Loe raamatut: «About That Kiss»

CHAPTER ONE

Cassabaw Station

Carolina barrier island

Late June

Present day

THE ALARM’S SCREECH broke through the room and Nathan’s sleep, and he pushed off his stomach to sit on the edge of the bed. He tapped the alarm off and pushed his fingers through his hair.

Four a.m., and it was opening day of shrimping season. They were going to get an extra-early start.

Running through his morning ritual, Nathan put on a T-shirt and shorts, then pulled his hair back. Quickly washing his face and brushing his teeth, he then jogged downstairs, the smell of bacon and coffee wafting up the stairwell.

“’Bout damn time you dragged yourself out of bed,” his grandpa, Jep, grumbled from the stove. “You goin’ for a haircut later?”

Nathan’s dad, Owen, was sitting at the table, and he threw his son a grin.

“Jep, enough about the hair,” Nathan said, pouring coffee into an insulated thermos. “It’s getting old.”

“Well, I’m old, dammit, and I’m tired of lookin’ at my eldest grandson with long, girlie hair.” He swore under his breath. “Ponytail and such. Like a pirate or some such nonsense. Or a hippie! Godalmighty damn.”

Nathan chuckled. “Chicks dig it.”

Jep snorted. “Sure they do, boy. I can tell by how they’re lining the drive each weekend. Now quit arguing and eat up.”

Nathan gave his grandpa a quick peck on the cheek then jumped out of the way before the old guy one-twoed him. Grabbing a bacon-and-egg biscuit from the pan on the stove, he joined his dad at the table. Jep sat with them, sipping on a coffee mug surely older than Nathan himself. Tradition, Jep always said. It’s a good thing to have. Just then, a quick knock sounded at the back door, before it opened. Nathan’s middle brother, Matt, stepped over the threshold.

“’Bout time you got your sorry backside outta bed,” Jep grumbled.

Matt ruffled Jep’s thick white hair, grabbed a biscuit then sat with them.

“Good to have your help on opening day,” Owen said.

Matt gave a lopsided grin. “You almost had two helpers. I had to convince Em that she really shouldn’t be on a trawler in the Atlantic in her condition.”

“Did she smack you for that?” Nathan asked.

“Yep.” Matt shoved the rest of his biscuit into his mouth.

Nathan figured his sister-in-law, now six months pregnant with his first-ever niece or nephew, had a head of concrete. It wouldn’t surprise him at all to find she’d stowed away on the Tiger Lily.

They quickly finished breakfast, grabbed their gear and set out. The early-morning Carolina air was still and warm and humid as they walked down to the dock. The night birds still called, and cicadas and frogs rivaled their choruses. A typical low-country morning. Tradition. Home. Family.

Living the dream.

Almost, anyway.

Living on the Back River, the water was deep enough to berth their thirty-foot trawler, so while Owen took the wheel and began to ease along, Nathan and Matt both perched at the bow in silence, studying the water ahead as the Tiger Lily sliced through the calm darkness. Nathan inhaled, holding the briny air in his lungs before letting his breath out slowly. It was going to be a damn good day. The weather conditions were perfect. Warm air, warmer waters. Nathan knew, though, that the calm blue-gray of the Atlantic could churn and cough and consume any and everything in its path, all in the blink of an eye. The sea? She was never, ever to be trusted. But for now, he’d gladly accept the bounty she’d offered up.

As they cleared the river and entered the sound, Nathan and Matt dropped the trawler’s outriggers and they headed out to sea. As morning broke, other trawlers dotted the horizon, but the Tiger Lily was in an optimal spot, where the waters were moving in the same direction. They rode the shifting tides, avoided slack-water time. After baiting the nets, Nathan and Matt dropped the doors, and after just one drag they raised both nets filled with Atlantic brown shrimp. Nathan let out a holler, and Matt threw his head back and laughed. Owen simply shook his head, a grin on his weathered face.

The nets dropped load after load, and they filled the coolers to the gills with shrimp. It’d been a good haul for opening day—more than an average haul. By the time they’d dropped the load at the docks and the Tiger Lily began chugging home, the sun had peaked. Three o’clock on a June day. Hot as all holy hell.

“Hope that sets the pace for the season,” Owen said from the wheel.

“It’d be nice,” Nathan called back. Since they shrimped almost year-round, even a slow season wasn’t terrible. Last year had been a big improvement from the year before. Same with crabs, which they tended to run commercial traps for in the summer months leading into early fall, just to make the extra money. Even the infamous Carolina blue crabs were heading farther out, away from the riverbeds and into deeper waters. Hell, the entire ecosystem had gone squirrely. They even had a few great whites show up from time to time. One local white that showed up three years running, Lucy, had found herself on the news more than once. Way different from when he and his brothers were growing up, when they could drop lines off the floating dock and pull in an easy half bushel of crabs in no time flat. Still, things had been good for the Malone family.

They were blessed, to say the very least. Nathan glanced skyward once more, noticed the cerulean sky, felt the sun’s warmth on his face. Yeah, this year would be good for shrimping.

Owen slowed the motors and eased the Tiger Lily into the river leading home. The sun beat down on Nathan’s bare back, and he was half tempted to jump in.

“You got new neighbors?” Matt asked.

Nathan glanced at his brother, and Matt inclined his head. Nathan followed his brother’s gaze. He lifted the shades from his eyes. At the end of Morgan’s old dock sat a girl. A woman, rather. A little girl sat next to her, and their feet were dangling over the floating dock and into the water. The little girl had on a neon pink bathing suit that could probably be seen for miles around. Both had short dark hair, and that was about all Nathan could tell from where he stood. What were they doing there? The little girl leaped to her feet as they passed, waving her skinny little arms. Nathan lifted his hand and waved back.

“No one’s lived at old Morgan’s place for nearly ten years,” Owen called from the wheel. “Far as I know, the old man didn’t have kin except his cousin, Bartholomew.”

“That doesn’t look much like Cousin Bartholomew,” Matt muttered.

“Nope,” Nathan agreed as he slipped his shades over his eyes and watched as the young woman—no doubt the girl’s mother—grasped her daughter’s hand and they hurried along the rickety old dock, toward the house. The whole time, the little girl was hopping from foot to foot, looking over her shoulder as the trawler eased up the river. By the time the Tiger Lily hit the bend, the pair had disappeared into the swath of live oaks that all but consumed Morgan’s place.

“Maybe they’ve bought the house,” Owen remarked. “Shame to see that place just sit. It’d be nice to have new neighbors.” He cleared his throat. “Maybe you should run over later and introduce yourself.”

“Dad, you are such a social butterfly,” Nathan accused, and Matt laughed. “Why don’t you go introduce yourself? Anyway, you just like having a bunch of kids around.”

“I am, I might and I do,” Owen readily agreed to all accusations.

Nathan glanced once more at the now-empty dock. Again, he shaded his eyes.

Probably just some summer renters. That was a regular occurrence on Cassabaw. Renters came. Renters left. End of story. Owen was simply too damned nosy for his own good.

As his father eased the trawler toward the Malones’ dock, Nathan and Matt jumped out and tied up. Emily, Matt’s wife, hurried toward them. She wore a kerchief on her head to keep her hair back, and a pair of big, white-rimmed sunglasses. Her baby belly was just starting to show beneath the white tank and pair of knee-length cutoff jeans she wore. Em preferred the days of old. As they all had grown up on Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong and the big bands of the thirties and forties, Emily hadn’t strayed too far in terms of her taste in music—or style. If it was older than, say, seventy-five years, she loved it. She even dressed in vintage clothing—hats, dresses, shoes. Kerchiefs. Kind of added to her charm, he supposed. Em had a wide arm of culture, however. She could belt out all the words to just about any Aerosmith song. One of kind, his sister-in-law was.

Old Jep, moving a bit slower than Em, followed, wearing his iconic baby-blue cotton overalls.

“Hey!” Emily called cheerfully. “How’d you guys do?”

“Girl, would you quit all that jumpin’ around? You’re gonna scramble my great-grandson’s innards,” Jep called after her.

“Or great-granddaughter,” Emily corrected over her shoulder.

Jep just grumbled.

“We capped out,” Owen said, stepping onto the dock. “Got top dollar at the docks. Better than last year, even.”

“Good, good,” Jep said. His thick white hair, mostly buried beneath a USCG—United States Coast Guard—cap, flipped up on the ends. “Hope to God you brought some home.”

“Dad,” Owen chided.

“Jep, you could eat shrimp every day of your life,” Matt said, wrapping his arms around his wife and placing his hands over her belly. Nathan watched as his little brother kissed Em on the top of her head, and her arms went around his waist. They both fit. Clicked. Like they were made for each other. He’d had that once.

And he’d lost it.

The grief had dulled somewhat over time, but not enough. If his thoughts lingered too long on it—on Addie, on what they’d had—his stomach would hurt, and he’d feel the hole her death had left in his chest widen a little more. It’d been nearly three years since that day in the Bering, when Nathan had been right there, ready for her. Then, she’d disappeared. The sea had, in fact, swallowed her up. If his thoughts went there too much, the memories and guilt would consume him. Being home with his family had saved his life. The void was still there, though, silently digging in when he wasn’t looking. Staying busy helped.

Nathan liked seeing his younger brother so happy. Matt’s stoic and hardened ex-marine demeanor had changed the moment he’d admitted that he’d fallen in love with his childhood friend. Well, he’d fought it for a while, and he’d been a pain in the ass to live with until he’d finally given in. Still, he damn well deserved the happiness.

“Well, of course I would,” Jep agreed. “Jewels of the sea, that’s what they are. The most perfect edible sea creatures God ever created, if you ask me.”

They all laughed. Jep had a one-track mind: his stomach. Might be why he was closing in on ninety and still going stronger than a mule.

The rest of the evening passed as it usually did once the summer shrimping season started. Early to bed, early to rise. A day in the trawler. Home-cooked meals on the back porch. And thanks to the longer days of sunlight, Nathan squeezed in a run almost every evening. Sometimes Matt joined him, but lately he’d spent more of his evenings with Em remodeling one of the rooms in the old river house where they lived—Emily’s childhood home, which was next door—into the nursery. Emily called it nesting, and Nathan guessed she was probably right. So he set out alone in the late evening; gray running shorts, black Nikes and a neon yellow handkerchief tied around his head to keep the sweat from running into his eyes. And, according to Jep, to keep his long girlie locks from flying all over the place.

“Stop by the beauty parlor on your way home,” Jep called from his rocker on the front porch as Nathan took off down the drive. “And watch out for cars!”

Another reason why Nathan wore the neon yellow headband. Jep was full of bark, but that old man loved his family like no one’s business.

It was probably the one thing that kept Nathan grounded since Alaska. The one thing he had left.

“Yes, sir.” Nathan threw his hand up and waved, hearing Jep grumble something about the mosquitoes, then headed out to the coastal road.

* * *

“MA-MUH, COME ON! Just a little walk. Just long enough to kick a pinecone until the pointy things all fall off. I want to see lightning bugs! Pleeeeeease?”

“Willa, quit all that whining,” Sean Jacobs gently scolded her five-year-old daughter. “It’s unbecoming.”

“But I can’t help it,” Willa said, and looked up at Sean with those wide, endless pools of blue eyes. “It just falls out of my throat and rolls right on past my lips. I can’t stop it! I want to go so bad!”

A smile tugged at Sean’s mouth, and she gave her small daughter a critical eye. She wore a blue-and-white-striped tank top and white shorts, and her skinny little legs and knobby knees seemed to hang straight from her ears. “Well,” Sean said thoughtfully, and smoothed Willa’s almost-black hair—cut bluntly in the most adorable of short bobs—behind her tiny ear. “Okay. Get your sneakers on.”

Willa made a dash for the mudroom. “Why do you call them sneakers, Mama? Are we gonna be busy sneakin’ around or something? It’s a funny name, Mama. Did your mama call them sneakers, too?”

Sean’s insides turned, just a little, at the irony of Willa’s words. Sneakin’ around. She inhaled. Exhaled to brush the jolted feeling away. “That’s just what we called them when I was your age, is all.” She joined her daughter in the mudroom, pulled on her navy Keds. Willa set in her lap something that seemed to be becoming a more frequent part of her wardrobe. Sean gingerly fingered the costume fairy wings she’d picked up last Halloween.

“Willa, seriously?”

“Yes, Mama! We have to be fairies all the time!” Willa argued. Rather, crooned.

Sean sighed, shoved her arms through the thin elastic bands that went around her shoulders to keep the wings in place, then helped Willa into hers. She imagined if something as simple as wearing a pair of sparkly fairy wings made her daughter happy, she’d gladly do it. They set out, with Willa nonstop chattering about everything her eyes lit upon, her little wings flapping up and down with her movements.

“Now go find a superior pinecone, Willa Jane. One that will withstand a good kicking.”

“Okay, I will!” Willa exclaimed, and took off into the dense yard of pines, scrub oaks and palms. She’d bend, retrieve a pinecone then inspect every single inch of it. Only the most perfect one would do.

Sean stared out at the saltwater property they’d leased for the summer. She liked it. A little worn down, perhaps. Unkempt. The windows needed washing. The grass needed cutting. The inside was a little musty from being closed up for so long. But she felt safe. The furniture was old but sturdy, and the refrigerator kept things icy cold. Perfect, in her eyes.

The small river house nestled in the shade beneath mammoth oak trees drenched in long, wispy Spanish moss. It looked like a picture straight out of a travel magazine. A fairly decent-size porch overlooked the back of the property, which meandered through tall magnolias and scrub palms, leading down to a single wooden dock that jutted out over the marsh and stopped at the river. At high tide, she and Willa could sit on the small wooden landing and dangle their feet into the water. This would be a nice retreat for a while.

“Mama, you’re being so slow,” Willa called ahead of her. “I found the most stuperior pinecone. C’mon! I wanna walk through the graveyard.”

“Willa, again?” Sean replied, catching up to her daughter. They crossed the small two-lane river road and headed down a worn dirt path scattered with bits of seashells that led to an old cemetery they’d come across a few days earlier. “Don’t you think it’s kinda scary?”

“Nope!” Willa announced cheerfully, and having found the perfect pinecone, dropped it on the ground. She gave it a kick, then waited for Sean to take a turn. “It’s the place where all the lightning bugs go. Probably so the ghosts can see at night.”

“It’s also a place where all the mosquitoes go,” Sean replied. “We’re going to get eaten up again.”

“So? Just scratch it!” Will answered. “It’s fun, Mama. Hurry! Use your wings, why don’t ya? You’ll be faster that way!”

Willa always had an answer. For everything. Her five-year-old mind never rested. And she feared nothing.

Completely unlike Sean herself. Afraid of everything.

As she and Willa took turns kicking the pinecone, Sean noticed the sun had disappeared beneath the horizon now, leaving the sky a grayish purple streaked with marigold. The light surrounding them was nothing more than a haze, and she could smell the salty sea. Even with Willa’s chatter and the occasional gull’s screech, Sean heard hundreds of night bugs begin to chirp. Cassabaw Station was a pretty place, a hidden gem that seemed to have wedged itself into another time and not budged. Ahead, Willa waited at the cemetery’s old rusty gate, hopping from foot to foot impatiently. Sean stepped clear of the path, met her daughter at the gate, lifted the old latch and they walked inside.

“There’s one, Mama!” Willa cried out almost immediately. Sean looked, and sure enough, she’d already found a lightning bug. Then another, and another. Willa leaped and giggled as she chased the blinking insects, flitting around like a little firefly herself. Sean stood back and grinned. Savored the small moment of joy in their lives.

“Careful not to step on the graves, Willa,” Sean called.

“I’m careful!” Willa answered. “Come on, chase them with me!”

Sean joined her daughter, and together, they raced, jumped and squealed as they cupped their hands together to capture the illuminated creatures, then peeked through the cracks of their fingers to see each little bug’s bottom light up. She watched Willa and thought how beautiful her daughter was; so young, innocent, carefree and full of love and laughter. Sean suddenly regretted not having a camera to photograph Willa, to catch her with the light just right, making her truly seem like a little woodland sprite. Sean prayed Willa would never know cruelty, possessiveness. Or evil. Only love. Joy.

It was then that Sean heard heavy footsteps on the path. She stopped and whipped around. A dark figure jogged toward them, a neon yellow band around his head the only thing standing out. For a moment, fear strangled her insides, and her gaze darted to her daughter. To the figure, growing closer, then to her daughter again.

He was big—much bigger than she was—and probably faster, too. Even from where she stood, and in the low light of dusk, she could tell he was muscular, fit. Sean didn’t know him, or anyone else on the island. And they were about as isolated as they could be. He was right between her and her daughter.

“Willa, come here!” Sean called out. “We have to go. It’s getting dark fast.”

“Mama, I’m busy!” Willa replied, annoyed. “Just a few more minutes.”

“Willa, now!” Sean demanded, and broke into a run toward her. Sean had to reach Willa. She couldn’t let the jogger get close to her daughter.