The Art of My Life

by Ann Lee Miller

  Cal’s eyes narrowed as he led Missy past the dining room table where Cal shuffled cards. Got it. Fish shoved away the ache that he never got to play protector for his sisters—and the one that Cal didn’t trust him with Missy.

  He pulled Missy through the back door and shut it behind them.

  “What’s this about?” Missy tugged her hand out of his and hung back as though he might spring a rubber snake on her like he had when they were kids.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Thought it would be nice to have a conversation without a room full of people hanging around.” But now he had nothing to say. He could ask her about college or running, but he could have brought those topics up in the house. What he really wanted to know was if she was seeing someone. But if he asked, he’d be telling more than he was ready to reveal.

  They wandered across the driveway and slowed to a stop at the corner of the garage. Awkwardness crackled in the cool air between them. A heavy, dishwater sky pressed down on them.

  The memory Missy had awakened replayed in the silence like it had a dozen times since he’d sat in the truck and watched her walk through the library door. He cleared his throat. “Let’s see. You stood here.” He moved her a few inches closer to the garage. “My hand was here.” He placed his hand on the garage siding above Missy’s head. “I leaned in to about here.” He stopped a foot from Missy. “See, I remember.”

  Comprehension dawned on Missy’s face.

  He drifted closer. “Go ahead, ask me. I want a do-over.”

  Missy glanced at his lips and backed up a step. “This is sweet of you, but totally unnecessary. I’m over you. Chill.” She folded her arms.

  He bent closer, a whisper from her lips. “But I want to kiss you.”

  “I raised the stakes. I want more than kisses. I want it all.”

  He straightened. “You what?”

  “I want sex, babies, and marriage, not in that order. I’ve had plenty of kisses.”

  No wonder. Little Missy had grown up gorgeous.

  “Enough to know I want the whole enchilada. I hope the next guy I kiss, I’m going to marry and—”

  She batted away the finger he trailed south of her collarbone.

  “Hey, I was just volunteering.”

  “Very funny. I’m not laughing.”

  He dug his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Trying to be helpful. You know a lot of people forego the marriage—”

  “I’m not a lot of people. And I’m following the rules if it kills me.”

  Fish chuckled at her pained expression. “Death by virginity.”

  “I’ve got a man-file. I print out their Facebook profiles, make notes after I go out with them.”

  His mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding. You’re only twenty.”

  “I told you, I want it all.”

  He would have laughed if she didn’t look serious as a sixty-pound mackerel.

  “If I’m attracted to them, if they have the essentials, they go into the funnel. Once I decide they’re not going to work out, I let them fall out the bottom of the funnel.”

  “How many guys are we talking about here?”

  “Fourteen so far.”

  “You posted looking for a husband on your Facebook status and fourteen guys asked you out?”

  “I didn’t advertise I wanted a husband. I’m not stupid. I asked them out. I haven’t had a no yet.

  He smirked. “My Facebook page—”

  Missy poked her finger into his chest. “And I’m one hundred percent sure you are not my husband.”

  His hands came out of his pockets. He wanted to grab hold of her and kiss that pig-headed expression off her face. He wanted to make her change her mind about him.

  But babies fish-hooked into his rational mind. He took a step back, lifted his hands. “Happy hunting.”

  Sated from the Thanksgiving feast, Cal let out a contented sigh. Three-year-old, sleeping Chase’s cheek was plastered to his leg, the rest of him sprawled across the couch. Beside him, Six-year-old Jillian curled on Aly’s lap with her head propped on the sofa arm.

  Mom and Dad had walked his grandparents out to Henna’s car, Fish and Evie propped against pillows on the floor, Jesse and Kallie tangled up on the loveseat while White Christmas played on the TV.

  Missy had run out the front door to a kid in a shiny white station wagon before the movie started. Cal had caught Fish standing in the shadows peering out the window after her.

  Cal pulled out his phone and punched in a message to Missy. Want me 2 pound Fish? Saw him leaning into you by the garage.

  He wound Aly’s hair around his fingers and let the silk slip across his palm.

  Cal’s phone pinged. Ha ha. Impressed that you pulled out a While You Were Sleeping reference. Thanks bro. I’ve got everything under control. He smiled.

  He cupped Aly’s shoulder and inhaled the piney scent of her shampoo near her ear. “This is what I want. A family—” —with you.

  Aly turned her face toward him.

  “Don’t look so surprised. Everybody grows up eventually.”

  Part of him hated the sausage casing of his mother’s expectations—church, 401K, health and liability auto insurance. But he’d swallow them if he had to—for Aly.

  His gaze dropped to Chase’s mouth hanging open in sleep, a smudge of chocolate at one corner. Kids were art itself—laughter, kinetic energy, grit, softness. Completely selfish, they ran free till they collapsed unconscious in your lap.

  His grandparents hadn’t needed marriage, but he craved permanence with Aly. He’d spent too many years loving her and not having her to forego the promises. He wanted to prove to her he had the staying power her father lacked. If there was anything in life he was sure of, he’d love Aly forever.

  His fingers slipped under the fabric of her blouse, and he rubbed her neck.

  She leaned into his touch, her eyes drifting shut, then back to the movie.

  Even her small response heated him. He wanted her. Same old-same old. Herpes didn’t make any difference. He’d read up on it since Aly’s revelation at the farmer’s market. Nothing they couldn’t deal with. She’d have to handle a butt load of his issues.

  Jesse came from a trip to the kitchen and sat down beside Chase’s small spread-eagled body. A piece of pumpkin pie balanced on his knee. “You haven’t been around much. The kids miss you. I miss you.”

  “You want an ex-con hanging with your kids? Aren’t you afraid I’ll carve up your kids and serve them for supper?”

  Jesse thwacked him in the arm. “Right. You who brought every wounded animal you ever found to Henna’s and nursed it back to health. Stop by the house.” He shot a glance at his wife.

  Cal read between the lines. Kallie trusted Cal to spend time with the kids—under her supervision. Her doubt knifed him. He’d die for those kids. “My dumbass years are behind me.”

  “I believe you. Come around, okay?”

  Cal missed the kids, too. What else could he do but follow what he imagined to be Kallie’s edict? “Sure. I’ll stop over next week.”

  His parents walked in as the credits rolled. Mom’s hair hung loose, her cheeks pink. Dad’s shirttail hadn’t completely made it into the waistband of his jeans. How long had his parents been MIA? Geez.

  Jesse and Kallie collected their kids and traipsed through the back door.

  Mom held a quiet conversation with Evie, squeezed her neck in a rare show of affection. He had to talk to Mom. He damn sure wasn’t going through another holiday with Evie stalking him and Aly pulling away.

  Mom and Dad said their good-nights and headed upstairs.

  Fish hugged Aly. “Happy Thanksgiving.” He nodded curtly at Cal, the last act in his holiday truce.

  “Later,” Evie said as the front screen door banged behind them. Maybe she’d actually gotten the message this time and would stay away from him.

  Cal reached for his jacket off the coat tree and saw Missy plant one on the kid with the station wagon and run up
the front walk. There was just something wrong with seeing your kid sister making out. She must have finally gotten over Fish.

  Fish always stuck up for Missy, protected her, kept him from teasing her, but whether the adult Fish had more than physical appreciation for a pretty girl was anybody’s guess. Well, Cal would do what he could to protect Missy.

  Missy banged through the front door and gathered he and Aly into a group hug. “Happy Thanksgiving. I love you guys.”

  Cal’s throat felt tight. “Love you, Sissy-Missy.”

  “Me, too.” Aly said.

  Missy grabbed her laptop off the desk and jogged up the stairs. “Night!”

  Cal latched onto Aly’s hand and took her around the room turning off lamps. He stepped into the kitchen and flipped off the light switch. “I had a good day. The best holiday in years.” Even dodging Evie didn’t ruin a day when he felt closer to Aly than he ever had.

  Light from the garage across the drive shone on her face. “It was my mashed potatoes.”

  He pulled her into his arms. “It was you. I’ve missed you so much these past couple of years.”

  Aly’s eyes widened, but she didn’t push him away. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  Cal’s lips claimed hers, and he forgot for long minutes he’d promised not to kiss her less than a week ago; the business hadn’t actually broken even yet. He forgot the tick of the cuckoo clock on the wall—everything but the scent of mint growing deep in a forest that clung to her, Aly’s fresh baked bread taste, Aly melded to his heart.

  His hands found their way to skin. His fingertips traced her backbone and the contours of her body he hadn’t seen since the last time she surfed with him years ago.

  Aly moaned. Her arms closed around his ribs, cinching him closer.

  He backed her up against the counter. “Aly.” His breathing quickened and shallowed. His heart sped. He bent his mouth to hers, starved for more.

  Aly’s phone trilled, clattering across his consciousness. It sounded again, and he eased away from her, dragging in a ragged breath.

  “Hello.” Aly’s breathy voice sounded huge in the quiet room.

  He’d nearly kissed Aly to the point of no return—in his mother’s kitchen.

  Aly’s end of the conversation echoed in the room. “Yes…. Uh huh…. Mmm. Tonight?”

  Chapter 15

  November 24

  Sometimes I feel like I’ve gotten caught in the vortex of life. I’m spinning and spinning out of control. If I am the artist of my life, I need to regain control of the palette and brush. Who is in charge when I abdicate? I can’t let life happen to me. I need to make choices. Good ones. Or I will only have myself to blame when I get hurt.

  Aly at www.The-Art-Of-My-Life.blogspot.com

  Fish forgot Evie was in the car until she spoke. “You can come over to my boat if you want.”

  Fish yawned. “Long day. I’ll catch you next time.” He pulled into a parking space in front of the marina.

  “Fine. Whatever. We’ll see if there’s a next time.” Evie got out and slammed the door.

  He didn’t have the energy to worry about whatever set Evie off.

  Missy wanted a wedding, now, at twenty. She was crazy. He didn’t want marriage at twenty-five.

  It pissed him off.

  He wasn’t ready to put his heart out on a plate to get carved up yet.

  The picture of her lip-locked to the pubescent kid with his daddy’s 2011 Audi wagon branded into him. He could have bloodied the guy’s face in a heartbeat. With pleasure.

  He was the one who should have gotten up close and personal with Missy today.

  One thing was for sure. Missy meant business. And for a girl that pretty, with her personality and brains, it would take about five minutes to land a husband.

  There wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Unless he wanted to marry her himself. Which he didn’t.

  But he could stall her.

  Cal peered at Aly in the glow filtering through the screen from the garage spotlight, half-listening to her phone conversation. What he really wanted was to take up where they left off, preferably somewhere other than in his mother’s kitchen.

  She held the phone against her stomach. “How long would it take us to sail to Grand Bahama and back?”

  Cal did a rough calculation in his head. “Seventy hours give or take.”

  The phone glowed against Aly’s sweater. She squinted at the cabinet behind Cal as though she’d forgotten Cal’s thumb was hooked in the waistband of her jeans. She put the phone to her ear. “That’s only fifty-seven dollars an hour. I’ve got to pay two sailors, fuel, provisions, wear and tear on the boat, holiday surcharge, night sailing.”

  Cal motioned for Aly to take the offer. Fifty-seven dollars an hour when they’d be sitting at the dock otherwise sounded sweet to him.

  Aly gave a sharp shake of her head, dismissing Cal. “I can cover my overhead for sixty-five hundred—up front.” Her eyes narrowed. The ‘business Aly’ focused on what the guy at the other end of the conversation said.

  She pressed the phone to her midsection. “Can we leave in an hour, sail all night?”

  Cal nodded his head, awed at the deal Aly negotiated.

  She handed him the phone. “He wants to talk to the captain.”

  Cal assured the guy with the raspy voice he could get him to Old Bahama Bay Marina on Grand Bahama. He powered off and shifted into panic.

  “Thank God we topped off the fuel tank after the farmers’ market. We’d never get anybody to open a pump for us at ten p.m. on Thanksgiving. We’re going to need a week’s worth of groceries, just in case, and we don’t have time to find a grocery store still open in New Smyrna Beach.” He grabbed a stack of paper bags from beside the refrigerator and handed them to Aly. “Raid Mom’s pantry. I’ll write her a note, pay her back when we get home.”

  Ten minutes later he hustled Aly out the door to the Jeep, their arms laden with canned and boxed food. “I’ll make sure the water tanks are full, check our radio, GPS, EPIRB that notifies the Coast Guard of our location when it gets wet, personal flotation devices. I need you to search the Internet for a chart that covers the west end of Grand Bahama to download. Pay whatever you have to. The Bahamas are riddled with shallows. Get me a detailed weather report, including wind velocity.”

  Aly grabbed his arm. “Wait! I don’t have a passport. Do you?”

  “Passports are only required if you travel by air.” By sea, enhanced driver’s licenses were required, which neither of them had, but he wasn’t mentioning it now. He also knew he wasn’t allowed to leave the state, much less the country while on probation, but no one would find out. It was unlikely they’d even step foot on Grand Bahama.

  On the Escape, Aly passed Cal her laptop with the information he needed. “I’ll go grab some clothes and stop for milk at 7-Eleven. Be back in twenty.”

  “Thanks. I should be done charting our course and compass heading by the time you get back.” He made a mental note to compensate for the drift of the Gulf Stream. “With a little luck, we’ll be ready to leave when the guy arrives.”

  Fifty minutes later Vic Franco walked up the pier. The guy had a good six inches on Cal and as many years, thick chest and biceps, a calculating look that lingered a fraction of a second too long on Aly. Franco looked him in the eye, extended an olive-colored arm and an over-sized hand, toward him.

  Cal grasped it firmer than socially accepted and shook. Franco needed to know who was in charge. “Welcome aboard. Shall we get under way? We’re looking at a thirty-five hour crossing.”

  “We’ll take payment now, please,” Aly said.

  Franco tossed two oversized duffle bags into the cabin and pulled his wallet out of the right back pocket of his jeans. He slipped a check out, handed it to Aly, and started through the companionway.

  Cal didn’t care if Franco’s bags were full of alligator skins or Sunkist oranges, they needed his business.

  Aly handed Franco back the chec
k. “This is off Scotiabank of the Bahamas. I can’t take a foreign check.”

  Franco raked his fingers through his wavy dark hair. “Where am I going to find a bank open in the middle of the night on a holiday to do a wire transfer?”

  Aly lifted one brow. “You can do the transaction online and route the money to my account.”

  Franco climbed two rungs and stepped into the cockpit. “I tried that last month and had to wait until the next day when Scotiabank opened for the transfer to fund.” He sat down and dropped his face into his hands.

  Cal shot Aly a look over Franco’s bowed head. Take the check.

  Franco sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Let me call my brother and have him meet us at Old Bahama Bay Marina with your full fee in U.S. Dollars.”

  “Call him,” Cal said. “See if he can do it.”

  Franco punched in a string of numbers, then held the phone away from his ear.

  Angry Spanish buzzed from the phone.

  The voice on the phone paused, and Franco said, “Whoa, hermano, I wouldn’t have woken you up if it wasn’t an emergency.” He switched to Spanish. In a couple of minutes he slid the phone into his pocket and looked at Cal. “He says he’ll meet us with your payment in U.S. currency.

  Cal opened his mouth to answer, but Aly spoke. “We’ll do it this one time, but in the future, be prepared to pay in advance by cash or money order.”

  Franco nodded his thanks and went below.

  Aly cast off their dock lines and joined Cal in the cockpit. “That guy creeps me out.”

  “Then why did you say we’d do it?”

  “Because you wanted us to.” She smiled a little. “And I understood enough of his Spanish—thanks to growing up in Miami—to know the conversation at least sounded legit.”

  Cal shot her a grin. “I’ve gotten into enough fights over the years to know I can take him if I have to.” It was navigating blue water for the first time that scared him spitless. He motored out of the slip and toward the North Causeway.

  Four hours into the trip, a cold, brisk wind pushed them along at eight knots. Cal zipped his lined, waterproof jacket the last two inches and shook his head to wake up. The adrenaline had long deserted his body, and now he craved sleep.