Someone Else's Ocean

by Kate Stewart

  Copyright © 2018 by Kate Stewart

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Editing by Christine Estevez

  Cover by Amy Queau of Qdesign

  Formatting by Champagne Book Design

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Note to reader

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Epilogue

  Thank You

  About the Author

  For my dear friend Donna Cooksley Sanderson. Thank you for setting your coffee down to become responsible for me.

  For my ASL teacher Billy, thank you for showing me the beauty of a soundless language.

  And for the people of St. Thomas.

  Note to reader

  For the purpose of being mindful about the nature of American Sign Language and the perception of the deaf culture, I’m writing my personal experience with personalities of those I’ve known, while incorporating my own knowledge of the language. While I do have a formal education in ASL, in the way of interpreter training, I do not claim to be an expert on the language nor the culture. Please keep in mind that the ASL communication in this book is between two individuals with years of experience interacting with the other, therefore leaving a broad avenue for interpretation.

  Thank you, and I hope you enjoy it.

  Kate

  “IAN.”

  I turned to face my ex-wife as she moved toward me at warp speed. “Where is she?”

  “In X-ray. She’s got stitches from a large gash in her arm and suffered a nasty break in her right leg.”

  Her shoulders slumped as she exhaled a stressed breath. “Are the other girls okay?”

  I slipped my hands in my slacks. “Just bumps and scratches. Ella got the worst of it.”

  Tara looked at me accusingly. “You couldn’t go with her to X-ray?”

  “She didn’t want me to. She’s still in the midst of claiming her independence.”

  She pursed her lips. “You’re the parent.”

  “Right, so you keep reminding me. Yet I was here first.”

  “I was working,” she hissed, a ready defense on her tongue.

  I raised a brow. “So that’s what you call it these days?” Tara was an assistant to her new boyfriend, or rather, an old boyfriend that she’d taken up with after our divorce. He was a commercial builder based in Houston.

  “I’m sure the boss will have no issue giving you time off considering your duties last long past the five o’clock whistle.”

  She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, her sundress lifting enough to see the six-hundred-dollar cowgirl boots I bought for our last anniversary. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you were jealous.”

  “But you know better,” I said, sounding as bitter as I felt about the situation which had nothing to do with who she was with. It had everything to do with our custody agreement and the fact that I was expecting her to dispute it any day to suit her new ‘professional’ situation. And if the law saw fit, that meant my daughter would leave Dallas because of a man her mother was crazy about.

  She gave me a wary glance. “Can we not do this now?”

  “Fine. That was petty. I apologize. Ella lost some blood, and they had to give her a transfusion.”

  Tara’s face went pale.

  “She’s fine,” I assured her. “Thankfully she had been keeping up with her meds, so that helped. I didn’t know her blood type. I felt horrible. How could I not know that? She’s anemic for God’s sake.”

  “We only just discovered it when she got her period a few months ago. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Tara swallowed and stared at me with wide eyes. “By the way it’s—”

  “Type B, I know now of course.” I moved to sit next to her as she studied me carefully. She was looking for anger. I knew it from years of being with her. What would I be angry about? She flinched as I took the cracked blue plastic seat next to her. The hospital’s bones were dinosaur, but the healthcare was top-notch. It was the only reason I wasn’t crawling out of my skin with worry.

  “So, they did a blood test?” she asked quietly, her eyes cast down.

  “Actually, I asked for a few tests just in case something like this arose again. The doctor said it’s a good precaution with her condition.”

  Tara began shaking next to me, her fearful eyes meeting mine briefly before they flit away.

  “What is it, Tara?”

  “Ian, I—”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Kemp?” The doctor interrupted and we both stood. “She’s going to be fine. We’ve ruled out surgery, managed to set her leg and have given her something mild for the pain.”

  I blew out a long breath of relief. “Thank you.”

  Tara spoke up. “We were supposed to leave for vacation tomorrow. We’re driving to my parents’ house in Houston. Will she be able to travel?”

  “She’s going to have some discomfort no matter what, but it’s a short trip and as long as you’re equipped to care for her there, it should be fine.”

  “She can stay with me—”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Tara scoffed. “The whole point is for us to spend time together.”

  “I thought the whole point was to spend time with Daniel?” I challenged.

  Tara glanced away briefly in an attempt to hide her agitation before producing a fake smile for the doctor. “We’ll be fine. Can we see her?”

  I was being a dick, but I rather enjoyed it at her expense. Tara had a way of getting under my skin by her presence alone.

  The doctor’s eyes bounced between us. “They’re finishing up now, but you can go back.”

  The walk down the stark white corridor was hell on earth. I was thankful the inju
ries weren’t severe and said a little prayer of gratitude. No feeling in the world had ever been worse than that phone call from the paramedics.

  Ella perked up when I walked into the room behind her mother. Her eyes wide and lingering on her bright purple cast before she gave me a weak smile. She lifted her hands as I leaned in and kissed her forehead. I beat her to the punch, signing to her.

  Had to go and break a leg, brat?

  She grinned. You’re such an asshole, Daddy.

  Does it hurt much?

  Not too bad.

  Who was driving?

  She lifted her hands reluctantly. Jessica.

  It was my worst fear as a parent. Most kids don’t pay much attention in driving school—I know I didn’t—and did the bare minimum just to get their driving freedom. Unfortunately, all you needed as a sixteen-year-old to get a license was decent eyesight and a little confidence to obtain that independence. With her friend Jessica being deaf and a new driver in a car full of deaf friends, she was already at a disadvantage. Sirens from speeding ambulances, warning sounds from car horns, and skidding brakes were forever silenced. Add youth and the fact that the girls relied solely on their hands for communication and it was a recipe for this father’s worst nightmare. There were plenty of deaf and hard of hearing drivers on the road. I knew Ella would be a responsible and defensive driver when she got her license, but it did little to ease my nerves. She was still a year away from driving on her own and I was selfishly thankful for that blessing. My relief was cut short when I found out Ella had plenty of friends already behind the wheel. I had all but begged her mother to keep her away from the shitty clique of impressionable girls who were too old for her to hang out with. Tara hadn’t taken my pleas under consideration. It was another reason for my irritation with her that day. Ignoring the surfacing anger toward her mother, I spoke to my daughter to keep the peace. Still, I couldn’t help my hands.

  You’re fourteen. You don’t need to be hanging out with sixteen-year-old girls.

  Ella guffawed audibly and rolled her eyes.

  I’m not that much younger. I turn fifteen next week. And I don’t need a lecture. It was an accident.

  Don’t roll your eyes at me. And you’ll get lectures until I’m dead. What happened?

  I could see in Ella’s hesitance to answer that the accident was Jessica’s fault. And though it might not have anything to do with her disadvantage, her slow hands reluctant to respond told me different. Reading my face, Ella stiffened, her anger simmering. She was a lot like me and hated to admit when she was wrong.

  I don’t want to talk about it. I’m hurt and sleepy. Go back to work, Daddy.

  Okay. I’ll let you get to sleep. FaceTime me every day while you’re in Houston. I’ll miss you. Be good for your mother. With the sign of a P, I rubbed my hand over my chest. Promise?

  Promise. Love you.

  Love you, brat.

  I looked over at Tara and signed while I spoke. “Stay safe and have a good trip.”

  Tara nodded, a distant look in her eyes, her porcelain skin tinted red in anger or embarrassment from our earlier exchange. I’d broken free from the responsibility of figuring her out when I left her a year ago. Her behavior was strange, but then again, we’d been strangers for years. Tara was good at reinventing herself every new moon, and I’d spent enough of my life figuring out who she’d decided to be with each moon that passed. I blew her bullshit off as a reaction to Ella being hurt. Taking my leave, I moved a few steps toward the door when Tara’s earlier question began to gnaw at me.

  “So, they did a blood test?”

  A new sort of awareness plucked at my spine as I opened the door and froze. Sweat gathered at my temple as I turned to see my ex-wife had been staring at my retreating back. I stood statue-still as my daughter read my posture.

  Daddy? What’s wrong?

  My gaze drifted over Ella—she had pale skin to my olive complexion, light hair to my dark, and deep-sea blue eyes to my gray.

  In an attempt to mask the fear racing through me, I forced a smile worthy of an Oscar as my gaze drifted to Tara. If it was guilt etched all over her face, if I was reading her right—which I’d become a pro at over the years—every-fucking-thing was wrong.

  Ella raised her hands, a frightened look on her face. What’s wrong?

  I glared at Tara who sank in her chair confirming my worst fear. Apparently, there was a feeling worse than what I felt just hours ago.

  Ella waved frantically for my attention.

  Daddy, what is it?

  It’s okay, sweetheart. I just need a minute with your mother. Tara, I need to speak to you outside.

  I walked the hall quietly, trying to steady my heartbeat with even breaths as she followed slightly behind me. I made it to the garage barely able to handle the rattle under my skin from the rage that threatened.

  I turned on Tara abruptly and she stopped just short of hitting my chest. She was beautiful. At one point in time, I thought she was the most beautiful woman alive. At one point in time, I couldn’t imagine a life without her. At one point in time, I would’ve taken a bullet for her, no questions asked. She had been my life. She had been my purpose, my meaning, my everything. Seething, I fisted my hands at my sides and tried to hold my bite, but it was impossible. I prayed I would owe her an apology for the thoughts that surfaced.

  “I’ve always given you credit for being more intelligent than you actually are. But by the look on your face, you’re frightened about something that can’t be true.”

  Tara stared at the stripes on my necktie.

  “Look at me.”

  Her eyes shot to mine and were full of fear, tears threatening.

  “Because in order to determine paternity, it would require more than a blood test.”

  “Ian—”

  “I know my damned name. Fourteen years I was your husband, and fifteen her father. Tell me now, Tara. Right. Fucking. Now. Tell me my suspicions are ridiculous. Tell me Ella belongs to me in every sense. Tell me.”

  “Ian—”

  “Tell me!”

  Fear and trepidation marked every inch of her as all the anger dissipated out of me in one breath and devastation took its place.

  Don’t ask her, Ian. It doesn’t matter. Don’t ask her!

  I pointed behind her. “Tell me that’s my little girl in that room that calls me, Daddy, not his. Tell me I didn’t lose my life to your selfish fucking whims. Tell me!”

  Incredulous tears fell down my face as my heart bottomed out.

  “Tell me she’s mine, Tara,” I croaked, my face soaked, my heart obliterated. “Don’t do this to me. Please, I’m begging you. If you ever loved me at all, tell me she’s mine.”

  “She is your daughter,” she offered weakly.

  “But I didn’t father her, did I?”

  I DON’T ALWAYS FEEL LIKE a failure, but as I picked up the iguana crap from the side of the pool, a small glimpse of the life I left behind hit me in a flash—sipping a designer martini with a killer view of the city from the thirty-fifth floor, a healthy bank account, and the feel of a new pair of heels.

  “Freezing your ass off in those heels,” I muttered, studying my chipped blue toenails in the flip-flops I wore.

  “Pardon?” Mrs. Osborne asked as I removed the ‘excrement’ that she had called about fifteen minutes after I thought I’d finished my day.

  Holding the warm crap in my hand, I studied Mrs. Osborne lying in a lounge chair covering herself with thick glue-colored sunblock while inside the house, Mr. Osborne scoured the five-bedroom rental opening every single cabinet and drawer. “I think we’re all set.”

  Half an hour prior, I’d been in my plush sun chair on my porch with a freshly corked pinot when I got the call.

  “At Ease Property Management, Koti speaking.”

  “Koti, this is Stephanie Osborne.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Osborne, are you enjoying your stay so far?”

  “I am, but we have an issue.” I took a well-
deserved sip of my wine as I prepared for the worst. I loved my job, but there was always that one guest that could make said job a living hell. The Osbornes had only checked into their villa three hours prior. One call was typical from a new guest, even with the inch-thick notebook that was on the counter, filled with every single piece of information they would need. It was her fourth call since I left them.

  “How can I help?”

  “Well, there was a large iguana next to the pool.”

  I choked down my laugh. “Yes ma’am, it’s common on the island.”

  “I understand…” she said hesitantly, “and that’s fine. He gave us a fright, but that’s not the problem.”

  “No?”

  “Well, it seems he decided to relieve himself next to the pool.”

  I sat up in my chair. “In the pool?”

  “No, next to it.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “There’s iguana excrement next to the pool.”

  I was already downing my wine and took my final swallow before I braved a reply. “Okayyyy.”

  “I was wondering when you would be by to pick it up?”

  And there you have it. My new life in a nutshell—sans new Jimmy Choos and Christmas at Rockefeller Center—now the proud owner of an anorexic bank account.

  I threw the poop in the trash can and inhaled a calming breath as I scanned her three-million-dollar view which consisted of deep blue to aqua surf and the neighboring island—St. Johns.

  Nothing bad happened here, at least not in my private universe. The universe I created when I left my toxic life in New York and retreated to the one place I remembered being happy.

  If the island could cure me, I was sure after a few days it would work wonders on Mrs. Osborne.