“Last minute change of plans. Run upstairs and grab your swim stuff. Junior’s invited us to his place for a party.”
“Junior who?”
“You know, Roy Junior, old Roy Maguire’s grandson. Not technically a Junior, since his dad isn’t named Roy, but whatever.”
“Royce Maguire’s back here in Florida? Wow, I haven’t seen him since…” Since her cousin Victor’s funeral sixteen years ago. Since she was a gawky teen. “Since forever. Uncle Jake, why didn’t you mention he was visiting?”
“I’m sure I did, baby girl.” He wrinkled his brows. “Junior’s been around a couple months, helping Old Roy with the marina. He’s been by…Well, maybe he hasn’t been in much. Crotchety old coot’s been keeping Junior hopping, and with Violet in the nursing home, the boy’s had his hands full.”
At six years older than Olivia, Royce was no boy. He’d been her cousin Victor’s friend way back, and his grandfather owned the marina next door. The grouchy old man liked a bottle of Miller in the summer and an old fashioned in the winter and, thankfully, rarely stopped in.
“Junior’s cute.” Bettie waggled her brows, a teasing grin curving lips glossed in her favorite shocking red. “And very single.”
“Bettie, you promised me, no fix-ups.” But, yes, she’d thought him cute all those years ago.
“It’s not a date. Honest.” Bettie grinned. “Pool party, cookout, and ballgame to inaugurate Junior’s new TV.”
“Junior won’t be the only single guy there. You can pick and choose. Junior’s friends are all cute.” Krissy fluffed her blond curls.
“We’re trying to talk Livia into going, not send her running to lock herself in the office for another month.” Bettie flicked the clean bar towel at Krissy. “She’s not looking for romance and neither am I. Cute guys to chat up, cold beer, and my Marlins to kick butt—That’s all we need, right, Livia?”
“Of course she’s going. I gave her the night off, and you.” Uncle Jake winked. “Otherwise what’ll we do with the garlic bread I promised Junior? Go have fun.”
“Okay, okay. I surrender.” She’d like to meet Royce again.
Royce recognized her right off and was as amazed as she that they’d never run into each other since he’d retired from the Navy and returned to Florida in June. While lines now crinkled by his hazel eyes and his mink brown hair held a few strands of silver, he still had his ready smile, and the years had only made him more handsome.
She swam, she mixed and mingled, and she chatted with the guys hovering around Bettie, Krissy, and her like genial bees.
She ended seated on the couch beside Royce for the ball game. They shared memories of Victor, Aunt Amy, and Uncle Jake, and he had her laughing and truly relaxed for the first time since Mohave.
After fourteen innings, Bettie’s beloved Marlins won, and everyone was yawning as the party wrapped up.
Royce walked her to the car, carrying the empty garlic bread tray. “I’ll stop in and thank him myself, but tell Jake thanks for me. This stuff’s the best.”
“I will. Thanks for wonderful evening.”
“It was great meeting you again. Safe drive home and see you around.”
Shaking hands led to a soft awkward kiss, and they parted on a laugh.
That kiss left her in an odd state of mind as she drove home. Just a kiss. A pleasant good night, nice meeting you again kiss, halfway between social habit and possible promise, sweetened by her old adolescent crush. That’s all.
She needed to move on, right?
Right, but knowing what she must do was no consolation, and Dave crowded her mind. Stupid how a one-week fling had affected her harder than five years of marriage.
Stop. Focus on the now. One hour at a time, one day at a time, one week at a time…
That’s how she’d gotten through the past months. That’s how she’d get through this. Now, alone in the dark with her heart and body aching for a man who was thousands of miles away, was no time for long-term decisions.
After that night, Royce stopped in for a beer almost every evening, sometimes staying to eat. Uncle Jake liked Royce, and they had those old memories to share. How had Uncle Jake kept his upbeat spirit and borne his heavy losses with such strength? She needed to learn from his example.
August slid into September, and Royce didn’t kiss her again, or ask her out, but she enjoyed his friendly, steady companionship. Royce was wrestling with insomnia, and they fell into the comforting habit of talking on the phone each night after closing, sharing troubles and chatting about nothing. He was worried after his dad’s and grandparents’ health, hassles with the marina, and his family in Texas, as she was anxious over Uncle Jake, dealing with Daddy’s continual “advice,” and busy with the bar.
Her sensible one-day-at-a-time course seemed to be the right prescription for her bruised heart. She’d been swept off her feet by R.J., and she’d recklessly leapt into the affair with Dave. Maybe this time gradually walking into a relationship with eyes wide open was the trick.
****
As the scenic, mind-numbing miles of Dave’s meandering route through Canada and Alaska rolled on, the driving blunted the need to run. Then he arrived in Fairbanks. He’d intended to visit with the smokejumpers there, but like a damned switch had flipped, he had to leave.
What next? Home to Redding?
That plan worked until Washington State, where the clawing need to run and an impulsive left turn put him into Idaho. What the heck, he’d cut a loop back to Redding. Only, the loop became a southerly zigzag along winding county roads, with stops to fish and sightsee.
Telling himself he was learning to take things slow and easy, he’d catch supper at a bar each night, shoot the breeze over a beer and watch a ball game with strangers, or listen to a band or the jukebox. Occasionally, his cell phone rang, but he didn’t answer and beyond tending to his bills on his laptop, he ignored the growing number of unread emails.
While his guitar remained untouched in the backseat, he was hearing some damn fine music as he wandered, and he couldn’t ignore the ever-more demanding snatches of notes and chords bebopping around his brain.
One night, he found himself at a bar in New Orleans, staring at the musical notes he’d scribbled on his napkin, wondering how the hell he’d ended up there.
“Hey, cher, you want another beer?”
Dave blinked at the bartender.
Amusement sparkled in her deep coffee eyes. “Beer?” Gorgeous full breasts filled her white tank top. She leaned forward, displaying tempting cleavage, and an interested, knowing smile. “Or anything else?”
“Sure, ah, another beer’s good.” However, haunted by a different set of deep coffee eyes, he turned away from the offer of one less lonely night held in her smile and back to the musical fragments.
The next day, the idea occurred to him he’d come this far, maybe he’d head to Memphis. Hell, he’d been to Alaska, once he reached Memphis he might as well keep driving and aim for New York City and Maine. He’d always wanted to check out the fishing in Maine.
However, he missed the northeast turn and kept driving east. When he hit Tallahassee, continuing on to Jacksonville made sense. From there, he’d hang a left onto I-95 North, hit D.C., New York City, and Maine, and catch Nashville and Memphis on the return loop homeward. Maybe visit with Christopher and Margie.
And absolutely, positively no thinking of the person he wouldn’t be seeing in Florida.
Only, he must have zoned out at the Jacksonville interchange, because next he knew, he was on I-95 South and the approaching sign said Exit 318 St. Augustine. Unnerved that he’d lost all those miles, he took the exit and headed into St. Augustine, driving with worried caution. Good thing he wasn’t pulling the trailer. Maybe he better take a day or two off from the driving and sightsee.
Dave abandoned the historic charms of America’s oldest city after two days. Everywhere he turned, the date screamed in his face. Time to drive again or crawl out of his skin.
&nb
sp; One year, one year. One year since he’d slammed to Earth and lost everything. One year, he should have a grip by now, but here he was in Florida and his shit kept getting worse.
Rain beat against his windshield from the first band of a tropical storm rolling northwards as he headed out to I-95.
North or south? He pulled over before the ramp and sat a good fifteen minutes, hands locked on the steering wheel, unable to decide. He was so fucked up.
South. Hit Key West, turn around and go north. For today, drive until you need gas and that’s where you’ll stop, and you’ll find a motel and a bar and start driving again in the morning. Just keep running.
There, a decision. Getting the truck moving along the highway helped, but the dashboard clock kept ticking the minutes away, and his fixation on time was pissing him off. His brain had even unhelpfully calculated in the time zone difference.
The crash was a year ago, it’s done, past. Straighten out your act and deal, damn it!
Florida was a whole lot of straight, flat, and wet. Scrublands, palmettos, palms, orange groves, cattle, lakes, and industrial buildings streamed by him as if he were back in the jumpplane—
You are losing it.
Minutes flew by, the land flew by, and exits flew by. The truck’s engine vibration and the scenery flickering in his peripheral vision kept him wired and flashing back to sitting in the jumpplane. He was going to come unglued if he didn’t stop. He was going to come unglued if he didn’t keep driving.
Another sign flashed by: Port St. Lucie Next 3 Exits.
Do it. You know where you’ve always been headed.
He took the curved exit ramp. The shakes paid him a visit at the stoplight, but at the green light he powered through them and followed the road east through the pounding rain. When he reached Route 1, he pulled into a parking lot, plugged in his phone, and searched for directions to the bar.
Turn upon turn through downpour and the unfamiliar tropical landscape left him doubting the GPS, but then a two-story flamingo-pink house and a carved wooden sign emblazoned “Benedetti’s Bar & Grill” leapt into view on the left through the lashing rain.
He turned, tires crunching over the long gravel driveway leading to a modest parking lot holding a handful of cars.
She’s going to toss your ass out.
“At least I can say sorry.”
Lame, real lame. Like that’s going to fix what’s wrong.
Dave parked and turned off the engine. He sat in the silence, his heart pounding as if he’d been running for his life. The rain slacked off into spits. Various tall old palms swayed and fluttered in the wind and colorful tropical plants filled the beds around the weathered two-story wood building. Sun-bleached conch shells peeked from the stone mulch. A weather-worn concrete pelican perched on a piling stump near the heavy glass doors.
What to say to her? Sorry I was an asshole, but let me hang with you because I’m having a nervous breakdown and don’t want to be alone today?
A lizard skittered up the wet palm trunk and paused, tiny red throat pulsing. The truck grew stifling.
Make a decision: face her or leave. You’ve never turned away from a jump, a cliff, or a wave. What the hell is your problem?
He dragged in a wrenching breath, pocketed the keys, grabbed the cane, and opened the door to heavy, briny air.
****
“Olivia, you have company,” Bettie sang in the office doorway, peeking in with a teasing grin and waggling eyebrows, as she usually did when Royce showed up at the bar.
Olivia glanced at the clock. The afternoon lull was early for Royce, but after battling numbers and paperwork all day she was ready for a break. The desk was clean, bills paid, payroll done, and they still had money in the bank. Maybe she’d celebrate and join Royce for a drink and an early supper since she’d missed lunch. She pressed Save and rolled the creaky office chair away from the desk.
“Okay, I’ll be right out.”
A scattering of customers had braved the rain. Uncle Jake was gabbing with Al at the bar. He waved and returned pointedly to his conversation. Royce’s usual seat at the bar was empty. Had he taken a table? She scanned around—
And found the last man she wanted to see, standing grimly rigid by the glass doors, a wooden cane gripped in his hand and his intense eyes locked on her.
Heat and chills flashed through her, strangling her breath. Bettie had known…Bolting for the office wasn’t an option.
Be cool, or Uncle Jake will worry and ask questions. He must have recognized Dave.
Up to her, okay. She forced her shaking legs into motion. This wasn’t fair. All the hurt welled up, churned with stubborn desire. The only consolation was he looked as uncomfortable as he deserved to be.
His windblown hair had grown out since July, and a few days’ beard darkened his jaw. It wasn’t fair how good he looked in his blue polo shirt and faded jeans. She waited for his wisecrack, “Hey, Florida,” but he just stared as if he were dying of thirst and she was the only oasis.
Olivia forced herself to speak. “This is a surprise.”
She wished desperately, foolishly, that she’d put more effort into dressing today. She wore the bar’s pink T-shirt, white shorts, and deck shoes, ready to fill in during the dinner hours. Stormy weather always made judging how busy they’d be difficult.
Dave swallowed and sucked in a breath, his gaze unwavering. “Yeah, it is.” He sounded strange. “I was just passing by, and I, well, I…You look good.”
He didn’t. Dark shadows underscored his eyes, and he looked strung out, brittle, and in pain.
Worry for him and her body’s crazy electric response at being near him again swamped her tumbling thoughts. “Do you want to sit? Have a drink?”
He cleared his throat. “Sure, thank you, if I’m not keeping you from your work.”
Make that he sounded very strange.
“It’s okay. Come on this way.” The four-top in the corner furthest from the bar was free. “There’s two steps down.” Could she say anything more inane?
Odd that Uncle Jake hadn’t come over and introduced himself, but she was thankful for the space. This was awkward enough. “Here we are. How’s this?”
“Great. Fine.” Dave took the corner seat, propping the cane against the windowsill.
Beyond the glass, storm-churned water smacked against the dock pilings and bulwarks. A pelican landed on the nearby piling, stretched lazily as if pleased by the break in the storm, and pinned her with a scalding you’re being an idiot stare.
She groaned inwardly. And fanciful to boot.
Bettie strolled over, smiling innocently, as if she hadn’t recognized Dave when she’d come into the office. “Hey, Liv, what can I get you and your friend?”
“Bettie, this is Dave Knight. Dave, my friend, Bettie Crews.”
“Hi, nice to finally meet you, Dave.”
Dave gave Bettie his ready smile. “Thanks. A Corona, please. Bottle’s fine.”
“One Corona coming up. Liv, your usual?”
This meeting definitely called for a drink. “Yes, please.”
Once Bettie left, Dave’s smile vanished, and silence settled between them. He shifted uncomfortably. Her foolish heart twisted. Was he hurting?
Stop. He’s made it clear he doesn’t need anyone. If he’s uncomfortable because of how he left things at Mohave, good.
He scanned around. “I like the place. Comfortable. Nice not having widescreen televisions blaring in your face everywhere.”
“Thanks.”
Bettie returned in a flash with their drinks. “Anything to eat?”
Dave took his beer with a smile. “No, thanks.”
“I’m fine, Bettie, thanks.”
Bettie left and the awkward silence resumed.
How did he happen to be just passing by from California?
Ask him.
“So…you were just passing by?” She kept her voice coolly conversational.
Dave flushed, shifting uneasily. “
I decided to take a drive to Alaska, and, well, I ended up in Florida. I was heading to the Keys, or Maine.” He took a draw on his beer.
Don’t let him suck you in.
His gorgeous, pain-filled eyes wouldn’t fool her into falling for him again. He was stopping by, saying hi, and she’d happily wave goodbye. She’d ignore the thrill at the mere sight of him and that longing ache for his touch.
“The Keys or Maine? A big difference in destination.”
“Yeah. I shoulda made a left turn at Albuquerque.” He laughed weakly at his feeble Bugs Bunny quip.
Her own laugh slipped free. “The Keys are lovely. You’ll enjoy them.”
“Yeah, I’ve never been, so I thought, what the hell, might as well take a look.”
Livia glanced over her shoulder. Bettie was behind the bar, flirting with old Henry who was nursing his daily Dewars on the rocks.
“You look good. You doing okay?”
She firmed her smile. “I’m great. Keeping busy.”
“That’s good.” He drank down more of his beer, eying the broad dining area windows, the open-air porch, and the storm-chopped St. Lucie River beyond. “The view is terrific. The place is okay with the hurricanes?”
“Sturdy storm shutters and well built. The place has ridden out many a hurricane.” She stirred her melting ice cubes.
“Here you go. Enjoy!” Uncle Jake strode up and set a large plate of garlic bread and bruschetta between them. He folded his arms over his belly, giving his best Don’t argue with me, eat this, it’ll make you feel better glare that shifted into something else as he eyed Dave. “Good to finally meet you, Dave.”
Dave met Uncle Jake’s gaze head on, but at whatever that very male look said, Dave straightened defensively.
“Dave, this is my uncle, Jake Benedetti.”
Dave exchanged a firm handshake with Uncle Jake, still locked in that silent male conversation. “Good to meet you, too, sir.”
“Olivia hasn’t had lunch yet. You’ll join her.” An order, not a question rang in his statement.
Men.
“Dave’s just passing through,” Olivia tossed in, but whether she was trying to make things easier for Dave, Uncle Jake, or herself, that was unanswerable.
Love Burns Page 19