She could sit here all day rocking in the hammock with her guitar and notebook of songs. She was tucked against the side of the house, protected from the wind while the thunderstorm raged on around her.
The way you felt against my lips
The way you—
She changed the key and tried the notes again.
The way you held that kiss
It didn’t seem right. It didn’t feel right. Her stomach turned. Just like kissing Travis, this song was wrong. She scratched through the words until they were illegible.
You want to clip my wings
Keep me in your cage
But that’s not who I am
And that’s not who I’ll be
Her fingers fell into a rhythm on the guitar as the words tumbled from her lips.
I have my own dreams
No matter what you say
I’m still going to believe
I’m still going to walk away
Haven stopped to write down the last few lines. These words felt right. They were coming from a place in her heart she knew was true. She kicked her foot along the deck so that the hammock began to swing again. She closed her eyes and strummed, humming the words in her head. She might have just written her own anthem.
THE RAIN had finally stopped. Haven stretched her arms above her head and carefully stepped off the hammock. The only thing she regretted was that it was almost dark and that meant the day was over. Tomorrow would come early, and so would another full day of clock watching at the store.
She padded inside and closed the sliding glass door behind her. The air conditioner had been running all day, and it was chilly in the apartment compared to the humid air on the porch.
She used the pen in her hand to secure her hair in a twist. It felt good to get it off her neck. Once she was in writing mode, everything else fell away and out of place. She hadn’t bothered to take a shower all day or even dab on moisturizer. The plus side was that she had written two songs that were nearly perfect.
However, her stomach was growling and her brain would need fuel if she was going to keep up this writing marathon. In ten minutes, she had a pot of water boiling and a bowlful of spinach leaves washed.
She dumped in a handful of spaghetti noodles when she heard the chime on her phone. It was Travis.
I need to talk.
Crap. This was exactly what she didn’t want to do. Lucky for her, yesterday was his day off from work. He told her he was going to surf all day. Today, she was off from the store so they hadn’t talked since the morning after Ben’s party. Eventually, she would have to face him. It was stupid to think two days apart would put her back in the friend zone in his mind.
She tried to think of a casual response to keep things light.
What’s up?
I’ll be over in 5.
Haven grimaced.
Maybe another time. I’m not feeling great.
It was a complete lie, but she had spaghetti, salad, and an amazing song to craft. She watched her phone anxiously. After a minute, she slipped it into her pocket. Travis must have taken the hint. Relieved, she twisted the cork off a bottle of red wine and poured a glass of the crimson liquid. It tasted sweet on her tongue. It was amazing how it soothed all the stress from her body the text had created.
“Haven! Haven!” Travis’s voice carried through her door along with several heavy knocks.
She coughed on the last gulp of wine and rushed to the door. He wasn’t supposed to be here.
“Trav, what’s going on?” She stepped back as he barreled past her.
He was carrying a straw bag in one hand. From the top, Haven saw pink petals peeping out.
“Are you ok? Are you really sick?” His brow furrowed, as he appeared to do a quick assessment of her condition.
“I’m tired. Exhausted actually. I’m having a bite of dinner, and then I’m going to bed. Can we talk another time?” She followed him to the kitchen. Apparently, he thought she wasn’t seriously ill.
The straw bag was on the center of her table, and he began emptying the contents: vanilla pillar candles, pink roses, a speaker, chocolate, and a bottle of wine.
“What’s all this?” The nervous feeling had crept back to her stomach.
The surfer shifted on his feet. “The other night. It was all wrong. All wrong.” His hair, damp from the rain, clung to his forehead.
“I know it was.” She sighed, wishing they were on the same page, but knowing that this display of romance said something completely different.
“And I want everything with you to be perfect. So I brought it—the perfect night.” He crossed the four steps between them and wrapped his arm around her waist.
The smell of his cologne and mint gum invaded her space.
“Trav, I’m really sorry about the other night, but—” Before she could protest, his lips landed on hers and his hands worked their way under her shirt. The entangled feelings of want and reason were jumbled in her head. What he was doing felt good. However, tomorrow, neither of them would feel great when she didn’t return his affection. Maybe in some other world she could use him this way, but they had known each other too long, and she would always be in this place with him—not moving forward.
“Travis.” She shoved against him until she was out of his arm’s reach. “No.” She hated the confused look on his face. “We both agreed. It was the last time.”
He approached her. “But there’s something here. There’s always been a thing between us.”
If she told him she agreed they had great physical chemistry, it would only lead him on, but he hadn’t read all the signals wrong. She wanted to give him that at least. When she was with him at night, she enjoyed it. They were good together in the dark.
She shook her head. “Travis, we have been friends forever.”
“Don’t give me that damn friend speech. I don’t want to be friends. I want to be with you.” His eyes blazed. “And you’re being stubborn about it as usual.”
“It’s not going to happen.” She crossed her arms. “I tried to tell you.” She realized then that she hadn’t done a good job of explaining her position. Every time she said no to him, it was accompanied by kisses. Kisses that led to other, hotter things. Dammit. She could see how the guy was tangled up in the mess she had created.
“Nothing? You can honestly stand there and tell me you feel nothing?” His fingers reached for her neck, but she stepped away. The last time really had happened.
“I guess that’s my answer, isn’t it?” he whispered.
Haven didn’t recognize the look in his eyes. She had known him since they were kids and thought she knew every expression on his face. It hurt to see him look at her as if she were a criminal. The kind of criminal who picks up a knife and plunges it deep into someone’s heart.
“I am sorry. You know I care about you, don’t you?” This was the worst possible end. She had to make him understand. She was trying to keep from hurting him more. He had to see that.
“Don’t. I don’t need to hear it. This probably has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with that.” He pointed at the guitar resting in its stand. Haven had dropped it there on her way through the door.
It was as if he had attacked her child. Protective instincts rushed through her, and she stepped a little closer to the instrument. She always thought Travis liked her songs. It didn’t occur to her until now that maybe he only listened to them so he could spend more time with her.
“You know what music means to me.” The realization that he might not understand or even like her music mixed with hurt and betrayal in her heart.
“Yeah, I do. It means more than me, or any one else on this island.”
“You aren’t being fair. You know I could leave any day. I’m sending out songs every week. One of the labels is going to call me. I am leaving, and then what? You’re going to pick up your surfboard and follow me to Nashville or Austin? There’s no ocean in either of those places.”
&
nbsp; “I took geography.” He leaned against the door. “You know there’s more to me than surfing and working at the store. There are things I want to do too.”
Haven studied him. She could name his favorite foods, his favorite bands, his beer of choice, but she had no idea anything else interested him.
“Ok, then tell me. What do you want to do? Do you really want to pack up your life and leave Perry Island?” She had never asked because she didn’t need to. Travis was an open book. One that she had read repeatedly.
His sigh filled the room. “No, I don’t want to leave. Why would I? Our families are here. The beach is here. Everyone we know is here. I wish you would stop thinking that you could be happier somewhere else.”
“That’s what you don’t get. I have been happier somewhere else. I went to college. I loved Carolina. Every single day I was in Chapel Hill was better than being stuck here. But you wouldn’t know anything about that since you refused to live life off this piece of sand.” She could feel her clenched jaw grating harder against her teeth.
Gradually, he peeled his back from the door. “I can’t believe you.”
“Trav, don’t go like this. We shouldn’t be arguing about this stuff. It’s always been this way.” She pulled on his arm. “I didn’t want you to get hurt. Believe me. I didn’t want this to happen.”
His eyes narrowed. “Crazy, because when you were begging me for it the other night, I thought you wanted me.”
She slapped him across the face harder than she meant to. It was the first time she had hit anyone. Her palm stung.
His eyes dropped to the floor before he opened the door, walked out, and closed it behind him.
Haven traipsed to the kitchen and inhaled the glass of wine. Maybe it could soothe her again. She opened the sliding door and tucked her feet under her as she sank into the hammock. She didn’t know when they started, but the tears were there, running down her face like the rain.
“HEY, THERE.” Charlotte waved as she placed her beach chair ten feet from Evan’s. “This spot taken?” She pointed to the open patch of sand and proceeded to bend forward from her waist. Today’s suit was a one-piece leopard number with big ovals cut from the sides.
Evan pretended to adjust his hat. He didn’t want an accidental peep show of anything that belonged to Charlotte. It was clearly her intention. In the past two weeks, she had worn every skimpy outfit imaginable, and he didn’t know how much more he could take.
“No, it’s free.” He limited his smile. It was one of his new habits on Perry Island.
If he smiled too much, someone might recognize his magazine-selling grin. He was certain a couple at the gas station had recognized him yesterday. They whispered nonstop while he filled the Jeep, but he kept his head down and his smiles short. Eventually, they had driven off in the direction of the ferry, and he knew he had stolen another day of freedom. So far, the paparazzi hadn’t descended upon him.
“Good. I love this part of the beach.” She wiggled her bottom into the striped chair. “Want a chip?” She extended a bag in his direction.
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
“You probably don’t eat stuff like this. Not with a body like that.” She pulled her sunglasses to the bridge of her nose.
Evan hated when she looked at him like that. “Well, I try to eat healthy.” He reached into his cooler, pulled out a beer, and twisted the top off. Maybe a few of these would help drown out Charlotte’s chitter-chatter.
“I saw you running this morning. What kind of workouts do you do?” She stuffed the foil pack of chips into her beach bag. “Do you need a workout buddy? I love running.”
Evan swallowed hard on the beer. He wanted to tell Charlotte to give up. He wasn’t going anywhere near the Pirate’s Booty or her. She had invited him over for drinks and dinner almost every night. He was running out of excuses.
“No thanks, ma’am. I like to do things on my own.” He dug a hole in the sand with his feet. The surf rushed in and filled the hole as if Evan’s heel had never moved the sand.
“Well, that’s too bad. Let me know if you ever need help, you know, with the workout.” She giggled.
“Will do.” He pulled his hat farther over his eyes and reclined in the chair. He didn’t have to talk to her if he was asleep.
IT COULD have been two or three hours since he had drifted off. Sleep came a lot easier now. Evan didn’t bother with clocks anymore. His cheeks prickled with the first signs of sunburn. He swatted at a fly.
“Dammit,” he mumbled as he caught himself from tipping over onto the sand.
He looked over his left shoulder. Charlotte was gone. He was grateful for that. He flipped the lid on the cooler and reached into the container that was now more water than ice. He twisted the top off an icy bottle and chugged until it was empty.
The water was flat today and calmer than Evan remembered seeing it in the past two weeks. Usually surfers dotted the break line, but with quiet waves, he noticed a few kayaks floating close by.
Since he had moved into Silver Belle, he had managed to get an even brown tan, drink as much as he had in college, and remain completely anonymous as Jay, the writer from Georgia. Evan chuckled, knowing that so little had ever been accomplished in two weeks. It took real effort to do nothing, and of that, he was prouder than hell.
He rubbed the scruff that had grown on his face. He had never had this much facial hair before. There were always actors who had to grow beards for roles or dye their hair, but Evan’s bankability was in his face. It was never a request he had to fulfill. Maybe next film. As soon as the thought entered his mind, his chest tightened and it felt like shards of glass had slipped under his ribcage. He struggled to push them out. No, no more films. It’s not happening.
He fished in the cooler for another beer. A fiddler crab waved its large claw near Evan’s toe before scurrying sideways into an open hole in the sand.
There was something settling about the beach. The longer he watched each wave roll toward him, unfurling in a smooth flutter over the bank of broken shells, the longer he wanted to stay and do nothing more.
“TRAVIS, I didn’t hear the answer. Was Haven late this morning?” Mr. Owen peered at the store clerk. He had a Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand.
Haven tied the apron behind her waist and waited for the truth to be revealed. Of course she wasn’t on time. She was never on time. It was 5:45 in the freakin’ morning.
Travis gripped the broom handle tightly. His knuckles were white at the tops where they should have been flesh-colored.
“Dad, stop. Just stop.” Haven couldn’t stand the torture anymore.
Her father looked down the brim of his nose at her. “I was speaking to Travis.”
“Right, but he doesn’t need to answer for me. I was late, ok? I was not here at five thirty. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
Travis had resumed his sweeping duties and had cleared a path away from the employee hallway.
“That fifteen minutes is coming out of your check or you’re staying late today.” Denton Owen stood and observed the morning routine in his store.
“Whatever.” Haven huffed her way to the register. She watched her father sip on the steaming cup of coffee. She wished it would burn his tongue.
“We can talk about this later, Haven. Travis doesn’t need to hear your tantrums.”
Haven clenched her fists as she popped open the register to count the till for the morning. He was condescending, insulting, patronizing, and her father. She could do anything but try to get through each encounter.
For the most part, she avoided him. If he walked in the front door, she walked out the back. If he needed help in the coolers, she raced to the kayak stand on the docks. If inventory in the storage room needed to be counted, she volunteered to run the register at the front. She calculated every way possible that she could be in the same store as him and not be within earshot or sight of him.
Despite his failure to acknowledge she wasn’t ten years
old anymore, there was a time when she loved being around her father. They used to close the store together, grab ice cream, and plot how they could get Mom to stop making that awful crab casserole, or on slick days they would take the clam rakes out to the cove and load up the boat with a fresh haul. Days at the store and on the docks were a part of her life—a part of being Haven Owen. However, three months ago, everything changed.
Haven heard it. She heard every scream and rhythmic thump. She heard a woman call out her father’s name. Then she saw Betra Meeks leave her father’s office—hair in a rat’s nest, blouse half-buttoned, and her cheeks redder than Hester Prynne’s scarlet letter.
Haven panicked, ran, and threw up in the women’s bathroom. She clung to the toilet until the heaving stopped. No one knew she was there, and Betra hadn’t spotted Haven on her way out of the office. When she was certain she could stand without shaking so much, she washed her face and sprinted out of the ladies’ room and right into Travis.
“Haven? Did you hear me?” Her father hadn’t moved from his spot.
“Yes, I heard you. I’m trying to count the register.” The quicker she started working, the quicker he might actually leave her alone.
“All right.” He sighed. “I’m headed to my office for the morning. I’ve got reports to run.”
Haven rolled her eyes as she counted out a stack of ones. She had forgotten it was Monday, and that meant her father would be in the store for the first part of the day. It was really the only time during the week when she had to interact with him.
“Have a nice day, sir,” Travis called from the corner of the store.
Once her father turned the corner, she couldn’t hold back. “Seriously, Trav. Have a nice day? What is wrong with you?”
“He’s my boss, Haven. Or do you still think the world revolves around you? Just because you hate him, doesn’t mean I have to.” He reached down with the dustpan and scooped up a pile of yesterday’s dirt.
Finding Haven Page 5
