by Tiffany King
"Nah, these waves are different. Too choppy. You're a serious asshole if you go out during a hurricane," he said, shaking his head. He reached out and tugged on my ponytail. My breath hitched as his knuckles brushed across my neck. It was the first time he'd initiated intimate contact since the night we kissed on the beach. "Regardless, I just want you to be safe."
"You do?" I sighed as his thumb lightly stroked the back of my neck.
"I do." He looked into my eyes, smiling.
"We sound like a Hallmark card," I said, trying to interject some humor so he wouldn't notice my knees were practically quaking.
"Truth," he answered, rubbing his thumb in a circle over my shoulders.
I fought the urge to drop my head forward. I now knew why Player purred every time I rubbed his neck. "You know, we really need to talk," I said hesitantly.
"About?"
I turned my head away, rolling my eyes. He could act dense if he wanted to, but he knew very well what I meant. "About us. You know, where this is going."
"We're getting to know each other, like you wanted, right?"
"Yeah, that's what I was going to say. I just wanted to make sure we were both on the same page," I said awkwardly. I couldn't believe I had chickened out. Actually, it wasn't that I was afraid, but with the attitude of indifference he had been displaying, I wasn't sure I wanted to put myself out there unless I knew he was 100 percent in.
"Cool," he replied, continuing to rub my neck. "So, you read a lot of cards?"
"What?" I asked, zoning out on his question.
"You said we sounded like a Hallmark card. I figured you must have read a lot of them."
"Oh. Not recently, but when I was eight, Butch found boxes of them in the dumpster behind the drugstore back home," I said, cringing before I could even finish the sentence. Did I really just admit that my dad was a dumpster diver? "Anyway, when he brought them home, I felt I needed to read all of them. There were a lot of duplicates, but for the most part I read every one—baptisms, weddings, birth announcements, even condolence cards. I was fascinated with them."
"What did you do with all of them?" he asked, sounding intrigued.
I laughed. "The question is, what didn't I do with them? I made collages from the pictures and cut out the quotes and glued them to blank sheets of paper. Just put it this way, those boxes of cards kept me entertained for an entire summer. When school rolled around, I used the ones I had left to hand out to my classmates. Turns out, I was the only one who liked the sentiments on the cards. Coming from a religious town where the majority of the residents were Christians, most people didn't appreciate their kids coming home with Kwanzaa cards since that's all I had left."
"What? You mean they didn't appreciate that you were being nice?" he asked, smirking at me.
"Strangely, no. It pretty much just reiterated the idea for everyone that the apple didn't fall far from the tree when it came to parents and their children," I said, able to laugh about it. "Hey, I just remembered something I wanted to ask you. What about the turtle nests?"
"You can go out with me tonight to check if you want," he said. His tone sounded chipper, like he was surprised I had asked about them. "I wasn't sure if you were interested. I mean, there's only one left that hasn't hatched."
"Definitely," I admitted, grabbing the bull by the horns. With any luck, he would take the opportunity to move our relationship forward too.
His eyes lit up as a smile took over his face. "Good," he said, leaning in close. I held my breath, waiting for our lips to meet. He gave me a small peck on the cheek before pulling back, which was better than nothing.
As we resumed working through the afternoon, I could feel another subtle change in our relationship. Maybe he had seen through my attempt at talking about it earlier, but all signs looked positive. Like the way he winked at me when I handed him a water bottle or the way he would subtly brush the sand from my face. Without necessarily declaring ourselves a couple, it was apparent we were now together.
When we finished for the day, I rode home with Josh since Buttercup had asked him over for dinner. According to the news, tomorrow would be the day we would start to see the effects of the hurricane.
"Did your dad evacuate?" I asked as we climbed into his truck together.
"Yeah, he's bunking down with my uncle until the storm passes. We prepped our house last night, but it's a tough old bird."
"Are you going to your uncle's too?"
"No, I plan on staying at my house tonight, and after that, I'll be at the station. Like I said, you'd be amazed at the idiots who show up at the beach during a storm. We'll need all hands on deck to keep everyone safe. I wouldn't be surprised if we get more calls than normal."
"I know, right?" I said. "We had crazy tornado storm chasers back in Kansas. Everyone wanted to be the next YouTube sensation."
"Everyone wants to be famous," he muttered, obviously talking about his mom.
"I'm glad I decided to stay," I said, changing the subject.
"Me too."
"Man, we've come a long way. To think, just a few weeks ago you hated me."
"Whatever. You were convinced I was some Boy Scout."
"I still feel that way," I deadpanned.
"I know we kinda talked about this, but I really do feel bad for the way everything went down. The fact that you're the one who suffered all the consequences is pretty shitty."
"You don't have to convince me. Hey, speaking of being a Boy Scout though, is that what you plan on majoring in?" Josh would be a senior this year, so I figured he had a plan for college.
"Boy Scouting?" he teased, laughing when I looked at him blandly. "Yeah. I mean, I'm not exactly a straight-A student, but I'll probably stay local and do something that has to do with the environment. To tell you the truth, I'm already doing pretty much what I want to do," he said, pulling into my driveway behind Butch.
"What? You don't want to be, like, an undercover cop or something?" I teased, climbing from the vehicle.
"Funny. After I graduate I can become an actual patrol officer rather than only a lifeguard, but eventually, I'd like to become an environmentalist. My passion is the land."
I nodded my head, admiring his dedication and loyalty. I had no idea what I wanted to be yet. Some days I convinced myself I would make a good teacher, but the secret part of me hoped to turn my writing into a career. Of course, that was a wish I kept tucked away from everyone else.
The hurricane seemed to be the only topic of conversation during dinner. As fascinated as my parents and I were, we still worried about how the house would hold up. Buttercup was especially worried about her garden that was just beginning to show some growth. Josh explained that most plants were surprisingly resilient, especially if we got no real flooding. He told us the story of when he was eight years old when three hurricanes hit Florida, all within a month of each other. "That's when we saw real destruction around here, but it was also a freak storm season."
It reminded us of a time in Kansas when we had a string of storms that hit one right after the next. There was nothing scarier than seeing houses destroyed only streets away from yours.
We finished dinner and helped Butch and Buttercup ready the house for the storm. Butch and Josh covered the larger windows with plywood and Buttercup and I collected any loose articles from outside and placed them in the spare bedroom. Once we had helped them do as much as we could, Josh and I headed out to check on the last nest of turtles.
As Josh drove, our hands sat inches away from each other, waiting for one of us to budge. Feeling silly over how ridiculously slow we were moving, I threw caution to the wind and placed my hand on his. He flipped his hand over and laced his fingers through mine without taking his eyes from the road.
It was only handholding, but it felt like much more. It was a comfortable step that would further our relationship. My heart raced with giddy excitement.
The late hour and approaching storm had the area looking deserted since all the h
ouses were boarded up.
"It's kinda creepy," I expressed as we walked hand in hand down to the sand.
"Are you scared?" he asked.
"Heck no. Of course, if you came at me with a big butcher's knife, I might change my mind," I said, taking an exaggerated step back like that was a possibility.
"Nah, not enough suspense. Plus, there are no woods for you to run off into," he teased.
"True story," I laughed, liking that we had the same sense of humor.
We stared at one another for a moment and I thought he might kiss me until a sudden gust of wind whipped across our faces. "We better hurry and check on the nest," he said.
"Okay," I said, swallowing my disappointment.
We walked side by side through the sand until we reached the bright orange netting.
"You're in luck," he whispered, sinking down in the sand to study the nest.
"They're going to hatch?" I asked, unable to hide my excitement.
"They've already hatched. See how it looks like the sand has been sifted?" he said, pointing a flashlight with a red lens down into the hole.
I nodded.
"That's how they get out. They pull the sand down around them and use it to climb to the surface. Now that the sun has gone down and the sand cooled off a little, they'll start to climb out," he said, sounding almost as excited as I was.
We sat quietly for several minutes when Josh tapped my arm and shined the light on the sand in front of us. At first, I didn't see anything except that the sand seemed to be moving. I had to stifle my gasp when the first tiny head broke through the surface. I watched in amazement as its little shelled body quickly followed. Within moments, three more poked through the sand until finally several baby sea turtles were instinctively making their way toward the water. Josh followed their progress with the beam of the flashlight before swinging it back on the nest as more turtles climbed to the surface. He was careful not to touch any of them and only intervened when one of the newborn turtles strayed off course and was detoured by a small piece of driftwood.
Watching Josh gingerly remove the piece of wood while taking care not to disturb the little hatchling made my heart ache a little. I could now see why he had gone ape-crazy over the nest on that first day we met. I could easily picture how detrimental a beach full of litter would have been to the survival of a nest of turtles. Struggling to get to the sea around the trash would have made them easy pickings by birds. My resentment over being punished no longer seemed just. I deserved what I got. The fact that Evan and his crew had gotten away with it left a bitter taste in my mouth.
"Pretty crazy, huh?" Josh asked, breaking the silence.
I looked at him in confusion for a moment, wondering how he knew what I was thinking until I realized he was talking about the turtles.
"It's amazing. I see now why you were so passionate about the trash."
"Yep, even something as insignificant as a candy wrapper is a big deal. When you're as tiny as these little guys, that can be the difference between life and death," he said, pointing the flashlight at the last stragglers making their way to the water's edge. As small as they looked against the incoming tide, the baby sea turtles disappeared into the water as naturally as a baby bird leaving the nest to fly for the first time.
I nodded my head. No words were necessary.
During the drive home I continued to think about the turtles and the way they instinctively knew to head toward the water. I was dying to jot it down as a story in my journals. I'd never had the desire to write a kids' book, but at that moment, I had a perfect story worked out in my head.
"You're awfully quiet," Josh said, turning down my street. He steered the vehicle around some palm fronds that had blown off one of the many trees on my street. The tops of the tall palm trees swayed back and forth in the night sky as the wind continued to whip around.
"I was just thinking about the turtles. It was truly amazing to see that. Thank you for taking me with you," I answered as he parked in my driveway. "I'm so glad you shared it with me," I added, trying to convey how special the moment had been for me without coming across as a total cheesehead. I noticed he had a knack for making me do that.
"I'm glad you came," he said. "Tomorrow is going to be a crazy day. Make sure you stay safe. If Mitch tells you to leave, you listen to him," he said sternly, making me giggle.
"What?" he asked, confused by my laughter.
"You sound like my father or my boyfriend..." I tried to stop myself, but it was out there.
An awkward silence followed my words and I wished the ground would open up and swallow me.
"Sorry. I guess I am kind of bossy. It's a character trait. I think it's from basically being on my own so long. I'm used to doing things my way."
"I just meant…" I trailed off, feeling like the biggest idiot ever.
He tugged me across the bench seat of his truck until I was at his side. "Boyfriend sounds good to me," he said huskily.
"It didn't freak you out?" I asked as his eyes settled on my lips. I wondered if he would make me ask for it the way he had before.
"It's what I've been waiting for," he said, placing his lips tenderly to mine. His hands cupped my face so that our mouths molded together. I moaned as he deepened the kiss, making me melt like a piece of warm chocolate.
"You better head in," he said, pulling away. "The wind is really whipping around."
It was like he had offered me a delicious frosting-covered cupcake and then snatched it away. "Fine. I'll see you tomorrow?" I groaned when he didn't seem affected by my plea to continue.
He nodded. "I'll be in and out all day, but if you really do show up, I'll make sure I find you," he said. "Be safe," he added before I closed the door. I couldn't help smiling at his bossy tone. I stood waving as he backed out of the driveway before stopping to roll down his window. "Get inside," he called out, making me laugh.
My hand was on the doorknob of my room when someone startled me by calling my name.
Chapter 11
Jumping with surprise, I turned to see Evan standing in the shadows of our porch. "Evan? What the hell are you doing here? You scared the crap out of me," I said, placing a hand over my heart for emphasis.
"Was that who I think it was?" he asked, stepping out of the shadows.
I didn't need to be an Einstein to see he had been drinking again. I ignored his question by repeating my own. "Evan, what are you doing here? I thought you were back in New York."
"Pops got sick of me and told me to come back here and stay out of trouble. He sent our housekeeper along to babysit." He was clearly drunk, but I could hear the pain in voice. As pissed as I had been over the party, I couldn't help seeing him in this state and feeling bad for him, especially after some of the insight Farrah had provided. When I first met him he seemed like an ideal boyfriend, but now all I could see were the flaws he worked so hard to hide. He looked like a lost lonely boy.
His hair was disheveled and his clothes were frumpy and wrinkled, like he hadn't changed in days. Looking at this version of Evan, with his bloodshot eyes, it was hard to imagine I'd once found him attractive.
"You and Captain Dipshit all cozy now, huh? I guess I shouldn't be surprised." He had to work to maintain his balance because of the wind gusting across the yard.
"Look, Evan, you shouldn't be here. They've pretty much called for an evacuation of this whole area."
"Sure looked like you were enjoying it too."
I rolled my eyes. "I'm pretty sure that's none of your business."
"What about us? I thought we had something special going," he said, stumbling forward.
"I never pegged you as dense, Evan," I said, grasping the doorknob. "Look, I'm tired. You should probably head home."
He raked his hand through his hair. "Maybe I will, or maybe I'll call everyone over for another party—a hurricane blowout," he said, falling onto his backside.
I bit back a sigh. "God, Evan. Can you even walk to get home? Why don't you co
me in and try to sober up and we'll talk for a while?" I asked, feeling like a sucker. I couldn't believe I felt so sorry for him. Three weeks ago he could have dropped dead for all I cared.
"Now that's what I'm talking about," he said with glassy eyes.
"Not for that," I said, shaking my head. "If you come in it's to talk," I said, opening my door.
"You might like it," he offered, stumbling into my room.
"I highly doubt it. I have a boyfriend now anyway. You just look like you could use a friend."
"Hey, I don't need your damn charity."
I left my door open and guided Evan toward an oversized beanbag chair where a gentle push caused him to flop down on his back. "I knew you wanted to do more than talk," he laughed, patting the chair.
"Cut the shit, please," I said, sinking down on the edge of my bed. "I can't believe your dad sent you down here with a hurricane brewing."
"Please, you think he gives one rat's ass about me? Hell no." He pulled a flask from his pocket and took a long swig until he choked.
"You really should take it easy. Besides, I'm sure your dad cares about you," I argued.
He shot me an incredulous look while he attempted to dry the alcohol that had splattered all over his shirt. "You've never met my father. Nothing I do will ever live up to his expectations. He fucking hates me. He always has."
I couldn't fathom the idea of a parent hating their own kid. Even after all the trouble I'd caused in Huntsville, I never believed Butch and Buttercup would feel that way. "What about your mom? Doesn't she care that your dad sent you here when a hurricane is getting ready to hit?" I asked as a sudden gust of wind rattled my windows.
Evan took another swig from his flask, draining the contents. "Your room is sweet," he answered, avoiding my question. "All private and stuff. You sure you don't want to fool around?" His voice was starting to slur.
"Oh lord. Please stop."
His shield dropped and I could see the vulnerability etched deeply on his features. "Hey, you asked about my mom. She's too busy screwing her yoga instructor to care where I am."
