by E L Irwin
Paul was probably one of the most nondescript people I’d ever met. He had plain brown hair, no variation to the color… just brown, cut in a simple, unassuming style. His eyes were a brown like his hair. Just… brown. Nothing extraordinary to them. He looked at me in that quiet way of his before saying, “I didn’t mean to startle you, AJ. I just happened to be coming down for a snack when I heard your conversation. You’re leaving us again?”
“Yeah, just for a bit. I’ve got some things to take care of, personal things.”
“You’ll be gone for a while, then?”
“A couple weeks or so, yeah.”
Paul was quiet for a moment or two, and I almost moved on, assuming the conversation was at an end.
“Were you and Harley out tonight?” he asked suddenly.
Chuckling, I said, “Yeah, we just went to CBC for a bite. Nothing fancy.”
“I’ll bet you still received phone numbers, didn’t you? You always get male attention. And sometimes female.”
Boy, this conversation is taking a turn for the weird quickly. “Yeah, well it was nice chatting, Paul. I need to start making preparations for my trip. I’ll talk with you later. You take it easy, all right?”
I was about halfway up the stairs when I glanced behind me. Paul was still standing where I’d left him leaning against the wall, his gaze on me. Speeding up slightly, I made it to my room and quickly stepped inside. That man is so odd.
BLOG POST
Hey Beach Bums, it’s ten at night. I just got home. Now I’m sitting on my balcony, watching the stars, listening to the waves…
I have no beach-vibe tidbit for you today. I’m sorry! Today… today has been nuts. Crazy. Insane. Nuts. I was hit with some news that was rather like taking a rock to the head. Not sad, or bad news, just crazy news. News that required a trip to CBC this evening and knocking back a couple with my girl, Harley. It’s also going to require a road trip. A really long road trip. To Washington State, no less. Northern Washington State.
Are there even beaches in Washington? Guys, what am I going to do without beaches?
And I have no idea how long I’ll be gone. Could be just a couple weeks. Could be a couple months. But, have no fear, I promise to blog and stay in touch with you while I’m away, no matter where I have to blog from. So, I’m signing out for the evening. I’ll be in touch soon!
All the best,
Your Siren of the Surf, AJ
It didn’t take me long to pack. Well, it didn’t take me that long to pack. Only three days. Mainly, my packing consisted of tossing everything onto my bed, checking the weather forecast for Sequim, my planned stopping points along the way, and then throwing some things together in a duffle bag or two. Who was I kidding? I packed four solid bags. A girl’s gotta dress. Then I sat down at my laptop and planned my drive, made reservations at each hotel I’d stay in, located the gas stations and coffee houses. I checked my emails, responding to them as needed. I checked my blog again and read through the wishes for a safe and fun trip.
Most of my followers were amazing, being kind and courteous, but there was that one. She’d been following me for a little over a year now. Ambergoldenone was her name. And her comments always bordered on the aggressive and proprietary side. Leslie had suggested I just block her, but I figured Amber Whoevershewas would just get herself a new email and be right back to seeing what she could do to get under my skin. So, I tended to just ignore her as best I could, despite her comments indicating that I was abandoning my readers by taking off like I was all the time — I wasn’t. And that I owed it to them to stay here on Coronado, to supply them with the tidbits of my life. Quite a few of my followers chimed in in my defense each time she’d done this, and I’d tried to do my best to keep the peace.
As I checked my blog, responding to several comments, I saw one from Amber. And in typical fashion, she was expressing irritation that I was once again going out of town. What I found funny was that Amber always seemed to present herself as if she knew me personally, and that my leaving was a personal affront to her. To my knowledge, I didn’t know an Amber. Of course, I reminded myself, people could use fake names and create fake profiles; they did it all the time.
Today she seemed thoroughly annoyed, indicating that I was being irresponsible and inconsiderate in my actions. And as I made it a policy to do my absolute best to respond to all comments, kind or unkind, I just apologized to her, and promised that I’d find some new things to blog about on my journey. Hoping that my response would calm her ruffled feathers, I gathered my writing materials, double and triple-checking to make sure I had everything I’d need for my extended leave of absence.
I’d given Harley a key to my room years ago, when I first moved in, in case she needed to borrow something. I knew if I’d forgotten anything and was desperate enough, I could always ask her to grab it from the room and UPS it to me. And that was a comforting thought.
I took my time on the trip, only driving about six hours each day. On the first night, I made it just a little north of Santa Clarita before I stopped. The next night, Josephine and I made it to Stockton. On the third night, we made it to Redding. By this time, I could see the landscape noticeably changing, with the pine trees sprouting up all around. By about midday on the fourth day, we’d crossed into Oregon and pushed on for Roseburg, the landscape continually getting rougher, more beautiful, lush. On the fifth and final day on the road, before arriving in Sequim, we stopped in Olympia.
The Hotel RL, by Red Lion, allowed pets, so we booked a room. Josephine was glad to be out of her crate. I’d blogged about each travel stop, taking pictures of the scenery and posting them to my page, and had stayed in touch with Harley and Leslie. After dinner, I put a call in to Mr. Walker to let him know where I was and about what time to expect me tomorrow. Then I ordered a glass of wine and ran the bath water, just wanting to relax so I could mentally prepare for my meeting tomorrow.
The long drive had allowed me ample time to think through a lot of things. For instance, it occurred to me that I should have called my stepdad to see what he knew. Even though Dave and Mom had divorced when I was in fifth grade, he and I still stayed in touch. I wondered if he’d known that Mom had lied to me about my dad. Had he known the truth all along? And now, just thinking that Dave may have been a party to Mom’s deception, I was a tad numb.
This line of thinking was making me sick to my stomach. I needed to change gears. And fast. So instead of thinking about what may or may not have happened in my past, I began to imagine what the next day would bring. What new information I’d learn. My bath water was rather cooled by the time I was done. So, after finishing the wine, I brushed my teeth, set my alarm, and headed off to bed.
Ryler heard the music long before he saw the car. It was a sleek, milk-blue M4 convertible. A pricey number. The car came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the road, tires squealing mildly; the stereo was instantly silenced, then the car quickly backed up before shooting forward again to make the turn. The convertible pulled into Kerry’s parking lot, not quite on two wheels, but nearly so. Ryler was repairing the mailbox stand. High school students had been playing mailbox baseball again. He shook his head in exasperation, dropping his drill into his toolbox. He had to check himself, wanting to give the female driver a piece of his mind.
The heat Ryler was feeling quickly shifted, smoothly changing gears from irritation at her lack of courtesy for those around her to… just heat. Just your run of the mill, punch to the gut, basic, general male response to an attractive female kind of heat.
Ah, heck.
Her hair was dark brown, cut short, almost like a man’s, trimmed shorter in the back, a little longer on top. A couple pieces hung down into her eyes. She brushed those aside. He noted the graceful curve of her neck, the way she held her head. Confident. Ready. Assessing. Her skin was deeply tanned, and even from a distance of thirty feet or so, it looked velvety smooth. She stepped from that blue car wearing a faded grey dress of some kind — it l
ooked more like an over-sized t-shirt than it did an actual dress — only it hugged her form, rather than hiding it. The neckline was wide enough that it had slipped off her nicely shaped shoulder, revealing a large, red rose tattoo. His mouth had gone dry at the sight.
The sun, shining down through the pines, caught the two rings in her upper right ear — one of silver, one of gold. It was only the second week in April; temperatures were still cool and frosty. Yet here she was, looking like she’d stepped right from the tropics. He could easily imagine a coconut scent coming off her skin. She was wearing a pair of strappy, open-toe heels that accentuated the curves in her legs. Ryler stared, unable to help himself, trying to figure out how it was possible for someone that short to have legs that long. Legs that just seemed to go on and on. And on.
She closed the door to her car and stood beside it for a minute. He watched as she changed — that confidence slipped, and she shifted on her feet, seemingly uncertain. Silently, he watched as she chewed at her lip, her nerves now on display. Then she glanced behind her into the car. “Oh, hush,” she muttered. Her voice was like the ocean surf somehow, calm and soothing. “I’ll just be a minute or two, I promise.” Then she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, raised her chin, cocking it like she was preparing for a fight, and headed toward Kerry’s door.
As the woman moved away from her car, her eyes traveled the parking lot as if just getting her bearings, taking in the tall pine trees, the other vehicles parked here. Then those eyes, like melted chocolate framed in thick, dark lashes, landed on him. And halted. She stopped, midstride, letting those warm eyes travel slowly over Ryler, making him tighten with tension — starting at the top and roving all the way to his boots before flicking back up. Touching lightly over his tall frame, noting the short-cropped hair, the tattoos, the scars, the fact that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. And then their eyes collided. He saw hers widen, could almost feel her quickly indrawn breath, even from across the lot. Her chest rose and fell with each breath she took.
She apparently remembered herself then, where she was, what she was doing, because she jerked her gaze from him, color blooming across her cheeks, and continued toward the office door.
Ryler watched her move, noting the grace and balance in each step, each swing of those hips, enjoying the play of the toned muscles under her tanned skin as she walked. And then she was inside, and he remembered what he’d been doing. Fixing the mailbox. In his gut, Ryler knew who she must be. Jake’s kid.
The daughter.
The one Ryler really wanted nothing to do with.
The one he’d promised Jake he’d look out for.
And even if she wasn’t Jake’s long-lost daughter, he still wanted nothing to do with her, Ryler sternly reminded himself. Women were trouble. Especially women like her. And there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in Hades that this woman, used to her busy, flashy California lifestyle would ever be enticed in to staying here in Sequim, Washington, or even wanting to be with a guy like him.
Ryler turned his back to the building and ripped his t-shirt off the post he’d tossed it on, stuffing himself back into it in jerky movements. Then he bent and began gathering all his tools. He’d settle with Kerry later. He just wanted to get away, to be gone before she was back outside. Ryler remembered his promise to Jake, to make her feel welcome. To help her out — if she came — while she was here. And she was here, and he fully intended to fulfill his promise. But not today. Not while he was this… unprepared.
The office of Kerry Walker, Attorney-at-Law, was decorated rather like a man cave. The floors were tiled in shades of grey; the walls were painted in light blue-grey. Dark oak balanced the room. And Mr. Walker was a Seahawks fan. Signed and framed jerseys were hung around the room. Along with banners, flags, and team photos.
There were five chairs against the west wall. A simple counter was near the back wall. And behind the counter was a door. This door was open. When I’d first walked in, a bell hung over the door had jangled loudly, alerting whoever was through that open door that I’d arrived.
“Be out in a sec!” a man’s voice called out.
I just nodded my head in silence, then said, “Okay…” Turning away from that open door, I faced the parking lot to watch that stunning man as he loaded some things into an older black Bronco. My face was still warm — I could feel it. I hadn’t had such an intense reaction to a man in maybe ever. Rattled, that was what I was. My pulse pounded through my veins, adrenaline surging, making me jittery. I needed to calm down, fast. He limped slightly on his right leg, seemed a little stiff in his movements. The man was tatted, and scarred. Scarred from what? I wondered. And beautiful. Sharp-edged, like a blade, and yet beautiful.
“AJ McAdams,” the voice said pleasantly from behind me. The man was tall, really tall, I noticed as I turned back around, away from that parking lot. He had to be somewhere in the ballpark of six feet seven or so. His hair was sandy in color, a little thin on top, longer in the back. He held his hand out to me, a friendly smile on his face, in his green eyes. “I’d recognize you anywhere. It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”
“Mr. Walker?”
“Call me, Kerry, please. How was the drive?”
“It was all right. I think I made pretty good time, despite the fact that I took my time.”
Kerry bobbed his head in small nod, a smile playing around his lips as he studied me, before asking, “Well, Ms. McAdams, are you ready to get down to business?”
“AJ, please.” I took a deep breath and nodded.
“All right, AJ, let’s go into my office.”
Kerry led me into the back office; this room was a continuation of the front reception room. The Seahawks were again prominently displayed on the walls. Kerry sat behind a large dark oak desk and indicated the two leather chairs in front for me to sit down on. In the center of Kerry’s desktop was a large manila envelope. My eyes were drawn to it as I took the chair on the right.
“You want some water, coffee?” he asked, nodding to the right where a coffeemaker sat atop a small refrigerator.
“No, I’m good for right now. Thank you. Mr. Walker, Kerry, how long do you think this will take?”
Kerry nodded, and sucked at his teeth. “Well, I guess that will depend on you. I’ll let you read the document I have — that your parents agreed upon — concerning your dad’s involvement in your life. Or, I can tell you the gist of it, read you the will, explain what Jake was hoping for, then if you’re up to it, take you by the house.”
I took a deep breath again, then said, “Let’s do that, I guess.”
“All right,” he agreed, then studied me silently for a moment longer. “From reading the document and the accompanying letters that Jake left for me and for you, I can tell you, assure you, that he loved you very much. And I know that is hard for you to comprehend. However, I think you’ll see the proof in time. Now, for a bit of history. Jake joined the army in 1987, and about a year later was selected for the RIP/Ranger program. His first deployment came in 1990 at the end of the Panama War, with Operation “Just Cause” as a part of Task Force Red-Romeo. He then went on to serve in the Gulf War. He returned home in 1991. He then redeployed in ‘93 to Mogadishu. Jake was shot in the shoulder during that deployment and came home. It was during that time he met your mother.
“She became pregnant, and you were born in 1994. Your parents never married. Donna had… issues with the military. She’d been hoping you might be the influence to keep Jake home permanently. Jake loved you, AJ. I’ve got some pictures of you with him. He was very proud. Very proud of you. But he wanted to redeploy, and Donna was having none of that. Jake struggled with adapting to civilian life. She threatened to move away, get a new identity, and he’d never see or hear of you again. Then Donna convinced Jake to sign over all rights of you to her, and she promised in return to send him quarterly updates on you until your eighteenth birthday. He had to agree to never be in touch with you. She’d convinced Jake that it
was better for you because he’d most likely die in battle, and all it would do was hurt you.
“Against most everyone’s opinion and his better judgment, Jake agreed to these terms. AJ, please understand, he was really struggling — it wasn’t that he didn’t love you or care. He did, very much so. He’s followed you over the years and stayed updated on all your progresses. He’s written you letters that explain all this more fully — and probably better than what I’m trying to say.”
I was pretty sure that I looked rather like a fish out of water for several moments, as my mouth just opened and closed, no sound coming out.
“How’s about that water now?” Kerry asked me.
I could only nod. My mind was reeling with the information I’d just heard.
“As for the will that Jake wrote … he owns a home on fifteen acres up off Bear Creek Road. The house is well-built. Secluded. You’ll have plenty of privacy. As a part of that property, on five acres toward the top of the mountain, is Ryler’s place. Ryler Dean. Jake took Ryler under his wing a while back, and when Ryler came back from the war, Jake allowed him to build a cabin up on the hill. The way the will is written is that you are prevented from selling the property for the expanse of one year, during which time you are expected to live at the house. If, after one year, you desire to sell the property, then Ryler Dean will have the first option to buy, before it can go on the market.
“Before you decide what you’d like to do, may I just make the suggestion to go to the house? Check it out. Stay there at least a couple days. Jake’s done a lot to fix things up, make things all right for you.”
Not knowing how to respond to this new information at the moment, I let my mind focus on another question that had been milling about in my brain. “How long was he sick?”
“Jake was diagnosed with cancer in 2015. He declined treatments, not wanting to go through all that. He knew he was going to die, wasn’t afraid of it.”
