Meant to Be Mine

by Lisa Marie Perry

  “And the man? What about Burke? From what I hear, he’s complicated, and that’s an understatement. His issues run deep. Then there’s the wanderlust.”

  “Am I being stupid or reckless to show up for the challenge? Cardiomyopathy didn’t stop me from being his friend when we were young. What’s there to stop me now?”

  “Friendship isn’t friendship once you guys introduce sex and future-planning. I know you, Sofia. You’re not going to settle for being his friend if you straight up fall in love with him. Look around.” Joss spread her arms wide. “This is where he found you.”

  “It used to be a happy place, when I was sick and lonely and he was yo-yoing on drugs and getting into fights.” It seemed every week he would appear with a fresh laceration or bruise. “We’d just be together.”

  “A guy and a girl in a private dungeon-like sanctuary…just hanging out?”

  Sofia nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

  “No dry sex?”

  “Nope.”

  “Kissing?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “Flirting?”

  “Hmm, I smuggled a porn magazine down here once, but we ended up laughing and eating chips. What wasn’t funny, though, was all the sex he was having with other girls. Condoms in his backpack, girls pressing against him at school. With me, he was hands-off. Saying ‘I love you’ only made things weird.”

  Joss leaned back. “Whoa. Weird how?”

  “He ran. Literally, he bolted. It sucks to put yourself out there and watch the guy take off as if the devil swatted his ass.” Sofia walked across to the door that led to the market’s basement. Stroking the steel slab, she imagined the emptiness and darkness on the other side. “Anyway.”

  “Anyway,” her friend said consolingly, “you and Burke are adults now and better equipped to handle this stuff. You won’t slap a porno in front of him trying to flirt. He won’t sprint off to parts unknown if you let him know you’re in love with him…At least, he shouldn’t.”

  “Sure.”

  “People cope with stress in different ways, I guess. You have panic attacks. He runs. You put that stress and fear on yourselves.” She hesitated but eventually got up and returned the cinder block to its stack. “Know what I see? Two people who share an epically fucked-up past and are making themselves crazy trying to protect each other and their own interests at the same time. Maybe the love part of this whole thing is really there, and all that’s left is the fall in part.”

  Sofia denied it with a headshake, refusing to consider that possibly, maybe, probably…“I’ll just watch my step, make sure I don’t fall.”

  *

  Upstairs, Joss began painting the trim along Blush’s front room, while Sofia settled the dog in the apartment, then put her tote in the bicycle basket and took off for the post office.

  Turning into the parking lot, passing a pair of mail trucks, she claimed a space near the flagpole, under stars and stripes that flapped in the summer wind. “Afternoon, Gretchen,” she said to the gray-haired postal clerk leaning against the brick building with a sunny grin waiting and a cigarette pinched between her fingers.

  “Hi, honey.” Gretchen Pruitt tsked as Sofia dismounted and grabbed her tote. “If you don’t find yourself a helmet, I’m going to go to the general store and buy one for you.”

  “I’ll get a helmet if you’ll quit smoking.”

  “Buzzing around town without a helmet is dangerous.”

  “Smoking’s dangerous.” Sofia awaited a rebuttal.

  “Luz wouldn’t want her great-niece to risk her health.”

  “Luz wouldn’t want her friend to risk hers.”

  Gretchen harrumphed, her chestnut-colored eyes narrowing on a golden-brown face, then she made a production of mashing the cigarette on the trash can’s ashtray. Fluffing her short silver bob, she waved Sofia over for a crushing hug. “You win this round, smartass. You’re as insufferable as my hubby.”

  Gretchen’s hugs were the best. The first time Sofia had visited the post office, Gretchen had come around the counter and enveloped her in one of those hearty, you’re-not-too-fragile-to-be-hugged-properly embraces and recited a blessing for Luz right there in the lobby. No one liked Luz—you either respected her, despised her with a passion, or loved her fiercely. And Gretchen Pruitt, who hugged with all her might and was years into weaning herself off cigarettes, had indeed loved Luz.

  “The next time you strong-arm me into wasting a square, you’d better be packing some penny candy. I need something to get through the rest of my shift.” Gretchen jerked her head in the direction of the post office entrance. “Renee Abernathy’s closing with me. Grrr.”

  Sofia had met Renee, who looked to be in the same age bracket as Sofia’s parents, only once. The woman had put her through the wringer for improperly filling out a shipping label. It’d been an error, but Renee had castigated Sofia in front of the queue. She wasn’t looking forward to another encounter but refused to ask Gretchen to cut her break short.

  “I’m going in,” Sofia said, patting Gretchen’s doughy arm. “Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck with that, honey.”

  Joining the queue, Sofia didn’t have to wait long before Renee signaled her to the window. Taking the envelopes Sofia proffered, Renee twisted her lips in distaste at the name on top.

  Burke Wolf.

  “Are you carrying on with that one again?” Renee thumped the envelope. “Bad seeds don’t simply stop being bad seeds.”

  Sofia smiled through her reluctance to respond to the woman at all. “Me and my roommate are reopening Blush and needed helping hands moving furniture. These are thank-you cards. One isn’t any more special than the others.”

  Renee gave her a skeptical glare and began keying codes onto her touch screen. “I’m glad I got my daughter away from him and his crowd.”

  “Who’s your daughter?”

  “Courtney. She’s in a PhD program out west. Political science.”

  Kindness begets kindness, right? “If she’s happy, then I’m happy.”

  “Quite happy, despite that band of degenerates. Thugs, the lot of them.”

  Courtney Abernathy had reigned as head of student government, smoked pot in the girls’ room, and—as Sofia had unfortunately witnessed once—had no qualms about sticking her hand behind Burke’s Cape Foods grocer apron. “Mrs. Abernathy, Courtney and I didn’t cross paths much. But Burke was my friend. He never tried to persuade me to do anything I didn’t want to do.”

  The woman bristled in offense and went about stamping each envelope with scrunched eyebrows and forceful movements. “You’d feel differently if you had a mother who cared about you. With a thief for a father and a porn dealer for an aunt, it’s really no wonder.”

  “How much is the postage?” Sofia interrupted. The post office, a quaint and rustic structure that might be called cozy under brighter circumstances, was tomblike as customers observed in rapt intrusiveness.

  Gretchen came inside and took away the NEXT WINDOW PLEASE desk sign from her station. “Everything all right?” she murmured, signaling for the next customer.

  “Young ladies calling on troubled young men? Oh, that’s not ‘all right’ to me, but what do I know?” Conspiratorially, Renee Abernathy tossed her head toward Gretchen. “Burke Wolf.”

  “Oh,” Gretchen said, but there was approval in her tone. “Cute as corn, and he pitched right in to winterize the cottage when Richard was on crutches.”

  “That old dump,” Renee muttered. “No one lives there. Cut your losses already.”

  Sofia had visited the Pruitts’ cottage—a tiny bungalow they’d intended to flip but then kept as a weekend house because they couldn’t part with the place’s view. Cramped and derelict, it wasn’t pretty by any definition, but to call it a dump was spiteful as fuck.

  “And Burke Wolf’s no saint,” Renee insisted, circling back to her original gripe.

  “No, ma’am, but a saint’s never sat at my dinner table. Burke’s welcome anytime. So a
re you, Sofia.” She winked, a smile pulled across her lined face. “Bring him sometime.”

  “Total’s on the screen,” Renee snapped. “Swipe your card and key in your PIN or hit the red X for credit.”

  Sofia took her receipt and strode out, feeling every set of eyes in the place escort her. She thought she heard the word slut, but it might’ve been the whisper of the door swinging shut.

  Either way, she figured, hopping onto the bicycle, what did it really matter? As with Vices, freshly painted gold on Blush’s storefront, she could turn the term on its head. She could manipulate it, dust away its hurtful connotations, and own it if she wanted. That was her right.

  No one was without sin. It wasn’t the duty of her neighbors to pick and choose which sins were worthy of condemnation and which deserved redemption.

  Luz had stripped down and ridden her bike to town hall, making a statement to defend her boutique and the woman she’d chosen to be. For the first time Sofia thought she might be close to understanding her great-aunt in a way she never had before.

  Proud, inspired, Sofia slid the ribbon from her ponytail, let her hair lash through the salty air, and pedaled to the taffy shop with a smile on her face.

  CHAPTER 14

  Burke hooked a finger around the neck of a bottle and laid some cash on the beaten bar. The week had been jammed with hard labor—hauling furniture at Sofia’s, construction at the Slatterys’ place, strenuous chores, and complex upgrades to his boat—and he figured Saturday was as good a day as any to sit still and goddamn breathe.

  Caro slid a malt whiskey to another customer and counted the bills Burke had put down. “Mineral water’s not this pricey. I’ll get your change.”

  “Nah, I was hoping for your time instead.”

  “In that case”—she counted again—“this isn’t enough of a gratuity.”

  “Give him some time, Caro.” Burke half turned as his friend McGuinty approached with a bundle of camellias, which he draped on the bar. “Then you can tell me what you think of these flowers and join me at Grandpa’s place. Football, fire pit, and poker. Abe and Hannah’ll be there. Burke, too. The girls from Blush. Other great folks.”

  Caro stood with cash in her hand, side-eyeing McGuinty. “The last time a man insisted on pursuing me with flowers, my daddy frightened him off during a pheasant hunt in the countryside.”

  Patrons spied them. Now they ribbed McGuinty for his fail, and someone pitched peanuts at the flowers. He distributed threats, shook peanuts off the camellias and waited until Caro had signaled for someone to man the bar before he said plainly, “Camellias are your favorite. That’s what you told me. You tell me plenty of shit when nobody else is around. You never said I ought to move along. Goddammit, that’s what I’m going to do.”

  Burke thought she might finally discharge McGuinty. Not even the most patient soul could endure this ongoing game of catch and release.

  Caro glided a hand up his arm. “Listen, love. Your grandpa invited me already, but I gave him my apologies. After my shift I’m reading Evan a story and tucking him into bed. But I desperately adore camellias.”

  Aw, Jesus. And just like that Caro freshened the bait and hooked McGuinty again. The ribbing ceased, but apparently so had his resolve to “move along.” He stared at her hand on his arm, then his hands were on her hips and Burke thanked God he wasn’t standing close enough to overhear their whispers.

  Leaving the camellias, McGuinty tossed to Burke “See you at Grandpa’s” and hollered a few words to friends he passed on his way out of the bar.

  “What are y’all doing, Caro?” Burke couldn’t help but demand when they found a vacant piece of sidewalk on the side street. She sat cross-legged, cradling the camellias. “You and McGuinty.”

  “Playing it by ear.”

  “Respect him. A man should know when he’s not wanted.”

  “Who said I don’t want him?” She clutched the flowers tighter. “I’m in a delicate position and all I ask is for him to let me breathe while I figure out where things stand.”

  “Yeah. Good.” He wasn’t buying it, but it wasn’t his place to push. “I want to talk about Bottoms Up.”

  Finally she set the flowers down. When she turned toward him and pushed locks of springy dark hair off her face, sunlight slanted over her, illuminating all the enthusiasm in her eyes. She launched into a one-sided discussion, rambling about coownership and creative plans and “developer vulture tossers” until her earnest honeyed voice and animated gesturing ran out of steam. “So you see, Burke, it’s quite perfect.”

  “Caro,” he said at the first opportunity, “if you’re worried about the developers edging you out, don’t be.” A representative from Omni Commercial Development of New England had approached him during a dock shift a couple of months ago, and Burke had declined the conversation. Afterward the firm doubled its efforts, sending a pair of higher-ups accompanied by an Eaves town hall Building Maintenance Committee member, cornering him at the marina. Pissed off, he’d quietly reaped some satisfaction from watching them flee the pier as the documents they handed him floated in the water. “I’m not going to sell to Omni or anyone.”

  “But Sofia—”

  “Not even to her. Can’t do it,” he stressed, hating the disappointment that stooped her shoulders now. “I wanted to offer some kind of assurance, but, hell. I feel like I’m on the same level as the vulture tossers.”

  She reached for her bouquet, and her bracelets—had to be ten on each wrist—glinted under the sun. Ironic that she snapped pictures of people stripped nude but kept her wrists dressed. She glanced at him, but he didn’t hide that he’d been trying damn hard to peer past those bracelets. “Burke, if it were someone else, I’d be angry about the building. But I’m not upset with you. I understand you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Very much. You might think I’m behind a camera and underground in a bar so much that I’m isolated, but those are excellent vantage points to really see who people are.” She tapped the flowers against his arm and smiled as if to whisper I’m not here to threaten you. “I see you, Burke. I think there’s only one reason you despise that building but cannot let it go. But it’s not up to me to judge and make suppositions. If you do decide to sell, I hope you’ll give your neighbors an exclusive. If not, lower your guard just a little, respect Sofia enough to give her the chance to understand.” She stood, brushed off the seat of her pants. “That’s more advice than you paid for. Another five, please.”

  Burke thought she was joking until she wiggled her fingers. “Christ, take it.” He slapped the cash into her palm. “But thanks. Expensive as it is, I appreciate the advice.”

  Laughing, she pocketed the money. “Tariq gives free shots to flirts. I’d better take over if we’re to have any liquor left for the night crowd.” Then she and her camellias abandoned the tree-canopied sidewalk.

  Waning daylight escorted him to the acre of land that held Niall Slattery’s old farmhouse. Vehicles lined the sand-dusted curb, and when he climbed out of his truck he could smell charcoal and hear music and hold-nothing-back laughter that probably carried all the way to the nature preserve behind the farm.

  Niall wouldn’t spend his Saturday any other way. A retired factory worker, he opened his home to folks as generously as he opened the private animal shelter to any stray that needed a spot to rest its head.

  The screen door flapped open before Burke made it to the porch. Belly first, Hannah stepped out. He would’ve thought that at this stage in her pregnancy she would be in maternity clothes, but what did he know? She might be comfortable in jeans and that extra-tight Nike tee.

  She grabbed his wrist, making a point of looking at the face of his chronograph watch. “You’re late.”

  “How you doing, Hannah?” he greeted her, obliging when she offered her cheek.

  “No complaints, except the guys made me officiate their damn football game and kept me good and distracted while folks ravaged the dessert I brought. We’ve got
a pastry expert on-site, so all’s great. C’mon out back. Grandpa’s playing poker dealer now.”

  He followed, his height and the low ceilings of the century-old house compelling him to duck beneath every doorway as they passed rooms papered in faded floral patterns and crowded with antique furniture. Copper pots hung in the kitchen and from the oven wafted an aroma that hit him right in his appetite.

  “Apple pie?” he asked the woman scrubbing baking utensils in the sink.

  “A summer favorite.” Joss Vail wiped her hands on an apron so worn that it might’ve come with the house when Niall Slattery had bought the place for his bride, Amy, fifty-something years ago. Untying the apron, she revealed a painted-on gold dress.

  Burke turned to Hannah. “You told her this was a low-key backyard get-together, didn’t you?”

  “Grandpa Slattery invited the guests.” She twisted her mouth, as if he’d made an asshole misstep. “I think you look perfect, Joss. Some guys don’t know what to do when a hot woman’s in front of them, so they do what’s stupid.”

  Niall must’ve been a busy man, making his rounds inviting pretty women over for poker around a fire pit and food on the grill.

  “Want in on the poker game?” Hannah asked him, heading toward the door.

  “Yeah. Tell Niall to save a chair for me. Be right out.”

  “This isn’t traditional apple pie,” Joss said, setting the wet utensils on the drying rack. “I didn’t have all the ingredients I wanted on hand, but I gave the filling some pizzazz—five spices and lemon. It’s part of a ribbon-winning recipe.”

  Burke waited a beat, gearing up to shut down her segue to the Cape Foods building. But she said, “Sofia’s here, in the backyard playing cards.”

  “How is she?”

  “Skilled,” she said, smoothly twirling around the meaning behind his question. Is she feeling all right? “I think she’s cleaning the guys out, so you might want to end this early before it turns into strip. Grandpa Slattery’s a charming old guy but I don’t want to see him in his shorts.”