Survivor Trilogy Box Set

by T. M. Smith

  When they returned around dusk, the lights of the cottage could be seen from the slip, the sounds of soft jazz mingling with the laughter of the women waiting for them. Frank hopped onto the slip first, and Caleb tossed the dock lines out for him to secure the boat, then he too climbed onto the slip and the two of them each grabbed a cooler, walking down the dock to the grass to empty the water from them. Taylor had already moved any leftover items into the third cooler that would go back up to the house with them to be refrigerated.

  “Wow, whatever that is, it smells amazing.” Caleb spoke, the first one in the back door. Val and Justine were sitting on the cabinets in the kitchen, each with a glass of wine in hand. “Did you ladies have fun today?” he asked, leaning in to steal a quick kiss from his wife.

  Taking turns at the sink, the four men and lone teenager washed their hands before sitting down to a dinner that consisted of baked chicken, baby new potatoes with rosemary, and a mixture of steamed veggies. It was delicious, but now that his belly was full, Frank could barely keep his eyes open. Blinking and looking around the table, he noted that Caleb and Charlie were both yawning and bleary-eyed as well. When Valerie started clearing the dishes and shooing them all upstairs to get ready for bed, the menfolk weakly protested as they quickly left the room.

  Exhausted, Frank lay back on his bed, passing smooth out with his trunks and tank top still on. The weathered and worn out screen door woke him sometime later, and he managed to pull his ass out of bed long enough to change into clean boxers and shorts and brush his teeth. As soon as he flipped the bathroom light off, his room was bathed by the light of the moon pouring in through the open bay windows, the breeze blowing through and lifting the curtains. “Let’s just shut those or I’ll be up at six when the sun rises,” he muttered, stopping with his hands on the large panes when he heard laughter down below.

  Seeing Taylor and Billy sprawled out on a blanket in the backyard, Frank was torn. He knew Val and Charlie wouldn’t want him to be outside this late, but then, he was only in the backyard. He also knew that Taylor was responsible enough not to stray too far, or do anything stupid. Just to be safe though, Frank grabbed the book off his bedside table and took a seat in the chair that sat underneath the windows and got comfortable. He was just about to close the book and go get Taylor when he heard Billy saying good night.

  “Thank fuck,” he mumbled, closing the windows and climbing into bed.

  He could hear Taylor climbing the stairs, his footsteps stopping just outside of Frank’s bedroom. “ ’Night, Frank.” Taylor’s voice was barely above a whisper, his words tinged with a hint of sarcasm.

  “ ’Night, Kid,” Frank responded, rolling over and pulling the sheet up over his head.

  Chapter Four

  Taylor

  Summer 2008

  Blinking his eyes open, Taylor reached for his cell on the bedside table to see what time it was: seven in the morning. Rolling onto his back, he entered his password and pulled up his email. “Fourteen messages, damn.” One from his baseball coach with the practice schedule that started the week after they returned home to Dallas, a confirmation from Amazon that the new glove he’d ordered had shipped, and the rest were birthday wishes from his friends back home. He took a couple of minutes to at least reply thank you to everyone before pulling up Facebook and scrolling through his feed. There were dozens of birthday messages on his profile page. Knowing he didn’t have the time to respond to each of those messages, he pulled up a status thread and typed out a quick note to everyone that had wished him a happy birthday, inserted happy face and wrapped present emojis, posted it, then exited Facebook and climbed out of bed.

  Walking across the room, he stopped to pull back the curtains and push the windows open. The bedroom he always stayed in when they were at the cottage at Martha’s Vineyard was in the back corner of the house and with the windows open, Taylor could hear the water lapping at the rocks on the beach, listen to the seagulls caw as they circled in the air. He’d been coming to the Moores’ home on the island for three years now, and he could honestly say that being able to escape reality and his past back in Dallas, if only for a little while, had helped him cope with the horror of that night three years ago.

  It wasn’t all gorgeous sunrises and singing birds, not at all. The better part of the first year after his parents were killed was filled with pain that quickly became anger, rage over what had been taken from him. And he’d taken most of it out on his foster parents, Valerie and Charles Stone. A then-thirteen-year-old Taylor wanted nothing more than to be left alone. He acted out, lashed out at anyone that wasn’t Frank. Sitting at breakfast one morning with his foster parents, exhausted from a sleepless night and still pissed off at the world, four little words changed everything.

  “You’re not my mom!” he shouted at Valerie, shoving the bowl of cereal away from him with such force that it shot across the table and landed on the floor in a heap of milk, Lucky Charms, and broken glass.

  Valerie didn’t immediately respond to his outburst, didn’t even flinch. Instead, she covered his small hand with hers and offered him a genuine smile. “No sweetie, I’m not. Charlie and I could never replace your parents. We wouldn’t even want to, Taylor. All we can do is the best with the hand we’ve been dealt and try to be a family.”

  It wasn’t her words so much as the emotion he saw staring back at him when he met her gaze. Valerie Stone had the kindest blue eyes he’d ever seen aside from Frank’s and until that morning, Taylor had not held her gaze long enough to see the love and devotion in them as she smiled at him. As if she could see the wall he’d built up around himself starting to crumble, she gave the bricks one last push. “Your mom and dad are looking down on you from heaven every day, Taylor, and I’m certain that they are so proud of you. All Charlie and I want to do is to keep you safe and help you grow into the wonderful, caring, smart young man that your parents would want you to be. Will you let us do that, Taylor?”

  A women’s shrill shriek snapped Taylor out of his memory and he looked down to the beach, seeing Caleb carrying Justine over his shoulder, smacking her ass as he walked in a circle. Taylor laughed softly, shaking his head. At first glance the six-foot-two, brown-haired, green-eyed man that was built like a linebacker seemed formidable. And he was, when the uniform was on. But goddamn if Caleb didn’t know how to whine like a pissed off toddler when he didn’t get his way. He’d give you the shirt off his back though, and he was fiercely loyal to anyone he considered friend or family. His wife, Justine, was barely five foot four and might tip the scales at one twenty if she were wet and had rocks in her pockets. Her curly black hair, piercing blue eyes, and lily-white skin made the woman look like a china doll. But fragile, she was not.

  Taylor couldn’t hold in his laughter when Caleb stopped and set Justine on her feet, she wobbled a bit, legs unsteady and head likely still spinning. She swung at her husband who sidestepped her hand easily. A soft, familiar chuckle caught Taylor’s attention and, bracing his hands on the window sill, he leaned forward and looked down to see Frank sitting on the short wall that lined the path down to the beach. He was drinking a cup of coffee and laughing at the antics of the couple dancing around in the sand.

  Watching Caleb and Justine stirred memories of the parents he’d lost. The thoughts were blurry and tattered around the edges but forever engrained in his mind. His mother humming softly while she washed dishes after dinner, the kitchen window open to let the slight breeze in. His father coming up behind her, arms slinking around the waist of the woman he loved. The two of them laughing and dancing around the kitchen while Taylor looked on. He missed them both so much, especially around this time of year.

  “No, stop it, Taylor. This is your birthday and everyone is downstairs waiting for you; snap out of it.” He gave himself a slight verbal spanking, reaching up and pulling the windows closed then turning and walking to the bathroom to shower. He let the sharp sting of the hot water calm his nerves and wash away the tears, then t
hanked God he’d gotten to a point where remembering that night no longer left him catatonic, or pissed him off to the point where he destroyed things. He didn’t even want to think about how much time and money the Stones had invested in doctors, counselors, therapists, drugs, and furniture over the past three years in an effort to find a way for Taylor to cope with what had happened to him and his parents. Life wasn’t perfect, not by any stretch of the imagination, but with the love and support of the six people waiting for him downstairs, he’d come to a place where he was happy and content, most of the time.

  ~

  Taking the stairs two at a time, Taylor grabbed the banister and swung himself around, charging into the kitchen and almost running right over Charles. “Whoa there, Son, no running in the house; we’ve talked about this.”

  “Sorry,” Taylor apologized, looking into his foster dad’s eyes, seeing a hint of playfulness in them. Charles Stone was average height and build with calm brown eyes and thick blond hair that was beginning to gray around his temple. Laugh lines formed from years of chuckling, smiling, and talking started at the corner of his nose, running below his mouth. Hand on Taylor’s shoulder, he winked and gently pushed his son toward the kitchen.

  Valerie and Justine were dancing around each other at the stove, making breakfast. “Morning, birthday boy!” they said in unison. He went over and gave them each a hug before taking a seat in one of the chairs at the kitchen island, grabbing the pitcher of juice and a glass, filling it with the freshly squeezed OJ. The two women could easily pass as mother and daughter, both having black hair and blue eyes. His foster mom was a few inches taller than Justine and tanned easily whereas Caleb’s wife was either white or burnt; there was no in between. And she was a couple of decades older.

  The back door opened and Frank came through, followed by his dad, Hubert, and Caleb; the three of them argued playfully about something, the banter back and forth both comical and amusing. Frank turned and smiled, coming over and pulling Taylor’s upper body in for a hug. “Happy Birthday, Kid.”

  Taylor went from happy to see the man to thoroughly pissed in a matter of seconds. He pushed Frank away and scoffed. “I’m no kid, Frank, I’m sixteen and,” he stood, crossing his arms and cocking his head to one side, “I’m taller than you.”

  “Don’t be an ass.” Caleb sidled up beside Frank, grabbing Taylor and wrapping one of his thick, muscled arms around Taylor’s neck, giving him a noogie. He struggled to get free, but Caleb had a tight hold on him.

  “All right you three, cut it out.” Hubert pushed his way between Frank and Caleb, taking Taylor by the arm and extricating him from Caleb’s grasp. Frank’s father turned Taylor around and pointed him back to the tall stool he had been sitting on, taking the one beside him and waving the two Neanderthals behind them away with one flick of his hand. “I don’t know ’bout you, but I’m ready for some banana and chocolate chip pancakes.” Taylor grinned. Banana and chocolate chip pancakes and red velvet cake were staples for his birthday every year as they were his favorite. Sneaking a glance over his shoulder, he saw Frank setting the table for breakfast and wondered if the man would ever see him as anything more than just a kid.

  Chapter Five

  Frank

  Summer 2010

  Wind in his hair, radio turned all the way up, Frank made the short drive from the cottage to the market in town. It was a rare occasion that his dad allowed anyone to drive his 1967 Mustang convertible, but Frank had caught him in the right mood that morning and snatched the keys from his hand before Hubert could change his mind. Caleb followed behind in the oversized Ford truck he’d rented, Taylor’s best friend, Bradley, riding shotgun. Frank would never understand why his partner felt the need to drive such an ostentatious vehicle. Hell, one tire of the monster truck stood almost as tall as the cherry red Mustang he was currently steering along the winding roads to town.

  He loved summers at the Vineyard with Taylor, Caleb and Justine, the Stones, and his dad. This summer was extra special though; Taylor was turning eighteen in just a few days and they were throwing an over-the-top birthday soiree for him that weekend. Bradley, his girlfriend, and a couple of Taylor’s friends from Dallas were down for the week as well. The Stones had rented one of the vacation homes on the beach, not far from the Moores’ cottage, for the season and that’s where Taylor and his friends were staying until Sunday, when his friends went back to Dallas, and Taylor would be at the Moores’ cottage with them for the rest of the summer.

  Pulling into a parking spot labeled Compact Cars, Frank killed the engine and hopped out of the Mustang, reaching into the back seat for the reusable grocery sacks they kept in the car for shopping. The big, loud, beast of a truck Caleb had rented ambled into the lot, his best friend leaning out the window and flipping Frank the bird before driving to the back of the lot where the other big, useless vehicles had to park. Shaking his head, Frank headed into the market, stopping for a cart and making a beeline to the deli to order all the meat they’d need for the weekend. He’d do the rest of the shopping while the butcher cut his steaks and chops to order, picking everything up on the way to the register to check out.

  The market wasn’t very large, so it didn’t take long for Caleb and Bradley to find him back in the dairy section loading up on Almond milk, yogurt, and cottage cheese. Taylor and the other guys tagging along for the week were on the baseball team, all but two of them receiving scholarships to various colleges across the country to play baseball their freshman year. They were healthy and practiced clean eating, which was a concept Frank still didn’t fully grasp. Clean eating, what the hell did that mean, anyway? He washed his apples before eating them. That was clean eating, right?

  “Hey, Frankie, grab some white cheddar and Havarti sliced cheese, finely shredded sharp cheddar, and a pint of shredded parmesan, would you?” Caleb read off several items from the list he held. “Bradley, we need four loaves of honey wheat bread, six packs of King’s Hawaiian rolls, and two packs of bagels,” he rattled off, pointing Bradley toward the bread aisle.

  Frank loaded his cart with the items Caleb said they needed, a couple of packages of cream cheese for the bagels, and some unsalted butter sticks.

  Before he got down the next aisle, Caleb grabbed the side of Frank’s buggy, pulling it over beside his. “Let’s do one for each house. That way, we don’t have to separate all this shit when we get back.”

  “Damn, look at you, making sense,” Frank teased.

  “Fuck. You,” Caleb said dryly, sorting the cheeses and butter between the two carts.

  Bradley rolled up beside them with a third cart, the bread Caleb told him to grab sitting in the child seat at the top. “What’s next?” Bradley asked.

  Caleb split the bread between the buggies as well before standing back and grinning like the cat that just ate the canary. “Cottage buggy, rental buggy, and party buggy.” He pointed out each one in turn.

  Bradley chuckled. “Yeah dude, I’ve got the party buggy.”

  Caleb grabbed him by the collar and pushed the lanky teenager toward the rental shopping buggy. “Yeah, no. I’ve got this. You go with Frank.”

  “Hey!” Bradley protested.

  “See you at the checkout, ladies!” Caleb cackled, disappearing down the beer aisle.

  Frank rolled his eyes, patting Bradley on the shoulder before shoving him forward. “Come on, Kid. The faster we get what we need, the faster we can get back and then go for a swim.”

  Taylor’s bff snorted. “Can I drown Caleb?”

  Frank threw his head back and laughed. “You have no idea how many times I’ve asked myself that very question.”

  Bradley fell in line behind him, the wheels of one of the buggies making that god-awful sound like nails on a chalkboard. “But you’re a cop. That means you should know the best way to dispose of the body.”

  Still laughing, Frank shook his head. “You and I are going to get along just fine Bradley, just fine.”

  ~

  Ca
leb loaded the monster truck with the bags for the rental house and the mass quantities of alcohol he’d purchased at the market while Frank managed to get all the cottage groceries into the Mustang. He made a pit stop at the farmer’s market for fresh fruit and veggies, Caleb jumping at the chance to run into the liquor store across the street before heading back to the cottage. The blaring horn startled Frank momentarily before he realized it was just Caleb being a dick, honking before turning into the driveway of the rental house, presumably to drop off Bradley and the groceries.

  Pulling into the driveway, he took a moment to enjoy the fresh air and the breeze, things he didn’t get back in Dallas. Seagulls circled the water, the waves lapping against the sand. It was quiet, peaceful, and perfect. The rest of the week would be a bit crazy with so many people in town for Taylor’s party, might as well enjoy a moment of serenity before the madness ensued.

  Yeah, right, he thought. Taylor wasn’t really the partying type; neither were his closest friends. He’d done well to surround himself with peers that were smart, laid-back, and low-key, for the most part. Considering what Taylor had been through, the shitty hand he’d been dealt, Taylor was growing into a fine young man. In the five years Frank had known him, Taylor had gone from a gangly preteen that was pissed off at the world to a striking young man with a promising future. Excelling in baseball and playing throughout high school, Taylor had received a full ride to the University of Texas at Austin in the fall. He’d play for them as a freshman while studying for his degree in social work. Frank couldn’t be more proud. He and Taylor had forged a connection, an unbreakable bond, over the last five years. Having lost his mother to cancer when he was still a teenager, Frank understood the mood swings, anger, and pain associated with the loss of a parent. The difference was, Frank still had his father and their family home in Martha’s Vineyard. Taylor had lost everything in one night.