“Jump. I’ll catch you.”
“Seriously?” I mean, it’s not that high, but I could break something.
“Yes. Don’t you trust me?”
“I don’t know, Travis Cole. You’re not really one of the good guys.”
He pretends to be offended. “I’d never do you wrong,” he says in all seriousness.
“Okay,” I reply before I throw my leg over and sit down on the windowsill. “Ready?” I ask, looking down at him.
He nods and holds out his arms. I push off, and when I land in his arms, he loses his balance and falls, landing on his back as I land on his chest. I giggle as he groans and kinda laughs.
“Fuck.”
“Didn’t go as planned, did it?” I say, sitting up.
He flexes his hips. “Oh, it went exactly like I wanted.”
I slap his chest playfully, and he sits up, pressing his lips to mine. His hands go in my hair, and he brings me closer.
“Let’s ride before your mom wakes up,” he says, pulling away.
____
“We rode until the sun came up that night. I hated leaving him.
It was like pulling magnets apart to get us away from each other.”
“Wow,” Cynthia says, looking at me. “You two had it bad.”
“We really did.” She lifts her second pair of eyes up onto her head, causing her hair to go back with it. I tilt my head, noticing a deep scar on the side of her neck.
“That’s some scar you’ve got there.”
Her hand goes up. “Yeah, I went all Evel Knievel when I was a kid and tried to jump a ramp on my bicycle. Didn’t end well,” she says, shrugging it off.
“Ahh,” I say, but I’m not sure I believe it. “So, you were an only child?”
“Yes, it was just me, and whatever nanny or housekeeper they hired.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“California,” she replies.
“Wow, how did you like that?”
“I loved it until my parents died, of course,” she says bluntly.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I mean, I’m digging into your life,” she says, putting her fork down.
The waitress places our ticket on the table, and after we pay it, we walk out and make our way over to the pier. It’s warm today, but the breeze from the ocean keeps me comfortable. I watch as a seagull dives down into the water and then another does the same. Fishermen have lines thrown over the side of the pier, and a few kids are running around as they wait for their nets to fill up with crabs. Cynthia takes her long-sleeved shirt off and ties it around her waist as we make our way down the pier.
We take a seat at the end, and I breathe in deep as we watch the people around us. Cynthia grows quiet as we people-watch, and I wonder what the girl is thinking. On the outside, she looks like any other young woman. A little quirkier maybe, but I can tell there’s a whole lot more going on with her on the inside, and I want to find out what secrets this child holds onto so tightly.
Chapter Five
Maggie Joe has been living in Sea Harbor since she retired. I met her when I first moved here. She was walking her little white poodle, and he took a shit in my yard. I saw it through my window, and the woman just kept on going. I ran out of the house with a paper bag and some napkins and flagged her down. I’ve never seen a woman’s face so red and the kicker–– she was mad at me. We’ve been friends ever since. After all, how else am I going to find out about the town gossip?
“Who is it?” she yells when I knock on the door. I feel it’s unlocked so I turn the knob.
“It’s Charlotte.”
“Why didn’t you say so? Come in.”
“I did say so,” I reply, shutting the door behind me. “Well, my God.” I put my hand over my mouth as I take in the view. Rear end in the air and arms behind her calves, she’s a sight to see.
“Why don’t you put that away?” I tell her, chuckling behind my hand.
“Oh, you act like you’ve never seen an ass before.” She looks at me through the gap of her blue tight-covered legs and huffs before she stands back upright.
Now, I’m in my sixties and this woman is close behind, but I tell you she’s in great shape for our age. Me? Not so much. I do good taking my morning walks on the beach. The TV plays with a lady and a few others doing some more crazy exercises. Maggie walks over to the remote and shuts it off. With a white active wear headband on her head and a hot pink tank top, she looks like she stepped out of the eighties.
“You like bending over so much, why don’t you bend over and pick up your dog’s shit?” I ask her as she wipes the sweat from her brow.
“I told you I was sorry about that, Charlotte. Geez. Archie was having a bad day, and it was years ago.”
I roll my eyes. “You do this every day?”
“Of course, I do. How else do you think I stay like this?” She runs a hand down the side of her body.
I chuckle. “I figured this community had a gym or something.”
“They do, but there’s always a bunch of old people in there.” She scrunches her face.
I laugh. “Maggie, what the hell do you think we are?”
“Finely aged, Charlotte. We are finally aged. You need to start doing this with me. You know what they say, ‘You never slow down, you never grow old.’”
I look over at the kitchen when Archie comes walking out. He’s got a blue bandana around his neck, and he looks recently groomed. He strolls over to his dog bed that’s got a window view of the pond behind her house.
“Yeah, whoever says that ain’t old,” I reply dryly.
She laughs and rolls up her yoga mat. “What brings you over?” she asks as she walks away from me.
“There’s this person who’s been following me around town for a few days.” I lean against the doorway as she bends down in front of the fridge.
“Oh yeah?” she asks, grabbing a water bottle.
“A girl with purple streaks in her hair. About five two, I’d say.”
Maggie looks up at me from over the fridge door.
“She’s been worrying me to death about writing a story.” I lift my brows.
Maggie stands up with guilt-ridden eyes, and I narrow mine.
“My story,” I say.
“Now, Charlotte, before you get all bent out of shape…”
“How could you, Maggie?” I ask, crossing my arms. “I told you that as a friend, as my best friend.”
She rests her hand on the door. “Look, I’m sorry. I was having a few drinks down at Jim’s Crab Shack, and I saw her sitting there by herself. So, I went over just to see if she was okay. You know, a young girl sitting alone is kinda worrisome. Anyway, she told me about the paper and job potential. I asked her if she had any ideas, and she looked at me sadly and said no. Now, like I said, I had already had a few drinks. Your story just kinda came up.” She shrugs.
I shake my head and scoff. “Just kinda came up, huh?” I turn out of the kitchen and head for the door.
“Well, yeah, it did.” I hear her follow me. “Charlotte, just wait a minute now.”
I touch the knob.
“Charlotte. You can’t tell me that if you saw an opportunity to help someone you wouldn’t.” She’s hands on her hips now and giving me a stern look.
“It wasn’t your place to help her, Maggie. And it damn sure wasn’t your place to tell her something I told you in confidence.”
She frowns and tilts her head. “I’m sorry, okay?”
I roll my eyes and twist the knob.
“Hey, I mean it.” She reaches out and touches my arm. “If I’d known you’d get this upset, I would have kept my mouth shut.” She slides her headband off and tosses it onto the table. “But it’s a story I think needs to be told. The love you two had and the years…” She stops talking, and I look down at her shaggy rug.
“It’s just a beautiful story, but you’re right. It wasn’t mine to tell.”
My eyes shoot back to her.
“Can you forgive me?” she asks.
I can see she feels bad about it. I guess I can forgive her. After all, she’s my only friend in this town, and that’s no one’s fault but my own. I’m a loner. I keep to myself and like for everyone else to do the same. Now I’ve got a persistent purple-headed girl wanting to know all about my life, and it’s this woman’s fault. Regardless, I know she meant no harm. I run a hand over my forehead and point my eyes to the ceiling. “I guess.” I sigh.
She smiles and clasps her hands together. “Good. Wanna go check out the golfers?” She wiggles her brows. “I just bought a new golf cart and she’s ready to ride.”
I laugh and roll my eyes. “I’d rather not. I’ve got to get going. There’s a girl who wants to write a story about me.”
“Are y’all meeting up now?” she asks.
“As a matter of fact, we are.”
“Oooh, can I come? I would love to hear details.”
“Seriously?” I say, deadpan.
“Yes, seriously. It’s my drinking time anyway. Let me get out of these workout clothes and into something else.”
“We’re going to the beach.”
“Oh, good. I need to work on my tan. I’ll just be a minute,” she says, walking away from me. I step back inside and shut the door behind me.
“Guess I’ll wait here,” I call out.
––––
I sit under my big umbrella with Cynthia and Maggie as the waves crash against the Carolina shore. Maggie’s all oiled up and Cynthia doodles in her notebook as she asks me questions about the good old days.
“Parties were a part of the seventies,” I say, responding to her question about what we did for fun. “Smoking grass or Jazz Cabbage,” I point out with a smirk.
“Jazz Cabbage?” Maggie questions. “Is that what kids are calling it these days?”
“Seems so,” I reply. “Anyway, smoking, drinking, and being a free spirit was in, but I wasn’t a follower. I did what I wanted when I wanted to do it, and Travis was okay with that. He never pressured me to do drugs or drink, and that’s just one more thing I loved about him.”
“So, let me get this straight.” Cynthia sits up and crosses her legs. “You grew up in the seventies, supposedly the best years ever, and you didn’t smoke weed?”
“What you’re telling us is, you were lame,” Maggie says.
“I was not lame,” I reply to her. “I did smoke occasionally… later and I’ve had my fair share of drinking…also later.”
Maggie shakes her head. “You missed out, woman. Man, I would have fit in good with your Travis and his friends. I really enjoyed my teenage years.” She sighs and rests her forearm over her forehead.
“I can imagine,” I reply, looking over at Cynthia who smirks. I dig my toes into the sand and scan the beach, noticing a turtle nest is blocked off so people won’t step on it. It reminds me of a time so long ago, yet still so fresh in my mind, putting a smile on my lips, and Cynthia notices.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks behind aviator sunglasses.
“Just something that happened forever ago,” I answer.
“Well, tell us,” Maggie jumps in as she reaches for her drink. At that exact moment, her chair flies forward, causing her to bend in half. “Oh!” she yells, and I burst out laughing. “Good God, would someone help me here?” she whines.
Cynthia giggles and gets up out of her seat. “You’re going to have to get up,” she says, reaching for Maggie’s hands.
Maggie stretches her arms out. “Pull me.”
With a pretty side braid and her glittery bangle bracelets, Cynthia digs her heels into the sand and tries to pull Maggie forward. It’s trial and error because Maggie falls back twice.
“Pull harder,” she says to Cynthia.
“I’m trying. You’ve got to push up.”
Maggie groans and Cynthia yanks, causing her to fling forward and stumble. Cynthia lands on her bottom, and Maggie almost lands on top of her. I laugh even harder, and my eyes start to water.
“Good thing I do yoga,” Maggie says to Cynthia as she holds herself up by her arms. “Or you’d be squashed.”
“Well, you need to work on strengthening those legs,” Cynthia says as Maggie stands upright.
“Nothing’s wrong with my legs. I was just in an awkward position, and I may be a little tipsy.”
“May be?” I say.
“Oh, hush,” she says to me. “And hand me another can from the cooler. I spilled mine.”
I reach over into the cooler.
“These flimsy ass chairs,” Maggie grumbles as she takes the drink from my outreached hand and carefully sits back down. Her towel pops off the beach towel clip, and she groans.
I wipe under my eyes and shake my head. “You do put on a show, woman.”
“I’m glad I could entertain you,” she says before popping the top and taking a huge gulp of her margarita in a can.
“So now that that’s all over,” Cynthia says. “Tell us what you were thinking.”
“It was late June, and my bad boy was sitting in jail for breaking into an empty house with some of his dumb friends and his brother Mason. I hadn’t spoken to him in a few days because there was no way he’d call my house while being in jail,” I tell them.
––––
Late June 1973
I dip my foot under the oven door and lift it so the door slams closed. Walking over to the sink, I turn the water on and rinse the sugar and dough off my hands. Mama and I are baking pies to sell at the festival tomorrow, and that was our last one because we are out of fruit.
“You know they set up the vegetable and fruit part of the festival yesterday. Wanna go and look at some of the shops after we buy more fruit?” I ask her as I dry my hands on the dishtowel she handed me.
“I don’t want to leave the oven on with no one here.”
“Aw, come on, Mama. It’ll be fine,” I tell her as I untie my apron and pull it over my head. She sighs and scratches her fingers over her left palm.
“It’ll have to be quick, Charlotte.”
“We will be.”
She bites her lip. “These do still have over forty minutes.”
“Ugh, just come on,” I say with an eye roll.
She huffs. “Fine. Let’s go. I guess it’ll be good to get out of the house.”
I smile “There you go.” And then someone knocks on the front door. “I’ll grab it,” I say as she takes her apron off, too.
“Hey, girl,” Jennie says through the screen.
“Hey,” I say, pushing the door open.
“It smells delicious in here,” she says, walking in.
“Yeah, Mama is entering into the bake sale at the festival tomorrow.”
“I’m sure she’ll win. Save me a piece, Mama B,” she calls into the kitchen.
“Will do,” Mama says, walking out. “And I’m glad you’re here. Ride with Charlotte to the festival, please. I really don’t want to leave this oven. My luck the thing will catch on fire.”
I shake my head and kinda grin at the worrier she is. “We’ll be back,” I say.
“Be safe,” she replies in a happy tune. “Love you.”
“Love you, too,” I reply as I grab my keys off the table beside the door and step out onto the porch.
“You cool with coming?” I ask her.
“Are you kidding? I’ve been bored all day,” she says as a train flies down the tracks behind our house and rattles the windows.
“So, guess what I heard?”
“What?” I ask as we make our way to my car. We hop in, and I press the clutch and turn the key.
“Travis is out of jail.”
“Really?” I smile. “How did you find out?”
“Jesse,” we both say.
“I can’t wait to see him,” I say, more so to myself. Rolling my windows down, I turn the radio up as the Eagles croon sweet lyrics about taking it easy. I think about Travis as we sing along and the wind tosse
s our hair about. I can’t wait to see him.
Shifting my car into neutral, I apply my emergency brake once we make it downtown. I open my door and follow Jennie to the tents alongside the sidewalks. People make their way into the souvenir shops, and others pick up baskets to buy fresh produce. I scoop up a basket myself and start toward the peaches.
“I’m going to go look at the mood rings,” Jennie says, walking toward a shop door.
I nod as I pick up a peach, bringing it to my nose and inhaling. You can almost always tell a good peach by the way it smells. I place some into my basket and move along the road to the other tents. Out of nowhere, I’m pulled off to the side of a souvenir store.
I notice his smell first, and then I look at his handsome face as he smiles at me.
“God, I fucking missed you,” he says, kissing my lips. I kiss him back before I realize I should be mad at this boy. I push against his chest. “What’s wrong?” he asks, looking concerned.
“I’m mad at you.”
“Mad at me,” he says.
“Yes,” I reply, walking past him back in between the rows of tents. He follows and dips his hand into my basket, pulling out a peach.
“You gonna eat all this fruit or are you baking me something?” He cracks a teasing smile before he bites into the peach, and I bite something less sweet to control my grin as I look over the blueberries. He leans against the table with a sly smile on his kissable lips.
“You’re supposed to wash those before you eat them, jailbird.” I turn away from him, trying with everything in me to act mad, because damn him for getting in trouble again. I walk on ahead.
“You gotta pay for that,” a guy warns from behind me. Indifferent, Travis pulls out his wallet and tosses the guy a few bills. I keep going, looking for bananas, but my troublemaker steps in front of me.
“I wanna show you something tonight,” he says.
“Well, I don’t wanna see anything,” I reply all matter-of-fact as I sidestep him. I hear him take another juicy bite.
“Why are you mad?” he asks, walking beside me.
I roll my eyes and stop to look at the flowers. He turns, resting his back against the table. I ignore him and decide I’ll buy some white daisies to make a bouquet to go on my vanity. He leans over in front of my face.
If I'd Known Page 5
