by MK Schiller
I’ll admit the Blue Moon is pretty damn tasty. “Not bad, but not the best I ever had.”
She tilts her head. “You’ve had better than this?”
“Affirmative. There’s this little place called The Creamery back home. They not only make their own ice cream, the family actually owns the dairy farm that produces the milk. That milk gets turned into sweet cream that eventually becomes the best fucking ice cream in the whole world. This is a close second, but The Creamery wins all day long.”
She narrows her eyes. “I think the hometown advantage is coloring your opinion.”
“I am a proud, small town boy, but you haven’t tried The Creamery, so until you do, you don’t get a vote.”
“Fair enough.” The sidewalk narrows, forcing us to walk closer. Her arm bumps against mine a few times.
“Hey, I meant to tell you that you were right about Sam. He set me up.”
“I knew he’d take care of you. How is Sam? Is he doing well?” She isn’t asking it nonchalantly to make polite conversation. She asks it wistfully.
“He seemed fine. Nice guy. I told him you sent me. He remembers you.”
She smiles. “Does he really?”
“Why are you surprised? You’re not exactly…forgettable.”
She leans against a wall. In the dim lights of the storefront, I can see her uncertainty. Maybe she thinks I’m toying with her. “He remembers me because of what I did, not who I am.”
“What does that mean?”
“I wasn’t a nice person when I was younger.”
“Now that I have a hard time believing.”
“I wish it wasn’t true, but it is.”
“Example, please.”
“Did you seriously just ask for an example?”
“I did. I’ll need some empirical evidence before rendering a verdict.”
“Case in point, when I was in junior high, me and a few of the kids in my class threw eggs at his store. When you’re a local, there isn’t a ton of things to do even when you live inside a tourist attraction.”
I shrug. “You were a teenager. Teenagers make stupid mistakes.”
“Still feel like shit about it.”
“So apologize to him. Make it right.”
“I did already. I felt so guilty I came by his store the next day with a bucket and sponge. I scrubbed and scrubbed the front window and the door. But you can’t un-fry an egg. Not even if you work at it for hours. Sam watched me the whole time. When dusk came, he came out of the store. He handed me a bottle of lemonade, thanked me, and told me to go home. I did.”
“Is that the end of the story?”
“Nope. Feeling even worse, I went back the next day. I mean, the man thanked me as if I was doing a good deed. I let him. He didn’t realize I was one of the egg-throwers. I needed to admit what I’d done. I expected Sam to call my mom or the police or at least yell at me, but he did something else entirely.”
Even after all these years, she feels remorse for actions most people would have forgotten long ago. “What did he do, Kiran?”
She pauses to lick the drop of ice cream just before it lands on her hand. “He asked me what I like to read. At the time, the answer was nothing. I wasn’t a huge reader. He gave me a book to take home free of charge. Isn’t that what drug dealers do? Give you the first hit for free? But this was a positive obsession. He had me hooked. That story was the sort of book I really needed to read at that point in my life.”
“What book?”
“Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café by Fannie Flagg. It sort of spoke to me in a weird unexpected way. You think you don’t fit in anywhere. Then you read a story about a girl who doesn’t fit in, and you don’t feel so alone. But she was better than me. She embraced the things that made her different. Whereas I tried to blend in and not make waves, even though I clashed with everything around me. I wanted to be brave like Idgie.”
I remember my grandma watching that movie. Grams was a huge Kathy Bates fan. I get what she’s saying. We both speak the same oddball language. There are books that have stayed with me, too. Ones I even give credit for shaping my life. “You’ll never convince me you’re not a nice person. And you’re brave, too, Kiran.”
Her laugh isn’t bitter, but it holds little humor. She kicks a small rock. “Brave? Hardly. Why do you say that?”
“I have my reasons.”
We’re close. My palm is against the rough brick of the building. We’re staring at each other. Her breath hitches. Fuck the headache. I want to kiss her. I want her soft, sexy mouth against mine. I want to run my hands through her long hair and down her body. I want to make her moan. I think she wants it too. I swallow it all back and drop my hand instead. Because even more than the kiss, I don’t want her to stop talking. I want more Kiran Shenoy.
She walks away from me, faster with clipped steps, heading farther north as if we’re late for a destination. Content not to push too hard, I keep step with her. The silence circles us. The light breeze from the Gulf plays with her hair. I get a sweet whiff of citrus and jasmine and that other flavor…the mystery one I have no name for, but it’s driving me crazy just the same. We ditch the paper wrappers from our cones in a receptacle. A group of rowdy drunk guys past us. Keeping a wary eye on them, I move closer to her.
Once they pass, I shove my hands in my pockets again, a physical reminder of the boundaries I’ve set for myself. “Does Sam know? Did you ever tell him how much you enjoyed the book?”
“Sure, he does. You read a story that changes you, the first thing you do is tell someone. At least I did. I came back the next day and begged him for another book. After that, I spent a lot of time there. Sam’s bookstore became a second home. My friends thought it was creepy. But I ignored them. What would Idgie do? I asked myself. Then I would do that thing. Sam and I became friends. He even let me arrange the shelves. That’s not as easy as it sounds. Sam has a really specific method. If you screw up, he gets royally mad.” She smiles, but not at me. She’s smiling at a memory of her past. “Who knew Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights could not be on the same shelf?”
“Why not?”
She lowers her voice to a whisper, the way girls do when their sharing juicy gossip. “Apparently, the Bronte sisters don’t get along with each other.”
“You don’t say.”
“I do say.”
“You should go see Sam. He remembers you not as the egg-thrower but the girl who loves books as much as he does.”
She shakes her head. “Our friendship didn’t end well, Mason.”
“What happened?”
“My mom found out where I was really going when I was supposed to be at the library. She thought it was inappropriate for a young girl to have a friendship with an adult male. She thought his intentions were…evil. Sam doesn’t have a sinister bone in his body. To me, he was just another friend. But no matter how much I tried to convince her, she refused to believe me. Sam asked all the time if my mom knew where I was. I lied to him and said she did. So you can imagine what happened.”
“I can imagine it, but I’d rather hear it from you.”
She swallows, her hands clutching the shawl. “She caught me there after I promised I wouldn’t go. She threatened to shut Sam down. She even called the police. They came and messed up Sam’s books. It sent him over the edge. They almost arrested him. He gets upset when it comes to someone mistreating one of his books. It was a big, ugly scene. People talked and rumors spread. Customers who had been going to him for years boycotted the store. I kept waiting for the For Sale sign to go on the door or, worse, the Out of Business one. That would have been my fault. But I should have known better. Sam has weathered bigger storms.”
I have a feeling Kiran Shenoy weathered her fair share of storms too. Maybe even a few hurricanes.
We pass signs for a Farmers Market. Apparently, they have the best lemons in all of Florida. “You never saw him again after?”
<
br /> “I never went back, but I did see him from time to time. Jasper isn’t that huge. He’d wave sometimes. I’d ignore him. He probably thought I was mad at him, but I wasn’t. I was trying to protect him in a way. So stupid, really.”
I gently shoulder bump her. “Or brave,” I counter.
“No, it was stupid.”
“I get where your mama was coming from, Shenoy. It sucks, but it’s natural to worry about those things, especially in today’s world.”
“I get it too. I don’t blame her. I just wish it hadn’t turned out the way it did. I wish I wouldn’t have gone back.” She bites her lower lip so hard she might draw blood. “I can’t believe I’m telling you all this.”
We walk past a garage with a bright yellow door. I stop walking. I want her full attention. She follows suit. We both stare at each other.
“I’m happy you are.” I place a finger under her chin and lift it until we are eye to eye again. “Go see him now, Kiran. I’ll go with you if you’d like. He’s not angry with you.”
“Maybe.”
We reach the outskirts of town where there are no more stores and the streetlights are farther apart.
“Should we head back?” I ask.
“Probably a good idea.”
But we don’t. We just keep walking north. We pass an old-fashioned kind of movie theater. There is a sign advertising some Hitchcock film. Not one I’ve seen.
“Why are you here, Mason?” she asks.
I wanted to go on a moonlight stroll with a pretty girl. Except it sounds too much like a cheesy line. Instead, I say, “We decided to go for a walk.”
“I mean, why are you here in Jasper, Florida on vacation?”
“To surf.”
She gives me a look that has wrong answer written all over it. “There’s a lot of water to be had in South Carolina and a ton of beaches between the two cities. The waves are gnarly here, but the Atlantic is cranking too.”
“Did you say gnarly?”
“I’ve lived here since I was four and moved away when I was eighteen. You don’t think I’ve surfed?”
“I wondered,” I admit. “Someone who wears winter clothes on the beach doesn’t strike me as the surfing type.”
She crosses her arms, her back straightens. “Well, I do.” She sighs in frustration, causing a wisp of hair to blow off her forehead. “Or at least I did. I could give you some tips. I’m seriously worried you might drown out there.”
“I can handle my own.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Oh Barney, what am I going to do with you?”
I don’t know what Barney means, but I doubt it’s a compliment.
“Don’t you realize how dangerous it can be out there?” The last bit comes out a concerned warning.
I raise my hands in defeat. The truth is I know I’ve wiped out one too many times to claim any level of expertise. “Give me some tips, and I’ll do my best to listen.”
“We’ll save that for another day, Cutler.” She jabs me with her finger. “But that day has to come before you get on a surfboard again, okay?”
“Fine by me.”
“So answer me now. The whole truth this time. Why are you here? Why by yourself?”
“Is that so weird? You’re here by yourself, aren’t you?”
“I have my reasons. I asked you first.”
“It’s a long story,” I say.
“It’s a long night,” she counters.
“I just graduated.”
“College?”
“Boot camp.”
A shudder goes through her. A wind I do not feel.
“You’re in the military?”
“The Marines to be exact.”
“Wow. I asked you all these personal things, but I never asked what you did for a living.”
“If you’d asked a few months ago, I’d tell you I was a mechanic. At least that’s what I’ve done since I was sixteen. When I graduated high school, I did it full-time.”
“But now you’re a soldier.”
“A Marine,” I correct.
“Don’t people enlist at eighteen?”
“Usually, but it’s not a law.” This story is so fucking long and raveling, I’m not sure where to start.
Her gaze is quiet and assessing and patient. “So why the wait?”
“I wanted to enlist then, but it wasn’t the right time. Gram passed away and Dana was only fifteen.”
“You took care of her?”
“We took care of each other. But yeah, I was of age so I petitioned for guardianship. I did my best. I’d say I did a pretty damn good job.”
“I don’t doubt it, but you were so young.”
I shrug. “Thankfully, the state didn’t agree with you.”
“There was no other family to help you?”
“None I would trust.” There was sharpness in my voice I didn’t mean to project, but it came out anyway.
She sits on a large flat boulder in the parking lot of a convenience store. I’d give a million pennies for her thoughts. She pats the vacant area next to her and scoots over for me. “Sit with me.” It’s a tight space and not all that comfortable. I feel bad for taking up most of it. But not so bad that I don’t enjoy how our thighs touch. “Are you all right, Kiran?”
She plays with a strand of her hair, twisting it tightly. “You said I was brave, but this… What you are doing is the epitome of brave. I’m in awe of you right now.”
“I don’t see it that way.”
“Don’t be humble.”
“Honestly, it’s always been my duty, but not one I ever resented. It’s my honor to serve. That’s the only way I can explain it.”
“You always knew you wanted to enlist?”
“My dad was a Marine and my grandpa and even his dad and etcetera.”
“Etcetera?”
“The line goes back forever. Matter of fact, when you look at my ancestral tree, almost every branch begins or ends with a war. I always had my sights set on joining the family business.”
“I see.”
“You asked why I’m here earlier. I had plans for my leave. I was going to find a realtor this week to get Gram’s house ready to rent out for the next few years. Neither Dana or I need the house, but we’re too attached to let it go. It turns out Dana took care of all of it while I was at camp and found renters before she left for Pasadena.”
“She’s in Pasadena?”
I can’t help the pride in my voice. “Yeah, she got into the Marine Biology program at the California Institute of Technology. Got a scholarship too.”
“That’s amazing.”
“Anyway, when I dropped her off at the airport, she made me promise I’d use my leave to do something just for me. So here I am.”
“Why here, though?”
“My family used to vacation in Jasper. I thought of inviting a few buddies, but it’s kind of special to me, and I didn’t want to share it.”
“I feel the same way.”
I stand and hold my hand out for her. “Let’s head back.”
We’re silent the whole way as we retrace our footsteps, the path now familiar and comfortable. She yawns. We never did get coffee.
“Are you conking out on me already?” I ask.
“Not a chance. This sunrise is mine.”
“It’s probably crap, but I saw a coffee vending machine in the lobby.”
“I’ll take crappy coffee over no coffee.”
We make it back to the hotel and head straight for the vending area. Between my pockets and her purse, we find enough change for two cups. I don’t even know if you can call this stuff coffee.
“Where to now?” I ask. “The beach?”
“What about the roof? I bet it’s a good view.”
“Think it’s open?”
“Yeah, I checked it out earlier.”
The elevator is as slow as ever. I don’t mind being alone with Ki
ran in a small space, but I sure as hell can do without all the damn creaks and grunts that occur when we pass a floor. If there’s going to be grunting, it should be coming from one of the occupants.
“Mind if we stop at my room?” I ask.
A look of panic flashes across her face.
“I want to grab a blanket.”
Her shoulders relax. “Sure.” Did she think I wanted something else? I do, of course. But not tonight. Not now. Maybe not ever. That’s fine too. Disappointing, but fine.
Neither of us feels too great about getting back in the elevator of potential doom so we head for the stairwell. The door to the roof is open. You can see almost the whole shoreline from here. It’s not set up for people, but there are a few plastic chairs stacked in a corner. I place two by the ledge. We each take a seat, lean back, prop up our feet. I drape the blanket over us.
The moon is ripe, almost full but not quite. It provides just enough light to see the peaks of the waves as they crash upon the shore. She closes her eyes but then snaps them open again.
“You can sleep, Kiran. I will wake you.”
She rubs her face. “No. I’ll stay up.” Kiran fishes her phone from her purse. I expect she’s going to text someone, which would be a real turn-off for me. Instead, she pulls out ear buds.
“Want to listen to music?” she asks, offering me one end.
“Depends. Is it going to be boy bands?”
“Maybe.” When she laughs, it’s almost wicked, her version of a villain’s laugh. “Don’t worry, I have a variety.”
I hold out my hand. “Let me see.”
“You’ve already peeked at my library and now you want at my playlist too? This is definitely getting personal.”
“It might be your playlist, but it’s my ears. I’d rather they not bleed.”
She mocks an offended look before handing over the phone. I scroll down the long list. Yeah, this girl likes her fair share of boy bands and top forty pop, but then I get to the Pearl Jam and Led Zeppelin. Nice. I go further, curious what else is on here. I’m happy I do.
“Kiran Shenoy, you never stop surprising me.”
“What?”
“You're a fan of country. The new country is cool enough, but the old country is kind of shocking me right now. Hank Williams, Jr.? Johnny Cash? And a little Reba too. You realize I’m ten guitar licks away from proposing.”