Someone Else's Ocean

by Kate Stewart

  “I’ll leave you to it. Just let me know if you need anything.”

  Gray eyes met my blue briefly. “I won’t.” Devastation. It was clear as day. Anyone who looked at the man could never question what he felt. His eyes were a window, though his features remained stoic.

  “You know, Ian, I came here about a year ago a complete mess—”

  “I’d like some privacy, please.”

  Swallowing my pride, I walked out the door without another word.

  Thwack.

  Thwack.

  Thwack.

  “Fack!” It was another one of the hundreds of curses that erupted from the Kemp kitchen.

  With wide eyes, I watched the wood fly across the porch and onto the sand and heard another loud crash as I stalked the house next door with my phone pressed to my ear.

  “So how is my son?” His mother asked as I saw more of Rowan Kemp’s kitchen fly over the railing, off the porch, and into the sand. “Is he adjusting well?”

  “Damnit! Oh, fack your motha,” Ian’s voice rang out in frustration. Giggling, I covered the mouthpiece of the phone as another cabinet door hit the sand. He’d been at it for a few hours. It started with an explosive phone call that I managed to avoid, mostly due to my taking cover in the shower and ended with a bang.

  “He… is. It looks like he’s remodeling the kitchen.”

  In a flash, Ian stood on the porch only in shorts, his chest heaving, a bottle of the red in his hand. He studied the wood in the sand before he glanced at my house. I ducked out of his line of sight and answered her before more banging started. “He’s fine.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful news. Maybe you could put him on the phone?”

  More growling ensued and then a clear, “Damn you! EISH!”

  “Well, at the moment, I think it would be impossible, he’s in the midst of demolition.”

  I cringed at the ripping sound and poked my head out of my screen door just as he hurled more wood over the railing.

  “You know he’s always been so good at things like that. He built his father a beautiful bookshelf for his study.”

  “That’s wonderful,” I said, as Ian unloaded an entire can of lighter fluid on the discarded wood. I raced around the bottom floor of my house and collected every fire extinguisher I had before I sat them next to my front door. Seconds later I heard the whoosh of the wood go up in flames. The rising inferno seemed to fuel him as he added more of his mother’s kitchen to it piece by piece.

  Rowan went on, speaking of her pride and joy. “From boy scouts all the way through college, my boy excelled at everything he did. Honor student, swimming, tennis. I had to beat the women away with a stick.”

  Ian chose that moment to snap another cabinet door in half over his knee and used his empty wine bottle to bat it into the burning pile.

  “You don’t say.”

  “Oh, yes, he was such a ladies’ man before he met Tara, his ex-wife.”

  Only mildly prepared, I walked out onto my porch at the same time Ian returned to it. He had several photo books in his hand. Rowan whispered in my ear as if he could hear her. “I was never really that fond of her, she seemed a little cold compared to his warmth.”

  Ian pulled pictures from the books and began to burn them one by one. Something in my chest split as he walked around Rowan Kemp’s burning kitchen cabinets, tossing away what I was sure were irreplaceable pictures.

  He had lost his shit. It was, without a doubt, Ian’s doomsday.

  “Don’t!” I screamed from where I stood.

  Ian ignored me as he tossed an entire book into the fire before shaking another so that the pictures fed the flames.

  “Koti? What is it?” Rowan said anxiously on the phone.

  “Oh nothing, I was just…”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Oh, fine,” I said, as I paced the porch watching her son destroy his mother’s memories. He must have found the pictures in the linen closet. The Kemps had very few of their own things in the house.

  “Rowan, I’m going to ask him if he needs any help.”

  “Okay,” she said hesitantly. “But please ask him to ring me.”

  “Will do.” I was already running toward the small bonfire just as Ian tossed another picture into it.

  “What are you doing!?”

  “Privacy,” he said through thick lips. “That’s all I asked for.”

  “Kind of hard to ignore you, Ian. Since you’ve gone all Tom Hanks Cast Away—me man, me make fire!” I reached for the picture in his hand as he tossed it in. I watched it burn. It was a shot of a woman in her wedding dress who I assumed was Tara. She looked beautiful as she smiled at her groom. I was only able to admire Ian in a well-fitted tux for seconds before the fire engulfed the photo.

  Jesus, what could have happened?

  “Ian, if you want to talk about it…”

  He picked up another book and took a few pictures out shoving them into his pocket before he tossed it into the pile.

  “Leave.”

  “Please stop. You don’t understand what you’re doing.”

  Blazing eyes scoured me before he looked back at the fire. “I know exactly what the fuck I’m doing.”

  Sweat pooled on his forehead. He was covered in splintered wood. Ian Kemp had cracked, and he wasn’t coming back until he was ready.

  Way too far into his headspace, he ignored me standing next to him.

  I walked back to my house and watched him dismantle years of memories as he stared at the fire until it went out.

  And then the house next to mine went completely quiet.

  I SAT IN THE DARK living room staring out the window at the brightly lit ocean. Thousands of stars littered the night sky as the sea swept the shore. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t temper the anger. I couldn’t bring myself back to some semblance of the man I was just days before. It was a new beginning I didn’t ask for—that I hadn’t planned on—but I could feel a part of me coming to the surface, a part of me that I had ignored for years. The selfish part.

  The last fifteen years of my life had been a series of compromises, and mostly on my part to be the man I was raised to be—a good husband and doting father. The things I swore I wanted. Another crack deep within bled freely when I thought of all that time I spent believing my family was a gift and purely my own. The irony is my ex-wife had been lost to me for years, a stranger before I left her and asked for a divorce. And my daughter… I scrubbed my face as I fought the threatening explosion within.

  I would give anything to take those minutes at that hospital back. With everything in me, I wish I would have played dumb, instead of recognizing Tara’s guilt and figuring it out. Not only did I have the knowledge that Ella wasn’t mine, her mother was now threatening to tell her the truth. Threatening to reveal to my little girl she didn’t belong to me in the biological sense. This was no doubt Tara’s plan in an attempt to transition her boyfriend into being a family man. I didn’t need a paternity test to know that Daniel was Ella’s sperm donor. Tara had been dating him her whole life up until the month we met. It seemed as though their relationship didn’t end when ours started.

  Rage boiled again, refusing to let me feel anything else in that moment. If the look on Koti’s face when she watched me unravel the last few days was any indication of my well-being, I was safer sitting in the dark dealing with my temperament alone.

  I left a loveless marriage for the sake of all three of us. Though Tara fought the divorce and claimed to love me even after the papers were signed, I still cared for her enough to set her free to find something more than the shackle of obligation we felt.

  I wouldn’t let my daughter suffer another needless argument. I refused to stay together and set that horrible example for her. It wasn’t blissful or comfortable. It was waged war and over the simplest things. Everything I’d ever done, including the dissolution of my marriage, had been for Ella. I had no woman waiting.

  But that was now the cas
e. I had a little woman waiting. I had to go back. I had to go back and fight for what was right for Ella, but I had nothing inside me but hate and the taste of betrayal coating my tongue and clouding my vision. I would not abandon my daughter, but she would not recognize the man I was now.

  As starlight struck the water and twilight hit, I couldn’t see the beauty. I couldn’t fixate on the awe-inspiring light, I only saw the darkness in-between.

  Soft music drifted from Koti’s bedroom as I slapped the water away from my eyes. I moved to the kitchen to see her bedroom clearly lit. On her stomach with a book in hand, her knees bent and bare feet up, she swung them back and forth to the melody. In that moment I envied her ability to live only for herself and the freedom that came with it. I wanted that. I’d just been granted that freedom in the cruelest of ways by Tara’s confession. But I could never embrace that freedom because of the loss I would surely suffer. Still, the idea of it appealed to me more than anything. Not the loss of Ella but the need to do things differently, to finally make my life my own, about me. Anger blurred my vision as I sat back in the shadows of the house. The dark would have to do for now.

  A DAY WENT BY WITHOUT a glimpse of him, and then another. I spent a good amount of time staring into the darkness watching for any movement, a trickle of light, but came up empty.

  I tried to muster up any excuse to check on him but had none. He asked for privacy and I had to admit when I arrived on the island, I wanted the same.

  Rowan called nightly and I assured her with a false update that her son was fine.

  But after a third day, I no longer felt safe in assuming the best. When my alarm went off that morning, I grabbed some clothes and made my way to the house next door. After my knock went unanswered, I began to pound. “Ian?”

  Nothing.

  Fear crept through me as I stood on the porch for a solid five minutes knocking. Desperate, I glimpsed through the window and saw him lying on the couch with his eyes to the ceiling. “Ian. Open the door, please.” His eyes drifted to mine and my heart skipped a beat. Reluctantly, he moved to get up and a few seconds later, we were face to face. His jaw was covered in dark stubble, his hair a scattered mess, expression unreadable. I scoured him from his sad gray depths to his shirtless chest, to his bare feet. He was fine, aside from looking completely desolate.

  “What is it, Koti?” It was a different tone, equal amounts of defeat and exasperation.

  I lifted my folded clothes. “I’m out of water and running late for work.” It was a lie but a damned good excuse. I peered into the house behind him, before I made my case.

  “Can I please borrow your shower? I’ll be quick.”

  He let out a long breath and opened the door stepping back to let me in. With quick appraising eyes, I looked around the war zone. The kitchen was torn to shreds, the wood splintered. On the floor of the living room lay several empty boxes, one for a laptop that sat on his coffee table. Curious, I braved a look at the screen and saw nothing but a generic screensaver. I decided I’d made a good call about the absence of liquor when I saw the empty wine bottles on the floor. Walking down the hall, I noticed the holes in the ceiling from his attempt to silence the alarms and bit my lips to keep from laughing before I closed myself in the guest bathroom and made quick work of taking a shower. Under the warm water, I decided I’d had enough of his intimidation. There were people worried about him who needed assurances directly from the source. I never made my parents wait for word from me, even in my worst headspace.

  I had no idea what had unglued Ian Kemp, but I knew I wasn’t the reason.

  Fully dressed, I walked into the living room to see him sitting on his couch signing at the screen. His hands moved skillfully in conversation, the computer open toward him so I couldn’t see who he was conversing with.

  Fascinated, I watched him for a few seconds.

  He flashed a beautiful smile and waved at the screen before he closed it. Gray eyes drifted to me.

  “Yes, Koti?”

  “You know sign language. Wow.”

  Cold eyes roamed over my damp hair and sundress before they landed on my face. “Yes.”

  “That’s—’’

  “So, you’re showered.”

  I was being dismissed again, and just as rudely as the first time. I balled my fists, the New Yorker in me was ready to rip him to shreds. I pushed her aside for the moment to reason with him.

  “Would it kill you to be decent to me? I know you’re going through a rough time, but would it hurt you so much to say one kind word?”

  He pushed his computer off his lap and resumed the position he was in when I knocked on the door. Several seconds passed, I looked him over expectantly.

  His lips barely moved. “I apologize.”

  “You should,” I said without missing a beat, “sincerely and repeatedly.”

  He lifted his head from the couch. The circles underneath his eyes ran deep. I doubted he’d touched a thing in the fridge. He’d drawn most of the curtains in the living room, so sunlight was scarce.

  What happened to you, Ian?

  “That’s none of your damned business.”

  I’d said it out loud.

  Crap.

  “No, it’s not.”

  “If that’s all…”

  “Actually, it’s not. I’d like to extend a dinner invitation to thank you for the shower.”

  His answer was immediate. “And I’d like to decline.” Moving to sit, he planted his feet on the floor while his hands gripped his hair.

  “I’m sorry, Ian.”

  He ripped his head free of his hands and turned to look at me.

  “I’m sorry for whatever happened to you.”

  He kept his eyes connected with mine as I took a careful step around the debris. “But your mother is worried, to the point she will probably show up here unannounced if you don’t call her.”

  He frowned. “Tell her I’m fine.”

  “But you’re not.”

  “Again,” he said standing. “None of your business.”

  “I get it, okay. I didn’t come here to fucking snorkel either.”

  Surprised by my venom, he stayed mute. It seemed I had the floor for the first time since he arrived.

  “A year ago, I showed up in the same shit shape as you.”

  “You have no idea—”

  I waved my hand in the air and cut him off, giving him a taste of his own medicine. “And that’s your secret to keep. I had my own reasons. Reasons that were just as personal to me.” People are selfish with their pain, but not their anger. I got it. I’d lived through it.

  “I understand you right now more than you know, so just take a step back, okay? I’m not the enemy. I’m waving the white flag here. The dinner invitation stands. Seven o’clock. I’m a shit cook, but it’s better than staring at the ceiling.”

  I made my leave without another word, relieved that he was capable of at least faking a smile for whomever he was on screen with.

  Halfway to my Jeep I pulled my buzzing phone from my pocket and answered on the first ring. “Good morning, Rowan.”

  Ian stepped out onto the beach in my line of sight before he disappeared down the shoreline.

  “I just spoke to Ian. I invited him for dinner. I think he may come.”

  “Oh? That’s wonderful news.”

  “I was just at the house. It looks like the remodel is coming along.” Another lie. The next question was purely selfish. “He was on his computer signing with someone?”

  “Oh good. He was speaking to Ella. His daughter, my granddaughter. She’s deaf.”

  “Oh.” The smile he gave her was genuine.

  “Okay, love, thank you. I was just checking in. I hate to bother you so much.” Her voice was sincere and apologetic.

  “It’s fine, Rowan. Anytime.”

  “Thank you, Koti.”

  I inhaled the sea air as I gazed at the rolling waves. It once renewed my faith. I had no doubt they would work their magic on I
an.

  I SAT THAT NIGHT WITH candles lit all over my deck, freshly broiled fish waiting in the oven and a crisp salad spoiling on the porch. Ian was a no-show. I was surprised at my disappointment when he stomped on my white flag and even more flabbergasted minutes later, when the sound of a woman’s laugh filtered in the air before I heard the rumble of Ian’s voice. Hopping to my feet as the sun set, I blew out the candles and dashed inside in an attempt to save face from his rejection. From my upstairs porch, stretching my neck and body, I peeked over the side of the house to see Ian ravaging a woman in our large sand-filled alley. He was dressed in slacks and a light button-down and she was plastered to the siding, hidden under his tall frame. I heard her moan underneath him before her head tilted up heavenward, her eyes tightly shut as he whispered to her before lifting her skirt, his hands working beneath. Too intoxicated to look away, I watched him devour her as she gasped under his touch.

  Face flushed I looked on, silently scorning the total pervert I was and felt a slight twinge of… something.

  Jealousy?

  For Ian? No, he was a dick.

  A total and complete dick.

  So much for s’more loyalty.

  Mentally I picked up my battered white flag and tucked it back in my pocket.

  Was I jealous of the attention the woman was getting?

  Definitely. It was one thing to go without, it was another thing entirely to have it tossed in your face. I loved a good kiss, the whisper of a man’s lips on my neck. I was beginning to miss sex, but that was the most of it. I’d done long-term without the happy ending, short-term with the abrupt record scratch ending and more one-night stands than a girl should admit to. When you referred to the last guy you were intimate with as the one with the black-checkered tie, as I did, desire took a back seat to self-worth. I wanted the relationship with the next man to be a little more meaningful, but that would require commitment and I’d just gotten myself together.