Adrift

by Isabel Jolie

  “You think it’s not going to hurt when you leave? If she moved in with you?”

  A woman and her dog meandered down the beach, and I tracked them. “Did you see a forever scenario with every single person you’ve ever dated?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then, why does it have to be forever for me? I like her. We’ve got a good thing going. I mean, yeah, we’ve had a disagreement here and there, but she’s been at my place every night for the last week. It’s good. Easy. Why is Luna getting involved?”

  “Dude. She’s not getting involved. She just thinks Poppy shouldn’t move in with you.”

  I ground my teeth and refused to look Tate’s way. I liked the idea of Poppy being in my house after I left. It’d give us a reason to keep in touch, to segue to friendship. And I’d be helping her out while she got her restaurant going. Got her feet on the ground.

  A larger wave with promise rolled up, and for the next minute a paddle battle broke out. Tate coasted on the wave, while I wiped out.

  He laughed, and I headed in.

  I shouted a goodbye from the sand. He’d said his piece. I peeled off the wetsuit, rinsed, and went for a run down Federal Road, through the middle of the island.

  I returned sweaty and pissed off. A few negative earnings reports cemented my foul mood. My phone rang, and I recognized the first digits as being my firm.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello. May I please speak with Mr. Chesterton?”

  “This is he.” The woman called my business cell, but I played along.

  “This is Mrs. Rodriguez in Belman Human Resources. This phone call is being recorded.”

  I placed the call on speakerphone and pulled out my legal file and pen.

  “You’ve been on a paid leave for the past four weeks.”

  “Yes.”

  “In light of the ongoing investigation, we will be terminating your employment, effective immediately.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Under normal circumstances, we would notify you in person, but given you have chosen to relocate to another state, we are notifying you via a recorded phone call. Additional paperwork will be sent to you via both email and courier.”

  “I have been working under the advice of Belman legal counsel. Let me get Pulman on the line.”

  “Sir, Mr. Brooks, our general counsel, and Mr. Pulman are both aware of this decision.”

  The rest of the short phone call blurred. The moment the call ended, I called my legal team and left a message with a secretary. Then I lobbed a call to Nigel, my old boss. He registered zero surprise. Said I should’ve expected this.

  “But I didn’t do anything wrong!” I shouted into the phone. The mother fucker hung up on me. I didn’t do anything wrong, but he sure as fuck did.

  Stocks scrolled by on my computer screen. The numbers blurred out of focus. I slammed my front door behind me. I stood in my yard, the sole occupant on East Beach Drive. I needed to get the fuck away. The silence drove me mad. I needed horns and restaurants and bars and life. Something other than a squawking seagull. The nuisances ruined meals. Hovering nearby, attempting to swoop in and steal food.

  I jumped on the golf cart. I craved the squeal of tires, the roar of an engine. Instead, my cart putted along with the sound of crunching gravel and sand beneath the tires. Blaring the Foo Fighters from a golf cart lacked the same cathartic effect as blasting it from the open window of a squealing Ferrari.

  By the time I reached Poppy’s place, my emotions boiled. I slung her screen door back, and it slammed shut behind me with a loud bang.

  “Hello?” she called.

  I pounded up her stairs. She met me two steps down with a silk kimono wrapped around her and a face full of make-up.

  “They fucking fired me.” I’d always known this was a possibility. My lawyers warned me. But I couldn’t fucking believe it. I’d made that firm so much money. And I hadn’t done a god damn thing wrong.

  Poppy stood on the stairs, frozen. Those big blue eyes…I stared into them, lost. She descended the stairs and met me midway. She looped her arms around my neck and pulled me into her soft curves.

  “I’ve never been fired before.” The words stung. The wave of anger crashed. An unease grew. Unfamiliar emotions dragged me down like a weight. Her soft lips brushed my neck. Her fingers slid between mine, and she tugged, leading me up the stairs. I sat on her bed while she stepped into the bathroom.

  The faucet turned on. I collapsed on her bed and stared at the ceiling, waiting. I had options. But I didn’t feel like thinking through my options. I didn’t feel like thinking.

  Poppy leaned over the bed, hands on her hips. She wore jeans, a sweater, boots, and less make-up.

  “I’ve been fired before. This is what you do.” Her fingers grazed my chin, urging me to look up at her. “You take the day. We do whatever you want. Ice cream. Beer. Whatever. The rest of the day is your day.” Her proposal struck me as ludicrous. “And then? Tomorrow, you make a plan. One door closed. So tomorrow, you’re going to decide what door you’re going to open. But today? Today, it’s all about you. It’s what they call a mental health day.”

  I sat up. Her breasts were inches from my eyes. I rested my hands on her hips and smirked up at her. “What if I want something a little different than ice cream?”

  “Whatever you want. My day is cleared. For you.”

  I slipped a hand underneath her sweater and caressed her soft skin. Her touch did things to me. I breathed out. Relaxed. Focused. Her idea had merit. I pulled her close and rested my head against her breasts, the world’s most desirable pillows. Her fingers combed through my hair. The soft brush of her nails on my scalp sent ripples of tingly sensations along my spine.

  “I should’ve seen it coming.”

  “You did what you thought was right. That’s all you can do.” She got it. Nigel had warned me, but I felt a loyalty to the firm. Maybe a little guilt that I hadn’t probed further. Realized what was really going on.

  Her fingers dug into my tight shoulder muscles, and I let out a groan. My whole world had flipped upside down. But she made it better. Bearable.

  I rested against her, letting her fingers work through knots, for god knows how long.

  “Get your things. Let’s go back to my place.”

  She obediently picked up the overnight bag she hauled between our two places. “Do you think you might want to go out on the boat today? Or flying? What should I pack for?”

  “Why don’t you pack a bunch of stuff? When do you have to be out of this place?”

  “In a couple of weeks.”

  “Get some suitcases. Let’s start getting you moved. What about all the furniture?”

  “The place was furnished. So, it’s just my stuff.”

  I stood and opened her closet door, scanning the top, searching. Two suitcases filled the top shelf. I lifted them one by one and set them out on the bed.

  “Let’s get these packed.”

  “I’m not sure about this.” She gazed at the suitcases like one of them might grow teeth and bite her.

  “Poppy. You already spend nights at my place. Where are you going to move?”

  She chewed on the corner of her lip. I stepped past her, opened a drawer, and packed.

  Chapter 25

  Poppy

  * * *

  “Gaaaabe!” I screamed, running up the stairs to the main floor. “Guess what!”

  A deep, serious tone reverberated through his closed office door. Out of breath from my thunderous jaunt up the stairs, I slowed by the door. He had a business tone I recognized, his words faster and short, monotone. My hand rested on the knob, and I paused, listening.

  “I have everything under control… Are you out of your mind? I have lawyers. I don’t need yours… Dad. I’m thirty-four years old. Stop… For the last time, no…. There’s no need. I’ll be back in New York in a week or two… Dad… Fine.” Heavy footsteps pounded, and the floor beneath my feet vibrated. An extended silence
passed, and I debated tiptoeing out of the house. “Do you want me to fly up and get you guys? What? Mom said she’d like to fly with me… Fine. Send me your flight details, and I’ll pick you up.”

  The door swung open. “Hey.” His brow wrinkled in confusion. “Were you listening in?”

  My face flamed, and I zeroed in on the brass knob on his desk drawer.

  “It’s fine.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I guess you heard. My parents are coming down for a few days. Do you think you could stay with Luna?”

  My whole brain functioned at the rate of a snail on hot asphalt. I slowly followed Gabe into the den. He filled a highball glass with straight bourbon. With his back to me, he swirled the amber liquid absentmindedly as he stared out across his wide ocean view.

  I left him to his thoughts. I descended three steps down the stairwell when he called out, “You’re okay with that, right? You don’t need to meet my parents. It’s going to be a shit show.”

  My eyes stung, and my throat closed in on itself, but I forced out, “It’s fine.”

  Downstairs in the bedroom, I looked at the monitor, still open to the email I’d received. My loan had been approved. And not from any little old bank. I’d applied at Suzette’s bank, Great America. A big bank. It seemed all I needed was to have a partner with successful experience as a part of my business package. With her help, and her small business manager, it hadn’t taken any effort at all, really.

  I lightly ran a finger over the screen then closed it. Gabe had brought my two suitcases down here to an empty closet. I climbed up onto a chair and pulled one down, then second guessed packing it. I didn’t want a confrontation. If he saw me packing such a big suitcase, I feared he would figure out my okay didn’t mean okay.

  Outside the downstairs bedroom door, the bedroom I’d been using as an office, I could see the door to the outside. The wooden door opened below the deck. I yearned to escape through it. To leave Gabe and his swirling bourbon and his impending parents. I packed my office gear into a backpack, grabbed my pocketbook, and quietly opened and closed the door.

  As I drove away, I couldn’t help but think of the similarity. The repeated pattern in my life. Ben hid me, too. That had sucked. Sure, with distance, I saw that he’d been using me for sex. But he’d also come to me as a friend. We spent hours together hanging out, playing games, watching movies. But in the hallways at school, he’d never acknowledge me.

  Somehow, finding myself at twenty-five in a repeat situation blew even more. It was one thing when Gabe didn’t think about inviting me out to dinner with his sister and her friend. After all, I wouldn’t have wanted to go. But he didn’t even want me in the house with his parents? Couldn’t say, hey, this is my friend? She’s living here now? I’d like for you guys to meet her. Oh, no. He’d rather me be completely out of the house.

  He’d been straight up about our short-term arrangement. I didn’t expect him to expend effort to introduce me to his parents. But being kicked out of the house he begged me to move into… How dumb and stupid can you be?

  I drove straight to the conservation center and parked by the old lighthouse. The original lighthouse had been decommissioned and torn down ages ago. The concrete base and pilings were all that remained. A cute family claimed a nearby picnic table, and I watched them, happily eating away. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Of course they did. That’s what dumb, stupid girls do. Cry.

  The ivy over the archway beside Mike’s Ice swayed in the breeze. The conservation center lay just past the arch. I breathed in and out, trying to pull it together so I could hold my head high when I shared my humiliation. Luna can’t make it better. Why interrupt her day? None of this is unexpected. I swiped the tears and let the beach breeze dry the remnants.

  I’m not the same girl from Louisiana. I won’t rationalize this. And I will be okay.

  A young guy waved from the Mike’s Ice takeout window. I waved back then whipped the cart around the old lighthouse foundation, determined. I had things to do, and crying over a guy wasn’t on the list.

  “Hey, I got the loan.”

  Suzette paused from cleaning the dog’s water dish she kept out front of her restaurant and beamed up at me.

  “High five, girl!” She held her arm up and our palms slapped. “Way to go. The first success of many. Matt said he should have initial architectural drawings for us to review this morning. You have time now to swing by his office?”

  “You bet.”

  A surge of energy filtered through the tips of my fingers, along the edges of my wrists and through my core, down to the tips of my toes. Sure, the love portion of my life sucked. But the work portion of my life rocked brighter than ever. And, really, my love section always sucked. If there was a way to just chop that section off, then I’d do it in a bloated heartbeat.

  Suzette, Mr. Baird, and I hovered around a conference table, reviewing large blueprint drawings. To me, the light blue lines on the whisper thin paper represented boxes. With a little imagination, I could envision rooms, doorways, and windows. Suzette asked questions about handicap accessibility and meeting code. She paid a lot of attention to the bathrooms.

  The three of us left Mr. Baird’s office and visited the site. We walked around the wooded area and discussed parking and outdoor seating. Mr. Baird, well, Matt, asked about electrical needs. I asked about the raised deck and viewing options.

  After about an hour, he unrolled the blueprints we’d been studying earlier in his office. He took out a pen and handed it to me. I held his pen in my hand, confused.

  “It’s the first round of changes. Initial your agreement.” The side of my hand touched the paper, ready to initial away. But then it hit me that this right here was my business. I read through every single change, double-checking the instructions and asking questions. Only once I understood it all did I initial.

  Suzette patted me on my back. I felt all right. Not great, not lighter. The deep hole Gabe carved in my chest that morning still hemorrhaged. But moving forward staunched the bleeding.

  Growing up, when one of my mom’s relationships crumbled, so did she. And it seemed, at least to me, she grew more desperate for a relationship. And it was like the men she dated sensed her desperation. I always told people she’d been married five times, but I hadn’t seen the marriage certificates.

  Strength came from having your own thing. I wished my mom had discovered that at some point along the line. If something went wrong with a relationship, a person could be fine as long as other components of life were in order. I found myself smiling, thinking about the book I could write. Life According to Poppy. Screw the book—I’ll post about it.

  On my way home, I stopped by the post office. The island’s post office featured a nice wrap-around wooden porch. Along one side of the building, under the protection of overhead eves, a bulletin board protected by glass hung. People placed all kinds of announcements on it. Lost cats, a hardware store sale, babysitting services for hire, those kinds of things. On a whim, I perused the board for rental notices. Most of the real estate listings were on the Realtors’ websites, but I figured you never knew what you might find. Like Mrs. Rittenhouse, sometimes people liked to avoid Realtor fees.

  “Hello, Ms. Poppy. How’re you doing?” Alice, the older woman Luna had introduced me to ages ago, gripped the railing as she ascended the two steps to the deck. She made her way beside me, glancing between the board and me.

  “Very good. How’re you?”

  “All is good. I hear you’re opening your own restaurant.”

  “I am.” I smiled wide, stretching my cheek muscles.

  “I love seeing the young year-rounders make their way here. You let me know if you need anything, hear me?”

  “Thanks, Alice. How’re those cats of yours?” The woman had a million cats. She boiled eggs and crumbled them up on the ground for them. All through her yard, cats milled around.

  “They’re doing good. Do you want one? Milly is expecting a litter any d
ay now.”

  “No, thanks. I need a cat like I need a hole in the head,” I mumbled. One more expense, one more responsibility. No, thank you.

  I continued reading through the jumbled ads. She remained at my side. I tried to ignore her, but from my peripheral vision I could see her, and she wasn’t looking at the board. She watched me.

  Feeling her gaze, I gave up reading the listings and asked, “Yes?”

  “What’re you looking for?”

  “My lease is up. I’m probably going to end up finding an apartment in Southport, but I thought I’d check and see if there might be any rentals here.”

  “You don’t want to have to take that ferry every day.”

  No shit. Been there and done that.

  “Would you be interested in my carriage house? It’s got a full apartment up above it. Nice deck overlooking the marsh. It’s a studio. Not sure how much room you’re looking for, but it’s a pretty nice apartment, if I do say so myself.”

  “How much are you renting it for?”

  “Oh sweetie, you wouldn’t need to pay me.”

  “Alice, I wouldn’t move in unless you let me pay you.” A moocher, I am not.

  “How does two hundred sound?”

  “Like not nearly enough.”

  “It’s one room. You should see it before you argue to pay me more.”

  Intrigued, I followed her back to her dark green marsh-facing cottage just down the road. Her carriage house was a big one with double doors on the front and a narrow staircase along the side that led to the upstairs apartment. Many homes on the beach island featured an apartment above the golf cart garage as an added location for guests.

  She pushed open the door, ushering me in. I spun around in the idyllic space, taking it in. The kitchen consisted of a refrigerator, a small stove, and a sink against the wall.