One Moment at a Time

by Thomas, K. S.

  If I’ve got questions, he’s got no plans to answer, let alone wait for me to ask them. For a man who strolls everywhere he goes, his movements are surprisingly fast, and I have to hurry to catch up beside him.

  We pass the front door and carry on along the walkway leading toward the backyard. When we reach the deck wrapped around the back half of the house, he steps up just enough to reach for several fishing rods hanging from hooks overhead. He hands one to me, picks up a tacklebox sitting by the steps and then, we keep moving.

  Following a well-worn path through the wilderness behind his house, we quickly wind up standing on yet another shoreline, facing water.

  “This the intracoastal?” I ask, searching the water for some familiar landscape on the other side of it.

  He chuckles. “It’s not the ocean.”

  Smartass. Excuse me for getting a little disoriented following him around while he wanders off into the jungle going a mile a minute.

  Neither of us says anything as we walk out onto a long, haphazard looking dock. Several of the boards are rotted out and overall, I’m only confident about the fact I could swim back to land if necessary.

  The clouds are darker and denser and I’m pretty sure I just saw a flash of lightening in the distance.

  “Is it even safe to be out here right now?” I ask, trying to remember an old article I read once about Florida being the lightning strike capital of the world.

  “Safe enough.” He points out to his left. “Rain’s still out a ways, and I haven’t heard thunder yet. We should have enough time to catch lunch and head in before things get crazy.”

  Rain. I can literally see it falling in the distance. A wall of solid gray reaching from the sky all the way down. I’ve never seen anything like it, but I’m starting to understand why Tank feels so confident about gauging the storm. Not so hard when you can see and hear it coming and track it as it moves.

  Thankfully, Tank’s fishing skills are just as on point as his weatherman talents, and we make it inside with a couple of freshly caught redfish just as the rain begins to move in over the water behind his house.

  “Lace?” Tank yells as soon as he steps foot through the sliding glass door connecting the back porch to the kitchen. “You here?”

  No sooner has he asked the question, than a woman with wavy blonde hair and teal blue eyes comes strolling in from down the hall, a green parakeet on her left shoulder and a massive brindle colored Pitbull tracing her every step like he’s her shadow.

  “Got home about ten minutes ago. Figured you were out on the dock.” She stops short when she sees me, hand casually slipping down to rest on the dog’s head to cue him to stay close, for my safety, no doubt. “Made a friend?”

  “Ky did.” He smirks, passing her on his way to the sink, fish held high as he passes the pit who noses the air with intense interest as the fish go flying by.

  The woman’s eyes go wide. “No way! You’re Ben?”

  “I am.” Though I’m becoming less pleased about this every time I meet someone down here only to find out they already know me. Or of me. And not from someone who always saw me in the best of ways, though admittedly, the most honest and real. “You must be Tank’s girlfriend.” This much at least, even I can piece together.

  “I must,” she says with a giggle, coming toward me for a proper greeting. I assume a handshake. I assume wrong, which I figure out just as my hand goes digging into her stomach while she wraps me up in a tight hug. “Lacey. It’s so great to finally meet you. We’ve been waiting for you for what feels like forever. Started calling you Unicorn Ben a couple years back. So, you know, this is pretty exciting.”

  “Our first unicorn.” Tank chuckles, though how he can laugh with fish scales and blood scattered over his skin up to his elbows, I don’t know. “Not as pretty as I thought you’d be.”

  “Don’t have any magic powers either,” I add, because if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

  “Bummer.” Tank grins as he rinses his hands.

  “Oh, I don’t know if I believe that just yet,” Lacey chimes in. “They’re probably just lying dormant from lack of use.”

  Can’t argue with that. “Definitely have not been using.”

  “Must have used some on Ky over the years,” she teases, reaching to remove the parakeet currently trying to nest in her hair. “I hardly think your charm alone was enough to hook and keep her all this time.”

  “I’m not sure keep is the word you’re looking for.” I pull a stool out from the breakfast bar and have a seat. I don’t know if it’s from traveling here from Dallas, or just all the traveling down memory lane, but this trip is starting to catch up with me. “If I had been able to keep her, I’d hardly be here. With you. Trying to find her.”

  “Are you?” Lacey nuzzles the bird now sitting comfortably on her index finger. I swear, it’s like something out of Snowhite, watching this chick. Provided Snowhite was blonde. And had a full sleeve of rose tattoos running up her left arm, which I guess screams more of Sleeping Beauty. Also, it’s totally Ky’s fault I can tell all my damn fairy tale princesses apart. “Trying to find her?”

  I thought we covered that. “Why else would I be here?”

  She shrugs. “If you don’t know, I certainly can’t tell you.”

  “Oh.” I nod. I finally get it. The thing that bonded Ky and Lacey. “I see you’re into that mindfuck business, too. Must have been real fun for Tank, hanging out with the both of you. Together. At one time.”

  Tank laughs. “I’ve never felt so simultaneously confused and enlightened in my entire life.” He bends down to pull a pan from the bottom cupboards. When he comes back up, he’s pointing a frying pan right at me. “You’d never have survived.”

  “I’m well aware.” No point in denying something when the whole room knows it’s true. “Also, it’s catching, dude. You should have heard some of the shit you babbled on about when we were on the water. I’m suddenly understanding you in a whole new way, Tank.”

  He chuckles as he goes about seasoning the fish while his pan heats up on the stove. “Is that so?”

  “Yeah, man.” I lean forward over the bar, resting my elbows on the cool surface (it’s a surfboard turned countertop, and I only just noticed, but that’s beside the point). “I mean, I thought you were weird before, but now I totally get it. You’re just another victim of their wise chick voodoo. You can’t help it.”

  “Wise chick voodoo,” Lacey repeats my words thoughtfully. “I can’t even be offended. I actually kind of like it. Might even start using it myself.” She grins. “Maybe I should put it on my business cards. What do you think, Tank?”

  “I think your patients probably already say that about you.”

  I spin the seat of my stool around to face her. “Patients? Like, you’re a doctor?” I can’t even force myself to not be shocked by this. And it’s not because I find it hard to believe she could be one. I find it hard to believe she’d be with a dude like Tank if she was. Which, I guess is equally insulting, or more so, since it’s offensive to both of them.

  “Psychiatrist,” she confirms, grin wide as ever.

  “Oh.” I turn back toward the counter. “Never mind. That totally makes sense. Like, on all levels.”

  She giggles, and I’m one hundred percent certain it’s at my expense. And, given my asshole thoughts, completely deserving. “Now that you know I’m a professional, how about you answer my question.”

  “Which one?” I’m having a hard time following this conversation one exchange at a time, I can’t be expected to remember what’s been said or asked more than thirty seconds ago.

  Lacey takes a step closer and pulls out the seat beside me. With a great deal less grace than one might expect, she plops herself into it and spins around until we’re both sitting side by side, facing the counter. Apparently, my therapy session is officially happening now.

  “You know which question. The one where I asked you if you were here looking for Ky.”

&nbs
p; “Oh.” Yeah, I remember that one. “That question. The one with the self-explanatory answer I didn’t feel needed to be verbalized.”

  Her head tilts slightly in my direction and I can see her smirk out of the corner of my eye. “It’s been my experience, those are usually the answers that need the most verbalizing.”

  I turn my head as well. Face to face with only inches between us, her sweet persona is suddenly intimidating. “Why’s that?”

  “Because they’re usually the ones you don’t really know until you say them out loud.”

  Fucking A.

  Here we go. Let the wise chick voodoo begin.

  chapter

  eight

  BEN

  “I still don’t understand what you don’t understand about that.” We’re halfway through lunch and Lacey and I are still stuck on her first question. I’ve answered it. Multiple times. She just doesn’t like my answer. And thus, she’s rejecting it. Which is infuriating as all hell.

  “Oh, I understand it,” she clarifies, if that’s still an appropriate term in the current conversation we’re having where nothing is clear to anyone, least of all me. “I’m just saying it’s bullshit.”

  “What’s bullshit?” Then I casually turn to Tank who’s sitting at the head of the table to my left. “This fish by the way, totally not bullshit. Kind of the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

  “You should come for dinner tomorrow,” he says, fork poised and ready to take another bite, “I’ve got one of the local shrimpers coming by the shop in the morning to go out cruising. And he always brings a present.” He wiggles his brow, just in case I didn’t piece together that the present was exciting. And consisted of shrimp. I got it. I can’t read between Lacey’s swirly lines, but Tank’s are straight and spaced out enough for me to follow along.

  “I take it no one will be sharing Ky’s whereabouts with me today?” I conclude grimly.

  “Possibly ever,” Lacey huffs with a dry laugh.

  “Then I will definitely be here tomorrow night.” I’m telling Tank, but I’m staring straight at Lacey when I say it. She can try and trip me up all she wants, I’m here for Ky and I’m not leaving until I know where to find her.

  She smiles and I almost choke on my roasted asparagus (no idea what makes it so special, but it’s fantastic and Tank is a culinary genius – it would have been okay to die like this). “Good.” Then she glances at Tank who from the looks of things, considers us his afternoon entertainment. “What’s for dessert?”

  “That was your job,” he reminds her, distinctly sounding uncomfortable with her need to ask the question. I guess dessert is important around here. Food being such a big deal to him and all.

  “Oh, right.” Her lashes flutter as she averts her gaze paying attention only to what’s left on her plate. “Good thing I went by the Spanish Bakery on my way home then.” She’s got a devilish smirk on her face when she lifts her eyes again.

  “That was mean.” Tank points his fork at her in an accusing fashion. “And for your sake, I sincerely hope they weren’t out of Perrunillas by the time you got there.”

  “Well, then for my sake, I suppose I’m relieved I got a whole dozen of them.”

  “What are Perrunillas?” I ask, now that the danger of Tank’s glare has been successfully evaded.

  “Only the best damn cookies you’ll ever eat in your life.” Normally, I’d question a man so enthusiastic about food, especially the sweet sort, but normally I wouldn’t be sitting with two strangers in a small beach town in Florida, having a late lunch in their house while a Pitbull sleeps between my ankles and a parakeet continues to hop along the table from plate to plate, stealing bits of asparagus. So, normal is out.

  “That mean you’re going to share?” I’d hate to just assume, even if his sense of hospitality extends far beyond what I’m accustomed to.

  “He doesn’t have a choice,” Lacey chimes in as she stands from the table and begins collecting our plates. “They’re my cookies.”

  Tank just leans back in his chair, watching her walk out of the room, all the while grinning like a jackass. Because she’s his. And no matter how often he watches her leave, he knows she always comes back.

  I know. Because I remember the feeling.

  Ky’d been back for two months, her third time in town. Winter was around the corner and her impending departure was becoming abundantly clear. She’d shown up, happy to be there, then got cold as the weather turned, claiming to crave the sun. I knew she’d be gone before the last snow in the mountains had a chance to melt again.

  At least, that’s what I’d told myself. That the weather was to blame for her desire to make a run for it yet again. Of course, if it had been, she’d probably have chosen a warmer time of year to show up in the first place. Truth was, the cold made it easy to leave, gave her an excuse to pick up and go no matter how short her stay had been. But the real reason was me. I was the source of the cycle, the reason for her coming and going.

  Ky had tried to tell me back then. And now, sitting here with Tank and Lacey, seeing the connection between two people come to life so vividly, I’m starting to understand how much I hurt her by not listening. By just sitting back and basking in the smugness of knowing she’d always return even as she was telling me it wouldn’t always be that way.

  “You know it’s weird, right?” she says, sitting across from me in a booth at the only twenty-four-hour diner in town.

  “What’s weird?” I ask, adding more pepper to the scrambled eggs still left on my plate. I ordered poached but couldn’t be bothered to correct the order when it showed up this way. Eggs are eggs, even if I do prefer the way the yolk stays runny and makes for good dipping with my toast, which I ordered in wheat, but got plain white. There are downsides to showing up to eat at four in the morning when the staff is too exhausted from the post bar-hopping rush to bother with details anymore.

  “This,” she says, waving her coffee spoon around in my face before leading it back to her mug to stir in the three packets of sugar she just added.

  “Care to be more specific?”

  She takes a sip, hiding her mouth, but doing nothing to disguise the fact she’s laughing at me through her eyes. “You’re wearing glasses,” she says at last, cradling her mug in both hands, because coffee is the only thing she’s ever fully committed to.

  I shrug. “So?”

  “So, your eyes are fine.”

  “How do you know my eyes are fine? Are you my optometrist?” I counter, stabbing at my eggs just to avoid her mocking gaze.

  “Seriously,” she says, completely ignoring my argument. “Where did you get them? Steal them from someone? Is your Nana Mae sitting at home right now wishing she could read her secret stash of book porn and unable to because you swiped her reading glasses to impress a girl?”

  I almost choke on my eggs. “First of all, my Nana Mae doesn’t read book porn.”

  Ky takes another sip of coffee. I don’t know why she bothers; it’s just as clear as outright laughing at me. “Your Nana Mae absolutely does. I know. I’ve seen her stash.”

  The one and only time I made the mistake of introducing a girl to my family. It was entirely unintentional, but a quick stop at my parents’ house to pick up my old yearbook to prove that I had in fact been voted funniest my senior year, had quickly backfired and led to a stay that lasted all afternoon and well into the evening when Ky wound up chatting up my Nana Mae only to learn her deep, dark, devotion to trashy romance novels.

  “Fine.” I learned a while back, with Ky it’s often easier to simply admit defeat and move on to stronger arguments. “She reads erotica. Probably reading it as we speak because I’m not wearing her glasses.”

  “Then whose are they?”

  “Mine.”

  “Liar.” This time she doesn’t bother hiding her amusement behind her cup. She just blatantly laughs straight at my face.

  I take a deep breath and exhale. I can accept double defeat and win the long game. �
�They’re costume glasses from my brother’s Halloween costume two years ago. Happened to stumble upon them, thought I’d try them out.” I lean in over the table, getting closer to her. “Guess what? They worked.” I wink, smugly sitting up straighter again as I return my attention back to my late-night breakfast.

  “Did they though?” she probes, still sitting in the exact same position since we started this chat, her plate of pancakes waiting in front of her completely untouched.

  “Obviously,” I remind her. “You saw me out with Destiny tonight.”

  Ky snorts. “Her name was Destiny?”

  My confidence falters briefly, and I shake it off with a twitch of my neck. “Why is that funny?”

  “Not funny,” she admits. “Just ironic.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re sitting here with me,” she points out. “Not her.”

  I shrug, refusing to admit to anything. “That’s because your coffee habit keeps you awake twenty-four-seven. You’re very compatible with my insomnia.”

  “You don’t have insomnia,” she says flatly.

  “How would you know?” I don’t suffer from insomnia, but she sure as hell can’t prove it one way or the other. She’s just guessing, trying to call my bluff as usual.

  “Same as I know everything.” She places her mug on the table, releasing it for the first time since it was served to her, then she crosses her arms over her chest. “You tell me. Or rather, you tell me the exact opposite of what’s actually true. Therefore, when you say you’re here with me because your insomnia is keeping you awake, I automatically conclude it’s bullshit.”

  “Oh, now I’m some pathological liar?” I try to laugh it off, but that’s hard to do when her words are so painfully true.

  “I don’t think you lie to everyone.” She pulls her sweater tighter around her core. “I don’t even think you really want to lie me. I think you’re just too fucked up in the head to come right out with what you mean, so you have to go about it all ass-backwards-like just to get it out, knowing I’ll translate your shit and understand what you’re actually saying.”