by A. S. Green
Now Natalie’s on a roll. “You could get Bennet to play the part of Charon, since he’s, like, the ferryman and all.”
My smile disappears. I’m happy that Natalie is so well versed in Greek mythology, but the mention of Bennet’s name reminds me that, no matter how thankful I am that he kept me alive, the party is in August and I’m going to have to kill him well before that. No one strips me naked with impunity.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Bennet
It’s still pouring from the night before. Ferry passengers stay in their cars while they cross the channel. The crew is decked out in bright yellow rain gear, and Doyle is up in the bridge, driving. No point risking his knees by taking a spill on the wet deck.
Every minute or so I glance up to his window to see if there’s any news about Katherine. It’s now late morning and still nothing. I worry about a concussion. I worry about hypothermia. I worry Dr. Tom wasn’t concerned enough. Yes, she slept soundly all night. But maybe too soundly. I shouldn’t have left her.
I rap my knuckles on the window of one of the cars. The driver rolls it down only a crack and slips his ticket out to me.
“Kid!” Doyle calls. “Hey, kid!”
I jerk my head up, and he gestures for me to hurry, using his whole arm. With two long strides I’m at the stairs, hands on both rails, skipping every other step. When I get to the bridge it’s just in time to hear the radio call.
“This is Coast Guard Sector Little Bear, Lima Bravo. Over.”
I pick up the handset. “Sector Little Bear this is Little Bear Ferry. Over.”
“Little Bear Ferry this is Coast Guard Sector Little Bear. Time ten-oh-three. Just got word from the post office that your injured party is doing well.”
My injured party. I sigh and my shoulders relax. Doyle sits on the captain’s chair. If I’m not mistaken, there’s some relief in his posture, too.
“She’s all right,” I say on an exhale.
“Affirmative,” says the voice on the other end. “Doing well and apparently planning one whopper of a party.”
“A wh—?”
“Sturdy stock that one,” says the voice.
It takes me a second to process what he’s said. When I do, I put one hand on the instrument panel as a low chuckle rumbles through my chest. It builds until I’m flat-out laughing, but it’s the nearly silent kind that shakes my whole body. I wrap one arm around my waist and tip my head back, making keh-keh-keh noises in the back of my throat as my body rocks.
Here I’ve got myself tied up in knots thinking D’Arcy has a concussion or a traumatic brain injury, that she’s suffering and alone, but nooo… All this time, while I’ve been turned inside out, she’s been planning a party. One whopper of a party.
The insane relief of it overcomes my body and has me doubled over at the waist. Now the tears are streaming. Oh, shit, I’ve got a stitch in my side.
Doyle groans and takes the handset from me and says, “Thanks, Joe. Little Bear Ferry. Over. Out.”
I wipe at my eyes and try to straighten. Sturdy stock. Jesus.
Doyle hangs up then turns to me again. “Christ, kid. You look like a damn fool. Get yourself together, would ya?”
I nod vigorously, but I can’t stop shaking.
Doyle wags his head, but he’s fighting a smile. “Come on, man. We’re already short two guys, what with Bill and Don in Muskegon. Got a couple long days ahead of us. Need your head in the game.”
“Aye aye, Cappy!” I make my way to the door, still laughing, but now only through my nose because I’m trying to be professional.
Those double shifts will be no hardship. I’ll have the memory of this moment to keep me entertained. Yeah, things are good. Real good. And just to prove it, the rain stops.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Katherine
Three days later, Lucy and I stand at the edge of the cliff where the lighthouse’s yard gives way to tall grass and wildflowers that brush against my legs. A few feet away, the rocky cliff falls down to the water that crashes onto the thin strip of beach, churning up a creamy froth.
I flip open my blanket at the edge of the bluff and smooth it out, combing my fingers through the fringe border so each tassel lies flat and straight and parallel. It gives me a sense of order and comfort that I’ve had trouble finding since leaving home.
Lucy lies on the grass, resting only her head on the blanket. Perhaps she smells Calloway in the fibers. She whines a little and pushes her nose against my thigh. I don’t mind. Funny what a difference a week makes. Who knew I could be a “dog person”?
“Okay now, Lu. I know it’s not Friday, but you need to hold steady for this, all right?”
Lucy eyes the toothbrush in my hand. She knows what’s going on, and she’s not going to cooperate. Damn Calloway and his list. There is no way this is going to be a weekly exercise. I reach forward with my hand to grab Lucy’s snout. Before I can, she snaps her head up and gives me a sharp bark.
I jerk back, startled by the sudden sound. She leaps up and runs for the woods. I groan and turn my body to watch her go.
“It can be now, or it can be later, you mangy mutt,” I yell after her. “But no more kibble until you let me brush those yellow gnashers!”
“Morning, D’Arcy.”
I yelp and twist around the opposite way to face the bluff. The wind catches my ponytail and blows it wildly across my face. To my sheer and utter horror, a hugely grinning Bennet has just climbed up over the bank. The muscles of his chest are visible through his white T-shirt. A leather tool belt hangs low on his slim hips.
I jump to my feet, and my heart drops through a trap door, landing somewhere by my shoe. I haven’t seen him since I nearly drowned, and I don’t know what to say. How to act. It was humiliating enough needing to be rescued. But for Bennet to have stripped me naked… I can’t even…
He laughs warmly. “Sorry. Did I scare you?” He takes off his sunglasses and hangs them from the neck of his T-shirt, waiting for me to answer, but I’ve got nothing.
Lucy comes racing back, this time with Samson. They jump and twist at each other, then Lucy prances circles around Sam, while he stands patiently near Bennet’s side.
“That knot on your head’s gone down. Your face looks like it’s healing okay, too. Lucy really scratched you up good.”
Finally, I find my voice. “Who gave you permission to undress me?”
Bennet frowns and hooks his thumbs into the tool belt. God help me, it pulls his jeans even lower. “You were soaked. And freezing. What kind of person would I be if I left you like that? I saved you from contracting pneumonia.”
I don’t want to acknowledge his point, so I fold my arms and frown at him.
“Oh, come on, D’Arcy. I promise. I was a complete gentleman. I kept my eyes closed the whole time.” Then he gets a mischievous look in his eye and adds, “Almost.”
I give an exasperated yell, prompting him to laugh, which is not the ideal response if he’s hoping to be forgiven.
“It’s okay to admit it,” he says, folding his arms. “You were hoping I’d come by to check on you. I’m really sorry it took me this long, but we’ve been down a couple guys so I had to pull doubles the last two days.”
“You know…” I say. “You have way too much self-confidence for your own good.”
But apparently my insult is too subtle for him. Either that or he doesn’t care. Instead of apologizing, he says, “Some people might be flattered if they thought I was showing interest in them.”
I put my hands on my hips to emphasize how annoyed I am, but my insides are turning cartwheels because…hello?…he’s interested in me, and that tool belt on those hips is about the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I hope the thrill that runs through me doesn’t show on my face.
“Didn’t you say that hanging out with me would be death to your social-climbing plans?”
He shrugs. “That was a jerk thing for me to say. I thought taking your wet clothes off was a good way t
o make up for it.”
“I… Are you…? Wha—” I hesitate for a second, unable to think of what to say. “Listen, I don’t have time to talk. Calloway expects me to…um…brush Lucy’s teeth.” I could crawl under a rock for how ridiculous that sounds.
“Go ahead.” His hands go back to the tool belt. “I don’t want to get in your way. Just came up to see to your busted telephone line.”
My eyes drop to his hands, and that belt, and those hips, and my mouth goes dry. His body is so perfect it’s ridiculous. No one should look like him in real life. “You can do that?” I ask.
“If it’s nothing too major, yeah, I think I can manage.”
A raindrop falls without warning and hits me in the eye. I look up and another big, fat drop pelts me on the forehead. “Oh, no.”
“Don’t worry,” he says with laugh. “You’re not made of sugar.”
“Lucy!” I yell. “Inside!”
“Lu’s probably down at the beach with Sam, looking for dead fish.”
I hurry to gather my blanket. There’s a rumble of thunder, and we look up as the sky rips open like a knife through a sheet. Rain comes down in freezing-cold pellets.
“Run!” I cry, already soaked. I grip my bundle to my chest. Bennet swears and pulls me toward the house as my feet slip on the wet flagstone walkway. He throws open the door, and I run past him, dripping water all over the floor and dumping my blanket and Lucy’s toothbrush onto the couch.
I groan and shake out my arms, scattering water from my sleeves. My black skinny jeans are so drenched it’s as if they’ve been absorbed into my skin. Bennet’s too-long hair hangs in his eyes and drips on the floor. He looks like a marble statue of Adonis in his wet T-shirt that clings to his biceps and the lines of his chest. It sends a burning ache to my core and makes me think every guy should spend his days slinging heavy, wet rope around a ferryboat. The world would be a much more beautiful place.
Bennet undoes his tool belt, draping it over a kitchen chair, then strips off his T-shirt. I swallow audibly as he walks purposefully toward me and reaches with both arms around my neck. I stiffen as my imagination goes into overdrive. It doesn’t take much encouragement to picture us down on the floor, rolling over and over each other. I want to touch him, taste him, and let him do the same to me. Good lord, what is this insanity?
He gives me a strange look, as if he can read every lusty thought in my head, and wraps his T-shirt around my ponytail, squeezing out the moisture. “You smell like lavender.”
“My shampoo,” I say numbly.
“Mmmm,” he responds, and an unexpected shiver runs down my spine. I want to chalk it up to the contrast between the cold rain and the warm house, but I know better. I’m turned on by this guy, and it really, really pisses me off.
I step back and look away. “You should put on something dry. I think Calloway left some things in that closet.”
He drops his T-shirt on the floor and turns, revealing a tattoo on his shoulder: Carpe diem. Like I need that kind of encouragement. He opens the closet and rifles through several wool shirts before finding a soft flannel one.
I try not to look at him and head to my room for a change of clothes.
“When you get back,” he calls out to me, “you can tell me more about yourself.”
I cringe from the other side of my bedroom door. There’s not much more to tell. My life will probably sound boring next to his.
When I come out dressed in black yoga pants and a long, loose-knit sweater with a cowl neck, I have to steady myself in the doorway because, damn if Bennet doesn’t look good in Calloway’s plaid flannel. Like a freakin’ lumberjack.
“I have a boyfriend.”
Oh my gosh, I just blurted that out. No preamble. I didn’t even plan to say it, but obviously I need an enormous lie like that to shield me. I’m a sitting duck when it comes to the nervous fluttering Bennet keeps rousing in my stomach.
Bennet raises his eyebrows.
“And I’m not looking to change that status.”
He raises them higher.
“What? You don’t believe me?”
He rolls his lips inward and bows his head for a second before looking up again. “Putting aside the fact that it’s incredibly sad that your first description of yourself is in terms of somebody else…I’m not sure I do believe you.”
I cross my arms and jut out my hip. “You don’t believe I could have a boyfriend?”
His gaze drops down my body, then back to my face. “D’Arcy, I suspect you have guys hanging all over you. What I don’t understand is, if you do have someone…and please tell me it’s not that guy you were on the phone with the other day…”
I glare, and he shakes his head with disappointment. “Then why didn’t he come up to Little Bear with you? That is, if you mean that much to each other.”
I narrow my eyes at him.
“You didn’t ask him to come with you,” he continues, then he smirks. “And now you are inviting me into your house. Again, I might add.”
“I hardly invited you.” But only because I don’t have to invite him. Bennet keeps coming to me, and God help me, I am not complaining.
“So, I’d guess you are looking to change that relationship status. In fact, you haven’t stopped studying my body this whole time, so I’ll retract the word ‘guess’ and say you definitely are looking for a change.”
“I—I am not studying your body!” I sound hysterical, so I take a deep breath. “You want to know all the reasons why not? One, because you’re delusional; two, rude; three, you blew me off at the ferry that first day, and then…well, you barely talked to me outside at Paddy’s when I was trying to be friends.”
“If I recall, I bought you french fries at Paddy’s—not to mention saved your life.”
I ignore his comment, even though I can’t ignore him. Everything he does draws me closer, but I know I don’t belong with someone like him. Someone so rugged and caring and…handy. He’s going to fix my telephone line? Who does that?
No. I belong back at school in the fall with Andrew, my business major, and a law degree on the way. Steps to follow. Clear steps. What would I even do, living on an island?
He’s so freaking annoying. I wonder if he works hard at it, or whether it comes naturally. I wish he was ugly. Or boring. Or stupid.
“And if you need another reason… What number am I up to now? I’ve lost track. Four! Four, I don’t like you very much.”
“So tell me, D’Arcy, do you always enumerate your rationalizations?”
I grit my teeth, putting my hands on my hips. “I order everything. It works for me.”
“Does it?”
“Back off,” I say sharply. I don’t have to explain myself to him. I don’t owe him anything. So what if he saved my life? So what if he saw me naked? “I’m here to make money for college. That’s all.”
He dismisses me with a shake of his head. Water drips from the ends of his hair onto his shoulders. “That’s a pile of—”
“Do you want some tea?” I ask, cutting him off. What I really should do is push him out the door, but I’m starting to get a chill as the water evaporates off my skin. I suspect he’s cold, too.
“Got any hot chocolate?” He takes a seat on the couch, putting his feet on the coffee table. There’s a big hole in the toe of his sock. I can imagine what Andrew would have to say about that. Bennet laces his fingers behind his head and settles in. For a second, I can’t remember why I wanted to throw him out.
“So, you’re in college, right?” he asks, though it doesn’t sound much like a question. “Was I right about you majoring in poli-sci?”
“Wrong. Business,” I answer, and I brace myself for his inevitable response.
“Still predictable.”
“It’s practical,” I say, correcting him. “And so what if it’s predictable? Predictability is a trait that’s unfailingly undervalued by those whose lives are the most secure.” I walk toward the kitchen counter and shrug off
his arrogance, keeping my back turned to him.
“I suppose your parents put you up to it?” he asks.
“No, not them.” I spoon hot chocolate mix into two mugs, consider adding a dollop of soap to his, then say, “I guess I did consider some other majors. At one time.”
“Tell me about that. That sounds more interesting.”
I pause to think while I watch for the water to boil. He waits patiently. I press my palms on the counter, staring out the window and across the lake. “When I was little, we moved a lot. My fourth-grade year I went to three different elementary schools. I didn’t have a lot of friends, so I was really into my books.
“By the time I got to high school, I thought I’d major in literature, maybe be an English teacher, or a librarian.” I turn to face him. “But then, right before my senior year of high school, my dad left us.”
He looks at me hard, too hard. “So you thought majoring in business would bring him back?”
“No. Listen, I really don’t want to talk about this. Let’s just say it was a really bad year. My…boyfriend helped me through it.”
“Your guy from the telephone?”
“Right,” I say slowly. I cross two fingers on my left hand not to jinx it. “He was a very stabilizing force. It was his idea for me to major in business. It will keep a lot of options open for me. It’s important for me to be able to support myself financially, and I don’t have the luxury of pursuing romantic notions. You can’t pay the electric bill with romance.”
“Maybe not, but you can sure make some heat.”
I narrow my eyes at him again, and he winks. I purse my lips.
“So,” he says, “let’s say money was not the issue. Why did you want to be an English teacher?”
I turn back to the stove and check the kettle. “Well, there’s this moment…when I’m reading, and I get to thinking about the author—who she was, what he liked, what she wore. I think about them creating from scratch. Like a painter choosing colors—she could have used any color, but she chose green. There are millions of different possible settings, but he chose this one. Why? Unraveling the mystery of their choices, you know? I guess I appreciate the fact that writers always know exactly what choice to make.”
