On the Rocks (A Turtle Island Novel)

by Kim Law

  “He must have liked you if he asked you out,” Carter pointed out.

  That’s what she’d thought, too. She didn’t answer—she couldn’t or she’d cry again.

  The sun continued its climb, and as the bottom curve clung to the ocean for the last few seconds, she could feel her heart thudding. But the anticipation wasn’t solely for the start of a new day. It was for this moment, with this man. She had her friend beside her again.

  The two of them had watched many sunrises together in the past. From this very spot. Those mornings had been special, but she hadn’t realized how much so until now. It was nice having someone experience the beginning of the day with you. Nice knowing you weren’t alone.

  Whatever had brought Carter out this morning, she could feel his need to experience the beauty before them. Just as he could certainly feel hers.

  The fact that he would soon leave town as abruptly as he’d shown up tugged on the edges of her heart, bringing with it the urge to cling to this moment. To have her friend in her life—to have someone in her life—for more than the fifteen minutes of a sunrise.

  The sun released its hold on the water and glided smoothly into the morning sky, and she turned to Carter. “Do you want to see my house?”

  He didn’t look at her. “You have a house?”

  “I’m in the process of building it.”

  His jaw worked for several seconds while his gaze remained on the horizon, and when he spoke, the torment that came through in his tone was so pronounced that it transferred to her. “I just built one myself.”

  He turned to her then. There was much left unsaid in his words; she could tell. But she didn’t ask.

  “And, yes. I would love to see your house. We can take my car.”

  She gave him a comforting smile as they stood, and they began the trek up the hill. They moved beside each other—as if it were only yesterday that they’d taken this same path—and she soon bumped her shoulder into his. “I’m glad you’re home, Carter.”

  He nodded, but didn’t speak.

  It was enough. He’d missed their sunrises, too, she could tell. He didn’t have to voice it.

  When they reached the pull-off, she looked at him full on for the first time that morning. The sun streaked across the land now, and his face was no longer in shadow. And she would swear that he was different than when he’d first driven up.

  His eyes didn’t look quite so forlorn. His shoulders not so weighted down.

  A good sunrise had that kind of power over a person, she knew from years of experience. Sharing it with a friend only helped.

  She held out her hand. “I may be glad to see you, but not enough to let you drive. You look like you haven’t slept”—she nodded to his hand—“and you’re halfway through a beer.”

  He chuckled then, one small vibrato without benefit of a smile, and the sound almost stopped her heart. It was dry and hoarse, as if his vocal cords had tried out the action after months of lying dormant. The effect was that she instinctively wanted to help. She wanted to give him a reason to smile. To laugh. Only, she had no idea what he needed. She didn’t know what he’d been through.

  He handed his keys over without question, and she rounded the hood. Before opening the door, she looked across the top of the car at him. He poured out his beer and snubbed out his cigarette on the gravel beneath his feet. Then he stood straight and faced her.

  The two of them stared across the expanse, the black sedan sitting between them, each taking the other in. After a few seconds, Ginger spoke. “Are you okay?”

  He didn’t ask what she meant. His mental state? His personal well-being?

  Would whatever he was going through suck him under, or would he be able to pull through?

  “I’m better at this moment than I’ve been in four months,” he finally replied.

  The breath she’d been holding released, and as she slid into the car, the clench around her heart eased. It might not be a lot, but his answer had just gone a long way in making up for the very crappy ending to her night.

  Carter lowered the passenger’s window as they headed down the road. It was Sunday morning, and it felt as if the two of them had the entire island to themselves.

  Had he been looking for this when he’d climbed into his car and driven over for the sunrise? Had he known Ginger would be there? Or had he just hoped?

  He’d been home for only a couple of hours that morning, after spending the evening at a bar and the predawn hours sobering up with a long walk. But when he’d arrived at the house, he’d been unable to make himself go in. Instead, he’d sat on the front porch and thought about his life.

  How had he gotten to this place?

  That question had badgered him for months. Since the moment his wife had opened the door to her Manhattan apartment and he’d known instantly that their marriage was over.

  He’d followed the rules. He’d played the game right.

  Top-notch college, glowing reports from jobsites, plaques showcasing charitable donations. He’d been a kind and understanding husband. Lisa had gotten all the space she’d needed to work on her career, while he’d steadily built his name in the engineering field—remaining patient concerning his status as an author until their finances were secure. He’d made no missteps. Yet here he sat. Alone. Miserable.

  And pissed.

  And yeah, maybe his marriage hadn’t been perfect, but whose was?

  “There it is.” Ginger lifted a hand and pointed off into the distance, and Carter pulled his head from the past. He saw the house then . . . and he was impressed.

  “Nice location,” he said. It was on a slight rise, overlooking the ocean.

  “Right?” She glowed with pride. “My dad purchased the land years before he died. He’d planned to build a new house for him and Mom as the business grew, but he never got to do it.”

  She slowed and turned off the main road before picking her story back up.

  “After he passed, Mom refused to think about taking the insurance money and building. She said she loved their house too much to do anything with this property. It’s the home they’d always lived in together.”

  She glanced at him, and he remembered how much her parents had loved each other. They’d reminded him of his parents in that respect, but where his parents had two kids to devote their time and attention to, the Atkinsons had only Ginger. And she’d been a total daddy’s girl.

  “Do you still miss him?” he asked.

  She nodded. Her smile grew tight, and her chest rose with a deep breath. “All the time.”

  They pulled into the driveway, and a few seconds later stopped beside the house. He whistled under his breath.

  “It’s not finished,” she warned. “On the inside.” She opened her door. “Mom deeded the property over to me on my twenty-first birthday. Which was also the same year I decided that running Daddy’s business wouldn’t be temporary.”

  They climbed from the car, and when her eyes landed on the pack of cigarettes in his hand, she gave him the same withering look that had crossed her face at the rock.

  “No smoking in my house,” she informed him.

  He eyed the pack, unaware it had been in his hand, before tossing it back into the car. On their way up the sidewalk, he returned to talk of the house. “What made you build now? Was it simply a matter of having the money?”

  That hadn’t been it for him. It had been time to build. He’d reached all his other goals, and he’d been ready for kids.

  Ginger didn’t respond immediately, and when they reached the base of the steps, they turned as one to take in the view. It was breathtaking. Ocean as far as the eye could see, the beach spread out before them. And to the north, the outline of another barrier island.

  Her house didn’t sit too high above sea level—no land on the island did—but he could imagine the view from the top floor. That was what he’d wanted for his office.

  Ginger put her back to the ocean and faced him, her chin tilting up. “I
turned thirty this year,” she explained. “And I decided that it was time to take my life into my own hands. To quit sitting around, waiting for things to happen.”

  Things to happen? He pictured the desolation that had surrounded her that morning. The BMW she’d gotten into last night. “Like a man?” He asked the question with uncertainty.

  “A man”—she lifted her palms—“kids. There are no prospects on the horizon, and now even Mom is getting married.” She glanced at the house. “And my house isn’t finished,” she mumbled. “It’s my own fault. It would have been done last month if I hadn’t dragged my feet.”

  She whirled around suddenly, apparently having said all she intended to on the matter, and marched up the waiting steps. Carter simply watched. When she reached the top, she unlocked the door, then looked back to where he remained.

  So many things warred in his mind—why had she stalled on the house? Was she upset that her mother was getting married? And why would she ever sit around waiting on a husband?

  He settled on asking about something else entirely. The subject that he found the most interesting at the moment. “Did you know your butt is wet?”

  She reached behind her and swiped at her rear. “The rock was damp. Yours probably is, too.”

  “Maybe. But I’m not looking at my butt.”

  She made a face at him. “Well, quit looking at mine.”

  She stepped to the side, blocking her backside with the column of the porch. But he’d already made up his mind. He would not quit looking at her behind. Mostly because it was as nice as her legs.

  He took the steps two at a time until they were eye level, and he zeroed in on her. “Nope,” he said. Then he entered her house.

  Ginger came in behind him. She shot him a quizzical look, but instead of responding to his comment, she fell into step beside him, and together they toured the structure. The studs were up, but no walls. He didn’t know what final touches she might choose—the colors and trim—but he could “see” the house as clearly as if he’d drawn the blueprint for it himself. It was almost like walking through his own.

  “The kitchen—”

  “Will be in the back corner,” he finished for her, moving in that direction without waiting. “With the eat-in area . . .” He saw it then, in the same spot as his. “Sitting in a bay window so you can have breakfast while watching the sun rise.”

  She had the view of the beach, while he had the city. But both houses faced east.

  She stepped into the area with him, and pointed out the side door. “And if the weather is nice, all I have to do is take the steps down to the beach.”

  “Perfect,” he murmured.

  They finished the first floor before moving to the second, and everywhere he turned, Carter either fell in love with a feature she planned, or he suggested one she had yet to think of. When they entered the master bedroom, the closet plans he’d drawn up that morning came to mind. Since he and Julie were redoing the kitchen—a gift his dad would most enjoy—he’d decided to add in something for his mom, as well. A walk-in closet. The work would have minimal effect on the overall time line.

  “Just so you know,” he began, “and so you don’t try to take me out with Mace again, I’ll be staying in town longer than I’d originally planned. At least until Mom and Dad get home. Julie’s kitchen remodel has to be completed, and I . . .” He paused as a bird swooped past the glass, grabbing his attention, and he ended up taking in the expanse of ocean out the wide back windows. There were shrimp boats on the horizon and a cruise ship even farther out. And the sun was so bright that the ocean glistened like rippled ice. He’d missed this, he realized.

  His pulse kicked up. He’d missed the ocean. He’d missed being home.

  He didn’t want to admit that he wanted to stay, too. It felt weak after being gone for so long. But he did. He wanted to be right where he was for the next few weeks. Maybe longer. His house would still be waiting on him—still empty—when he returned. But right now he wanted to be here.

  Bringing his gaze back inside the windows, he checked out the workmanship around them, and casually finished with “I think Julie might need me to be here for a while.”

  “And you might need to be here, too?” Ginger suggested quietly.

  He shot her a quick look. Had he given that away on his face? “Julie needs me,” he repeated. He wondered if Ginger would voice her suspicions again. It would be just like her. But instead she merely smiled.

  And he decided that he’d missed her smiles, too.

  “You should have been back before now,” she told him. Her smile disappeared.

  “I know.”

  She was right. He’d stayed away too long. He had little excuse.

  “And I don’t just mean to see your parents,” she continued. “This summer, too. For Julie. She’s been here all alone, Carter. And you’re her big brother. You should have been here for her.”

  “I do have my own life,” he pointed out.

  “I know. Somewhere up north. You’re a civil engineer, right?”

  “Rhode Island.” He ignored the question.

  “Which isn’t close, I get that. It’s not easy to swing by and check on her, and I’m sure you’ve been busy. Vacation days have to be worked out and all that. But your parents are on the other side of the world.”

  “They were here last month,” he told her. They’d stopped by before coming to see him.

  “For one day.”

  He stared at her, unwilling to show guilt in either words or expression. Maybe he should have visited Julie over the summer, but the truth was, he hadn’t given it that much thought. He’d assumed she was fine. And he hadn’t been.

  “You couldn’t be bothered to check on her at least once?” Ginger pushed.

  He let out a long sigh. “I’m here now, Red. Did you miss that? And I’ve talked to her on the phone plenty of times. She’s fine. She’s been fine.”

  Except she cries most nights.

  Ginger nodded. “Okay.”

  He took her single-word answer to mean that she meant a hell of a lot more than okay. “She is an adult,” he informed her. “And I’m not her keeper.”

  “I know that, too.”

  He growled. “And it’s not like I had anything to do with her pregnancy.”

  She shot him a dry look. “You think? And I know, it’s none of my business. Go ahead and say it. I shouldn’t have brought it up. But I’ve been worried about her, Carter. And now . . . with the way the kitchen looked. It’s just that she seems so young sometimes. So alone.”

  “She is young.” And alone. “But it’s not like I’ve been sitting in my shiny new house doing nothing.”

  Actually, it had been exactly like that. Heaviness pressed in on his chest, and with it came the urge to unload some of his burdens. Would doing so ease any of his pain? He couldn’t see where it would.

  “Can this conversation be over now?” he asked. “I’m here. I’m staying until Mom and Dad get home. And badgering me about the past few months is doing nothing but pissing me off.”

  “I suspect you’ve been pissed off for months,” she grunted under her breath. But she shut up and turned away, and her words had the surprising effect of making him want to smile.

  This was the Ginger he remembered. Not the one mooning over some man. His Ginger had always spoken her mind, had dressed for comfort, and hadn’t cared one whit what anyone else thought of her. She’d been romantic, yes. And she’d wanted “the perfect boyfriend.” He remembered conversations where she’d glaze over with talk of some imagined future man of her dreams. But he’d never thought she’d change herself to get him.

  She’d been the type to laugh and enjoy every minute of every day, knowing that instead of forcing her plans, life would happen as it was supposed to.

  He’d known that once, himself. So why had it turned out the way it had?

  He’d never forced anything. He’d met Lisa in college, they’d fallen in love, and their lives had set up
the way they were supposed to.

  Only he was now divorced. And his wife wasn’t.

  He wanted to confirm Ginger’s suspicions about his mood. That yes, he’d been pissed off for months. He wanted to tell her that life sometimes bit you in the ass when you least expected it, and that maybe she should be glad the BMW hadn’t been interested. This way she could keep her heart intact. Along with her dignity.

  But he didn’t say any of that. Instead, he led the way to the stairs and headed up. At the top, he made a right into the only room on the floor. A space he presumed would be the office. He crossed to the small balcony with the expansive view of the water, and as he stepped onto the landing, he sucked in a deep breath of ocean air. He could write here.

  His pulse sped up.

  That was the first seed of desire for putting fingers to keyboard that he’d had in months.

  Ginger stepped onto the balcony beside him, standing silently, and together they watched the world. It felt as if they did this all the time.

  “Your home is beautiful,” he told her.

  “Thank you.”

  He couldn’t bring himself to apologize for his shitty mood, nor did he believe she expected it. As she always had, she seemed to accept him as he was. “When will it be finished?”

  She made a small snorting noise, and crossed to the opposite side of the platform. Putting her hands on the railing, she leaned over and peered down. Her features scrunched up in distaste. “The contractor can’t get back out here for two months,” she told him, “but I need to be in before Mom’s wedding.”

  “Which is when?”

  “Six weeks.” She straightened and looked at him.

  “Ouch.”

  “Tell me about it.” She leaned back against the railing. “I’ll make more calls, see if I can find anyone else to do the work, but at this point, I figure it’ll be next year before it’s done. I’ll find a temporary place to rent until then. It’s not ideal”—she shrugged—“but then . . . I should have finished it when it was first built.”

  She’d mentioned her delay in finishing earlier.

  “Why didn’t you?” he asked.

  Her gaze shifted away. “Fear of making the wrong decisions?”