This I Promise You
By: Tressa Messenger
This I Promise You
Copyright © 2014 by Tressa Messenger. All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: August 2014
Limitless Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
www.limitlesspublishing.com
Formatting: Limitless Publishing
ISBN-13: 978-1500298869
ISBN-10: 1500298867
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
For Jeremy and Jeanette and all that loved them. Both are gone too soon.
Table of Contents
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Epilogue
Prologue
The sky had grown darker and the wind had picked up, causing my weighted feet to feel even heavier, as if I was walking through quicksand and at any minute I would sink down and never get back up. I don’t really remember the walk back to my house, only the sand. Before I knew it, I was passing my beloved pier and was back in the security of my family’s beach house.
As soon as I closed the door, I leaned my back against the wooden surface and took my cell phone out of my pocket. With shaky fingers I dialed a number. I held my already shallow breath as it rang.
Hello?
“Dawn, I need you.”
Nicky? What’s wrong? You sound strange!
“Will you please come?”
Where are you? What’s wrong? she asked, now more alert.
“I’m at the beach house. Please come quickly! I can’t do this alone!”
I’ll be there as soon as I can.
I hung up my phone and let it fall to the old weathered hardwood floor. As if my legs had finally had enough, I slid to the floor with my back pressed against the door and cried far beyond the point of not being able to cry any more.
One
1993
I restlessly walked around the old beach house, exploring my new territory in this wondrous world of Atlantic Beach, where apparently being a beach bum was a reasonable way of life. I stretched my arm out to the side and ran my hand over the smooth gray wooden exterior of the house. It looked every bit like a fixed piece of gray driftwood wedged in the sand. According to my mom, it was once as blue as the sky above. But after so many years of being so close to the ocean and receiving a constant spray of salty air and blazing bright sun, all color was gone. As I stared at the rough paint-stripped exterior, I decided immediately I liked it better this way. I bent down and smelled a few colorful wild flowers growing haphazardly around the base of the cottage until I reached the steps leading up to the back deck. I put a hand over my eyes to shelter them from the blazing bright morning sunlight and looked out at the gritty sand that was my new backyard, for the summer at least. My eyes searched and settled on the massive blue ocean. Sand and sea that stretched as far as the eye could see. Even at ten o’clock in the morning, the beach had already begun to fill up with greasy bikini-clad women. The men, just as greasy, were trying desperately to impress the scantily-dressed women. But from my view, they just looked like Neanderthals.
I wasn’t too thrilled about having to spend my entire summer apart from my friends back home. No, correction. I was pissed about it and I made it very clear that I wasn’t going to be happy until we were back home in the city. My parents insisted we spend the entire summer together in this strange place. I even went as far as questioning how my Dad was supposed to work so far away from his office, but he said he could work his cases via the computer or phone if he had to. They had this strange idea that it would be good for us to spend quality time together since we are all growing up and apart, and my sister, Dawn, can’t seem to stay out of trouble. That doesn’t mean I should be punished, too. If you asked me, out of the three of us kids, I’m the best, and it’s not just because I’m the youngest and least experienced, but because I have spent thirteen years watching my older brother and sister get into trouble. I knew what my parents’ limits were and tended to stay on their good side.
I walked back around to the front of the cottage, where my parents were busying themselves with unpacking the SUV.
“This is it?” I asked, looking around at the tall beach houses set high up on stilts on both sides of the narrow two-lane road. And that was pretty much it, other than gritty hot sand everywhere. “There’s not even any grass anywhere.”
My mom, Nora, poked her head out of the back of the vehicle and looked at me with a smile. “Yep, this is it. Isn’t it fantastic?”
I silently stared at her for a minute. Never in a million years would I admit to her that I actually liked the old house and my new backyard, even if the rest of the neighborhood was less than desirable. No, I refuse to give in, not when my fight had just begun. Instead, I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly and looked around again with my ever present scowl on my face. “That’s not the exact word I’d use. What made you and Dad decide to buy a house here?”
“I’ve told you before. Your father and I grew up in a small area called Pamlico County.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, remembering the stories about their childhood in the boonies, swimming in alligator and snake-infested creeks and frolicking in the mud, or something like that.
“It’s about an hour from here. This is the beach everyone we know comes to. Your father and I grew up coming here with our families, and once we started dating, we spent most of our time during the summers here together, so it holds some pretty special memories.”
I stared at her with wide eyes. “Oh, I didn’t know that!”
She waved her hand back at me and ducked her head back into the SUV. “It’s okay. How could you have? I know you’re used to the city, but I promise, if you give the beach a chance, you’ll love it.”
“Not likely,” I mumbled to myself. I took her distraction as an opportunity to escape. “I’m going to the beach,” I yelled over my shoulder and swiftly walked away.
“But we haven’t even unpacked yet,” my mom yelled back at me from behind the SUV.
“I’ll do it later,” I said in a huff and rounded the side of the cottage before she could respond again.
Once out of her line of vision, I kicked off my flip-flops and took off walking through the hot scorching sand toward the water, with a dire need to be as far away from my parents as possible. My best friend, Candy, and I had made plans for the summer that included spending lazy weekends on a “real” beach in Wilmington at Candy’s aunt’s house and wandering around the city in my home town of Raleigh. Even at thirteen I knew how important it was to keep up to date on the newest fashion trends at our massive mall, one of the biggest malls in the whole state of North Carolina. But no! My parents didn’t get it. They never did. They forced me to come here to Atlantic Beach, a small beach town outside Morehead City, instead. A place so dismal and remote that there was no
mall or fashionable retail stores for miles other than the usual beachy tourist traps such as Zingers and an assortment of beach shacks. It may only be just a few short hours from Raleigh, but to me it seemed worlds away.
“Who even goes to Atlantic Beach for the summer?” I asked myself out loud, kicking up sand as I walked.
It just isn’t fair, I thought and kicked at the white froth of an oncoming wave once I reached the water to cool my burning feet. We only live a couple of hours from the best beaches in North Carolina. So what’s the big deal about coming here?
I continued to walk along the water’s edge, feeling the frigid sea water periodically rush over my feet.
“Hey, watch out!” I heard someone yell, and before I could move, a girl ran right into me from behind, causing me to fall down on the sharp, hot sand. Sun screen, salty water, and sand stuck to every inch of my bare skin.
“Sorry!” the girl yelled apologetically over her shoulder while continuing to run backwards holding a roll of string attached to a colorful butterfly-shaped kite high up in the air, not even bothering to stop or help me up.
“This is not a good start,” I said through clenched teeth.
I stood up and wiped the sand off, then looked up and down the beach, wondering how far I had walked. I began to feel panicked and lost until I noticed an enormously long wooden pier a few yards away. It stretched out from sand to shore. I sighed with relief to see a familiar landmark, remembering seeing it that morning as we drove through the neighborhood. I licked my dry lips and wiped drips of sweat from my forehead as the blazing sun beat down on me.
Admittedly, I left the beach cottage in a hurry. What I should have done was change into one of my bikinis, so I could at least go swimming and cool off because the midmorning sun was already too much for my t-shirt and jean shorts. Thankfully, my white shirt at least reflected some of the sun, but it wasn’t nearly enough. Curious about the pier and the prospect of air conditioning, or at the very least a fan, from the small structure attached to it that boasted signs of a grill, I trudged through the hot sand to the wooden pier. When I reached for the old wooden door, the sound of chatter and laughter caught my attention. I eagerly pushed the old door open and looked around at all the people gathered around a few tables chatting and playing arcade games, happy to see that some were even around my age. I smiled and walked up to the counter where an older man was cooking on the grill.
“What can I get ya?” the old man asked.
“Can I just have a Coke, please?”
“Round here we got Pepsi,” he said in a thick southern accent.
“Oh, right. Well then, a Pepsi, please.”
“Sure thing,” he said, reaching into the big fridge on the wall beside the grill and then handing me a bottle.
I paid for the soda and turned around quickly at the sound of a sudden outburst. I sipped my cold soda as I watched the encounter. Two boys were telling jokes to each other and taking turns talking trash back and forth about their poor mamas.
“Your mama's so fat, the coast guard came to your house demanding y’all free Willy,” one boy said.
The boy, with a straight face, came back with, “Yeah, well, your mama's so dumb she has one toe and bought a pair of flip-flops.”
Both boys couldn’t help laughing at each other’s absurd remarks, which in turn had me laughing just watching them. It’s something I’ve seen my brother and his immature friends do many times before. I started to roll my eyes, but one of the boys caught my attention. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t help but stare at him, captivated. I studied him closely. His short brown wavy hair suited his narrow face. His big dark eyes sat under thick dark brows. His nose was straight and typical, but my eyes settled on his lips. I liked the way they looked, how they arched so sharply, yet still looked soft. Spellbound, I watched them move when he talked. I smiled when he would smile or laugh. His lips intrigued me, how they tended to turn up so high, making him seem so genuine, like he smiled often. Even his dark eyes lit up each time a smile played on those lips.
“Ouch!” I yelled, turning around to find my brother, Robert, standing beside me pulling on one of my long piggy tails. “Stop it, jerk!”
I’m convinced of what they say about girls maturing faster than boys, because even though Robert was four years older than me, he acted more like a thirteen-year-old than I did.
“Mom wants you home now and she’s pissed.”
“That’s not our home,” I grumbled.
“Nicole.”
“In a little while,” I said, annoyed, and turned away from him.
He pulled my piggy tail again. “No! Now, Nicole!”
“All right!” I yelled.
I picked my bottle of soda up off the counter and turned back toward the boy with the pretty lips, only to find him staring directly at me with a quizzical look on his face. My eyes grew wide and my face lit up, red with embarrassment. He gave me a cool smile with those perfect lips of his, and then turned back to his friend as I sauntered out of the restaurant behind my brother.
Two
I rushed through the process of unpacking my stuff. I had to share a room with my older sister, Dawn, even though I didn’t see her the whole time I was in there. It didn’t take a huge amount of time, but it felt like forever. As soon as I was done, I stripped out of my hot jean shorts and t-shirt and put on one of my new bikinis, this one pink and frilly. I looked at my reflection in the mirror attached to our shared dresser and adjusted the top to make it lay right with its thick, cumbersome padding. I looked down at myself and frowned. People had always told me I was pretty, but I never understood why. As I looked at myself, the only thing I could see going for me was that I had a somewhat dark complexion, which kept me with a nice natural tan all year round, high cheek bones that rested between the deepest dimples, the greenest eyes that were shaped like a cat’s, and it all stood out against my golden blonde hair. They were all features I inherited from my Dad, whose heritage was American Indian. I blamed the rest of my looks on my Mom’s boring Welsh ancestry, although the blonde hair probably came from her side. A few months ago I hit an obstacle in life, well, more like it hit me. My mom likes to refer to it as “becoming a little lady.” Looking at myself now, I didn’t think I looked any different. The blossoming part of becoming a “little lady” still hadn’t happened yet. I was still just as bone thin, with a flat chest and rear, as I was before I hit puberty. I took my long straight blonde hair out of the childish pigtails and tied it up in a high ponytail on top of my head like the girls I saw on TV just as Dawn rushed into the room and threw a fluffy beach towel at me.
“Hey!” I yelled, annoyed.
“Hurry up, twerp,” she said, turning and leaving the room just as quickly as she came in.
I watched as Dawn walked back out the door in her own little bikini and felt a ping of my usual jealousy, because unlike me, Dawn always seemed to have had boobs and the boys always noticed her. She and I pretty much looked the exact same except for that part. I looked at myself in the mirror one last time and gave my top an extra fluff before I followed my sister out onto the back deck.
We laid our beach towels right at the water’s edge so that every time a wave crashed, we could feel the cool froth on our feet. We laid on our stomachs with our eyes closed while listening to the happy world around us. Children played in the surf, sea gulls cried all around and the waves crashed behind us.
“What do you want to do today?” I asked Dawn, propping myself up on my elbows, sweat dripping down all over me.
Dawn shrugged her shoulders and lifted her head to look around. “I’m fine with just laying here.”
“But I’m hot. Don’t you want to swim?” I asked.
“And wash off the pound of sunscreen I just put on? I don’t think so.”
Speechless, I stared at her. Dawn was only two years older than I was but she seemed so much more mature. I had always thought she was cool and I looked up to her, although I would never admit that. As I�
��ve gotten older, I’ve found myself paying more attention to the things she says and does, using her as a type of a guide. I would never admit that to her either! I rolled over on my back and closed my eyes again.
“Hey! Watch out!”
I opened my eyes and squinted into the sun when I heard someone yell close by. But not soon enough! Just as I did, someone jumped into the water directly in front of us and splashed us with cold salty water. Dawn and I jumped up at the same time and looked around wildly for the culprit.
“Hey, jerk! That wasn’t very funny!” Dawn yelled, yanking her towel up and throwing sand all over while she stormed off toward our cottage in a huff.
The boy ran a hand through his dark wet hair and shook the water off like a wet dog. “I tried to warn ya’ll.”
“I know. Maybe she was just worried she’d float away, you know what they say about—” I said quickly, smiling. I froze when I turned and looked at the boy for the first time and realized he was the same boy with the pretty lips I saw earlier in the shop on the pier.
The boy began to laugh out loud. “That’s pretty funny. I am sorry about getting you all wet, though. The football kinda got away from me,” he said, holding up the wet ball as if I needed proof.
“It’s not a big deal. I was debating on going for a swim anyway.”
“So, no floating for you then?” he asked with a mocking smile on those pretty lips.
I looked at him, wondering if I should be offended, but the smile on his lips told me he was just joking and my face went red right away. “No, actually the opposite. I would most definitely sink, but it may be worth the risk.”
“Nice. I’m Jeremy, by the way. Jeremy Hayes.”
“Hey, Jeremy. I’m Nicky Moore.”
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