by Jenn Bennett
A slow smile spreads over her face. “My, this is interesting. Perhaps the Saint-Martin curse is racing through your veins? Are you having erotic dreams that end in bloodshed?”
I hold up one finger. “No. Stop this. Don’t even joke, Evie.”
“We did warn you, cuz. Did you not just witness what happened to me? Accident. Hospital. Ex-boyfriend, who is now recuperating at home for the rest of the summer when he should be in Cambridge. That was the curse in action.”
Talk about the curse almost shakes me for a moment, but then I realize she’s teasing me. I think. I hope.…
“My interest in Lucky 2.0 isn’t for romantic reasons,” I insist. “It’s research.”
“For seduction purposes.”
“Exactly. I mean, no!” I look around the books displayed on the printing press to make sure Mom is still at the register and not listening to us. “Just for research purposes.”
“I’ve got some books you can read … for research purposes. Hold on one second. Erotica section, let’s see … Anaïs Nin is always a classic. Hmm … Did I already get you to read Fanny Hill ?”
“It was sort of ridiculous,” I admit. “Too many plump, fleshy thighs and large machines.”
“Ha!”
“Stop,” I plead, laughing when she pokes my side to tickle me. “And no erotica. This is serious research.”
“Fi-i-i-ne,” she says, picking up a book to shelve. “But I don’t really know anything. I missed Lucky’s early teen years. We were in Boston for my dad’s job.”
That’s right. I forget she missed some of the same Beauty years that I missed when her parents relocated to the neighboring state.
“Plus, you guys are two grades behind me,” she says, reaching above her head to straighten a section of falling-over books. “I only really knew him as the kid across the street that I’d sometimes see when I came to visit Grandma. I was a junior when he was a freshman. He hung with a different crowd.”
“What crowd?”
“Let’s see … he hung out with a guy from Argentina named Tomas. But he moved to Toronto last year. Oh, and he dated Kasia Painter right after Tomas left. For a few weeks, maybe? I used to see them eating lunch together my senior year. I think there were a few other girls—just like casual dates, here and there.”
“So you don’t know for a fact that he’s knocked anyone up?” I ask, squatting down next to the metal book cart to look for any romance books that need to be shelved.
“The Bunny thing?”
“Besides that. The Bunny thing has been disproven.”
“Interesting,” she says, thoughtful. “No. I don’t know for a fact about anyone else.”
I pull out two paperbacks from the cart and hand them to Evie. “What else do you know about Lucky? Like maybe why he’s had so much detention?”
She thinks for a moment. “I know for sure that he’s been in trouble for spouting off in the classroom. Saying smart-ass things. Correcting teachers in class, that kind of thing.”
My mind wanders back to when he borrowed my notes in class and corrected everything I’d written down wrong. “He’s always been kind of a smart-ass.” And I always kind of liked it.
“No, he’s just plain smart. Like, I remember Adrian saying he would’ve killed to have his test scores. And okay, this isn’t exactly firsthand, but … I heard that Lucky scored really, really high on his SAT this spring. Maybe perfect? Or so close to perfect that it doesn’t matter. One of the rare narrow percent of test takers that hits the top.”
No one in this town would accuse me of being a brain.
I knew it. He was always smart when we were kids. That little liar!
I feel like I’m onto something. I’m just not sure what. When Evie’s not looking, I peer through the Nook’s display window, and as traffic speeds past, I catch a glimpse of what might be Lucky’s red Superhawk parked across the street. “Okay, what else? When did he get his motorcycle?”
“God, I don’t know. He fixed it up for months. A year ago, maybe? Before that, he rode an actual bicycle around town. Weird to think about that now. He sort of transitioned from the nerdy loner in the bookstore to Phantom.”
“Oh, really? You don’t say … ?”
She frowns. “What’s this all about, anyway?”
“I’m just thinking about something Mom told me once,” I say, staring out the window at Nick’s Boatyard.
“Which is?”
“Even little trees cast big shadows when the sun is setting.”
* * *
I think about everything Evie told me. I think about it a lot, in fact. And I wait for Lucky to get back to me about letting me help him pay for the window.
He finally does.
A small envelope mysteriously appears, mixed in along with the shop’s business mail—no stamp, no postmark, no return address. It’s simply addressed to me in tight, neat script, and when I unearth it, I stare at it as if it’s some strange archaeological discovery before ripping it open to find a short note scribbled on what appears to be a blank invoice sheet from Nick’s Boatyard. It says oh-so-politely:
Dear Josephine,
Though I do appreciate your offer, I can’t accept it. This is something I need to do alone.
Thanks anyway.
Your old friend,
Lucky
I reread it several times. So formal … so familiar. Then it hits me. It’s basically the same email I sent him two months after I left town when I was twelve, after Mom had heard through Aunt Franny that Lucky was out of the hospital, healing up from surgery, and back in school. I still have the email in the Sent file of a free, virtually dead email account that I barely use or check:
Dear Lucky,
Though I’ve tried in vain to contact you multiple times about my current family situation, you have not responded. We’re now in Boston, staying at a Motel 6. Guess this is something I have to do alone now. Thanks for nothing.
Your former friend,
Josephine
I’m not sure whether I want to laugh at how obnoxious I was back then, or cringe at how callous it was. Okay—cringe. I’m definitely cringing. I wrote that email before Mom found a decent job and after most of our money had run out. We were days away from getting booted from the motel … and from sleeping in our car for a short stint. It was a really scary time for me.
It’s just that now, with some distance, I realize that even though my extended family was broken, and Mom and I bounced from motels to family shelters to cheap apartments … we still had each other.
Lucky and I, however, were torn apart.
Relationship cut short. Communication ended, over and out.
As I reread Lucky’s short note to me now, I sense a little of his dark humor, but I’m not fully certain about the meaning behind his words. Everything aside, I’m not letting him have the final say in this. My broken window. My mistake. He doesn’t get to take credit for it, pay for it, and play martyr.
I see you, Lucky 2.0.… Mr. Not-So-Bad Boy, casting a big shadow. With your beautiful, normal family, and all those cousins running around the boatyard offices, playing with that cute black dog and the black cat in the window, the symbol of your survival. With your dad, who is probably still the nicest guy in town. And Kat, who I always secretly wished was my mother, because she didn’t do things like fight with my grandmother until the police were called.
I think about all this, about Lucky’s polite letter, and begin hatching a scheme.
A strategy. A plot. A plan.
Sure, my plan has a couple of hurdles, the first being Mom and her insistence that I stay away from Lucky. However, since she hasn’t chastised me for his being at the hospital that day when she showed up with her “ride,” and since that whole parking garage experience was so supremely humiliating for all of us, I believe it nullifies her right to have a say-so about who I can or can’t hang around. Therefore, I decide to use my own judgment in this matter. After all, if I’m going to leave her next ye
ar, what’s the point in obeying her now?
So one afternoon after my talk with Evie, I don’t tell Mom where I’m going when it’s time for my break. I just quietly walk out the door and head to the other side of Freedom Art Gallery next door, where I withdraw a hundred and fifty dollars from my savings account out of an ATM, and I march across the street to Nick’s Boatyard.
Ignoring the fact that my pulse is racing because Lucky’s red motorcycle is parked in the side alley, I head through the front door, into the boatyard’s offices.
It’s cool inside, quiet, and I have to push up my sunglasses and adjust my eyes to the wood-paneled walls. It smells of engine oil, fiberglass resin, and my childhood.
A filing cabinet shuts, and I swing to face the sound. Kat Karras stares at me with sharp brown eyes. Dark hair curls around the collar of her shirt as she leans on the filing cabinet, crossing her arms in front of her.
“Why, hello there,” she says plainly.
“Mrs. Karras,” I say formally, approaching a long, narrow counter that separates a small waiting-room area with boating magazines and coffee from her desk. “Long time.”
“Very long time.” Discerning eyes look me over. “Wow. You look just like your mother did in high school.”
I think of the photograph on Adrian’s phone and wince.
Lucky’s mom seems confused. A tense silence hangs between us.
“I came by the Nook to see you … ,” she says.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt, but I’m not sure what I’m apologizing for. Oh God. This was a terrible mistake. I forgot how intense Kat Karras can be. Sharp, dark eyes … sharp cheekbones. “I wanted to see you. I’m sorry I missed you. I mean … I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you came by the shop—not that I missed you.” I let out a nervous laugh, and it sounds awkward and hollow. Maybe because it’s a lie. I lick dry lips and try again, this time with something closer to the truth. “Actually … I have missed you, and I’m sorry I haven’t come by to see you sooner.”
Her brows’ rigid angles ease. “I’ve missed you too. And it’s okay. Everyone’s busy.”
“It’s been weird … being back. Everyone talks. I wasn’t expecting that. I thought it would be the same. Things change, though, don’t they?”
“Things change,” she agrees in a soft voice.
Behind Lucky’s mom, framed photographs of boats crowd the walls like a Hollywood restaurant sporting signed headshots of stars. Big boats. Small boats. Black-and-white photos from the mid-twentieth century. Lucky’s grandparents. The old boat-repair businesses across town and the one down the block. They didn’t used to repair super yachts.
“There a reason you’re here, koukla?” she asks, drawing my attention back to her face. I forgot how pretty she was. And intimidating. More intimidating than Lucky, really. Maybe this was a terrible idea.…
Is it too late to just leave?
“Uh, yes,” I say, straightening my shoulders. “So, um, I want to charter a boat so I can take photographs of the harbor?”
She looks taken aback. Confused. “We aren’t a charter company. We repair and build boats.”
“But you do own boats,” I say, gesturing toward the kajillion framed photos on the wall.
“Not luxury yachts, but yes.”
“Well, things have changed, but not that much—I’m not used to luxury, so it’s okay by me,” I say, forcing a soft laugh as I tug at the neckline of my shirt. “It’s just, um, this is definitely different than the old place down the block, right? And I noticed on Mr. Karras’s truck outside, it says, ‘Ask us. No job too small.’ ”
She chuckles. “It does say that, sure. But—”
“This is a really small job,” I assure her. “I just want to charter a ride around the harbor for one hour to take pictures. I know you guys are busy, but I was wondering if Lucky could take me? Maybe?”
“Oh?”
“Preferably the hour before twilight, because that’s when I can get the ideal light. For photography.” I plunk down my cash on the counter and get the rest of my practiced spiel out before I lose my nerve. “I checked the rates with the other charter companies in town, and this should be enough. I think?”
She stares at the money.
Heavily lashed eyes flick up to meet my gaze. One dark brow lifts.
I take a deep breath and keep going. “After the police station, my mom told me to stay out of your business, because she was worried about town gossip. She actually doesn’t know I’m here.…”
The look on her face is sharp but unreadable. Whew. This woman is tough.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I think about Evie teasing me, and Mom calling us Bonnie and Clyde. Now I’m worried Lucky’s mom might think I’m here to ask him out on a date. “Um, in case it matters, I want to assure you that Lucky and I are still just old friends, if you could even call it that. Old acquaintances? He’s been nothing but nice to me—a perfect gentleman, really.”
She makes a surprised noise in the back of her throat. I hope I didn’t make things worse. I keep going before I either run out of adrenaline or pass out.
“Anyway, I’m working on my portfolio, like, for internships or maybe college one day, or whatever—”
“Your pictures,” she says, pointing a manicured nail at me, as if things are making sense to her now. “All the photographs of signs.”
I nod several times. “That’s right.”
“And you want Lucky to take you around the harbor?”
“Yes!” I say, relived. Maybe she’s finally understanding, and this request doesn’t sound so strange after all. “Lots of signs around the harbor.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Water level signs? Pier signs … nothing special.”
“I like all kinds,” I assure her. “And I don’t want to add to your son’s workload. I know Lucky is super busy, working here and at the department store,” I tell her. “And I’m not trying to stir up gossip, believe me. I’ve had about all the gossip I can handle. But I also have to live in this town like everyone else, and I just want to take some photos of signs, that’s all.”
She blinks at me.
I clear my throat. Is it hot in here? I think I’m starting to feel sweat run down my back.
I push the money toward her before I can chicken out and race through the front door. “So that is why I’d like to charter a boat. Strictly a business transaction. For my portfolio.”
She leans over an old microphone that stands on her desk, presses a button, and shouts, “LUCKY.”
Oops. I seem to have gotten him in trouble.
Or maybe both of us.
I think I’ve made a huge mistake.
His mother holds up a finger, walks around the counter in impressively high heels, and storms through the back door. For a brief moment, I catch a glimpse of one of the work bays and a mechanic soldering something onto a small speedboat that’s sitting up on a lift. Classic rock music. Laughter. Hammering. The blue harbor. The door shuts behind her.
Okay, I could leave now. Make an excuse later. Only, she might walk over to the Nook, and then it would be—not good. Nope. I’m stuck here. Gotta wait it out.
It only takes a minute before the door flings open again. This time, his mother returns with Lucky in tow … and a few pairs of curious eyes gawking in the background.
A smear of oil marks both the bridge of Lucky’s nose and high on one cheek like the eye black grease paint of a professional quarterback. He looks wide-eyed and off-balance. Maybe a little bit furious. Maybe a lot bit furious. I forgot about his muscular arms and hands. The intimidating swagger.
Right now, he’s looking a lot more like Actual Bad Boy than Wannabe Bad Boy.
Maybe I should’ve thought this through.
So hot in here … so, so hot.
“Saint-Martin,” he says in a tight voice.
“Karras,” I answer, discreetly pulling my sweat-logged shirt away from my sticky skin. Then I turn away from him and smile at his mother, who’s sort
of jog-walking in heels around the counter, her shoes making a mesmerizing click-click-click sound on the tile floor.
“Okay, we’re all up to speed now,” she says, “Let me look at the calendar, sweetie.”
“Mom,” he complains.
“You’re going to help Miss Josie,” she says, holding up my cash and waving it.
My scheme actually worked? It worked! YES!
“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles.
“No swearing in front of customers,” she says.
“She’s not a customer, Mama. She’s just Josie.” Whee! I’m just Josie! That probably shouldn’t make me so gleeful, but it does. “And I’m not a boat prostitute for hire.”
“A job is a job,” she says.
“No job is too small,” I remind him.
His mom huffs out a laugh. “Maybe things haven’t changed after all. Forgot that you inherited Diedre’s dry sense of humor.” Don’t tell my mom that; to her, Grandma Diedre is a humorless sack of unbending rules and wrong about everything. “How is your grandmother, by the way? She’s supposed to bring me back a souvenir from Nepal.”
I shrug. “Drinking yak milk and teaching ten-year-old girls to read English. She hasn’t had a hot shower since February.”
“That woman will not make it a year out there,” Ms. Karras murmurs. “No offense.”
Ugh. Tick, tick, tick … Ticking time bomb.
I try not to let that scary thought ruin my good mood.
When she holds up a hand to quiet us and answers a ringing phone, Lucky speaks in a hushed, exasperate voice near the side of my head. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Renting your services,” I whisper back, feeling a little powerful. Feeling … seductive.
Not in a sexy way. Just a powerful way. I think?
“I’m not for rent.”
“My money says otherwise.”
“Why can’t you just let things be?”
I swing around, and we’re way too close, both of us too stubborn to move. “You shouldn’t have rejected my offer to let me pay you back the normal way. Now I’m renting you out. By the way, I ran into Bunny Perera. She says you’re the sweetest guy in the entire world and a complete angel. Just super-duper wholesome and respectable.” I boop him on the nose where the oil streaks his skin and wipe my finger on his shirt.
