Luna-Sea

by Jessica Sherry

  When he didn’t answer right away, I said, “I’m not trying to be THAT kind of girlfriend, Sam, at least I don’t want to be. I don’t have to know every move you make or every thought that runs through your head. It’d be nice to have all that laid out for me, but that’s not what I’m after. We’re still new and figuring each other out, and I totally get that I’m not the best communicator. I’m actually pretty awful at communicating, especially considering the extensive number of words I use every day. Seems like the more words I use, the less I say, like right now.”

  Sam smiled, looking both ways for us, and gently tugged me across the street.

  Standing outside on the sidewalk of Beach Read, I went on, “But, there can’t be gaping holes in what I know about you, either. Just like you wouldn’t want me to have secrets, you can’t expect me to live quietly with yours. What happens when I don’t know something is that I start filling in the blanks myself. And that just leads to trouble because my imagination is permanently set on absolute-worst-case-scenario mode.”

  Sam chuckled at this, and prompted me with, “So, what did your imagination fill the blanks with in regards to my Fayetteville trip?”

  I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “You don’t want to know.”

  “Tell me,” he urged, grabbing my other hand so he could pull me closer. “I’m curious.”

  I huffed. “Let’s see. I had you running off to meet a mistress, maybe even your ex-wife, but in my head she looks like a ridiculously gorgeous Sports Illustrated swimsuit model with a name like Emmanuel. That’s one theory. Another, scarier, but less humiliating idea was that your business had to do with the military, that maybe you’re not exactly free from your obligations, though I couldn’t imagine how you could possibly still be a soldier.”

  “Once a soldier, always a soldier.”

  I winced. “Just tell me.” I leaned back against Beach Read’s outside street lamp, waiting for his answer (and determined to get it).

  “First of all, you should never worry about being THAT kind of girlfriend. The only kind of girlfriend you are is the right one,” Sam said. “And you’re right. There shouldn’t be gaping holes in what we know about each other, and me going out of town without telling you, that’s a gaping hole. I’m sorry.”

  Willie spotted us from inside Beach Read and pawed at the glass door. And, when I didn’t give him any attention, he barked. Not now, Willie, I wanted to scold, but it was no use. Sam was already stepping toward the door. One leash and several minutes later, we were walking Willie down the back alley of Beach Read, and Sam hadn’t picked up where he’d left off.

  When I was a child, one of my favorite things to do was build forts. Since my mother wouldn’t let me watch TV or play with friends (particularly after I almost drowned at one of their houses), I spent a great deal of time entertaining myself. I’d gather up blankets, sheets, and towels and create intricate mazes made of furniture and linens. Once, I managed to “fort”ify my entire bedroom. Building forts was not only fun, but the forts themselves were also places to escape, to hide.

  Sam and I were both guilty of building forts around the parts of ourselves we wanted to stay hidden. But, even though we shared this capacity, I couldn’t accept it.

  “So, Fayetteville?” I prodded after it was clear he wasn’t going to pick it back up.

  He nodded and breathed out heavily. “Right, Fayetteville. When I was in the army, I got to know this guy named Mason Cook, became like a brother to me. We stay in touch. He’s out of the army now, but he lives in Fayetteville. He called, asked for my help, so I went.”

  “What’d he need help with?”

  “His business,” Sam answered, watching Willie instead of looking at me. “And the work he does, well, I can’t talk about it.”

  “Even with me?” I prodded.

  Sam shook his head. “Don’t worry. There’s no mistress.” Sam grinned widely. “And I haven’t been with a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model since Brianna and she doesn’t live in Fayetteville.”

  I cocked my head and hit him playfully on the shoulder, once I was sure he was kidding. He was kidding, right?

  “What about your ex-wife?” I tried, hesitantly. “Was she the swimsuit model type?”

  Sam cleared his throat and glanced down at the concrete. I remembered what that woman had said, he had her sent away. Questions about his ex-wife had haunted me ever since, almost as much as I worried about where he’d been during his mysterious absence.

  Walls were forming between us that I didn’t understand, and like potato chips, we couldn’t stop at one. I didn’t tell him about my panic issues, how my water fears now rivaled Mt. Everest in size and mass, that my panic attacks could be measured by Richter (yes, making me a hypocrite) and likewise, he kept me away from the dark areas of his life.

  “You’re trying to fill all the gaping holes tonight, aren’t you?” he chuckled lightly.

  I shrugged. “With one partially solidified, why not work on others?”

  Sam nodded, but his face fell. “It’s funny that you should bring her up,” Sam decided, “because I’ve been meaning to-”

  A loud voice echoed down the alleyway, “There you are!” Sam and I both turned toward the corner of Beach Read to see Raina skirting around the bend. “I’ve been looking for you, both of you!”

  Raina was wearing another one of her colorful sundresses, her signature look since her belly started protruding. Her blond hair brushed her bare shoulders and her face well, like everyone always says about pregnant women, was glowing.

  “I have big news!” she exclaimed. “Huge! ‘Cause that’s what I’m goin’ to be. HUGE!” She was speaking so fast and with so much animation that I worried she might be too excited. She glanced around the dingy alleyway and her face drooped. “Don’t want to tell you in an alley, though. Can we go somewhere else?”

  Before Sam and I could offer any suggestions, she decided for us. “Let’s go to the store. Can we go to the store? That’d be perfect.”

  Quickly, we headed to the store, but Raina didn’t make it. As we rounded the corner to the front sidewalk, she said, “Twins!” and then she laughed delightedly.

  “Wait, twins?” I asked. She nodded, face alight with joy. I gave her an enormous bear hug, gentle on the squeezing.

  “Doctor’s sure,” she explained. “Two heartbeats. Heard ‘em myself. Mamma, too. It was like music.”

  “Congratulations,” Sam said, giving her a quick embrace. “That’s amazing news.”

  “I’m just so happy,” she said, tears forming in her green eyes. “Darryl’s gone, but look what God did? Left me with not one, but two sweet babies. I’m sure Darryl put in that request ‘cause he was always talkin’ about how he wanted a big family, lots of kids.”

  Sam held the door open for us, and we piled into the store, already shut down for the night. Henry had gone out, but he’d left the lamp on at the counter, giving the store a warm and inviting glow. Willie padded over to his water bowl, and then settled down on one of the beanbags.

  “It’s wonderful, Raina,” I told her. “We’re thrilled for you and we’ll help-”

  “Absolutely,” Sam chimed in, “any way we can.”

  Raina smiled widely. “Glad you said that, ‘cause there’s somethin’ else.”

  “Something else?” I repeated. “What else could-”

  “I want you two to be my babies’ godparents,” Raina said, much calmer but still grinning. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I been prayin’ ‘bout it and it’s just been impressed upon my heart that these babies need you two to be their godparents. And I know that’s what Darryl woulda wanted. Will you?”

  My breathing stopped, and then sputtered back to life again. Tears flooded my eyes. “Oh, Raina.” I couldn’t answer any more than that, but instead, embraced her again.

  “Of course,” Sam answered for us. “We’d be honored.”

  “I know it’s customary for godparents to be married,” Raina went on, with a dismissi
ve wave of her hand, “but you two are as good as married, right?”

  I choked. Sam answered. “Right.”

  “Well, gotta run,” Raina said, smiling at her not-so-subtle prod. “Rachel’s warmin’ up the popcorn. We’re watchin’ movies tonight.”

  She left us there in a stupor. “Godparents,” I repeated. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Me, neither,” Sam returned. “Any idea what godparents are supposed to do?”

  I laughed. “Was hoping you’d tell me.”

  “Guess we’ll figure it out together,” he chuckled, grabbing my hand. I nodded. That, and a million other things, I was sure. But, as for the ex-wife question, the fort was re-secured. Even with prompting, he didn’t talk about her again, and in some weird way, I was glad.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Curiosity

  Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “Curiosity is lying in wait for every secret,” as if secrets were shady criminals and curiosity the one thing needed to root them out of their dark hiding places. My unrelenting curiosity spawned terrible nightmares. That night, I had four dreams about the crazy woman (not me, but the redhead). First, that she was a vampire who tried to bite me when I helped her. Second, that she was Raggedy Ann and wanted to play. Third, that she was Annie and started singing, “The Sun’ll Come Out, Tomorrow.” Finally, that she was a woman in acute medical distress and as I was helping her, determined not to leave her alone this time, a tidal wave swept in and got us both. I woke up screaming.

  Over coffee, I decided. My curiosity was leading me to uncover secrets.

  “Where are you going?” Henry questioned. I’d arrived at the store, helped take down the air mattress and cleaned up for opening. Then, I packed Henry’s Dora the Explorer backpack. Flashlight. Plastic baggies (for evidence collection, duh). A few granola bars and bottles of water. My winter Isotoners so if I needed to touch something, I wouldn’t leave fingerprints. My phone, fully charged. And aerial printouts of the grounds surrounding the Peacock.

  I shrugged. “It’s a nice, sunny day. Thought Willie and I could use some exercise.”

  “So, you’re going back to the Peacock?”

  “When you have to know, you gotta go,” I returned. “That woman needed my help, and I let her down. Least I can do is try to prove she existed. Besides, it’d be nice to not be crazy.”

  I parked in a small alcove on the outskirts of the property, a location I scouted out thanks to Google Maps, and it was just as secluded as promised. West of the Peacock, beyond the trees, was the Breakers, the poorest community on the island and nearest to the marshlands. The showdown with Mavis Chambers took place in the middle of the Breakers, and I probably wouldn’t visit the area at all if not for my stripper friend Sadie who lived on the last street. Behind her house, the legendary Delores Kenning lived in a ramshackle cottage surrounded by patchwork fencing and a fleet of garden gnomes. “That’s woman’s nuttier than Jiff!” Sadie had lamented after watching the old woman hanging milk jugs from her magnolia tree, but of course, I knew that firsthand.

  But, I wouldn’t be heading in that direction, thank goodness. I took a deep breath as we exited the Jeep and stared into the eastern island forest. Already, I’d made a mistake. Wearing my kick-ass new Nikes was a stylish, but dumb move. Much of the grounds were uncared for, full of woods, thickets, and mud. My Nikes wouldn’t be nice for long.

  According to my printouts, a maintained path circled the entire property along the most scenic views of the ocean, cape, and marshes. This well-travelled path consisted of piers, bridges, and benches, and was featured in the hotel’s literature. The trail was a hotspot for bikers, joggers, and birdwatchers.

  But, the inner forest was unkempt and left to its wild tendencies. The only exception was the lighthouse, but it was closed to the public and had been for over a dozen years. I crossed over the path within minutes, and ventured deep into the woods.

  Three hours later, I was mounting mistakes and mosquito bites. I’d successfully scraped my knee upon tripping over a branch (adding to my collection of bruises already there from the last time I was at the Peacock), nearly ruined my new shoes (which were not as comfortable as I would’ve guessed), and gotten lost. I’d been walking in circles.

  “This is why you are dismally unqualified to do stuff like this, Dumb Delilah,” I muttered. Willie groaned. He’d been tramping through the woods with me, leashed, and he was desperate for freedom, yanking and pulling at his tether, completely grumpy. I couldn’t blame him. I was getting rather grumpy, too. I leaned against a great spindly oak tree, one I’d passed three times already, ready to burst into tears. I lifted my head back, looking straight up through the tree branches to the sky behind it, and had a desperate idea.

  “Wait here, Willie.” I tossed my bag to the ground, grabbed the lowest branch, and heaved myself up. Getting myself trapped in a tree was just as embarrassing as getting lost in the woods, so if I had to call in the cavalry, it didn’t matter for which emergency. And, if I climbed this tree, I’d at least have a chance of finding my way again, and very possibly not have to call anyone. So, I climbed.

  Three branches up, I’d used up all my strength, scraped my elbows (to match my knees) and gotten dizzy. Willie spotted a couple of playful squirrels and took off into the woods after them, and out of sight. I huffed and called after him, but it was no use. Willie was done with my adventure, and keen to go off on his own. I leaned against the tree trunk, catching my breath, and spied my savior. The lighthouse.

  But, my descent would have to wait. Noises erupted in the woods. Was it Willie returning? No, there were voices. I hugged the tree tightly, and peered around the side.

  Pop, pop, pop. Shots rang out. They were too soft to be gunshots, but similar nonetheless. I hid behind the tree. My Dora bag lay at the bottom, and I hoped it wouldn’t give me away.

  “Dude, enough already,” a voice chided. “I’m gonna have bruises all over my-”

  “When the money starts rollin’ in,” the other one said, “I’m goin’ buy a dozen of these.” I peeked around the corner to see two young men toting handguns, and aiming them at anything and everything, including themselves. I recognized shaggy Ricky Wakefield from the party. He’d given up his oversized suit coat for a Bob Marley t-shirt, which revealed a slathering of tattoos. The words “sweet cheeks” echoed in my mind, as he was the boy who had exposed Rachel’s bum down the high school hallway, and ultimately got kicked out for setting the science lab on fire. His taller friend had the letters JJ inked darkly on his arm, and his black eyes and hair reminded me of licorice. He had an acne problem on his cheeks and forehead, and several piercings across his cheek, eyebrows, and ears.

  “Have some freakin’ air-soft wars with all our friends,” Ricky went on.

  “That’d be awesome,” the other grinned. “Once Hyde delivers, we’ll be set up for life.”

  “Yeah, but if you go ‘round talkin’ ‘bout it all the time,” Ricky argued, growing angry, “that’s what we’ll get. Life. Shut your stupid face.”

  “Who’s goin’ tell? The freakin’ birds?” But, Ricky was already distracted. He pointed the gun at a squirrel and shot. He missed, but I prayed Willie didn’t make a sudden return. For that matter, spotting me wouldn’t be a good thing either. I pressed myself against the tree. The guns weren’t dangerous, but I’m sure they hurt and dealing with Ricky Wakefield, who Rachel described as a juvenile delinquent, wasn’t on my to-do list.

  The two stopped just shy of my tree and I held my breath. My heart was chugging like a super train.

  “We should get back,” the tall one said. “Got those appointments.”

  Ricky laughed. “Yeah, appointments.” Ricky followed his laugh by shooting his friend in the stomach. More laughter. His partner coughed and cursed. But, thankfully, they turned around and started heading back into the woods.

  I eased my way back down after a few minutes, and went toward the lighthouse, tears abated, for now.

  The Tipee Island Li
ghthouse loomed above me. Its surroundings were thickly overgrown, but there were narrow paths around the structure and stretching out in two directions. Littering the ground were several colors of neon pellets, evidence that Ricky and his friend had been here before. I gathered up a representative sample (yay, something for the baggies).

  The structure was enormous, much larger up close. I half-expected for the building to be decrepit and littered with graffiti, just like the mermaid statue at the entrance to the inn. But, the lighthouse looked solid from the outside, and its red bricks were blank. There were only two openings I could see – the heavy wood door and the glass windows up top.

  The door looked to be something out of the Middle Ages, thick dark wood with cast iron hinges and a pull for a knob. Higher up, it was affixed with a sparkling silver hinge and padlock. I pulled on it with no luck, which was a shame. Touring an abandoned lighthouse might just be cool enough to make this whole adventure worthwhile.

  By the door, rusty chains and heavy lead weights had been tossed, many of them crumbled, from age or force, I couldn’t tell, but knew it hadn’t been done terribly long ago because the weeds hadn’t started climbing through the crevices yet, as they were surrounding the pile. I made a note to myself to research lighthouses.

  I leaned down, eyeing the weights a little closer. Indentations from a flat object crossed the surface of the broken one on top, as if someone had tried to crack open the lead ball like a coconut. Parts of it were missing. I ran my hand along the insides, leaving my fingers dusted with lead. Shavings littered the ground. Someone had gone to quite a bit of trouble to bust up this lead weight, I decided, but why? I considered the gun pellets, and figured it was all just a part of some children’s experimentation. I remembered how my childhood friend Lisa and I chopped up a Polly Pocket doll so we could see if we could fit her inside a Pepsi bottle. We succeeded in getting her in, but not out. That bottle still sits atop my dresser at home in Wilmington. We didn’t have a good reason to destroy a perfectly good Polly Pocket. We just wanted to. Perhaps the same thing had happened here.