by Angel Lawson
Chapter 12
My mother waits in the camper when Whit drops me off. It’s mid-afternoon and I expect her to be busy at her computer, but it’s closed and pushed aside. Instead, a half-full glass of wine sits on the table.
“Hi,” I say, leaving my wet towel outside along with the cheesy grin I know will reveal my beach-side make-out session with Justin. “Productive morning?”
“I got a couple thousand words down,” she replies. I duck into the bathroom and start the shower. I’m peeling off my bathing suit when she says, “But then Sugar came to visit.”
I stop undressing and step back into the main room. “How did that go?”
She holds up her glass of wine. “Not bad—but not good either.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means wounds from the past are hard to heal.” She takes gulp of wine.
“I’m glad you two talked,” I tell her, stepping back in the bathroom. “It’s been a long time and you need to patch things up.”
“You sound like Richard,” she says. I step into the shower and wash the sand and salt off my body. My mind wanders to Whit and our time on the beach. Things got hot and heavy between us—fast. I snap out of my daydreams when she asks from outside the bathroom door, “So what’s going on with you and these boys?”
I pause. “Ummm…we’re hanging out? Why?”
“They’re all very handsome.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Obvious understatement of the summer, I think. I squirt a glob of shampoo into my hand and start scrubbing out the sand. There’s a lot of it embedded in the back of my hair, from, well, basically dry-humping Whit on the beach. I wonder briefly if she noticed, and scrub harder. She doesn’t say anything else, so I finish my shower, making sure to get the sand out of all the places it managed to travel today.
I’ve got my towel wrapped around my body when I come out. She’s still there, just watching me. I notice the glass of wine on the table is full again. “Okay, what’s going on?” I ask, curtaining my ‘room’ off so I can change.
“I’m just curious,” she says, from the other side. “Justin in particular seems like a nice boy—young man. Richard really did a fine job with him.”
After putting on shorts and a tank top, I pull back the curtain. “Justin’s really appreciative of everything Richard has done to help him. He struggled a lot as a kid, from what I understand.”
“Cute and damaged. Those are the dangerous ones. Watch out,” she says with the touch of a slur. She waves her wine glass in the air and continues to ramble. “He’s probably like Richard, always there when you need him—except when he’s not.”
I’m not sure where this is going but I decide to push the limits, since she keeps bringing it up. “He also dated Sugar, right? That’s what Anita told me.”
She snorts and I look around for the bottle of wine. How much has she had? “I wouldn’t call it dating as much as a rebound.”
Ahh, the rebound. I knew a little bit about that. “So…”
“So, contrary to modern legend, I was the one that dated Richard in high school, he only spent time with Sugar once I left.”
“Okay.” That’s a surprise, but not a big one. Obviously, there’s some bitterness between them all. Guy trouble could easily be the issue. “So is this why you and Sugar don’t speak anymore?”
She shrugs and takes a sip of wine. “Some of it. She was jealous of our relationship and when…well, when what happened, happened, no one around here could deal with it. I was the only one with enough maturity to walk away. They found solace in one another. It’s why I never came back.”
“What happened?”
“What happened is, once upon a time, I loved Richard. He was my fairytale, but I found out pretty fast that when shit hits the fan, he’s not the guy you can trust.”
I laugh. “And dad was?”
“Nope, he wasn’t either and that’s my point. Don’t go down this road with Justin or one of these other boys if you can’t handle what’s at the end. You’re here for the season and seasonal romances are romantic, wonderful things. But what happens here stays here. You can’t take this home with you.” Her eyelids droop and she leans back against the cushion.
“I’m not planning on marrying one of these guys,” I tell her. “That’s why I’m not getting exclusive with anyone. We’re just having some fun.”
“It all starts out as fun, sweetie, don’t forget that.”
“Why don’t you take a nap, Mom?” I suggest. “Here, use my bed.”
She doesn’t fight me so I help her off the couch and into the bed. I try to pull back the blanket but she’s already flat on her stomach, nuzzling her face in my pillow.
I’m pulling the curtains closed when she opens one eye and says, “Just be careful, don’t let him break your heart.”
I try for my most reassuring smile. “Don’t worry Mom, we’re just having fun. That’s all.”
* * *
Justin stops by the camper the next morning. My mother is still asleep and I’m reading when he taps quietly on the window over my bed. Not wanting to wake her, I tip-toe past her and open the door as silently as possible.
“Hey,” he says, greeting me with a fast kiss. The visit and kiss come as a surprise but I can get used to waking up like this.
“What’s going on?” I ask. I see he’s in his work uniform, so I assume that’s where he’s headed.
“Just wanted to see you before my day started.” His fingers tug at mine. “Invite you out tonight. Maybe hit the beach or come over?”
My stomach flutters at his invitation. I bite my lip to keep from smiling. “I have to work with my mom today. Not sure when I’ll get back.”
“Whenever is fine. We have a meeting after closing, too. I won’t be done until eight or so.” He’s staring at my lips. It’s okay though, because I’m staring back at his.
“Okay, call or text or something,” I say. He nods and takes a step forward and I move back on instinct. I hit the trailer with a thud. Justin’s hands wrap around my waist and he leans down to give me another kiss. This one I’m ready for and respond with enthusiasm. That is until Mr. Johnson turns on his weed-eater next door. The zipping sound rips through the air, breaking the moment.
“Tonight?” he asks, with a smile as big as the sun.
“Tonight.”
* * *
Seeing my mother groggy and hung-over is weird, but so is sharing a tiny trailer with her and listening to her talk about ancient history with Richard.
“That was another dead-end,” my mother says, tossing her notes into a folder and securing them in her bag. Since our visit with Darlene, she had spent her days either writing or researching possible victims. Somehow she managed to get her hands on several crime histories from the period, including the notes from the DA’s office. Her suspicions were right. Several victims came forward during that time period but their cases were never prosecuted. Most, she said, didn’t have enough proof or evidence for the police to proceed. This injustice has fueled my mother to give them their moment to speak. The problem we face now is that we can’t find any of these people. They’ve either died or moved away. Today we searched for three in the Conway area and came up empty-handed.
“We’ll try again,” Nick says. Yeah, he’s with us. Invested in our research and volunteering to drive since he’s familiar with most of the back roads, he drove while she took notes in the backseat and I sorted her files.
“There are a couple more on my list, plus I’ll just keep looking in the employment records. Maybe I can track them that way.” Every day I learn a new trick to gathering information. She has dozens. She really may have missed her chance to be the next Nancy Drew. “Actually, do you know where the library is? I may dash in and see if they have anything.”
“Yeah, it’s a couple blocks over.”
The building isn’t anything special. Just a small red brick building with the familiar paper scent that lingers in places with a lot of books. I
n the corner is a woman reading a story to a group of children. My mother pays us no attention and heads straight to the desk. In a matter of moments, they’re off in some dark corner of the building that holds ancient records and Nick and I are left alone.
“Should we go help?” he asks, watching my mother’s retreating form.
“Nah, she’ll tell us if she needs anything.”
A couple of the parents nearby give us a dirty look for talking and I slink down a stack of books. Nick follows.
We’re quiet—he’s quiet all the time—and driving around the backroads of South Carolina gives me a lot of time to watch him. He’s physical in a different way than the surfer boys; more intentional—a threat. He’s huge and it’s not hard to imagine him on the football field.
“How come you don’t surf like the others?” I whisper, pulling a book from the shelf. It’s about bugs. I pretend I’m interested. “You’re never there in the morning.”
“I used to but now I have a conditioning schedule I have to meet. I drive into town to the gym every morning.”
That makes sense. “It’s mandatory?”
“Yep. Surfing is a big workout but not the kind my coaches want.” He removes a book and flips through the pages. The scent of decaying paper is strong and pleasing.
“You don’t seem as upset as Whit about going to the Citadel.”
He doesn’t respond right away, looping around me and grazing my shoulder as he goes for another book. This one is filled with magnificent photographs of wildlife. “I’m proud of my family tradition and want to continue it. My grandfather and his brothers and my father and his brothers…they all went to the school. It feels right. Whit sees it as an obligation. I view it like a rite-of-passage. Like a piece of my personal puzzle that has to fit into place.”
I turn to face him and over my shoulder he slides the book back in place, but leaves his hand resting against the shelves. “I never had any family that I knew about until I came here. I get what you’re saying about puzzles. Suddenly things about my mom and her upbringing make a little more sense.”
“Things like your name?”
“My name?”
He grins and leans in a little closer. My heart skips. “Clearly she named you after her favorite time of year—the one time she felt happiest.”
I frown. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
I’d never thought about it much—I just figured she liked the name or something—but like with everything else, there’s intent and meaning. The naming of her only child would be no different.
It’s a revelation and I find myself gazing at his face, his lips and eyes. We’re in this moment alone, away from the sing-song voice of the storyteller and the stuffy rules of the librarian. We’re quiet. So very quiet.
Can he hear my heart beating? No? Just me?
“I heard you’ve been asking about our pact.” He’s close enough I can smell the mint on his breath.
“You guys gossip like school girls, you know that?” Heat runs up my neck at being caught.
He smiles slowly. “We’re tight. And it’s okay. If you’re going to get involved with the four of us, you should know what you’re getting into.”
My stomach tightens at the insinuation. And I have a heightened awareness he’s the only one I haven’t kissed. It would be so easy to do it now.
He licks his bottom lip and he knows it, too.
“Thank you, Margorie,” I hear over the stacks of books. Nick straightens and poof, the moment vanishes. “You’ve been incredibly helpful.”
With my heart still hammering I walk down the aisle, all too aware of the boy behind me.
It’s a long car ride home and I realize that Nick and I barely spoke a word on the way back from Conway until we dropped him at the edge of the road that leads to Richard’s house.
“It looks like it may rain,” Mom says, glancing out the window toward the island. The sky is dark and ominous. I guess there goes my date to the beach. On cue, my phone buzzes as we turn into our gravel drive.
“That thing never stops,” she says.
“It’s just the girls,” I lie. “Updating me on their trip. They leave in a couple of days.”
Truthfully, I haven’t heard from the girls since the random call from Catherine the other day. Even Mason has fallen off the radar. All of the texts today came from Justin. The sneaky bastard’s working his way into my heart, with silly photos and stupid messages. It’s easier to lie than admit this to my mother after her drunken confession about the Hawkins men. I slip the phone into my purse on the floor, knowing already he’s reminding me about tonight. His eagerness is endearing.
“The girls, huh?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. Justin waits outside the camper, lounging on the patio chairs and messing with his phone.
I give her a sheepish grin and get out of the car. Justin’s already out of his chair and I smile at the expectant look on his face. He’s happy to see me. A low rumble of thunder interrupts me saying hello.
“Good afternoon, Justin,” my mother says from behind me.
“Ma’am,” he says, showing his southern roots. “Make any progress on the book today?”
“Not as much as I’d like,” she says. “But I’ve got some notes to transcribe.”
Mom disappears into the trailer, leaving the two of us alone. His hand finds mine the moment she’s gone. I notice he’s showered and changed already. The damp ends of his faux-hawk blow in the wind. “Thought you had to work late,” I say.
“I know the boss and checked out early. Is that okay?”
“Yep,” I say. “I’m guessing though that date on the beach isn’t going to happen.”
“There are other things we can do.”
“Like what?” I suspect I know the answer to that.
“My place?” he suggests.
The pit of my stomach warms and I really want to say yes. “That sounds nice…”
“But?”
I shrug, not wanting to make excuses or offend him. “Show me around instead. Take me somewhere local and fun.”
He laughs and says, “You realize where we are, right? Nothing much around here but touristy things.”
“Come on,” I say. “Show me where you go with the guys. Or where you’d take a local girl on a date if a massive thunderstorm was on the way.”
“Really?”
“Sure, I want the insider’s track to Ocean Beach.”
“If you say so,” he says, still looking skeptical. “Go get ready. I’ll wait out here.”
“Ten minutes,” I say, leaving him under the canopy as the first drops of rain start to fall.
* * *
The storm rages hard enough outside that I can hear the thunder over the pinball machines, although the two kids fighting over foosball in the corner are making enough racket to compete. The air is greasy and everything has a fishy, fried smell, but the basket of fries between us tastes like heaven.
“Do you eat hot sauce on everything?” he asks, dipping a fry into his own glob of ketchup.
“Duh. It’s delicious.”
“Gross.”
“Ketchup is gross. It’s all sugar and tomatoes. Barf.” We smile at one another over the dingy, hard booth in the corner of an arcade-snack shop. I asked for the real Ocean Beach. Apparently, this is it. “So this is where you take your local girls, huh?”
He swallows a bite of hamburger and wipes his mouth. “Oh definitely, you know, if we didn’t meet here in the first place.”
“Wait, like, you picked girls up here?” I gave him the side-eye.
“Yeah, this is the hot place to find a girl—especially a tourist type. They love to hook up with a townie.” He flashes me a charming grin. “It’s like fulfilling some summer romance thing for them.”
He gestures over to the foosball table and sure enough, there are two girls, dressed a little nice for an arcade, eyeing the boys showing off. No wonder they were making all that noise. It’s like some kind of ad
olescent mating call.
“You’re saying you had some kind of notch on your bed post scam going on? Like, how many girls could you bang in a summer?” I’m half kidding. Not really angry, but a little curious. Am I one of those girls?
He shoots me a serious look. “First of all, yeah, I always chased tourist tail. All of us did. The townie girls around here want babies and a trailer before high school graduation. You know that isn’t in our plans. This way we met girls from all over the country, hung out a little, asked a lot of questions and sure, hooked up with a couple.”
“Okay, I get that,” I say, but then narrow my eyes. “How many is a couple?”
“A few?” he dodges, that same damn smile creeping back. “Some of the girls I kept in touch with. Social media and stuff.”
“Ah, a few managed to be more than a summer fling? What about the pact?”
“I don’t know. As much as it could be when you live hundreds of miles apart and the minute they step out of this place you no longer have anything in common.” He lifts his shoulders with a hint of wistfulness and I realize he probably really did like some of them. Maybe that’s another reason they made the pact in the first place. Easier to move on.
“Tell me, Mr. Hawkins, if you and I met here one rainy summer night, how would that go?” I bat my eyelashes at him playfully.
He raises an eyebrow. “Well, we all had our special talents. Nick would go outside and talk about the stars and moon on the bench out front. He’s the romantic. And Pete would talk about music, dropping knowledge all over the place.”
“And Whit?”
“Whit doesn’t have to do anything. Girls just flock around him. He could fuck a different tourist every night and no one would blink.”
Hmmm… “And you?”
“I had a whole system. First I would show off my mad skills on the KISS pinball machine over there.” He jerks his thumb toward the corner. “Then once I got your interest I would cuss a little to show how tough I am.”
“Really? That works?”
