by Carly Syms
Shipwrecked Summer
Carly Syms
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2011 by Carly Syms
www.twitter.com/carlyks
Cover Art: Dan Baker and Katie Murray, Mumbo Marketing
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author.
For my sister, Caroline, and all the great shore memories that inspired this book.
i.
“How are we going to get by without you?”
My mother stood at the end of the driveway of our modest ranch house in Spring Dells, Alabama, her right hand covering her heart as she looked at me with a tear glistening in her piercing blue eyes.
Tears prickled hot against the corner of my own eyes, threatening to spill over, but it wasn’t because I was upset about leaving home.
I wasn’t sure why, exactly, I felt like crying after seeing the beautiful, glimmering heart-shaped diamond dangling around my mother’s neck, but I was pretty sure it was a sign that things in my life weren’t going all that great.
A gift from my father, the necklace sparkled against my mother’s tanned skin, an impossible-to-miss reminder of the fantastic relationship my parents shared even after twenty six years of wedded bliss.
I figured that should’ve made me happy, glad my parents were still in love when so many other marriages crumbled. But it didn’t. That shimmery diamond heart did nothing but make my eyes fill with hot, stinging tears because that shimmery diamond heart wasn’t mine.
There wasn’t a single guy out there--not one--who’d ever think to give me a gift like that just because he loved me, liked me, or was just thinking about being fond of me.
And there never had been.
And, okay, maybe it’s slightly ridiculous to be jealous of your parents’ marriage, but I think you’d probably be pretty fed up, too, if, after eighteen long years, you’d never had a boyfriend but your mom and dad ran around the house like teenagers engaged in a forbidden love affair sneaking around so their parents didn’t catch them...except I was the parent they were trying to avoid. When that kind of love is thrust under your nose and you don’t even have a guy looking at you the right way, take it from me--it can make a girl kind of bitter.
“I’ll sure you’ll manage without me,” I replied, knowing perfectly well that she and my dad would embrace their newfound freedom from parenting with ease.
She shook her head, blonde curls bouncing with each movement. “You know we’ll try, but it’ll just be so hard without you around to fill the house.”
“You knew I’d be leaving in a few months anyway. Just think of this as a head start.”
She nodded this time and I wasn’t surprised. I knew it wasn’t going to take much to convince my mom that she and Dad would have a much better time without me around. They could finally do all those things they’d always wanted to but couldn’t--because they had me.
My mom often called me her “surprise child” and I always thought of it as a nice way of saying unwanted. I wouldn’t have minded this so much if she and Dad hadn’t spent the last eighteen years talking about all the great adventures they could have had if only they hadn’t had me to worry about--and the bills that came along with raising me.
So you might understand why I wasn’t all that broken up about getting out of Spring Dells a little bit sooner than I’d planned.
“Your grandmother is expecting you later tonight?”
“Yep. I’ll call when I get there.”
“And you have the directions? Gas money?”
I just rolled my eyes and reached into the cup-holder between the seats, waving a few pieces of printed paper in her face. “Yes, Mom. Have you ever known me to be unprepared for something?”
She smiled. “Never. I still don’t know where you get that from. We both know it isn’t me.”
Maybe, I thought to myself, I like to be prepared all the time so that I’ll never go around telling my kids that they’d been a surprise.
“I better get going.”
“Of course, dear. Have a safe trip. We’ll meet you in Wisconsin in a few months.”
I eased my dented midnight blue Honda away from the curb, waved to my mother one last time, and drove down the street towards the wide open freeway.
Three days had passed since my high school graduation. Once I’d paraded across the stage in a billowing gown that made me resemble something you might find in Sea World’s whale enclosure and took my diploma from Mr. Roper’s spiny old hand, it was over.
Freedom belonged to me.
Graduation had been The Event for the last four years. I’d had a secret countdown that I kept hidden beneath my bed. Every night since the first day of my freshman year, I’d climb into bed and snuggle under the covers after my homework was finished, teeth brushed, face usually washed, and stick my hand between the mattresses, searching for the blue and tan seashell notebook I’d bought the last time I’d been at the beach.
And every night for the last three years, I’d uncap the same green pen I kept tucked in the journal and cross off the day with a small but very satisfied sigh.
One day closer.
One day closer, every day, for more than 1,400 days.
And finally, The Day arrived, bringing freedom and the promise of an amazing summer before college.
My grandparents live in New Jersey and I was on my way to spend the next three months hanging with them before I went off to college in Madison, Wisconsin. It might not sound like a party to a lot of people, but my grandparents owned a beautiful oceanfront house that just happened to be on the same block as the homes of two of my favorite people, Pia and Joey, in the whole world.
I was ready for this, ready to spend my summer living the good life on the East Coast. At least, that’s what I thought it’d be. How was I supposed to know that my plans for the perfect summer in Ship’s Wreck, New Jersey would go so...not as planned?
It had never happened to me before and I had no reason to think it would now. My plans were perfect, always tailored to meet my exact expectations, and that was how it was.
They say hindsight is 20-20 so I guess it isn’t really my fault that I didn’t know better. The Jersey shore is a whole different ball game from Spring Dells, Alabama, and I should have realized it.
I should have seen it coming.
I should have known you can never plan perfect love.
ii.
“Alexa Anne Jurgens!”
My grandmother, all four feet, eight inches of her, stood on the second story wraparound balcony, waving wildly to me as I brought my Honda to a rest along the curb. Her hair, normally gray with white wisps but not an unusual--and quite possibly never-before-seen-in-nature--shade of fire engine red, was the first thing I noticed about her.
The second was the way her hair clashed violently with her turquoise linen capri set and matching visor.
But all I could was smile and shake my head. Grandma, for all her quirks--and there were a lot of them, believe me--was still one of the funniest and most interesting people I knew.
I waved back, but she’d already disappeared, no doubt charging (as only a red-headed 76-year-old woman can) down the stairs to meet me. As I waited, I popped the trunk of my car and began lining my bags along the curb.
“There she is, there she is, there she is! There’s my grandbaby!” Grandma burst out the front door and hurried down the steps. “Come here, co
me here! Give me some sugar! What are you waiting for?”
She wrapped me in a giant hug, even though her head only came up to my shoulders, before she stretched up onto her tiptoes to plant a wet coral-colored kiss on my cheek.
“Oh, Alexa, I’m terribly relieved you’re here! I was so worried about you making that awful long drive all by yourself.”
I hugged her back. “Me, too,” I replied. “I can’t believe I’m here! Finally.”
“Yes, yes, finally indeed! This house feels so big and lonesome without you around to fill it up with all your delightfulness!” She sighed, then her eyes, rimmed in vibrant sky blue, narrowed ever so slightly. “I see your parents decided not to take the trip with you.”
I’d been waiting for this. “They said they might come up for a week later in the summer.”
We both knew this would never happen. My parents hadn’t gotten along that great with Grandma and Poppy ever since Mom and Dad ended our family vacations to the shore six years ago. They’d only started letting me come again when I was fifteen. While they acted like they were doing me some big huge favor, I knew they didn’t mind having the house to themselves while I ran free in New Jersey.
Grandma, however, had been horrified when our vacations stopped; she knew how happy Ship’s Wreck made me. But more than that, I think she took their decision personally, like it had everything to do with Mom and Dad trying to keep me away from her, when in reality, they simply wanted me to focus on my life in Spring Dells and getting myself into college on a scholarship so they’d have more money for scuba diving along the Greater Barrier Reef.
Grandma had never quite forgiven them for it and, to be totally honest, neither had I. But I wasn’t about to make any waves about it now. I was here—and I had been for the last three summers. What more could I ask for?
“Well,” my grandmother said, pursing her lips. “I’m sure you’ll speak to them later. Tell them they’re both more than welcome here whenever they like.”
I nodded, but we also both knew I wouldn’t pass along the message. I didn’t want them up here any more than they wanted to be here, trapped in a house with Grandma, Poppy, and me. We’d definitely cramp their style.
“Poppy’s out on the boat,” she continued as she bent down to pick up one of my bags. “Oof.” Naturally, she’d reached for the heaviest of all my belongings and only managed to lift it about an inch off the ground before it crashed back down to the curb with a dull thud. “Maybe you ought to grab that one, Alexa.”
I smiled to myself. You could tell Grandma all you wanted that she was seventy six and should take it easy, but she’d never listen. In her mind, her age probably hovered somewhere in her mid-thirties.
Like most of the shore homes I’d been to on Fresh Water Island, the three bedrooms were housed on the first floor while the upstairs consisted of one gigantic open room with the kitchen, living room, dining room and bar all rolled into one with enormous bay windows overlooking the ocean.
If you went onto the second floor patio, you’d find a staircase that led to the rooftop balcony, which was, without a doubt, my favorite place in the entire house and maybe on the entire island.
All of the downstairs bedrooms had balcony access of their own, but huge sand dunes blocked the first floor’s ocean view. On nights when the humidity isn’t high enough to melt me, I like to leave the sliding door in my room open so I can listen to the sound of the ocean roar as the world around it falls silent with sleep.
“It doesn’t look like the Rittos have made it down yet,” Grandma observed, peering out my bedroom window and looking down at Pia’s house.
“Yeah, I saw that. Pia said they should be here today, though. I can’t wait to see them!”
Grandma smiled. “Your grandfather should be home in about an hour with some nice fish for tonight so I was thinking we’d grill it for dinner. How does that sound to you?”
“Sure, whatever you want.” I hesitated for a second. “Do you mind if I go for a walk on the beach?”
I knew Grandma couldn’t wait for me to get here and probably didn’t want me to go running off right away, but I needed to get out there, feel the sand between my toes and watch the waves roll in and out as the tide changed.
I glanced over at the bedside clock blinking 5:15. Perfect time for a beach stroll; the lifeguards had just gotten off for the day, which meant most of the families packed it in with them.
Moms didn’t like it much when they had to rely on their own two eyes to watch their kids in the surf. Life was so much better when they could bury their noses in the latest beach read, glancing up only once in a while to make sure the lifeguards hadn’t let their precious babies turn into shark bait.
“Anything you like, Alexa,” my grandmother replied, though her pause lasted just a second too long, her voice subdued. “This is your summer and your house. You don’t need my permission to do anything.”
I smiled at her. “Thanks. I’ll be back in time for dinner.”
I found my flip-flops by the door and jogged down the front steps, my shoes slapping against my heel with each movement. Even though our house rested right off the ocean, we still had to walk around the duplex and over a long wooden bridge that preserved the dunes and connected the concrete street to the sand.
The beach was quieter now than it probably had been just half an hour ago. With the hordes of families gone for the day, fishermen began to dig their rods into the sand right off the jetty.
A few yards down the beach, a group of guys played a pick-up game of wiffle ball and I sighed, loneliness washing over me like it did at the end of every day. I still didn’t have what I wanted.
Or, at the very least, even a prospect for love.
Can’t a girl catch a break just once?
The lifeguards drag their stands up to the dunes at the end of every shift, far enough up the beach so the tide can’t come in and sweep the wooden benches out to sea, never to be seen again.
Rather than walk down near the ball game and look at all the guys who would probably never give me a chance, I hoisted myself up into the deserted lifeguard stand, giving myself a spectacular view of the ocean as the sun began to lower in the sky.
Even though I decided to sit here so I could avoid the guys, I couldn’t stop my eyes from wandering back over to them. Six of them played in all and that right there should have presented me with six chances to find love, or, heck, I’d probably even settle for like and nothing else at this point.
Pia always told me she was sure I’d meet a guy in school at Wisconsin. That’s your time, Lexie. Don’t force it now. It’ll be your reward for working so hard to get yourself there.
But that was easy for her to say. She had it all: the acceptance to a great school (she’d be at the University of Michigan in the fall) and the adoring high school sweetheart. It still stung every time I heard that phrase because now I’d never be the girl who got to live out this wish.
Ever since I’d watched this movie with my mom when I was eight where the girl marries her high school sweetheart and lives happily ever after, I’d been dead-set on being able to tell people I’d met my husband while hanging out behind the freshman lockers at Spring Dells High. Yes, it really is a sweet story, I’d say as they swooned over my good fortune.
But I guess that wasn’t in the cards for me. And, really, what could I do about it? There was no use complaining, no use wishing for something that could never happen. All I could do was go forward, find someone now, make something happen today, this summer in Ship’s Wreck, on Fresh Water Island, in this moment.
And I would.
I had to.
“Make this summer count,” I muttered to myself as a wave crashed to the shore and trickled back out to sea.
“Do you always talk to yourself while you’re trespassing on private property?”
I jumped, startled by the intrusion. I glanced down, ready to snap at whoever it was that had ever-so-rudely interrupted my thoughts, but my breath caught
in my throat, making it impossible for me to think of anything witty to say.
A tall boy with a mop of wild blonde hair, deeply tanned, golden skin, and green eyes that mesmerized me despite the annoyance flashing in them now stood at the bottom of the lifeguard stand, glaring up at me. He wore red lifeguard shorts and a tight white T-shirt that clung to all the right places on his toned chest and arms. His chiseled calves looked hard as marble, probably from all the hours of jogging on the hot, dry sand.
No, I didn’t think he was that cute or anything.
“Uh…what?”
Good going, Lexie, I thought. You’re so clever.
He nodded at the lifeguard stand. “You were just talking to yourself,” he said. “And you’re sort of on the stand and that’s private property. Belongs to the state and all that. You know these things are off limits to the public, right? The big red ‘KEEP OFF’ painted on the front didn’t tip you off?”
I frowned. “You know this thing is just a painted piece of wood, right? I’m not hurting anybody.”
“You know I’m a lifeguard and I can’t do my job without it, right?” he shot back, traces of a strong Jersey accent coming out in his voice.
“What are you talking about? You’re finished for the day. And besides, your job is to make sure nobody drowns on your watch. I think you can do that without this stand. Or do you take it with you when you have to save someone from a rip tide?”
He put a hand on his hip, red whistle swinging as it dangled around his neck. “Listen, smart ass, would you just get off this bench so I can do what I have to do?”
I rolled my eyes, jumped down, and dusted off the back of my shorts. My shoe fell to the ground when I flung myself off. Nobody would ever make the mistake of calling me graceful.
“What’s your problem, anyway? Some kid stuff sand in your whistle today?”
He glared at me, his green eyes flashing. “I just don’t like it when people mess with my things. I’m sure you’d be the same way if this was your stand, part of your job.”
