her apron strings.
^
Rocko’s was right up the street from my old house and, though I had driven there, I had no qualms about leaving my grandfather’s truck in the parking lot overnight. I could stroll along the waterfront the entire time, the wind was cool coming off the water, and the first girl I had ever said the word “love” to outside of my own mother was keeping pace with me as she tried to brush red curls out of her face.
“What about being a teacher?” I asked, looking over at her. The stars were bright tonight and, though they tried, they couldn’t quite match the light I saw coming off of Charlotte’s face. It was like being a teenager all over again. That same sense of purpose filled me now that I was beside her, that same desire threatened to overtake me.
“Oh right,” she smiled, though there was a sadness underneath that came all around breaking my heart. “I had forgotten about that.”
“Doesn’t seem very likely,” I answered, my hands stuffed deep in my pockets. “That used to be all you talked about; how you were going to get your degree and—”
“And buy a house, and get a dog, and raise a couple kids,” she finished, nodding almost mournfully. “I remember, Dilly.” She shrugged. “All those dreams had you in them though.”
A wave of guilt slammed against the shore of my chest. We had made promises to each other, Charlotte and me. We assumed we would always be together, that we would always be here for each other. In the end, I couldn’t stay here, not under the shadow of a name I could never truly embrace. It wasn’t me who gave up on us though. Not in the end.
“I wanted that, Charlie,” I said, calling her a nickname I hadn’t used in over a decade. “I wanted you.”
Charlie blinked hard, and I could tell she was tensing up. I thought about turning the conversation around, about easing the tension with a joke or a story, anything to blunt the force of what was probably swimming around in her head right now.
I didn’t though. It had been twelve years, and I wanted an answer.
“I waited at the airport all day for you, you know,” I said, looking out at the waves as they crested and fell because looking at her face was too much for me to bear right now. Seeing any shadow of hurt on her would be enough for me to tell her it was okay, to forgive her for bailing on me when I needed her the most. Though I wasn’t angry anymore, I couldn’t give her that absolution just yet. I needed to know why she did what she did first.
I did though. I couldn’t help but look at her. I saw the way her eyes hung just a little heavier and the distance that seemed to be in them.
Turned out I was stronger than I gave myself credit for though because, though there was that piece of me who wanted to tell her it was all okay, I held back. I didn’t give her that.
I sighed. “I thought you had overslept at first. You know how you used to be.”
“I do,” she answered quietly.
“I changed our tickets three times that day. Wasn’t until after the sun started going down I realized you weren’t coming.” I shook my head. “I should have known when I couldn’t get you to answer the phone.”
“Don’t blame yourself,” she said quickly.
“I don’t,” I said, also in rapid succession. I looked at her again, and the flash of hurt that moved through her eyes affected me just as strongly. “I don’t blame you either,” I amended, making eye contact.
“Sometimes I do,” she admitted. “On nights like this, sometimes I come out
here and just look at the water, thinking about what you might be doing and what my life would look like If I’d have just left with you when you asked me to.”
“It was a lot to ask,” I said, nodding firmly. I should have felt proud that I was able to move past what she’d done so easily, but the truth was, it just made me feel soft. I wasn’t making excuses for her because I believed them (though maybe I did). I was making excuses because they would make her feel better. They would make her smile and, just like always, I’d pay any price if it put a smile on that face. “We were just kids,” I continued. “It wasn’t fair to ask you to leave the only home you ever knew just because I couldn’t stay here anymore.”
“Fair didn’t matter,” she said, her voice cracking. “I stayed because I was scared.” She took a deep breath and, for whatever reason, I began to wonder how many times she had rehearsed saying these very words to me. “You were always so sure of yourself, so sure about who you were and what you wanted to be.”
“That’s not true,” I answered, stunned at what she was telling me. “I was scared all the time back then. I was a mess, Charlie. The only thing I ever knew about myself was that I wasn’t good enough, and the only thing I ever knew I wanted was to be with you.”
“Don’t make this harder, Dilly,” she said, blinking tears out of her gorgeous brown eyes. “I’m just telling you what it felt like for me. Your mom had just died. The minute they laid her in the ground, you were in the wind…” She shook her head, again brushing red hair out of her face. “But what if I was wrong? What if I went all the way up there, and I couldn’t keep you? What if it turned out I was no match for the city girls or the city life? Then what would I have? I would have followed you for nothing. I would have given everything up for nothing.” She sighed again. “Worse than that, I wouldn’t even have what we were. I wouldn’t be able to look back on what we had and think of it fondly. Don’t you get it? I couldn’t keep you, not really. Not unless I let you go.”