by Angel Lawson
Once we’re away from the campers, I face him. His skin seems so pale out here in the warm summer sun. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to get you,” he says with confidence.
“What?”
“Catherine and Irene packed you a bag. I saved your itinerary and I know you still have your ticket and passport. Come to France with me. If we leave now, we can catch the flight out of Charlotte.”
I’m dumbfounded, enough to realize my mouth is hanging open and I snap it shut. He waits for a response though so I finally ask, “You want me to what?”
He steps forward and places his hands on my shoulders, bringing me in to an embrace. “I’ve ended it with Nicole. I should have ended it a long time ago, before you and I got together. And I never should have lied. It wasn’t fair to you—or to us.”
He’s saying all these things, the right things, but none of his words connect from my brain to my heart. He’s saying them in his preppy outfit, standing on a strip of beach by the inter-coastal waterway, next to a trailer park. My trailer park. He never said them where it counted, in front of my fellow students and his co-workers. Because he couldn’t, he still can’t, because at the end of the day this entire relationship is wrong—and not just because he’s my teacher. Because he is wrong for me.
I wiggle out of his arms, using my hands to push his chest. “I’m not going with you.”
He looks shocked. “What? Are you serious? You wanted some kind of gesture—this was it.”
“You don’t get it. I wanted a gesture from you when we were sneaking around. I realize now that was to save your job and to keep the peace in your marriage. You just want a fuck-buddy on this trip to France. I can’t be that person.”
“You mean more than that to me and you know it.”
His eyes are all sad and a tiny spot in my heart tugs for him. I shake it off and say, “You meant more than that to me, too, but in the end you hung me out to dry. Nicole had us followed. There were pictures. And the instant she had you by the balls, you caved. You wouldn’t even look me in the eye when I dropped that class.”
I race to the boardwalk, hoping to get back to the camper before he reacts but he’s hot on my heels. He catches me at the top of the stairs. “What’s better here? Mooching off your mom? That trashy camper?” His eyes narrow. “Did you meet a guy?”
I stop cold. “You don’t get it, do you? You can’t see what a complete and utter prick you are. You need to leave. No one asked you to come and I’m not leaving with you.”
He grabs my arm and I can feel the anger rolling off him in waves. “I left my wife for you. Do you understand that?”
“All I understand is that we’re over.”
Mark opens his mouth to speak but I push past him and march back to my camper. My mother is on the patio when I get back and all I say is, “I’ve asked him to leave.”
She may not understand what is going on but it’s enough. Mark rounds the corner of the camper and she steps between us. “Have a safe trip,” she says, unable to say nothing, but points in the direction of his silver sedan blocking our driveway.
His car kicks up gravel as he drives recklessly out of the campground and more than one neighbor steps out to see what the squealing tires were about. I can’t stand to face anyone else. “I’m sorry,” I say to my mother the minute she walks inside.
She frowns and pulls me into a hug. “For what?”
I choke on the words, but it doesn’t matter. She knows enough and like the day the last man I knew walked out of my life, she gathers me in her arms and rocks the pain away
Chapter Eleven
I didn’t leave the camper until after eleven. Arriving at Richard’s alone and so late definitely felt awkward but I didn’t have anywhere else to go. After parking next to his jeep, I climb the steps to his cottage and knock quietly. The air from the water doesn’t reach this side of the porch and even at this time of night it’s unbearably hot and humid. Talking to my mom about Mark had been rough. She wanted the finer details and I suppose I owed them to her. Thankfully, she appreciated my need for space and didn’t argue when I said I needed to go out for a while. I skipped telling her my destination was Justin’s house but I’m pretty sure she knew anyway.
After the drama with Mark I didn’t reply to Justin’s earlier texts. I just came on a whim and now that I wait on the front step, listening for sounds inside, I hope he’s here. He could be asleep or maybe he went out if he got tired of waiting for me. I knock again, this time a bit louder. Finally, I hear movement from behind the door. I breathe a sigh of relief when I hear the knob turn.
Justin opens the door with a smile but it falters when he sees what a mess I am. “Hey, what’s going on?” he asks.
“Can I come in?”
“Of course,” he says. Moths hover around the doorway, attracted to the light from inside. He swats one away as he pulls me into the tiny cottage. I take a moment to absorb Justin’s home. The cottage has a half college boy-half beach house theme going on. The furniture looks new and fairly expensive but contradicts with the surf posters on the wall. I eye a stack of laundry on the kitchen counter. From my spot by the entry, I can see the entire house, other than what’s behind the two doors flanking the back wall.
“So,” he says, he runs his hands through his damp hair. He must have just taken a shower. “This is my house.”
“It’s nice,” I tell him. “It’s bigger than the camper.”
“Technically it’s about the same. Kitchen, living room, bathroom,” he points to a door across the room. “I do have a bedroom of my own though.”
“And a door.”
“Yep, I have a door. Wait.” He frowns. “You don’t have a door?”
“Nope, just a curtain.”
“Interesting.” He walks over to the couch and sits down, leaving room for me next to him. I sit and he picks up my hand. “So what happened?”
I take a deep breath, ready to spill it all, but then stop. I hardly know Justin and this is my summer fling—not my serious relationship. I didn’t want to tarnish what we had with the drama from back home. “I just got some news from someone back home. It’s nothing big—just a surprise.”
He’s sitting next to me on the couch, knees touching mine, fingers entwined. “You sure? I’m happy to listen.”
I grimace. “I just had a mother-daughter heart to heart. I think I’m all talked out for the moment.” I squeeze his hand. “But thank you for giving me somewhere to escape.”
He doesn’t look convinced but says, “Any time.”
I reach out and push his hair out of his eyes. He smells clean, like soap. Justin Hawkins is handsome. And funny. And a really good friend. I look from his mouth to his eyes and say, “I kind of thought maybe you could distract me.”
Justin nods slowly. “I can probably do that.”
I shift closer and tilt my head, kissing him under the jaw. He responds by grasping my face in his hands and kissing me back on the lips. The raw emotions from the night wash over me and I rise up, trying to get closer. Instead pushes me into the couch, cradling the back of my head with one hand and clenching the hem of my shirt with the other.
“You’re pretty good at this,” I tell him, squirming when he pushes my hair aside and concentrates on my neck.
Barely stopping, he asks, “What specifically?”
“Distracting me.”
“Paige,” he says, my name rolling off his tongue with a sweet and southern twang. He runs his fingers down the side of my leg. “I can do more than distract you.”
I pull his face to mine, clasping my fingers in the thick, soft hair at the back of his neck. I kiss him again, harder, tugging on his lip before letting go. When I look up, he’s grinning and my chest heaves in clichéd anticipation. I know that this is the moment where things go from fun with Justin to something a bit more. I know that I should stop and tone this down. Instead I ask, “How so?”
I know the answer already, I can see it in t
he way his jaw clenches and feel it as he presses against me, but I want to hear him say it.
Before he speaks, he hops off the couch and picks me up and carries me toward the bedroom. With his back pressed against the closed door and my legs around his waist, I see the mischievous glint in his eye. “I can make you forget.”
~*~
If there’s one thing I learn that night, it’s that Justin Hawkins is true to his word. Once we’re in his room, I forget about Mark. The second he peels off his shirt and tosses it on the floor next to his bed all thoughts of him and the fight are gone. His memory is wiped away with the feel of the fuzzy, scattered hair trailing between his belly and his waist. So soft and sensitive, he flinches under my touch. The disastrous spring quarter vanishes when I run my fingers over the smooth skin on his hips, where the muscle dips and my thumbs fit perfectly. He does more than make me forget. The past becomes foggy and lost when he uses his fingers, slow and skilled, to make me question any desire I ever had to go to France.
And later, in his dark, quiet room, he tells me about his life. School and friends. He explains how the water feels under his surfboard and about leaving Ocean Beach to go to college. He tells me about his graduation and how proud his brothers were. He reenacts the day he landed in the hospital from wiping out on his board, while pointing out the awards and prizes tacked to his wall. He guides my hands and lets me feel the scar behind his ear and he kisses me long and slow, over and over until there is nothing left but us.
~*~
I feel like I’ve only been asleep for a minute when I hear the quiet beeping of an alarm. The bed shifts and heaves and a groan comes from the dark. I crack open a heavy eye. It’s not even light outside.
Justin rolls back in bed, wrapping his arms around my waist and burying his face in my neck. “What time is it?” I ask. I attempt and fail to open my eyes.
“Five,” he mumbles into my hair.
“Who gets up at five in the summer?”
He wiggles closer and I feel him behind me. “People who work.”
“Oh, those people.”
“You don’t have to get up with me. Stay as long as you want.” His breath is hot on my neck and it takes a lot of strength not to pick up where we left off the night before.
I roll toward him and rest my head on his chest. “Thanks for letting me hide out for the night.”
“Thanks for letting me distract you.”
He kisses my forehead and sits up. I prop up on my elbow and say, “People are going to think we had sex.”
In the lightening room I can see him nod his head and rub his face, trying to wake up. “What people? No one knows you’re here.”
“There’s probably a write up on it in the Campground Gazette already,” I grimace. “Speaking of, exactly why didn’t we have sex?” I ask. I’m okay that we didn’t. Relieved even, but things were pretty intense the night before and definitely felt like they were headed that way. Justin managed a level of control that surprised me.
“Because you were too vulnerable and I’m a gentleman,” he laughs. “Plus, those other things we did were kind of awesome, too.”
My cheeks warm under his compliment and I feel his hand on my stomach, trailing under the hem of my shirt. Everything with Justin is easy. Fun-easy, I think. He agrees, I know it, because nothing like this has ever happened to me so fast and he seems just as willing to take the ride. My mind begins to race a million miles a minute with thoughts of school and Mark. I force myself to ignore them and my morning-breath to lean over and kiss him. Because that’s what being fun-easy is all about.
~*~
There’s nothing worse than The Walk of Shame. Everyone has done it. Sneaking into the dorm or back to an apartment before classes start for the day. Tell-tale signs: Messy bedhead. The same clothes as the night before. Smeared make-up. Oh and don’t forget the purplish bags under the eyes from lack of sleep.
While Justin showers and dresses, I try my best to tame my hair and at least wash my face. It doesn’t help that he and I were up late and awake early. Not to mention my eyes have that post ugly-cry puffy thing going on.
“You ready?” He’s standing by the door in his marina uniform. Why doesn’t he look like he just spent the night doing naughty things in bed and not sleeping?
“Yep,” I say. “Do you think Richard has left yet?”
“Probably not, he works from home a lot, but don’t worry. He won’t judge any of this.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re the guy. I’m the harlot who came to your house in the middle of the night and is leaving at the crack of dawn the next day. Plus he’ll totally tell my mom.”
“Harlot,” he mutters, taking my hand and directing us toward the porch. I cling to him as we walk down the steps, thinking if anyone sees us at least it looks like we’re together and I’m not just a one night stand. Which I’m not. Unless you count making out half-naked in a bed together a one night stand. If you do, then I guess I am a harlot.
The garage doors are closed and Justin walks me to my car. He opens the door and gives me a lingering kiss before I leave. His Jeep is parked off to the side and I follow him out of the drive, waving as he turns the opposite direction.
Now that I’ve successfully navigated one Walk of Shame, I’ve got another tricky one to manage at the campground. My nosy neighbors won’t be as easy to fool. They may be old but they aren’t stupid.
I drive slowly through the gravel drive, hoping to make the least amount of noise possible. This is impossible and I wince at every crunch and bump. Mr. Martin is already watering his rose bushes and Ms. Jameson has Daisy, her dog, out for her morning walk. Both stop and stare as I drive by. I wave naturally as though it’s perfectly normal to come home at 6AM.
None of my direct neighbors are out (or peeking through curtains) when I approach my camper. I brace myself for facing my mother. I’m an adult and allowed to stay out but that’s not really the issue. It’s just that she’s already warned me off Justin Hawkins once and she’ll know where I’ve been.
I slip the key in the lock and turn the knob slowly, craning my neck to see if my mom is awake. I stand up in surprise, knocking my head on the top off the low doorway.
I step in the camper and check the bathroom. Empty. I can see my empty bed from where I stand. Not only did I not wake my mother up when I got home—she isn’t even here.
Chapter Twelve
I fall asleep waiting for my mother. The late night with Justin and the emotional blowup with Mark is enough to send me back to bed. I wake when the sun is at full height and I hear the camper door open with a creak. Instead of hopping up and questioning her like I planned, I feign sleeping for a while longer. She’s an adult. I’m an adult and other than a brief moment where I thought she may have been kidnapped, it really wasn’t any of my business. Wherever she was and whatever she was doing put a smile on her face and I swear I could hear her humming in the shower.
I faked waking up like normal and an hour later we are on the road, sausage biscuits and coffee in hand. My mother has a lead, a solid one, and we’re driving to Cherry Grove, South Carolina, just outside of Myrtle Beach.
“Wow. This neighborhood is pretty nice,” I say, checking out the big homes, just blocks away from the ocean. The neighborhood has a more typically suburban feel than the touristy areas surrounding the beaches.
“When I was younger, we came to some parties down here. Most of these families are pretty wealthy.”
“Not to sound rude but isn’t Sugar’s family kind of poor?”
My mother frowns and shakes her head. “Why would you think that?”
“Umm… the trailers? Living in this po-dunk town? The kids before twenty?”
“Don’t be so judgmental. Our grandparents had quite a bit of money. Sugar’s father owned a factory in Marion. Do you think that property came cheap? It’s a huge block of waterfront real estate. Sure, fifty-years ago it wasn’t what it would cost today but don’t mistake them for poor
,” she scolds. “Sugar and Jimmy went to private school. They were friends with a lot of kids down here.”
“Oh.” I feel like an idiot. “I guess it’s just different from what I’m used to.”
Still, as we reach the upper class neighborhood, I’m relieved. We’ve spent the last couple of weeks in every low income, middle-of-nowhere part of the state. For once, I don’t feel like I have to watch my back as we walk from the car to the door in case a rabid dog wants to attack.
“How did you find this woman?” I ask.
“I followed a trail of newspaper clippings and some police reports. I almost over looked it. I think her family wanted to hush it up but the police wanted her statement because she was from a good family and not a wanderer or prostitute.” She frowned. “She was not his typical M.O. That made them curious.”
My mother rang the bell on the large double black doors. We hear several locks release from the inside and she glances at me from the side. “Also, we’re talking more about this Mark thing on the way home. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”
I have no chance to reply before the door opens and a well-dressed, attractive woman about my mom’s age answers the door. Her hair is cut short and she’s let the gray grow in, but it doesn’t make her look old. She has an air of elegance about her. She smiles when she sees us. “You must be Julia and Paige. I’m Martha Sanders.”
She swings the door wide open and lets us in—such a different greeting than any of the other homes we’ve been to. “Sorry about the mess,” she says, ushering us through an immaculate dining room and down a hallway lined with framed photographs. We emerge in a brightly lit, enclosed porch, overlooking a backyard pool. My mother sits on a cushioned wicker couch and I sit next to her. Martha takes the seat next to us and starts pouring lemonade out of a pitcher on the table in front of us. I feel like I’ve entered the Twilight Zone.
