Pawleys Island Paradise boxset, Books 1 - 3

by Laurie Larsen

  Forcing himself to face his apprehensions, to push himself way out of his comfort zone, to fight with his fists, as viciously as possible – to establish where he belonged in the hierarchy. He could remember having to do it at least four times in ten years. He never spoke about it to anyone. But it was critical for survival. Once he proved himself to the new leaders as a fighter, not a wimp, they usually left him alone.

  Leroy White was the king of the hill at McCormick Correctional Institution. By the time Jeremy got transferred there about three years into his sentence, Leroy had already fought everyone, sliced anyone he could. He had his servants but was happy to find more. He was a huge, muscular man, accustomed to working his muscles instead of his brain. He’d established his dominance by not only destroying his opponents, but by his opponents coming to the conclusion that bowing to him was preferable to actually fighting him.

  Not Jeremy. Although his crime wasn’t a violent one, and he had no history of violence in his past, he knew the game and he’d already decided he’d play it. He had a long time to serve and he wanted to emerge as unscathed as possible. The encounter was predictable and he fully expected to be beat to a bloody pulp by Leroy or one of his lieutenants, but he’d give it his best shot and only go down when he was no longer able to stand.

  Jeremy ripped his thoughts away from his memory to tune into the words of the ex-con in front of him. “Leroy’s out, can you believe it? And he’s settled in Myrtle Beach. He can’t find work neither, and we ran into each other. He’s getting bored trying to keep it clean. He was just telling me he needed a lot more excitement than he’s getting, keeping his nose clean. Man, I sure wouldn’t put it past him to break into the gas station, steal some cash, get away. Not just for the money, but for the excitement.”

  Jeremy’s pulse increased, his heart pumping wildly. “What was Leroy in for anyway? What was his original crime that put him in?”

  The skinny man rubbed a hand over his whiskered chin and adjusted his squat. “Oh wow, I don’t know. He was in before me, so we never talked about it. But rumor, from some in his group, he did a little bit of everything. Theft, arson, assault. Never killed no one, as far as I know.”

  “Wilson.” The name floated out over the people in the waiting room and the skinny man’s head jerked to the woman at the door calling.

  “That’s me, man. I gotta go. Wish me luck. Eddie, by the way.” He jabbed his hand at Jeremy as he stood. “Eddie Wilson.”

  Jeremy took it and nodded. “Jeremy Harrison. Good luck. Stay clean.”

  As the little man sauntered toward the door, Jeremy fought a sick feeling in his gut. The advice was pointless. Eddie wouldn’t stay clean and it was just a matter of time until he screwed up and was arrested again.

  But Leroy White was worth the nausea all on his own. That nightmare of a man, just eight miles down the road from him?

  “Harrison.” He got up and went back to Neil's office. Right into Neil's beaming face.

  “My man!” Neil presented a huge palm to him to shake. When Jeremy reached his own hand out, Neil pumped it up and down and pounded his shoulder enthusiastically. Painfully. Jeremy coughed, the breath almost knocked out of him.

  “Good job, man! Nice article. Doesn't it feel good?”

  Jeremy paused, confused. When Neil released him, he made his subtle escape to the chair facing Neil's desk. “What feels good?”

  “The article!” Neil picked up an open copy of the magazine from his desk and held it up, Jeremy's picture mocking him. Neil pointed to it. “Don't tell me you didn't read it!”

  “I read enough,” Jeremy mumbled and looked away.

  “Ahhh, now.” The disappointment in Neil's voice was evident despite the fact that Jeremy was stubbornly focused on his own lap. “You didn't like it?”

  Jeremy looked up first at the article, then Neil's big face, lined with concern. Unable to think of words, Jeremy shook his head.

  Neil quietly folded the magazine shut and placed it on his desk. “I can't imagine why.”

  A surge of anger soared through him again. “She bashed me! She talked about my history of stealing and even made a crack about how I price my pieces as a steal — and I know a lot about stealing!” He emphasized in all the appropriate parts.

  “Well now, Jeremy. I never knew you to be such a hot head.” He picked up the magazine again, flipped through to the article. He scanned it silently. “Okay, here it is. But that was just her hook. The story's about ex-prisoners, so obviously all of you had committed a crime in the past. Yours involved stealing. But did you read on? What came next?”

  Neil stared at Jeremy and he felt a little twitchy under the examination. He shrugged, trying to waylay the attention, but Neil wouldn't let it slip.

  “Tell me, now. What did the article say after the stealing part?”

  “I don't know,” he admitted.

  “Well, you tell me.” Neil leaned forward over his crowded desk, handing him the magazine. Jeremy let out a breath. He knew Neil enough that he'd follow this through to the bitter end. Neil saw it one way, Jeremy saw it another and in a battle of wills, Neil would always win.

  Jeremy took the magazine, his eyes on Neil's. Angry thoughts swirled through his head but he wasn't stupid enough to reveal them on his face or in his words.

  “Okay, pick up where you left off. Go on.” Neil waved his hand at Jeremy.

  Jeremy looked down at the print, but the words were not in focus. “You want me to —?”

  “Read it.” Neil raised his eyebrows at Jeremy. “You know how to read, right?”

  Jeremy nodded. He stared at the words until they were clear and began to read. “Jeremy Harrison is a hard-working individual with a ton of talent. The Myrtle Beach area is fortunate to host a furniture craftsman with his skills and potential.” Jeremy let the magazine dip and rolled his eyes.

  “Go on.”

  Jeremy sighed and looked into the resolute eyes of his probation officer. He rubbed a hand over his chin and looked at the magazine again. “Harrison is a great example of a rehabilitated offender. He doesn't expect forgiveness, he doesn't want anyone to forget his past sins. He just wants a chance. He'll do what he has to do to work and survive in society. Buying his furniture accomplishes two things. First and foremost, it provides the customer with a solid piece of high quality furniture that will grace any room and last for lifetimes. Secondarily, it helps Jeremy achieve his goal. For purchasing information, see the inlay at the end of this article. You won't be sorry.”

  Reading the article took a lot out of him, although he wouldn't admit that to Neil. He laid it nonchalantly on the desk, then looked down at his lap, concentrating on calming his shaking hands. Neil knew how to use silence to draw out conversation and he did it often. Like now.

  Finally, after Jeremy was breathing normally again, he drew his attention to Neil.

  “What do you think now?”

  Jeremy shrugged. But he knew that wouldn't be a sufficient response. Neil waited. “It’s better than I originally thought. I just don't like the attention, that's all.”

  Neil frowned. “Do you realize you won't be able to sell furniture if no one knows about you?” He snatched up the mag and pointed out the pictures of him, flipping the pages. “Those are darn fine photos, son. Look at you!” He smiled fondly as he gazed at them. “But beyond the sales approach, that reporter paid you a fine compliment! She said you are rehabilitated. You know what that says to me? That you're a success. You did a crime, you paid your price, and now, you're doing exactly what we asked you to do. You're making yourself a fine citizen. She paid not only you a compliment, but me too!” He jabbed a thumb into his chest. “That's my job, now. I'd say she praised both you and me.”

  Jeremy sat quietly and mulled over Neil's words. This was a pattern with the both of them. Neil often saw things differently than Jeremy, but when Jeremy thought about it, Neil generally had a point.

  Maybe he had a point about this, too. Maybe Emma hadn't been attackin
g him. Maybe in her own way, she was helping him.

  “Thank you, Neil,” Jeremy said softly and was gratified to see his officer's face transform into a big, happy smile.

  “Atta man. Now, I think the polite thing to do is to call her and thank her very much for the story.”

  A little dig grabbed Jeremy's stomach, but he wouldn't argue. What point was there to that? Neil was right. “Yeah, okay. I'll call her.”

  When his appointment ended, Jeremy returned to his truck and pulled the cell phone out of his pocket. He located Emma's number and hit the Call button.

  “Hello?” Her voice in his ear caused a shiver, a shortness of breath.

  “Hi, Emma?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jeremy Harrison.”

  “Jeremy! I was wondering if you got the copies.”

  “Yes, yes I did. Thank you for sending those. And uh, thank you for the article. Really.”

  “Oh, you read it.”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “What'd you think?”

  He paused. “Very nice. Thank you.”

  He thought he heard her chuckle. “Really?”

  “Yes.” An awkward conversation, by most standards, but he'd probably never speak to her again, and there was no reason to tell her why he'd been avoiding her for the last few days. He'd gotten here eventually, thanks to Neil. That was good enough.

  “Well, I uh,” he started.

  “Did you read my note? I have a few ideas to help with your advertising. Want to hear them?”

  “Sure.” He paused, thinking she'd launch into them, he'd jot them down, done.

  “I'm off at five. Where will you be after that?”

  “I'll be at my sister's inn this evening, the Seaside Inn.”

  “Working?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Perfect. I'll drop by.”

  She hung up before he could say good-bye, leaving him with an unsettled feeling.

  * * *

  The drive back to Pawleys Island went quickly due to very little traffic in the late afternoon. Instead of going straight home, he made a quick turn onto Ocean View Road and headed toward the huge beachfront house on stilts that his dad and new bride Leslie had bought together, beginning their life together just a few months ago. Theirs was a love story filled with long-term devotion to their first spouses, loss of that stable love and depending on prayer to lead them together. He couldn’t be happier for his father for finding his second love after a lifetime with Jeremy’s mom.

  His tires crackled on the seashell mulch covering the driveway to The Old Gray Barn. He pulled up behind Leslie’s car, noticing his dad’s truck was absent. He jogged up the wooden stairway to the front porch, knocked loudly and pushed the door open, yelling, “Leslie? You here?”

  “Sure am!” he heard from the kitchen and he pushed through to head there. She was stirring something in a big pot on the stovetop and she took a moment to pull him into a hug and pat his back before turning back to it. “So nice of you to stop by for a visit. Would you like to stay for dinner?”

  Jeremy was well aware that his reputation as a food mooch preceded him, at least among the women in his family. He couldn’t help leaning toward the pot and taking a long sniff. A mixed aroma of shellfish, vegetables and broth put a smile on his face. “Wow, Leslie, wow, is all I can say.”

  “Shrimp gumbo with some whitefish, carrots, celery and potatoes.”

  Instead of rejecting the invitation immediately like he normally would, he studied the pot for a while. “Is there enough for three?”

  She patted his arm. “You could invite a few friends over and we’d still have enough. Your dad set the traps this morning and harvested the shrimp before he left for the day.”

  It was a deal. Leslie hoisted three plates and silverware settings onto the rustic kitchen table and Jeremy laid them out.

  “Where is Dad, by the way?”

  “Still working. He should be back within a half hour.”

  “Business good these days?”

  “Sure seems to be. He’s got more than he can handle, I know that.”

  “Really?” The table-setting done, Jeremy took a seat while Leslie laid out half a loaf of homemade bread and a saucer of butter.

  “Well, Beach Management calls him every time one of these old houses needs work, often between rental weeks. That could be full-time, but then he’s built up some loyal customers he’s worked for before, who ask him back. He doesn’t like to say no. But he doesn’t like to schedule them too far out either, keep the folks waiting.”

  A bead of sweat popped onto Jeremy’s forehead and he wiped it away. This conversation was making him distinctly uncomfortable. This subject was getting dangerously close to …

  “Yeah,” he stammered. He was well aware that his dad had a thriving handyman business, and probably had too much work to handle on his own. Erase fifteen years, and this is exactly the position his father was in then. He’d made his living as a small business person – and raised his family on what he brought in as a single-person business doing whatever handyman work he could get his hands on. He was talented at the work – then and now – but he wasn’t that great at the business side of it. Advertising, organizing, estimates, deadlines.

  That’s why Jeremy had come up with the brilliant idea to go into business with him – Harrison and Son. Expand beyond handyman work and move into contracting, new home construction.

  Jeremy came suddenly to his feet, causing Leslie to startle. “Jeremy? You okay?” Her worried eyes followed him as he stood, then paced on the kitchen floor, back and forth.

  Harrison and Son – the beginning of the end. The end of his life as he knew it, the end of his freedom, the end of his mother’s insurance, and ultimately, the end of her life.

  “I gotta go,” he threw out, and stumbled out of the kitchen, heading for the front door.

  “Wait! Jeremy!” Leslie’s voice followed him but he couldn’t help it, he had to get out of there. Anxiety attacks were less frequent now than when he was in prison, but this was the start of a doozie. His best plan was to get home, sit in his quiet house and take deep breaths till it passed.

  Leslie caught up to him, reached out and wrapped a hand around his bicep. “It’s okay, Jeremy. Don’t go, please.”

  He thrashed his arms, catching her hand and throwing it off him. He hoped he hadn’t hurt her, but his vision had narrowed to a tunnel and only one object: the door. He had to get there. Everything else in the room went blurry.

  He was almost there when the door opened of its own accord. He hadn’t pulled it open. He froze, unsure of this turn of events. Then, his dad’s face appeared. “Jeremy,” it said, friendly and warm.

  He plowed past Hank. He heard Leslie’s voice and although he couldn’t make out her words, he recognized the concerned tone, and then Dad’s reaction: he tightened his strong worker-man hands around both Jeremy’s arms and brought them tightly down to Jeremy’s sides, pinning them there. He guided him over to the couch and into a seated position. Jeremy didn’t object, didn’t fight it. He knew what Dad was doing, and why, and it was the only choice.

  “Take a breath, son. It’s all right. Breathe in, that’s good. Now hold. Now out. You got it.”

  Jeremy squeezed his eyes shut and focused on his dad’s words and he did as he was told. Breath in, breath out. Soon the overwhelming anxiety started to lift and the breathing was less labored. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked directly into his dad’s.

  “Sorry,” he murmured and turned away.

  But his dad pulled him in close and gave him one of those awkward father/son hugs that both parties liked, but neither liked to particularly admit. So much history and meaning was absorbed into that hug and neither of them were talkers, but they knew exactly what was behind it, what came before it, and what the other man would say if he had the inclination to talk.

  One more hardy pat on the back, and his dad pulled back and studied his face. “You okay?”

&n
bsp; Jeremy sighed. He didn’t have to explain. His dad knew. “Yeah.”

  “Good to see you, son.” His dad’s smile formed on his sunburnt face and he knew from the way it spread to his blue eyes that he spoke the truth.

  “Good to see you too, Dad.”

  Leslie chose that moment to make her entrance. She had kindly disappeared during the remnants of the attack, but now that he was recovered she came out and greeted her new husband with a kiss, pressing against him.

  “Jeremy’s staying for dinner with us. I made gumbo out of that delicious shrimp you pulled out this morning.”

  Jeremy thought of arguing, but it was important to get back to as normal a life as possible, despite the occasional relapse. “Yes, thank you. And Leslie … I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?”

  She waved her hand, eliminating the incident just as easily as that. They busied themselves getting the food on the table, sitting down and praying. Before he knew it, the anxiety attack was ancient history.

  * * *

  After dinner, Jeremy drove to Marianne’s inn. Along the right side of the long building, in the back facing the ocean, he walked to the storage shed. He flipped out a tarp, then pulled out a baby’s changing table and dragged it into the center. He examined the half-finished piece, remembering the pregnant woman and her husband who had hired him at the craft fair. Their joy and enthusiasm about their new family had beamed on their faces. He was doing an entire set – crib, dresser and changing table – eventually painted white and he’d promised them in three weeks’ time. From the looks of the mom, the aggressive date would still be pushing it.

  “Hi.”

  He was so absorbed in thoughts of the young couple, he hadn’t even been looking for her. “Hello there.”

  For some reason, his words made her giggle. Which caused a twinge of … something … in his belly.

  “What’s this?” she asked and came close. He took a deep breath when she neared and the scent of coconut and skin lotion made him grin despite himself. He couldn’t help staring, her brown hair pulled into a tight ponytail that bobbed each time she turned her head, and her face beaming with natural joy and beauty.