by Owner
CIRCLE IN THE SAND
By Lia Fairchild
Bestselling author of In Search of Lucy
www.liafairchild.com
Copyright © 2014 by Lia Fairchild
All Rights Reserved
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Praise for Circle in the Sand
“I'm more than glad to give this book five stars all the way around for the lyrical writing, the beautiful characters, and all the joy that came from simply living alongside these people for a time. I could taste the salt on my lips from the beach of their youth. I could feel the pain of their losses and the joy of their gains. Every moment was another gift in this gem of a novel.” ~This Redhead Loves Books
“Circle in the sand practically screams quality from the first page...It is sensational…If you’re looking for beauty, then this is it.” ~Mia’s Point of View
“This is a feel-good and satisfying story, beautifully written.” ~Cath ‘n’ Kindle Book Reviews
CIRCLE IN THE SAND
Four life-long friends bound by two decades of laughter, love, promises, and secrets. Once inseparable, the four grow into independent adults pursuing very different paths.
Sage, raised by career-driven parents, follows a carefully laid out future of success that leaves her wondering what she’s missed out on.
Emily, the college drop-out, now has three children that have become her whole life. She's slowly lost herself, subconsciously seeking dangerous ways to cope. Can she find herself in time?
Jax always lived on the edge, skating through life with no apparent ambition, yet remained the energy and emotional cement of the group. She longs for her friends to accept her without trying to fix her.
Ned, Emily’s twin brother, yearns to stand up and be counted. But his old loyalties and new feelings for one of the girls has him pulled in different directions.
Will the ties that held them together as kids be strong enough for them as adults? These four friends will discover the true meaning of friendship and unveil truths about themselves they never knew existed.
CIRCLE IN THE SAND 3
CHAPTER 1 - NED 6
CHAPTER 2 - JAX 9
CHAPTER 3 - SAGE 14
CHAPTER 4 - EMILY 20
CHAPTER 5 - SAGE 24
CHAPTER 6 - JAX 31
CHAPTER 7 - EMILY 38
CHAPTER 8 - SAGE 45
CHAPTER 9 - JAX 51
CHAPTER 10 - EMILY 57
CHAPTER 11 - NED 63
CHAPTER 12 - JAX 67
CHAPTER 13 - SAGE 74
CHAPTER 14 - NED 82
CHAPTER 15 - EMILY 88
CHAPTER 16 - SAGE 95
CHAPTER 17 - JAX 100
CHAPTER 18 - NED 108
CHAPTER 19 - SAGE 119
CHAPTER 20 - EMILY 125
CHAPTER 21 - JAX 132
CHAPTER 22 - NED 137
CHAPTER 23 - SAGE 144
CHAPTER 24 - JAX 150
CHAPTER 25 - EMILY 158
CHAPTER 26 - NED 164
CHAPTER 27 - SAGE 170
CHAPTER 28 - JAX 176
CHAPTER 29 - EMILY 181
CHAPTER 30 - SAGE 188
CHAPTER 31 - JAX 198
CHAPTER 32 - SAGE 204
EPILOGUE - NED 211
A look at my bestselling novel, In Search of Lucy, Contemporary Fiction 215
Other Books by Lia Fairchild 216
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 217
ABOUT THE AUTHOR 218
CHAPTER 1 - NED
An ornate purple butterfly, peeking out of a pair of low-slung jeans, catches my attention. It’s inked on the lower back of a sexy redhead in front of us in line. Pete slaps me in the gut, as if I hadn’t noticed the tattoo flashing at me like a neon sign. Yet I found a way to glance at it and not lock in like a deer in headlights. “Knock it off,” I whisper to Pete and then check to see if my niece, Sophie, spots him staring. All three of us are in line at the post office.
“You’re lucky I have something to look at now that you dragged me here,” Pete says. “And why again can’t your sister buy her own stamps?”
His annoyance with me is annoying me. “How about next time your car’s in the shop you get your own ride home from work?”
Pete snaps back. “How about when you’re doing me a favor, you don’t do anyone else a favor that inconveniences me while I’m getting my favor?”
I can’t help but laugh at Pete staying true to form. I’ve learned to make allowances when I visit him in his world; the one that revolves completely around him. Only because he’s been a true friend when I needed one.
“Hey, be nice to my Uncle Ned,” Sophie says as she yanks on Pete’s shirt.
“Quit it, kid,” Pete says. Then his gaze scans the length of the room. “Look, there’s a stamp machine over there. Just go use that.”
“Can’t.” I hand him the paperback book I’m holding. “I have to mail this too. Hold it while I fill out the envelope.”
He turns the book over in his hand, examines the worn cover, flips through the bloated, wrinkled pages. “To Kill a Mockingbird? This is what you need to mail?”
“Yeah, don’t worry about it.” I begin addressing the envelope on the narrow counter top that runs the length of the line when I feel him behind me, head looking over my shoulder.
“Why are you sending this piece a crap book to Sage? Is this some new seduction method you got going on?”
“No,” I say and continue writing furiously as if the line were actually moving.
“Then what’s the deal? Because if I’m remembering right, last time you tried to hook up with her you ended up in that oh so familiar place called…the friend zone.”
“What’s a friend zone?” Sophie says.
I stop writing, glare over to the two open windows and note the same two people standing there from when we entered this chain gang. A young, stalky guy wearing a still-wet bathing suit stands at one window and an ancient-looking man in a business suit and flip-flops at the other. Only in Ocean Beach. Then I run my hand across Sophie’s soft blond hair. “Pete’s just playing around.”
I turn to Pete with a plaster-tight grin. “Sage and I are friends. Just friends. It’s not even my book. I’m sending it as a fav…” I shake my head, return my attention to writing the envelope. “The girls share this book. They take turns reading it.” The girls, meaning my girls: Emily, Sage, and Jax. The three constants in my life for the last twenty years. They’ve helped shape who I am. Life with them can make the lava-drenched plains of Mordor, look like a stroll at the beach. But I wouldn’t change a thing.
“And then they get errand boy to mail it to the next chick? Sisterhood of the travelling book.”
“Something like that.”
He opens to a random spot. “What’s all this writing?” Before I can answer, he reads from some black handwritten notes in the margin. Sage’s notes. “Atticus melting my heart. The ideal father. What is this shi… I mean stuff?”
I don’t explain to him that each girl has their own color
: Sage writes in black, Emily in blue, and Jax in red. He wouldn’t understand their relationship or mine with them. This is just one of the ways they try to stay connected with each other. “Who cares? Just give me the book.” I take it from his hands and place it in the envelope. Like a distractible puppy, Pete shrugs it off and returns to his tattoo viewing. Sophie follows his line of sight right to the woman’s exposed back. Her arm raises; her finger extends. “Pretty, I want one.”
Just before her finger makes contact, I intercept her little wrist and turn her to me. “Hands to yourself, shrimp.”
“But I want one of those…just like Auntie Jax.”
I’m sure Emily would cringe at hearing that. Not because her little girl wants to be like Jax—a generous, kind-hearted, free spirit who’s often a pain in my ass. It’s because Sophie seems drawn to the side of Jax that is impulsive and unpredictable, not to mention tattoo-laden. This has given my twin sister some serious parenting challenges lately.
I kneel down so I’m eye level with her. “I’ve seen you paint a prettier butterfly than that,” I say quietly to her.
She shrugs and folds her arms, trying to appear older than her seven years. But then she says, “I have to pee.”
“Yeah, me too,” Pete says. Then he tears his eyes from the butterfly, glances toward the front and says, “This freakin’ line isn’t moving either.”
I shoot him a “you idiot” expression, my patience running razor thin. “I told you two to go before we left the house,” I say trying to smile. “I don’t want to lose my place in line.”
“But I can’t wait, Uncle Ned.”
“Here, make yourself useful.” I hand everything to Pete including money and a stern order not to screw it up while I take Sophie to the Starbucks next door. As I open the door, Pete shouts. “But I have to pee too.” Tattoo girl turns for the first time but, surprisingly, gives Pete a suggestive nod.
As I stand outside the women’s restroom waiting for Sophie, I think about Sage. But not because I’m lusting after her. I just miss seeing her gorgeous smile. It’s been a few months since her last visit. Then I think of all three girls and the solid friendship they built over the years. A friendship that seems to have molded itself into an impenetrable circle, with me nestled contently in the middle.
Growing up surrounded by women—these three women—was both a blessing and a curse. There’s something sort of strange, yet magical, about watching girls grow into women. Seeing it first-hand gave me a unique perspective on the opposite sex. Over the years I’ve served as a friend, a brother, a boyfriend, and a punching bag at one time or another. I guess I could say that things could have been worse. I didn’t have to stick around as much as I did. But they were a shitload more interesting than my neighbor, Louis, and his collection of fossils. Hanging out with the girls taught me about a much more fascinating species.
CHAPTER 2 - JAX
I sit on a brick wall just after sunrise, knowing the odds are against me. I watch the waves twenty yards in front of me—rolling, crashing, spraying, and bringing me solitude. This is where I need to be this morning. I shake the hair from my eyes and let the breeze blow it back. Some days, you can lick your lips and taste a hint of salt; today is one of them. The air is crisp, enticing goose bumps on my exposed arms, awakening my senses, and reminding me why I call this place home.
I look far beyond the whitewash hoping for a sign. The same sign I’ve searched for on so many other occasions. I need to see the smooth, dark-gray back folding over in the ocean as it releases a massive spray of water. That’s my sign. It’s tells me everything is going to be okay. I have a better chance after sundown, but I need to see this now, before my appointment. Some sort of encouragement would be nice when I’m feeling so alone in this. Yes, I’m used to going it alone, but this time is different.
With my hands pressed down and grinding against the brick, I hang my head for a moment. Close my eyes and think. I go over the last few months and wonder about some of the decisions I’ve made. I know it seems as if I don’t care what people think, but this one is big. I have no problem admitting that I screwed up. I can say that; I’m not a hypocrite. I say a silent prayer in my head, but as I often do, I cannot stay focused on what I’m praying for. That’s because as of late I don’t know what I want. I begin to sing “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” by Poison, the first song my dad taught me on the guitar when I was only eight years old. Those are my favorite memories of him, when it felt as if I had a real dad. My voice comes out soft, almost a whisper, and I can hear the music in my head. I tell myself that by the time I get to the chorus, I’ll glance up and find what I need to see.
The familiar smell of eggs and onion from my favorite taco shop on the corner float under my nose, carried by the ocean breeze. I haven’t eaten and now I’m distracted. An egg burrito from Juan’s could be my sign, I try to convince myself. But it’s no use. I hear the mechanical sound of something rolling toward me, so I stop singing. But I don’t open my eyes. I just wait for it to pass.
“Hey, sexy,” I hear behind me.
The voice doesn’t match the words, so I’m curious. The thought of sustenance fades as I pop my head up, shift my body on the wall to face the sidewalk. A boy on a scooter, probably mid-teens, stares at me as he rolls slowly by.
“Hey!” I yell, stopping him in his tracks. My voice is sharp and deep, and for a second, he is frightened by it, but then I smile and see his fear melt into relief. I know I have this power over people—to make them fear me or love me. “C’mere, man.”
His skin is light brown and reminds me of a warm cup of coffee that could whisk my chill way. Braids flutter on each side of his head like some crazy Red Riding Hood as he rolls toward me. His white T-shirt looks like an undershirt, with a gold cross on a chain hanging between the V-neck. His dark blue jeans hang low on his waist. I don’t comment on the blue-and-white checkered boxers that border the top. Worst fashion trend since headbands.
“What’s up, sexy?” he says and then smiles wide. His teeth are gorgeous, straight and white. It’s an effort not to be taken in.
“What do you think you’re doing calling a strange woman sexy?” I’m copying Emily’s tone when she speaks to her kids, though I don’t particularly mind his comment. I want to see what his response is.
He shrugs as he rolls closer and appears surprised to be getting a lecture from someone like me. I’m often told I look much younger than my twenty-eight years. I’m only five-two and my light skin and chubby cheeks don’t help. “And why aren’t you in school?” I can tell this kid has a story.
“I got suspended. What’s your name so I won’t have to call you sexy?”
I’m betting this type of charm works on girls his age, but still, I indulge him. I’m enjoying this distraction. “It’s Jax. What’s yours?”
“Dante.” Then he tilts his head a click to the side. “Hey, I know you.” He lets his scooter fall to the ground and, in one leap, hops up on the wall, staring down at me. “I saw you with your grandma when I was visiting my great aunt, Lydia.”
I recognize instantly he’s talking about Rose and Oak Grove, and I’m sure I’ve even spoken to Lydia before. My new connection with Rose has me there more, but not to volunteer. “That’s not my grandma,” is all I say.
“I heard you reading that boring ass book to them old ladies.” He turns away and takes a few steps along the wall as if it’s a balance beam.
“That boring ass book is Pride and Prejudice—a classic.”
“Yeah, well I’m against prejudice,” he says in a serious tone. Then he squints over his shoulder and shoots me a grin.
“So why’d you get suspended?” I ask, finding myself liking this kid’s style for some reason. I have no idea what time it is, so I should leave soon. But I still need my sign, and I want to find out more about Dante. This is what I live for—the opportunity to meet an interesting soul. It’s the reason we’re on this earth: to love, learn, and experience. One of the most worthwhile w
ays to do that is through human interaction.
“We were in English class, and I turned to my friend Eugene and said, “Whoa, dat ass!”
I hold back a smile and say, “So they’re pretty strict about language at your school, huh?” I went to private school and less than that would have gotten you suspended. That’s why I spent half of eighth grade at home watching Days of Our Lives.
“No it wasn’t the language, it was dat ass.”
“What?”
“Dat ass belonged to my English teacher.” Dante spun on the wall, up on one toe like a ballerina. He was clearly proud of his performance, here and in the classroom.
I laugh, but contain myself quickly. I know I shouldn’t encourage the kid. I went through my own time of disrespect and challenging of authority, but this is his journey. I can hear in his voice; he will learn. “So shouldn’t you be at home then?”
“My mom sent me to the store. Shit, I better go before she beats my ass.”
“Well it was nice meeting you, Dante.” I shield my eyes with one hand and reach up to him with the other. He’s not paying attention to me and is now facing the water.
“Damn! Did you see that, Jax?” He points out to the sea, and I swivel back that way. My gaze follows his arm, my eyes scramble around until they make a connection. There it is. A solitary whale, bobbing in and out of the water, blasting a beautiful spray of ocean in the air. I fill my lungs with refreshing sea air, then let it all whoosh out freely.
“Thank you, Dante.”
●●●
I sit in the waiting room staring at my phone. I should leave Sage a message, in case I’m late. I’d driven twenty miles out of the way to get to this place, to make sure I didn’t run into anyone I know. So I’ll be cutting it close to get home on time. But I hate to lie so I decide otherwise and turn my phone off. It’s not only that I hate to lie; often I’m simply incapable of it. I don’t tell someone their new haircut looks nice if it’s crap. I don’t say I’m fine with something if I’m not. If you know me, you understand you’re going to get it straight. I might throw out a warning of, “You don’t want to hear my opinion.” That’s when you get lucky.
