Full Steam Ahead

by Valerie Chase

  I grab my phone and decide to check my email while Georgia dives back into her zombie world. Back on the ship, we have to pay for wi-fi access, so I’ve done without. But here on the island wi-fi is free, so I wait while my inbox loads.

  Ten minutes later, I’m staring at my phone, stunned.

  “What are you looking at?” Georgia asks. I glance over; she’s stretched out on her side now, facing me. She’s wearing a blue-striped bikini today, and I distract myself from my dismay by wondering why girls need a different swimsuit for each day of the week. With guys, one is enough, and two makes you vain. But the bikini does look amazing against her creamy skin. Her long limbs have dried off from our earlier swim, though there’s a scattering of sand on her legs. My brain wanders to the parts of her beneath the bikini, parts I spent a large portion of last night worshipping, but Georgia nudges me with her toe and I realize she’s still waiting for my answer.

  “I was looking at an email,” I say. I’ve listened to the voice mail five times too, then gone back to staring at the message from Susan Randall, a public defender in my home county. My dad’s lawyer.

  “Everything okay? You’ve been staring at your phone for like an hour.” She’s exaggerating to tease me, and I dredge up something approximating of a smile. But it must not be convincing, because Georgia cocks her head to one side, her damp hair brushing her towel. “Jace, what is it?”

  I could say that it’s nothing, because our friends are sitting only ten feet away and because I’ve probably told her too much about my family anyway. But Georgia and I don’t lie to each other, even by omission. Not anymore. She’s been great about that, catching herself when she wants to say she’s fine and telling me the truth instead. Like earlier with the zombies.

  Yesterday, Georgia even took the step of calling her mom and leaving a message about her breakup with Hunter. We’d celebrated with another stroll through the cruise ship’s art gallery, followed by a retreat to our room so I could reward her more thoroughly. Much more thoroughly.

  The memory makes my lips curve, but it also reminds me that I can’t hide from her now. So I put down my phone. Take a deep breath.

  “Remember what I told you about my dad?” I say quietly, so no one else can hear. Georgia nods, her eyes filling with question marks, and sits up. “He’s up for parole, apparently. The hearing is in a few weeks.”

  She touches my hand. “Are you … are you okay with that?”

  In answer, I jut a thumb toward a grove of palms not too far from our towels. I don’t want to have this conversation with our friends so close. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  We make our way toward the swaying palm trees. Georgia loops her arm around mine, trailing her fingers across my skin. A part of me wants to drop this whole conversation because I don’t want to think about my dad, and because I’m used to dealing with this on my own. Pretending I’m a statue my dad can’t hurt anymore. But when Georgia looks up at me, I find myself wanting to tell her what’s going on.

  “My dad’s lawyer is asking me to speak at his hearing,” I say as we reach the first palm.

  “Do you want him to be paroled?” Georgia asks.

  “I don’t know. He made our lives hell, for years. I don’t think I’ve forgiven him for what he put my mom through.” My fists curl tight at those memories. “I mean, he was supposed to be the guy who protected us, but instead he was the guy who got drunk and gave us bruises. When he finally went to jail for driving drunk—in a car he stole—I was relieved.”

  Georgia looks up at me in the shade of the palm tree. “Did you visit him at all, while he was …”

  “In prison? A couple times. The first time I told him to never contact us again—or I’d kill him. I lifted weights a bunch in high school, to make sure if it ever came down to me versus him, I’d win. But after I graduated, his lawyer told me my dad really wanted to see me. I went, all ready to tell him to go fuck himself.”

  “Is that what you did?”

  “Once I got there …” I run a hand through my hair. “My dad told me he’d changed. He’d found religion, joined AA, went through anger counseling. He told me he was sorry. That he knew he’d never be able to pay me and my mom and sister back for the horrible things he’d done, but that he wanted to be part of my life, if I’d let him.”

  “And?”

  “I said no. I was still so angry back then. I told him to rot in jail, and left.” I’m transported back to that day for a few seconds, sitting in that bleak visitation room with my dad wearing a jumpsuit. I thought he would try to punch me when I told him I didn’t want anything to do with him but he only sat there, looking sad. “I know, I sound like an asshole,” I say.

  Georgia wraps her arms around my waist. “No, you sound like a guy who was hurt really badly by his dad.”

  “Yeah, well.”

  “That was almost four years ago, right? How do you feel about him now?”

  I dig my toes into the sand. “From the updates I’ve gotten, he’s stayed on the straight and narrow. Goes to his AA meetings. I guess he’s studying to become an electrician now. So maybe he has changed. Maybe I should give him a second chance.” But even before I finish saying it, I’m shaking my head. “Except that it doesn’t change the fact that he’s a criminal, and I don’t want him anywhere near my mom or sister. Or me. No matter how much he’s changed, I’ll never trust him.”

  “Oh.” Georgia’s expression has gone a bit stiff, as if something I’ve said bothered her.

  Is this conversation getting a little too heavy? I pull her against me, feel her soft skin touching mine. “To be honest, there’s something else I’d rather be thinking about right now.”

  That makes her serious expression ease. “Oh yeah?”

  I feel my lips curve in a shit-eating grin, and let my hands drop from her bare back to dip just under her bikini bottom. Georgia stretches against my chest and all but purrs.

  “Want to tell me what I should do to you behind those palm trees?” I murmur.

  Georgia’s blue eyes light up with a wicked heat that has my body tightening in anticipation of our interlude already. But as she brings her lips to my ear, I hear flip-flops on the sand behind us. I hastily move my hands to a more socially appropriate area—for now—and we turn to face the intruder, who turns out to be Yasmin.

  Hands on hips, Yasmin doesn’t look very happy. I know she isn’t a huge fan of mine. Last night at the club, when Georgia slipped off to the bathroom Yasmin cornered me and threatened to do unfortunate things to my balls with a butter knife if a) I had anything to do with the bet about getting Georgia into bed (which I hadn’t), and b) I ever hurt Georgia (which I won’t). We came to a certain understanding, but I can tell that she’s still deciding what she thinks of me. For my part, I wonder how Yasmin, who calls herself Georgia’s friend, could have missed all of Georgia’s misery these last few months.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Yasmin says. Not as sorry as I am, I want to quip, but at the look on her face I hold my tongue.

  “What is it?” Georgia asks, her brow furrowing in concern.

  Yasmin sighs. “Want to remember that I’m your friend and come talk to me?”

  Wow. Passive aggressive, much? But Georgia glances up at me, and I already know I’m not going to get my interlude.

  “I’ll be right there,” she tells Yasmin, and I try to temper my disappointment. After all, we’ve got tonight. It feels too far away to suit me, but I don’t want to keep Georgia from her friends, even though I’d love to keep her all to myself.

  Yasmin nods and walks away, and Georgia leans up on tiptoe to brush a soft kiss across my cheek. “I’ve got to go hang out with her, but how about I meet you behind those palm trees in, like, an hour?”

  My shit-eating grin is resurrected. “It’s a date.” A rendezvous is probably even hotter than an interlude. I kiss her deeply before letting her pull away.

  Georgia gives me a brilliant smile.

  “Don’t miss me too much, okay?” sh
e teases, before she jogs off to find her friend.

  With an hour to kill on the beach, the open-air bar looks like a good place to spend it. I grab my phone from my towel, then head over. After ordering a beer, I decide to check to see if my grades from last semester have been posted, but I’m barely able to open up a browser window on my phone when the ship’s shuttle pulls up to the beach. Some Baxter Kappas and Alphas disembark, chattering about the water sports they just got back from. Half traipse over to the group on the beach, but a few wave at me and head over.

  Hunter’s one of them, and he claims a seat next to me at the bar. “Parasailing was awesome,” he says with a grin, and orders a beer. “How’s the beach?”

  “Not bad,” I reply. I wonder if he’s going to ask me about Georgia, but Hunter just gestures to our friends.

  “We were talking about a beach volleyball game in a bit. Want in?”

  Thinking of my appointment with Georgia, I decline. We make small talk for a little while. Halfway through his beer, Hunter pauses.

  “So, you and Georgia, huh?” he says.

  “Yeah. Me and Georgia.” This is awkward. Hunter and I are friends. Maybe not best friends, but we’re fraternity brothers so I can’t help but feel a little weird right now, even though Hunter told us before the trip that Georgia can hook up with anyone she wants, and even though he’s been sucking face with Kelsey for the last few days. “Are we cool?” I add, although if it came down to choosing between Georgia and anything, I’d probably go with her.

  Hunter takes a long draw of beer. “Sure, we’re cool, but a word of advice? Don’t get too attached to her, man.”

  “Why not?”

  He hesitates, looking down into his plastic cup, then grimaces. “Sometimes no matter how good a beer tastes, there’s a fly in it. You know?”

  I really don’t. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means, don’t swallow the fly. Look, I’m trying to watch your back, okay?”

  He doesn’t seem like he’s being a jealous ex, so I control my annoyance. “Hunter, it really seems like you’re trying to help me out, but if you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

  “There’s just … stuff about her you probably don’t know.”

  “She told me.”

  Hunter glances up in surprise. “She did?”

  “About her family being broke? Sure. I’m not about to hold that against her.” Unlike some people. Maybe Hunter got that unspoken addition, because he gives me a sharp look.

  “Not that. About the other thing.” He waits, and I feel like an idiot because I don’t know what he’s referring to. The feeling grows, creeping over me like a sunburn, as Hunter shakes his head and downs the rest of his beer. “She hasn’t told you. I guess I’m not surprised.”

  “Told me what?” I ask impatiently. With everything that Georgia and I have shared in the last couple days, there can’t be much that Hunter knows that I don’t. Right?

  Hunter waves at the bartender and orders another beer. “Hey, I’m not with Georgia anymore, but I promised I wouldn’t say anything. If she hasn’t told you yet, it’s none of my business.”

  “You didn’t seem to feel that way ten seconds ago,” I say, irritated.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything at all, but brothers watch out for brothers. Don’t get in too deep with her, man.” He collects his beer, pays his tab, and heads toward the beach.

  I stare after him. Is Hunter just messing with my head? I somehow doubt it. He’s not the type.

  I’m already in deep with Georgia. I told her about my family, about my past, even about the parole hearing—stuff I don’t share with anybody. And only this morning, I was thinking about inviting her on my post-graduation backpacking trip, even mentally dividing up my savings to calculate how much I’d need to buy her a plane ticket. Working together, we should be able to swing it. Maybe it’s crazy how fast I’m falling for her, but the idea of leaving her behind for even a couple months makes me unhappy. I would think about her every time I saw a sculpture or toured a museum, knowing how much she would love it.

  But what else is she hiding from me? Sure, she’s told me a lot, but it hits me suddenly that Hunter isn’t the kind of guy who’d dump Georgia for being broke. I’d thought about it before, but now it’s clear as the shimmering ocean before me that something else is going on. Georgia is keeping something big from me, even though I’ve handed my heart to her on a plate. I guess she could have her reasons, but my muscles tense anyway, and the sunlight feels harsh in my eyes.

  I want to confront Georgia now, but she’s talking to Yasmin, and I have a feeling we’re not going to want an audience. Frustration simmers inside of me, and I need an outlet. There aren’t any weights to manhandle, but a long swim might work.

  I down the rest of my beer, toss the plastic cup into a trash barrel, and stalk toward the sea. As I dive into the cool water, only one thought courses through my head.

  What’s going on with you, Georgie?

  Chapter 19

  Georgia

  Though my lips still taste of Jace, I turn my mind to Yasmin as I join her on the beach. Her yellow beach wrap, which she’s wound into a halter dress, contrasts with her tanned skin, making her look like an exotic island beauty. She stands at the edge of the dry sand, watching the gentle waves surge up almost to her toes. They’re painted purple today.

  I nod at her feet. “You changed your polish again. I like it.”

  “I was in the mood for violet.” Then she goes quiet, her gaze lost somewhere along the horizon. The only sounds I hear are the soothing waves and the intermittent shouts from the people playing volleyball down the beach.

  I finally clear my throat. “Everything okay, Yas? Are you … mad at me or something?”

  “Sort of. I’ve had some stuff I’ve been trying to talk to you about, but you’ve been off with Jace so much the last few days, I feel like I’ve barely seen you.”

  I almost retort that she seemed perfectly content with Austin, but Yasmin’s expression looks so serious that I just put a hand on her shoulder. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be so MIA. The thing with Jace sort of came out of nowhere. What did you want to talk about?”

  Yasmin hesitates, then says, “Want to grab a mimosa or something?”

  “Sure. And I’m buying today,” I say. I can’t really afford it, but I need to make things up to Yasmin.

  “Let’s go to the bar at the other end of the beach,” Yasmin says. “None of the Baxter crew are there.”

  We start walking down the shore. This must be serious, if Yasmin doesn’t want our friends overhearing.

  “I’ve been thinking about something,” she says. “Something I thought I’d get your opinion on.”

  “What is it?”

  She toys with the edge of her yellow beach wrap. “I think I might defer grad school for a while.”

  “Really?” I stop short on the sand. Ever since I met her, her future plans have been set in stone: after Baxter, she’ll get her PhD as fast as possible and become Dr. Alejo, clinical psychologist. “Why?”

  “Because of everything that happened with … Sofia.” Her voice catches when she says her late sister’s name, and her brown eyes fill as she goes on. “I’m still so messed up about it. How am I supposed to help my patients deal with their problems when I can’t even help myself?”

  I don’t have an easy answer for that. “Maybe by helping them heal, you can heal your own grief too?” I wince, because I sound like a Lifetime movie. I wish I could take Yasmin’s pain away. She and her sister had a deep bond, and watching it snap with Sofia’s passing was painful to watch even from the sidelines.

  “I don’t know anything anymore,” Yasmin murmurs. “I miss her so much.” Her hands turn into fists, and she presses them against her eyes. I throw my arms around her

  “Of course, you do. It’s only been six months,” I murmur. I have no idea what to say to make things better. “I’m so sorry, Yas.” I’m almost in te
ars too when Yasmin gives me a quick squeeze and straightens.

  “Now I really need that mimosa,” she says, drying her eyes with a tanned hand. She gives me a watery smile. I know she doesn’t want to break down on the beach with people watching, so I walk with her towards the bar. This one has big painted wood fish swimming among the décor.

  “If you end up deferring, what do you think you’ll do?” I ask as we grab stools at one corner of the 4-sided bar. Yasmin shrugs.

  “Not sure yet. Find something on the West Coast, maybe.”

  “So far from home?”

  “Exactly.”

  Yasmin tries to flag down the bartender, but he’s distracted by the hospitality crew girl, Elise, who stalks in with a scowl and slaps her iPad down onto the counter.

  “I need seven G-and-T’s, top shelf. And please hurry, Jacob, because Mrs. Neville is in the worst mood today.”

  “Isn’t she always? Coming right up.”

  “Thanks.” Then Elise notices me and Yasmin.

  “Everything okay?” I ask.

  “Everything’s great,” she says, and smiles, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You girls having a fun time?” She’s wearing a beachy sundress that nevertheless looks professional, and wears her shiny gold nametag, so she must be on shift.

  “We’re grabbing some mimosas,” Yasmin says. I introduce her to Elise, and Elise glances at Jacob the bartender, who’s adding limes to six ice-filled glasses.

  “Two mimosas for these ladies, on the house, when you get a minute,” she says.

  “You don’t have to do that,” I say, embarrassed because Elise must have remembered all that stuff I told her about being broke.

  “I like treating people who don’t think the world revolves around them and their snotty trust fund teenagers,” she says, waving off my protest.

  Jacob the bartender laughs, then pours a shot of something amber. He pushes it towards Elise.

  “You need this,” he says. Elise makes a face, but throws back the shot.

  “By the way, Georgia, I saw you and Jace earlier,” she says, voice taking on a light teasing tone. “I thought you said you guys weren’t dating.”