“We’re going to be super uber productive. I can feel it in my bones.”
~*~
“Well, who knew?” Georgia said as she thumbed through patterns and kits at the quilt store. “Apparently the good thing about a seaside quilt shop is that there are all sorts of ocean-themed patterns.” She pointed to an already-finished quilt hanging on the wall. “I love that one. And there are so many different types of jellyfish! I would never have thought to make jellyfish quilts.”
“I love them,” Margie said, running her fingers along the Caribbean-blue background on which three-dimensional, multitextured fabric jellyfish were appliqued. “Which is funny—you know how much of a weenie I am in the ocean because I hate jellyfish. But in fabric form, they’re downright elegant.”
“Remember that time my mom and I literally dragged you into the water because you were so scared of them? We wanted to prove to you that you had nothing to be afraid of.”
Margie shook her head. “Crazy for a grown woman to be afraid of something so insignificant, isn’t it?”
“Totally understandable. We all have those things that scare us.”
“Like for you, I’d venture to guess you’re particularly scared about ever venturing into a new relationship.”
Georgie pretended to thrust a dagger into her heart. “Guilty as charged. I can’t foresee a time in which I’d want to be involved with another man. I think I’m going to take a vow of celibacy and join a nunnery. Although it seems as if that vow of celibacy has been in full force now for the past two years anyhow.”
“Huh. Has it been that long already? Seems like plenty of time to heal a broken heart, no?” Margie glanced at Georgie out of the corner of her eyes as she fondled fabrics.
“Even if my heart heals—and I’m not telling you it can or will—who’s to say I ever want to risk injuring it again?”
Margie nodded. “As someone who has loved and lost and loved again, I hope you are willing to take that chance. Think of how much you might miss out on because you allowed fear to dominate your life. It’s like those people who are so terrified of terrorism that they won’t travel abroad—even though they have a far greater chance of being in a car accident in their own neighborhood. Fear is a terrible burden to carry around for your whole life, hon.” She wrapped her arm around Georgie’s shoulder.
“I know, I know.” Georgie knew intellectually that her mother’s friend was spot-on, but emotionally? There was the rub. It was far easier to, say, make a quilt for someone she’d never see again. That was the type of commitment her heart could handle. It was time to divert this conversation into something a little safer and more comfortable. “I wonder if a surfer would hate jellyfish? They wear wet suits to keep warm, but the suits probably protect them from those nasty tentacles too. So maybe they don’t mind them?”
Margie held her young friend’s cheeks between her hands and fixed her pale blue gaze on Georgie’s. “It’s okay. I’ll let you change the subject on me. As long as somewhere in there,” she paused, then rapped Georgie’s head lightly with her knuckles, “you are registering what I’m saying. So that slowly but surely, you’ll begin to realize how much you are denying yourself by allowing your fear to win out. Promise?”
“Yeah, yeah. I promise.”
“And remember: those surfers? Even if they’re scared of what’s lurking beneath the surface of the big, dark ocean, they keep returning to it, despite those fears. Jellyfish? Sharks? Inherent risks in pursuing their passion. Risks they’re willing to take. And I trust that soon, you’ll be willing to take your chances that there might be other sharks you could encounter, and understand that even if they take a bite out of your heart, you’ll survive. And thrive.”
Georgie knew Margie was speaking logic. And she hoped someday she could believe it. Until then, she would have to be perfectly happy quilting for men she’d never have to worry about again. It was much safer that way.
Chapter Six
Spencer was hunkered down in his workshop, putting the finishing touches on what he’d started referring to as Pierre. It didn’t seem right to call his new board Petie, but he also wanted to honor Petie in some way. So, he dubbed him the French counterpart, an homage of sorts. It sounded regal and classy. It had been six weeks since the day he’d started referring to as D-Day, for laughs. He figured if he didn’t laugh about it, he’d probably cry, and he wasn’t that kind of guy. Sure he was bummed about it. Big time. But he also wasn’t one of those people who held on to his anger. Life was too short for that nonsense.
Instead he focused his free time on finishing his replacement board. He figured he’d slap a big red bow on it for Christmas and give it to Nate as a sort of IOU for his own surfboard. It would be awhile till he’d need one anyhow, so this way everyone would be happy. He’d finished fiberglassing the top, was about to install the fin box, and after that a final sanding and finish, and it was ready for its inaugural run.
He thought about how far he’d come in less than two months. He never imagined he’d have the board done for his brother in time; but now, not only was his board-to-be almost done, he’d gotten some work done on the replacement board for Nate as well. It helped that he’d been able to get out of work pretty regularly and, well, minus his favorite board, he hadn’t been spending as much time in the water after work. Which meant he could devote some more time to crafting the boards. He started thinking about that blond chick who’d caused all the problems. He still felt bad for her—like he was a bit of a dick to the poor thing when she must’ve been hugely embarrassed after what she’d done.
In a way, he wished there was a chance for him to set the record straight, let her know it was okay. The other day, he’d pulled her check out from the kitchen drawer where he’d stuck it. He even gave a long, hard thought to calling her, but then thought better of it. He didn’t have time in his life to deal with that type of thing. Plus after having been in her presence for a brief time, he feared she’d be one of those weirdo glommers he’d never be able to shake. He wasn’t looking for another friend or a girlfriend, so it made the most sense to steer clear.
~*~
Spencer gave a tug on the zipper of his wet suit and braced himself for the brisk water. Not everyone was willing to go into the November-cold ocean to catch a wave, but he was hard-core, and besides, he had to test out Pierre. It was hard enough waiting for this day to arrive. He’d texted his buddy Noah Gunderson, a fellow surfer, to join him here.
“Haven’t seen you around lately,” Noah said as they paddled into deeper water. “I thought you’d found a new hobby.”
“I swear it gives me PTSD every time I have to explain it, but some idiot woman driver nailed Petie in the parking lot a couple of ago.”
“Nailed him?”
“Yeah, as in backed into him so hard he snapped in two.”
“Ouch.” Noah shook his hand as if it hurt.
“Tell me about it. I considered holding a funeral for him.”
“That would’ve been good. I betcha a ton of us would have shown up.” He laughed. “So, what’s up with this board? It looks a lot like Petie.”
“Yeah, well, it’s like getting a new dog after your last one keels over. It’s never going to be the same, but it’ll ultimately be okay.”
Noah laughed. “I guess I’ve never gotten so intimately attached to my surfboards before.”
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Spence said. “I dunno why I became so proprietary about the thing. I guess it’s cause I grew up with everything handed to me on a silver platter. I never learned to value things much. When I learned how to make my own board, it gave me a sense of accomplishment I weirdly hadn’t experienced before.” He held up his finger as he started paddling hard to catch a wave. Noah was fast on his heels as they mounted their boards and rode the wave almost to the shore.
They plunked down on their boards to paddle out again. “I can respect that.” Noah nodded. “And I’m sorry about Petie. B
ut it looks like this board is going to do fine.”
“It all comes out in the wash. Or so my nanny used to say to me.”
“Your nanny?”
Spence laughed, aiming his thumb at his chest. “Right? Hippie surfer dude me had a nanny.”
Noah shook his head. “Goes to show you there’s so much about a person you don’t know. I’d have pegged you for being raised by wolves.”
Spencer shook his head. “To be honest, I pretty much was. If it weren’t for my nanny, I’d have probably grown up to be a predatory, greedy bastard like my father.”
“Then here’s to that nanny. She seems to have done you well.” He tipped his head to him.
“Thanks, Noah. Yeah, my old man was all about worshipping at the altar of the almighty dollar.” Spencer frowned. “He even took down his long-time partner in a surprise business coup because he was tired of sharing in the profits. When my parents split up, he tried hard to smear my mother to ensure she didn’t see any of his cash. Lucky for her, she had a savvy lawyer, so she ended up fine, but not without the two of them duking it out in the cesspool for a good while. It was enough to send me packing. I wanted nothing to do with them or their lifestyle.”
“Looks like you achieved that goal.”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t without its fallout.” Spencer paddled fast to catch another wave, but it passed them both by too quickly. “I blew off college because my father was determined I was going to Yale the same way he did. No fucking way was I going to do that because he said I had to. I wanted to go to art school, but I never ended up doing it. Instead I loaded up my car and drove away from the family mansion in Connecticut. Never looked back.” He shrugged.
“I felt bad because my little brother Nate was left behind and had to deal with my asshole father. My mother was pretty upset, but I never saw her much anyhow—she was in the city by then, hobnobbing with the rich people in Manhattan. It wasn’t my scene.” He shook his head. “Oh, and I left my girlfriend behind as well. But that whole thing was her scene, so it wasn’t going to last anyhow. She even sided with my father and he paid her to try to talk me out of leaving. At that point, I told her ‘sayonara’ and I bailed.”
“And here I thought you were simply your average bicycle messenger. Who knew you had this sordid past?” They both laughed. “Let’s see. You’re not in touch with your folks. I know your brother was here working at the surf shop, so you two seem to be cool. And you never thought about reaching out to your old girlfriend to see if there was anything there?”
“I have no interest in dealing with girlfriends again for a while. When I decided to pull out of Connecticut, she took my dad’s side. It ticked me off. She couldn’t see how he was suffocating me so badly. Yet until then, I trusted that she was my ally.” He readied himself for the next wave. “It left me bitter and not up for a relationship where I was going to be betrayed again. I’m good with Tinder, thanks.”
Noah nodded. “Yeah, Tinder’s a little limiting in small towns like Verity Beach, but it’ll do in a pinch if you need to scratch that itch.”
“As far as I’m concerned, that’s all I need. Give me the perfect wave, my favorite board, and a hookup or two, and I’ll never need to rely on another woman again.”
Chapter Seven
Georgie was not a tea sandwich sort of gal. Give her a big cheesesteak, or a hoagie, and she was a happy camper. But some teensy triangle barely bigger than her thumb didn’t count as food in her world. Who eats a cucumber sandwich, anyway? Or cream cheese on white bread? No wonder the things were so tiny—if you had to eat any more than that you’d cry “uncle.”
Perhaps her beef wasn’t so much with the silly tea sandwiches, or even the way some of the women here were literally sipping their pretentious tea with their pinky fingers sticking out—like they were the damned queen or something—but more with her Aunt Jeannie, who never met an occasion where she didn’t try to one-up Georgie with her own daughter Marcy. And what better occasion to rub her daughter’s superiority in Georgie’s face than at Marcy’s bridal shower.
“Georgie, are you sure you don’t have any man you’d want to bring to Marcy’s wedding? You’re more than welcome to bring someone.”
Patty, Georgie’s mom, and her sister Jeannie were never much in the friends department. Jeannie had been super jealous when Patty married Georgie’s dad, Bob. Evidently Jeannie had nurtured a burning crush on him in high school. It was one of those cliché things: Bob was the star quarterback, Jeannie, a cheerleader. As much as Jeannie tried to get his attention, he seemed to turn his attention instead toward the bookish younger sister, Patty. When it became abundantly clear she was not going to land her football hero, Jeannie’s claws came out for Patty and their relationship suffered for it.
It became worse when they both had children, as Jeannie always felt the need to prop up her daughter against Georgie. Marcy’s glossy black hair was so much prettier than Georgie’s dishwater-colored waves. Marcy’s eyes were a warm brown, while Georgie’s were a cold blue. The gospel according to Jeannie. The irony was that Jeannie dodged a bullet with that one. Bob, it turned out, had a ferocious temper and Georgie’s mother spent her marriage cowed in a state of anxiety and fear until eventually she mustered up the courage to leave him. But Jeannie could only blame her sister for being the root cause of Bob’s anger; she was certain had she married him she’d have tamed him.
The only reason Georgie even bothered to maintain contact with her relatives at this point was that she had so few. She’d long ago cut ties with her father. His excessive drinking was bad enough but always led to outbursts and his blaming Georgie for her mother leaving. Even in death, she couldn’t escape his blame. She’d tried to keep her father in her life, but a couple of years of therapy helped her realize she was better off without him in it. So that left her with Jeannie and Marcy, which was like being told you have a choice of eating four-day-old fish or overcooked, tough steak. She certainly didn’t have a family smorgasbord from which to choose.
Sure it was frustrating that her Aunt Jeannie treated her a bit like Cinderella. But she took solace in knowing that at least she wasn’t her mother. And if she couldn’t have her mama, at least she had Margie in her stead, the next best thing, and she knew that she was far better off than Marcy, who was stuck with a miserable mother desperately trying to live vicariously through her daughter. If left to her own devices, Marcy could be okay. But she’d been so browbeaten by her mother, that she obviously failed to come out from under her thumb.
“It’s a shame you haven’t been able to keep a man, Georgie,” Jeannie said as she passed a plate of petit fours—another desperately failed attempt at dessert. Give her a fat chunk of chocolate cake, or maybe an oversized serving of apple pie, thanks. But a tiny square of some baked thing covered with plastic-tasting icing? Thanks, but no thanks. “Marcie was practically turning down suitors when James came to call.”
Jesus, Georgie dreaded how badly her aunt could humiliate her at the actual wedding if she was already laying it on so thick here. To think she took a bath and fixed her hair and put on a nice dress only to come to this cheesy bridal shower tea party and be swiped at by a mean-spirited aunt. Haven’t been able to keep a man… What a beyotch she was!
“I’m totally good, Aunt Jeannie,” Georgie said, holding her hand up in protest. “I’ve got a few truly excellent vibrators. The great thing is you don’t even need batteries anymore—charge it up when you plug in your cell phone, and you’re good to go. Between that and all that free online porn, who needs a man anymore? They’re a needless hassle and leave their dirty underwear and socks lying around anyway.”
Her aunt’s near-black eyes grew wide and her mouth drew open in exclamation, causing her to drop the tea sandwich she’d started to shove into her mouth. The fallen, deconstructed sandwich with its cucumber bits scattered on the table beneath her aunt and made Georgie feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
Georgie looked around her au
nt’s living room at the seven bridesmaids who were trying hard not to crack up. She glanced at Marcy and mouthed, “I’m sorry” to her, and luckily Marcy waved her hand and mouthed back, “no worries.” That left her fiancé’s mother and grandmother who it seemed was quite hard of hearing and missed the comments altogether. She suspected the mother chose to unhear what Georgie had said. But her aunt, well, she looked as if she could easily have been working up a full head of steam that would soon blast from all orifices in her skull. Instead she threw a hard stink-eye at Georgie and continued on as if she’d not heard the offending statement.
“I think this calls for a toast, to our Marcy, who fended off a lot of Mr. Maybes before finding her Mr. Right.” She held her champagne glass high as everyone agreed.
Georgie did her level best to not stick her finger down her throat and gag. Mr. Maybes her ass. Georgie was looking for Mr. I Couldn’t Give a Shit at this point. And by that she meant she couldn’t give one shit. Or two, for that matter. All this blather about marrying—she was so over it. There was no such thing as Mr. Right or Mr. Wrong. There were flawed men who would ultimately break your heart, maybe even when you least expected it. Like when you only have a few weeks before nuptials are exchanged and rings placed on fingers.
She didn’t know how she was going to get through this wedding without getting stinking drunk and calling out her aunt for her obnoxious ways. She’d need to bring reinforcements, which meant her friend and boss Harper was going to have to be her plus one and her bodyguard. Otherwise, Lord only knew what she might regret doing.
Chapter Eight
Georgie drew her needle through the edge of the appliqued stingray as she took her final stitch on the ocean creatures quilt for her anonymous victim. After going on her Facebook-free diet she found she had an inordinate amount of free time, so she’d been working diligently on her quilt. Every idle moment she had she created the various blocks on which she’d hand-stitched an octopus, a crab, a jellyfish, a seahorse, a fish, a turtle, a stingray, a hammerhead shark, a swordfish, a sea otter, and even a mermaid. The last block featured a wooden surfboard. She hadn’t gotten a good look at the guy’s board, but this was a reasonable enough facsimile to get the point across. She planned to spend the afternoon stitching the blocks together; then she’d be ready to hand-quilt it together, which was a perfect project for the cold nights that had set in. And the ideal distraction to keep her from nonstop dreading the upcoming wedding.
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