“I can’t stand it when you do this!” I said loudly, slapping my hands against my outer thighs.
“Do what? I may down my share of Jack, but at least I don’t pretend to be jack. Except sober.” He laughed. “I’ve pretended to be un-wasted a few times.”
My eyes welled while drunk Bo worked his magic, aiming to wound me with nothing more than words he used as an invisible knife. “What are you talking about? No one is faking anything!”
“Forget it.” He paused while that non-existent blade glinted under the moonlight. “And don’t do that.”
A hot droplet spilled down each of my cheeks. “Don’t do what?”
His speech was an unseen stab to my chest. “The crying. Just let go. My current drinking shouldn’t impact you. Just like that shit stain’s past shouldn’t impact you. Leave them both be.”
“Is that why you’re binging tonight? Why you’re lashing out at me? Over Miles?”
Bo’s posture stiffened a little when I said the name. “I thought we’d agreed to not talk about him anymore.”
“You just brought him up. Not me. But is that what it takes? To get you to put down the bottle? Fine. I’ll stop asking questions, but you can’t drive. Not like this.”
He increased the distance between us, that serrated, imaginary weapon piercing deep into my gut and dragging slowly. “Talk tomorrow, Baby Girl. It’s what friends do. Right?”
“Be angry all you want but let me take you home!” I yelled.
Two swift yet undetectable puncture wounds to each of my thighs came next. “I got this.”
I took a few steps toward him, stray bits of gravel ground underfoot.
“I said, ‘Don’t!’” he yelled from out of view. That time, he’d aimed for slashes no one could see, right into my back.
I stopped, knowing better than to push the envelope. My inability to talk him down was the fatal blow he delivered a couple of minutes later while I watched the lights illuminate in his modified Honda Element. Meekly, I tried one last time. If I didn’t, I’d regret it. “Please?”
But he didn’t listen. He gunned the engine twice and accelerated quickly, too quickly. His vehicle pulled hard to the left and almost hit a parked car before he whipped around the corner. Gone.
I stood there. In the shadows. Alone. Invisibly bleeding. With my choking sobs. Crickets chirped in the background, oblivious to our argument. Their song and my thoughts pulled me under and crushed my lungs. Coldness and vulnerability swilled over my skin and I needed the ache of the water to drown that pain. Bo and I didn’t argue. Not like that. It wasn’t us.
After careful contemplation, I made my way back to the Jeep. The darkened cell phone screen stared at me from the console. I tapped the unlock button a few times, remaining non-committal by not typing in my password. But the desire to communicate fought hard. I needed to talk to Roxy, but I didn’t want to bother her with my problems while she was on vacation. I couldn’t talk to Bo. Who else can I turn to? What’s wrong with me? A few minutes ago, I’d vowed to stop digging around for information, yet it tempted me again.
“I can’t,” I said out loud, tossing the cell phone to the passenger seat and jamming the Jeep into drive. “Don’t do it. You’re stronger than this.”
30mph.
40mph.
50mph.
60mph.
It didn’t matter what speed the odometer read, my mind outran it twice over. I glanced at the phone from my peripheral vision— more times than I wanted to admit.
“Stop it, Jade,” I mumbled.
Even though I’d talked myself out of dialing, it didn’t equate to freedom. Yet. When I reached the top of the gravel drive overlooking the ocean, I stopped where the route divided left and right, considering my options.
On one hand, I could head down the hill and to the left toward my house, choosing to forget the evening altogether. On the other hand, I could make a tiny pit stop. As much as my brain told me not to, I forced my foot off the brake and let the steering wheel veer right. Oops.
Less than a minute later, I parked outside a modest brick house. Puffs of gray smoke emitted from the chimney and canary yellow-tinted light shone through slats of the blinds. The house wasn’t empty. Totally meant to be. Warped wood panels of the front door invited me from where I’d parked. It was homey. Inviting. But my ass remained firmly rooted on the leather seat while Bo’s voice echoed inside my head, reprimanding me for my foreshadowed actions.
I sat there, and then I sat there some more. The digital, turquoise-colored numbers on the clock flipped past seven minutes while tug-of-war played in my head.
“Sorry, Bo,” I sighed under my breath. “You did what you had to tonight. Now, I will, too.” From across town, my best friend unknowingly placed his imaginary knife in my hands, and by walking up that pathway, I’d carry out my payback.
Determination controlled. I grabbed my bag and exited the Jeep. The constancy of roaring wind in the distance called out for me to change directions and swim instead. I didn’t listen.
My feet carried me along uneven cobblestones, faint moonlight the only guide. A swift gust of briny air encouraged my steps to continue. Even with the waves as a distraction, I took it as a sign from the sea I made the right choice. The three short stairs to the porch seemed mountainous when I approached the front door. Mouth dry. Heart racing. My hand rested against the cold brass knocker, and I found it difficult to announce my presence. A first. Once a week, for more than a year, on most Saturdays, I’d stopped by to refill my tin of cookies and sip on tea. That night, I hid my agenda.
With sweaty hands, I clanged the knocker against the metal plating.
Whamp. Whamp. Whamp.
And then I waited.
And waited.
What am I doing? The thudding in my chest intensified. Maybe she wasn’t home after all, and the universe offered me an emergency exit. But as I turned to walk away, I heard footfalls shuffling. The door cracked open, and a cheerful face peered through the three-inch gap. The world was on my side, after all!
Suck it, Bo!
“Hi, dear!” Sabina’s puppy fingers got excited, and then she glanced down at my hands for the empty tin I didn’t hold. “It’s not Saturday. I didn’t expect you.”
“I know. Not angling for a cookie handout tonight.”
She studied me. “Is everything okay?”
I forced away thoughts of Bo and smiled, hoping it’d detract from my puffy eyes. “I’m fine. Just… wanted to stop by for tea and see if we could chat. Unless you’re busy…”
I took a small step back, giving her an out to dismiss me.
“Never too busy for you. Come in. I put the kettle on a few minutes ago.”
I walked through the doorway and locked it behind me, reinforcing my decision. Turning back wasn’t an option. I shrugged my outer sweatshirt off and hung it on the coat rack near the door. It rested atop the scarf I’d bought Sabina last Christmas.
Her house embodied security and coziness. A stone fireplace sparked and crackled with fresh wood laid atop bright orange embers. The nearby couch and pair of chairs were decorated in a simple plaid pattern with a respective beige-colored afghan draped across the back of each. Framed cross stitch images were spaced evenly on the walls at eye level. She’d spent days upon weeks atop months completing them, each a complicated nature scene.
I kicked off my sandals and padded through the living room to the kitchen where she stood in front of an old stove.
The tea kettle whistled shrilly, a thin cloud of steam billowing from the spout.
She pulled it from the burner and then rested a hip against the counter. “What’s bothering you?”
“I wouldn’t define it as ‘bothering.’” I grabbed two hand-molded clay mugs from the shelf, avoiding the third with the chip that
always sat on the far left. The fourth had shattered six months ago. Boysenberry Beatrice sold them at the Farmer’s Market and made a killing. The dark flecks of tan on glossy brown reminded me of constellations when I held them at a certain angle, their lopsidedness and fingerprints giving distinct character. I’d been a guest often enough at Sabina’s to absentmindedly help at teatime. Her cupboards were as familiar as my own.
“A better definition?” she asked.
“General curiosity.” I wound my hair up into a sloppy bun before picking up a pair of sugar packets and two bags of herbal tea from the wicker basket on the counter.
I pinned the paper seam of the first packet between my index finger and thumb, flicking the wrapper gently to knock any stray grains to the bottom. The visual sent me reeling back to my dinner with Bo. Salt. Sugar. Trust. I heard him from inside my head, telling me to mind my business in the parking lot of the physical therapy office. For a moment, I considered going home. But I wasn’t about to reward him for his childish behavior. Instead, I stayed strong.
“It’s a question about today.” I gave the second sugar packet the same attention as the first. Okay. Maybe the final time aggressiveness won, and I snapped it hard with my wrist.
“It’s the dress, isn’t it? I hope you’re not mad about driving to Ocean Shores. Bianca—”
“No, it’s not that,” I said, watching her fill the two mugs with boiling water, steam creeping over the square edges at the top.
I tore both paper tea wrappers at once and set the bags in the cups, watching them bob on the surface for a few seconds before drifting to the bottom. Symbolism jumped out at me, as if I sank lately, too, only tethered by a thin string.
Stop it, Jade. You came here for answers, so ask the question. It’s not that hard.
With a deep breath, I handed her one of the two mugs, motioning for her to sit down in the living room.
I occupied my usual seat near the fireplace, tucking my feet underneath my rear while Sabina sat down in the recliner. With a single nod, she waited for me to start the conversation.
“I… um… I…” I sounded like an idiot. My tongue forgot how to communicate with my brain.
“Say it.” She tilted her head slightly. “You’ve never had trouble talking to me before.”
“It’s… um…” I traced over Beatrice’s fingerprint indentations on the mug. “That Miles guy from the dress shop? What did he do? I mean, I’ve never seen you that upset before.”
The joyful glimmer disappeared from Sabina’s eyes, and her teacup connected against the saucer with a mild clank. “Well, there’s an unexpected topic.” She set her tea down on the coffee table and folded her hands on her lap. “Why do you need to know?”
“Correction. Not ‘need.’ It’s general curiosity. I have to walk down the aisle with him,” I took a quick breath, “as maid of honor in Annelies’s wedding.” Sharing what’d happened with Miles’s file at The Triple C didn’t feel right, so I didn’t mention it.
She nodded in satisfaction at my logic, but her reply remained as obscure as Roxy’s and Bo’s. “My advice? Keep your distance.”
“That’s kind of impossible since I’ll be linking arms with the guy. Should I worry? Is he dangerous?”
Even though she didn’t aim her tone at me, I tasted bitterness; it echoed how she spoke to Miles at the shop. “The world is full of danger, similar to the cove. It may appear serene, but there are hidden risks.” She paused and looked out the window. “Two days ago, someone drowned out there.”
Cold settled in my chest. “I heard.”
“But the same goes with people. Even those who seem innocent can pose a threat. Like a storm unpredictably becoming a hurricane.”
Another profound comparison.
“If we can, it’s best to safeguard our town from those violent waves before they make landfall. Understand?”
“Kind of. So, he’s violent?”
“I didn’t mean it quite that way.”
“We should sandbag him to prevent flooding?” I asked.
“The—”
“Wait. Is he the storm or the wave?”
She sighed. “Jade…”
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I just want this wedding behind me with minimal drama, and it’s already a disaster.”
“Whether he’s the storm or the wave, when Mr. McCullough is concerned, only damage and grief remain in his wake.”
I sipped my tea, but the flavor went ignored. Peppermint. Orange. Chamomile. I’d prepared it, but I had no clue what I drank.
Sabina appeared thoughtful. “What’s that saying? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?”
Her advice was clear as mud. Did I keep him close like a friend or closer like an enemy? I wanted more information, but I didn’t dare push Sabina like I did with Roxy or Bo. If she wouldn’t help with my questions, I had to respect that. But it wouldn’t stop me from trying one last time before I called it quits. “Is it… terrible?”
Sabina didn’t immediately reply. “Define ‘terrible.’”
I didn’t know how to answer.
A few minutes later, she finally spoke again. “All the more I’ll say on the matter is, we all have one person we hate. Had I known Mr. McCullough headed toward my dress shop…” She shook her head left and right. “He wouldn’t have stepped through the doorway.”
Not much later, I left her house, wishing she’d spill some tea, but she didn’t touch it, figuratively or literally. Instead, I sipped on the few words she’d disclosed, letting them steep, brew, and simmer in my head.
The next day, I woke up to a series of cracks and pops, followed by a window-rattling ka-boom. Things didn’t improve when Charlotte launched herself on my face to practice her amateur catupuncture skills. I bolted upright in bed, my heart racing, before flopping back onto my pillow. “Freaking Fourth of July!” I yelled toward the window. “It’s morning! Enough with the weapons of minor destruction!”
I rolled over and put the comforter over my head to go back to sleep. Between the sporadic explosions outside and Charlotte purring while trying to dig her way under the blankets to attack my feet, snoozing wouldn’t happen anytime soon.
My clock read 8:30 a.m. The parade would start shortly. Dumb me told my mom I’d watch it at her house— which somehow became a yearly tradition without my consent. Knowing I needed to make an appearance at Eli and Annelies’s pool party cranked the dial on my mood meter down to a lowly level “crappy.” Not to mention I had to stop by Bianca’s dress shop. Cue giving that invisible knob another swift left twist all the way to “shitty.” Plus, I remembered there being a requirement on Annelies’s list to attend the carnival. Life no longer felt like my own. Just throw the whole sphinctacular crapstravaganza of a gage away and know I’d have RBF all day.
I sat down at my computer with a cup of coffee and my imaginary investigator hat before pulling aged articles from The Chronicle about Cannon Cove. The newspaper went into circulation over twenty years ago. Before that, Steele Falls and Cannon Cove shared a paper to keep costs down— The Falls Cove Gazette. A huge fire destroyed all records from the FCG, so combing the surrounding timeframe only brought up the catastrophic event itself.
I tried search engines under the names Miles and Seth paired with McCullough without success. Searching for “mega-dickhead” didn’t help either, to my surprise. Every combination of names and timelines I used resulted in nothing. His number wasn’t even in the phone book or on any Internet search. I bit my lip. Whatever Miles did wasn’t newsworthy and didn’t involve the media. It surprised me because the local reporters clung to every shred of juicy gossip they could find.
After I exhausted my resources, I took a shower and went through the motions of getting ready, not bothering to put much thought into my appearance. Impressing Annelies and Eli didn’t rank on
any of my lists. I shoved bridesmaid gown number one out of the way to find my favorite gray maxi dress with faded yellow stars. If she forced me to be in an uncomfortable situation on a holiday, at least she couldn’t dictate what I wore. I shimmied into it over my black one-piece swimsuit and glanced in the mirror. Good enough. I jammed a change of clothes into my tote bag along with sandals in case there wasn’t time to come home before the rest of the fucktivities for the day. As I brushed my teeth, I tried to think of other ways to research Miles without asking anyone in town. My few resources clammed up, which complicated matters for Isolation Island.
* * *
I pulled up outside my mom’s house an hour later with dread tying in my stomach. Zero silver linings. I sat in the driveway for a few minutes and stared at the porch, wondering why I didn’t make up an excuse sooner. Maui? Too late. A cow broke down my front door? Too late. Someone stole my shoes? Also, too late. With a huff, I got out of my Jeep and started up the walkway.
Iris Geraldine Nash had quirks. A lot of them. Eccentric. Peculiar. She fit the mold for every adjective. Those words, among others, were synonymous with her name around town in hushed whispers. And I couldn’t come to her defense because her bizarre behaviors drove me bat shit crazy, too. Each year, her idiosyncrasies piled higher, and she collected those sonsabitches like rare baseball cards.
I blew a stray hair out of my face and glanced at my phone. The parade would start in half an hour, and Iris hated it when I walked in two minutes before an event started. Thinking back, maybe that’s why I was so unpunctual lately. I refused to become what she wanted.
“Let’s get this over with,” I muttered as my flip-flops smacked the soles of my feet with each step. I looked at where the concrete had cracked, noticing how the fissures widened over the years, much like Iris’s bigger-than-life oddities.
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