On the Rocks (A Turtle Island Novel)

by Kim Law

  Ginger mumbled an acknowledgment around the bite of apple in her mouth, and headed up the stairs to her bedroom. Julie Ridley was a twenty-two-year-old recent college graduate who’d moved back home over the summer to manage the new art gallery in the small community. She’d also shown up pregnant with no sign of the baby’s father.

  Julie’s parents still owned the house next door, but they’d barely been home the past four years. They’d been traveling the world and were currently on a mission trip, not scheduled to return until closer to the baby’s due date. Since Julie was alone, Ginger and her mother had taken it upon themselves to occasionally check in on her. See if she needed help with anything.

  Ginger glanced out the window as she entered her room, taking in the closed curtains of the bedroom across from hers, and couldn’t help but wonder what Carter was up to these days. Did he know that his baby sister was pregnant and alone?

  Similar to his parents, her childhood friend didn’t frequent Turtle Island, either. He’d gone away to college, married a law student, and according to Mr. and Mrs. Ridley, had settled somewhere in the New England area. Ginger couldn’t recall which state.

  Wherever it was, she hoped he was happy.

  But she couldn’t help but be a little disappointed that he hadn’t once come home to check on his sister. There was a time when he’d been the epitome of the overprotective brother.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The mid-September fog lying low over the water didn’t surprise Carter as he stood, arms crossed, at the railing of the ferry and watched the morning crowd milling inside. The day matched his mood. In fact, it would have surprised him to have anything but a dark cloud hovering nearby. The gray mist was on par with everything about his life these days, but good had actually come from it today. The heavy dampness in the air had allowed him to have the uncovered deck to himself. He needed a few minutes before driving off the ferry and back into his past. He was on Turtle Island again. Or he soon would be. And he didn’t want to be.

  How long had it been? Six years? Eight?

  Too long, probably. But at the same time, not long enough. If things hadn’t changed . . .

  He didn’t want to be here, it was that simple. And it was all he’d let himself focus on. He wanted to be back in Rhode Island in his own house. He wanted to be at his desk. Writing the next great American novel.

  Or the next great horror novel. Which, in his mind, was the same thing.

  Not that he’d be writing, even if he were at home. With his big breakthrough and a major contract had also come his first bout of writer’s block. Along with so many other things he hadn’t expected.

  He ground his teeth together as he forced those other things from his mind. He was back on Turtle Island for at least the next few days, but he refused to stay the three weeks his mother had asked of him. It wasn’t his job to watch over a sister who should have had enough sense not to get knocked up. Add to that, Carter wouldn’t even get the pleasure of beating the guilty party to a pulp. The man wasn’t on the island, not that Carter knew of. Not that he knew who the father was.

  With Julie seven months pregnant and his parents on the other side of the world, Carter’s mother had pleaded with him to come home and keep an eye on his sister. She’d insisted for the last week that Julie wasn’t feeling well. Said she could tell by their phone conversations.

  But Carter wasn’t an idiot. Julie was fine. He’d talked to her himself. It was he his mother was worried about. His parents had made a quick trip to the States last month, and had stopped by his place on their way back out of the country. And in a moment of great weakness, he’d shared things he’d had no intention of sharing. His mother had not let up on him since. She thought his coming here would “fix” him.

  But he had news for her. He didn’t need fixing. He wouldn’t be fixed. He liked who he was these days, and no amount of coaxing from his well-meaning mother would change that.

  But he would come home and check on his sister. Just in case.

  He’d visited her in college in North Carolina occasionally, had been at her graduation ceremony in May, and she’d even spent part of last summer with him. But he hadn’t been the brother he could have been over the years. If he had, maybe Julie wouldn’t have ended up pregnant and alone.

  So, he would check on her. But he wouldn’t stay long.

  The horn sounded on the ferry, and Carter pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his black peacoat as he watched the small island come into view. The fog fuzzed the lights glowing through the thick morning, making him think of a particularly horrific scene from one of his earlier novels. It had been a good book, but he hadn’t gotten paid big money for it. Not like the one due to his editor at the end of next month. The one he had yet to start.

  He lit a cigarette and held it in front of him, studying the burning tip and thinking about his life. His mother hoped this trip would fix this, too—his latest bad habit. Probably she thought he drank too much as well. And for a second, he wanted to have the kind of hope that she did. He wanted to be fixed.

  But none of it was as simple as a trip home. Shit happened, then you had to live with it.

  He brought the cigarette to his mouth and drew deep, closing his eyes with the sting of the nicotine. He’d never smoked before this year, but he liked it. He liked the wrongness of it.

  Opening his eyes, he exhaled, and through the smoke he watched a woman exit the side entrance on the far end of the ferry. She headed away from him, her red hair swishing at her shoulders as she moved in quick, sure strides up the back staircase. She had on a clear raincoat, but hadn’t bothered with the hood. Her lack of concern for the wet day made him suddenly think of the girl who’d lived next door when he’d been a kid. Ginger had been like that, only the girl he’d known probably wouldn’t have bothered with the coat at all. She would have simply stood out in the rain, not caring if she ended up drenched. And she would have laughed while doing it. She’d had the brightest outlook of anyone he’d ever met.

  He hadn’t thought about Ginger in years, but memories suddenly filled him. Being in the same class and living next door to each other, their friendship had been a given. They’d played in their yards together as children, had explored the island side by side once they got bikes . . . then they’d slowly found their own paths after starting high school.

  Their friendship had remained intact, though. In their own way. Though their time together during their teen years had been less, the friendship was something he’d cherished.

  He wondered if she still lived on the island. Her dad had died while they were in college—he remembered his parents telling him about it. She’d come home to be with her mom then, but had she stayed? Had she ever gone back to finish school?

  He looked up the back stairwell again, but the woman was no longer visible, and then anger hit when he realized the reason she’d grabbed his attention to begin with. Her hair. The way she carried herself.

  She reminded him of his ex-wife.

  He took one last hard drag on the cigarette before tossing it over the railing and pulling the keys to his rental from his pocket. The last thing he wanted to think about was his ex. She’d occupied far too many hours of his time over the past months as it was. But he couldn’t seem to keep her away.

  Love sucked. That’s the lesson that had come from marriage. Do everything right, and it didn’t matter. Some heartless person would still trample on your heart as if it was as cold and lifeless as hers.

  So no—dear, good-intentioned mother of his—sending him back to Turtle Island would not “fix” him. There was no fixing to be done. This was the new him.

  The stench of fish guts clung to Ginger’s clothes as she entered the combination mud and laundry room that midmonth afternoon. After a too-long fishing trip and an even longer workday, she closed the door, leaned into it, and pressed her forehead to the cool wood. And sighed. She was exhausted. And in a foul mood. And the last thing she wanted to do was come home and face
reality.

  Her eyes suddenly burned with threatening tears, but she held them at bay. She’d have a good cry later tonight while soaking in the tub. Maybe she’d even take a bottle of beer in with her. Or six. Because every once in a while a girl deserved a night, just her and her favorite six-pack of IPAs. But right now she had to get out of her stinky clothes.

  She undressed, underwear and all, and started the washer without adding any other clothes to the pile. She noted the fact that they were almost out of washing liquid, mentally added it to the grocery list, then stooped to scoop out the litter box.

  Mz. Lizzie was nowhere to be found, of course. Because Ginger wasn’t her mother. The blasted cat only came out when the older Atkinson was home, but Ginger’s mom was with Clint right now. They’d taken the day off together.

  When Ginger stood, she sniffed the air and frowned. She still smelled like fish. It was in her hair, and probably ground into her skin. That bath might come sooner than she’d planned.

  Though the day had started in the thick fog of the early morning ferry, she’d later been pulled into a last-minute charter. Which had turned into a hugely productive trip for the customers. As part of the cost of expeditions, guests’ fish were cleaned and gutted—if they wanted them to be. And today, everyone had wanted them to be. Which normally would have been fine. It was part of the experience, and Ginger saw it as a small price to pay for the benefit of having a job where she got time on the water whenever she wanted it.

  Except today’s group had been all men, and too much beer had been consumed. The alcohol encouraged three of them to declare that a female fishing captain was their ideal woman. Then they’d gotten grabby—while she’d had a knife in her hands.

  She’d had to set them straight, which had only turned them on more.

  Sigh.

  It had been a frustrating day for so many reasons, but the sad reality was that the jerk men hadn’t even been the worst of it. She stepped through the door into the kitchen, and turned her gaze to the small blue box sitting in the middle of the quartz-topped island.

  That was the worst of it.

  Her mother and Clint’s six-month dating anniversary had arrived the day before, and they’d gotten engaged. To be married!

  An engagement had been the last thing Ginger had expected to learn about when she’d come down to catch the sunrise that morning. As well as seeing her mom’s smiling face before dawn. Yet there she’d been. Beaming. And holding out her left ring finger.

  The engagement made no sense. Her mother was a compulsive dater. She didn’t get engaged.

  Only, she had.

  And she was floating in the clouds over it.

  After telling Ginger all about the special evening Clint had planned the night before—and waving that chunk of a rock under Ginger’s nose—her mother had posted a picture of it to Facebook.

  Ginger wanted to be happy for her. Really, she did. Her mother deserved love and a happily ever after. She’d been destroyed when Ginger’s dad had died from an unexpected heart attack. He’d been the love of her life. So yes, her mother should be first in line for a second chance at forever. And Ginger was happy for her.

  Only, she couldn’t help the thought that had echoed in her head all day.

  It’s not fair.

  It wasn’t fair that everyone could find the man of her dreams except her. It wasn’t fair that, try as she might, all dates tended to backfire. In one way or another. And it wasn’t fair that she could no longer hide from life by living in her mother’s house, pretending it was okay that she was single.

  Her world was moving in a new direction, and Ginger either had to get on board and go along with it, or she would be left watching by the sidelines. Her mother was getting married, Clint would be moving in, and she would be underfoot.

  And unless something changed, that marriage would be taking place in a short six weeks.

  She ignored the robin’s-egg–blue box, and grabbed her phone. She needed to talk to her friends.

  Andie Kavanaugh and Roni Alexander had been her best friends since the age of seven. The other two hadn’t grown up on the island, but Andie’s aunt lived there, and Roni’s mother was a die-hard fan of the beach, so they’d visited every summer. A few years ago all three of them had seen the pact they’d made as kids come true when Andie and Roni had both moved to the island full-time.

  Only, they’d subsequently fallen in love with men whose lives were not on the island.

  That wasn’t to say they didn’t come back when they could. Roni, her husband, Lucas, and her stepdaughter, Gracie, had been there in June. Gracie had turned five, and she’d wanted a birthday party on the beach. Since Roni still owned her house here—and Lucas could telecommute from anywhere—they’d stayed for the month before Lucas and Gracie had returned to Dallas, and Roni had headed off for her first concert tour in years. She was a concert pianist. And she was amazing.

  Roni had managed a day away from the tour after Andie and Mark’s first child had been born in July, and both she and Ginger had flown to Boston to see the young man just a few days after he’d entered the world. Theodore Wayne Kavanaugh had been born with a head full of dark hair and the kind of blue eyes that would someday turn many a girl’s head. Ginger had lost her heart to the little guy immediately. As well as promised countless hours of babysitting anytime they came for a visit.

  Then Roni had confessed that she’d also be joining the ranks of motherhood. And Ginger had smiled through her envy.

  Unwelcome jealousy or not, they were her girls, and she needed them now.

  After running upstairs and tugging on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, both of which had seen better days, she went to the front porch to make her call. She tried Roni first, but there was no answer. Her tour would be finishing in a couple of weeks. Probably she was in the middle of prepping for tonight’s show.

  Andie did answer her phone. With the sound of crying not far away.

  “Hey, hon,” Andie said. She sounded completely exhausted, and not a little frazzled. “Can I call you back in just a bit? I’m sorry, I’m—”

  “Yes,” Ginger interjected. “Call me later. Whenever. Take care of that cutie of yours. He sounds hungry.”

  Andie laughed tiredly. “He’s always hungry.”

  “Then feed the little guy. Don’t worry about me.”

  The sounds of suckling suddenly came through the phone, and a pang tugged at Ginger’s heart. She wanted that, too.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” Ginger whispered, ready to hang up.

  “Wait,” Andie shot out. “You said worry. Don’t worry about you. What’s wrong?”

  Ginger leaned her head against the back of the glider and closed her eyes. Moisture pushed at the seams. She missed having her friends close. “I didn’t mean worry,” she said. “I just meant . . .” She pictured her mother’s ring. Then she pictured little Teddy at his mother’s breast. “It’s nothing. We can talk anytime. You sound like you could use some sleep after you get Teddy down.”

  “I can always use sleep.” A yawn followed the words, right on cue.

  “Then feed that baby, close your eyes while he’s eating, and doze for a few minutes. We can talk later. Give him a hug for me, will you? And tell Mark I said hi.”

  “Will do.” Andie yawned again. “You sure it’s nothing important?”

  “Just checking on you.”

  “’K.” She yawned for a third time, sounding half asleep already, and they said their good-byes. Then Ginger stilled the seat and sat staring at nothing. Her life was changing. Her life had already changed. She had to get moving on that house.

  She pulled her mother’s Facebook page up on her phone and loaded the picture of the ring. It really was stunning. Two carats of diamonds in a unique flower pattern that surrounded a center stone. There was even a row of smaller diamonds circling the band. It was a little much for Ginger’s taste, but she recognized the fact that it was perfect for her mother. Very romantic. Very girly. C
lint had done well.

  Studying the ring made Ginger wonder if she’d seen this coming all along. Was that why she’d started the house to begin with? Her mother had never suggested Ginger should live anywhere but here—thus the reason she’d been in no hurry to finish. But had Ginger somehow known this was on the horizon?

  Or had her mother only become open to the idea after Ginger started the house?

  Had she subconsciously told her mother it was okay to move on?

  And did it even matter why it was happening? The fact was, her mother was in love and getting married. And Ginger had a house to complete.

  She went inside for her notepad and the paint cards she’d collected two months ago, and began to jot down her thoughts. The house was complete on the outside, but there was practically nothing done internally. Studs framed the rooms and the subfloors were down, but that was it. No walls, no cabinetry, no fixtures. No personality. She’d been frozen at the thought of making final choices.

  Somehow, the design for the structure had been in her head, but nothing else would come.

  Her phone rang, and with a little squeeze of her heart, she reached for it, hoping it was Andie. Instead, it was her mom.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Hi, baby. Are you free tonight?”

  “Sure.” She looked up from her notes and noticed a strange car in the Ridleys’ driveway.

  “Good. Clint and I wanted to invite you to dinner. We’re having a celebratory evening out with some friends.”

  Ginger pushed the notepad off her lap and rose, moving to the other side of the uncovered porch so she could see their neighbors’ house better. The blinds were closed.

  Julie wouldn’t be home from work yet, but she usually opened the blinds before leaving.

  “Tonight?” she asked absently as she stood on tiptoes, trying to see over the shrubbery.

  “Yes. We’ve got a reservation at the hotel.” The best restaurant on the island was at the historic Turtle Island Hotel. “And Clint invited this nice young man that he works with,” her mother added. “Clint thinks he might be perfect for you.”