On the Rocks (A Turtle Island Novel)

by Kim Law

  It was a lazy Saturday evening, and her mom and Clint had offered to fix dinner. Ginger had offered to hold down her favorite chair. She’d been up since well before daylight, having had a huge charter that morning, and she was beyond exhausted. If it weren’t for the fact that she’d picked up another new book at the bookstore after work, she’d turn in early.

  Instead, she planned to read until an ungodly hour. The author was another favorite, and was sure to scare, and she didn’t have to work tomorrow.

  The three of them talked wedding and honeymoon plans over the next forty-five minutes, while Clint impressed with his grilling skills, and they ate fat juicy burgers at the outdoor dinette set.

  While cleaning up from the meal, her mother suddenly whirled around.

  “Well, if it isn’t Carter Ridley,” she said with great enthusiasm. Carter stood at the side of the deck, seemingly hesitant at the sight of finding all three of them there, and her mother rushed down the steps to embrace him. “I’ve been waiting to catch sight of you. Hoping I’d see you without having to break down and invite myself over.” She pulled back and took him in, then gave him a smile that was full of love and memories. “But I was just about out of patience.”

  Carter hugged her back, surprising Ginger with a wide smile of his own. It was a nice moment, and reminded Ginger of the many times both families had enjoyed summer cookouts or afternoons at the beach together.

  “It’s great to see you, Mrs. Atkinson. Sorry for not being around a lot. I’ve been . . .”

  He paused and Ginger filled in with “Hiding behind the blinds.”

  “What?” her mom asked, looking up at Ginger.

  “Nothing,” Ginger muttered. She dropped to her chair and Carter shot her a look, but it wasn’t the surly one he’d shared so often since being home. In fact, she wasn’t sure what kind of look it was. Inquisitive?

  Intrigued?

  Wondering about her “womanly needs”? Geez . . . how embarrassing.

  “You two always had your secrets,” her mom mused, but let the moment pass. She patted Carter’s cheek. “Come on up. I want you to meet Clint. Where’s Julie?” She asked the question as she led him up the steps.

  “She went out with a couple of friends tonight.”

  “Good for her. She wasn’t getting out for a while there. We’ll have you both over soon. We’ll grill out.”

  “I’d enjoy that.”

  Ginger stared. Who was this man? And where was his bad attitude?

  Clint had waited on the deck along with Ginger, and when Carter hit the top step, he reached for the older man’s hand. “Congratulations. I heard about the engagement. You got a good one.”

  “Thank you.” Clint’s voice had a way of booming, but at the same time being gentle. He draped an arm around her mother’s shoulders. “And I agree. These Atkinson girls”—Clint took in both women—“they’re a special breed.”

  “That they are.”

  Once again, Carter gave Ginger a strange look, but she still had no idea what it meant. She was too surprised by his shift in mood to figure it out.

  “Want a beer?” Clint asked. He held up the one in his hand.

  “Love one.”

  Ginger’s mom looked at her and nudged her head toward the house. When Ginger just stared back, as if not understanding the intent, her mother whispered, “Go get him a beer, Ginger.”

  Ginger held up her hands in question. What happened to the agreement that she didn’t have to lift a finger tonight? But when one side of Carter’s mouth lifted at the interaction between her and her mother, she rolled her eyes and crawled from her chair. As she went into the house, she caught herself wondering how bad she looked. Or smelled.

  Then she reminded herself that it was only Carter out there. And she wasn’t on a date.

  “Thanks,” he said when she handed him an opened bottle a few moments later. He propped a hip against the railing, and spent several minutes talking with her mom and Clint while Ginger finished clearing the table. On each trip back out of the house, she silently observed Carter. He was definitely different today. Easier. Happier.

  He was more like the Carter she’d once known.

  “Oh!” Her mom squealed as Ginger once again stepped through the back door. She held her left hand out to Carter. “I didn’t show you my ring.” She flapped her fingers in the air, and the gigantic rock still managed to flash in the almost-set sun. “Isn’t it just the grandest thing?”

  “It is nice,” Carter agreed. He eyed the ring carefully. “Be sure to show Julie.”

  “I stopped off at the gallery earlier this week,” her mom admitted with a grin. “I like to check in on her once in a while.” She admired the diamonds for one last second before letting out a wistful sigh and lowering her hand. She peered up at Carter. “She looked good. Said you’d been fattening her up.”

  “I’m trying. I like to cook, actually. I hadn’t done much of it in a while.”

  “He’s fattened up, too,” Ginger blurted.

  All eyes turned to her, her mother’s horrified. “Ginger!” she gasped.

  “I didn’t meant fat.” Carter watched her with a twinkle in his eye, and she explained, “You were too thin when you first came home.”

  “Really?” he asked. He looked down at himself, his expression turning perplexed. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Don’t worry. You look good now.”

  And again, her mouth said what it wasn’t supposed to. But he smiled at her once more.

  So she smiled back.

  “Well,” her mother said. “Clint? Can you help me inside?”

  “Sure.” Clint tossed his empty bottle into the blue recycle bin, glass clinking against glass, and hurried after his intended.

  At the door, her mom turned back. “It’s really good to see you again, Carter. Don’t be a stranger. Julie said you’re redoing the kitchen. Does that mean the oven is being pulled out?”

  “It went yesterday.”

  “Then consider our kitchen yours.” She glanced at Ginger before adding, “I’ll fix you and Julie a casserole tomorrow and send Ginger over with it. But feel free to use our kitchen anytime. I like knowing that Julie is eating better.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Atkinson. I appreciate it.”

  “And for goodness’ sake, call me Pam.”

  She and Clint disappeared into the house, and at the same time the back door closed, the sun dipped below the roofline, and the deck was cast in shadows. Ginger moved to the storage box and found a lighter. As she finished lighting the last of the torches, a second clang of glass rang out behind her as Carter tossed his bottle into the bin.

  She looked back. “Want another?”

  He shook his head. “I only took that one to be nice.”

  She considered questioning his words; she pictured the empty bottles from his house once again. But decided to leave it alone. The mood was good tonight, and she didn’t want to spoil it. She returned to her chair, and he motioned to the lounger beside her.

  “Do you mind?” he asked.

  “Make yourself at home. Seems the kitchen is already yours anyway.” She winked, and he actually laughed. Not a chuckle, but a laugh.

  It took her breath away.

  “I wish you’d do that more often,” she said. “You’re so much more you when you smile.”

  Of course, her words shut him up.

  She stretched her legs out in front of her and leaned back against the wooden slats, and they sat silent for a few minutes, each in their own thoughts. Around them the night grew darker. A palmetto bug buzzed by and she swatted at it. She also looked longingly toward the back door. She didn’t mean to, but her book was sitting on the counter right inside there. If Carter didn’t intend to talk . . .

  “Not reading tonight?”

  Was the man in her head?

  “I will after you leave.” She grimaced when she realized how that sounded. “Not that I’m suggesting you go.”

  “Good.” He settle
d deeper into the chair, mimicking her pose by putting his feet up. “I could stand to do something other than sit behind the blinds tonight.”

  Her laughter floated through the air. “Sorry about that comment. It was rude of me.”

  “It’s true.”

  She turned to look at him, but he had his eyes closed. He seemed completely relaxed. It bothered her every time she looked at the house next door and saw that he’d shuttered the outside world. “Did your ex hurt you that badly?” she asked softly.

  Since he’d told her that he was divorced, she’d wanted to know more. She wanted to help.

  “Yes.” His answer was simple. He didn’t offer anything additional.

  So she let it go.

  Closing her own eyes, she slouched down in her seat and enjoyed the moment for what it was. Two friends hanging out. Even if she did have a little flutter once again.

  “What kind of books do you read?”

  She turned her head to look at him when he spoke. He faced her the same way. The light from the fire flickered across his eyes, and though an air of hurt and distance still lingered around him tonight, there was also something more. It struck her that the new thing she was witnessing seemed like acceptance. For what, she wasn’t sure. But it was there. He had a calmer, less-defensive demeanor about him.

  Had he accepted that his life was different now? Was he ready to move on?

  “Horror,” she answered. “The scarier the better.”

  One dark eyebrow shot up while his chin dipped down. “That’s what you read out here every night? By firelight? With no pants on?”

  She covered her face in embarrassment. “I wear pants sometimes.” She peeked through her fingers. “And anyway, you should be glad I’m not out here completely naked.”

  “No.” The word was spoken quickly and intentionally, then the corners of his mouth inched up and he totally checked her out. “I shouldn’t.”

  “Really, Carter.” She made a snorting noise in the back of her throat. “You’re flirting with me.”

  “So? You flirted with me last night.”

  “I was drunk last night. What’s your excuse?”

  He paused, his eyes seeming to lose focus for a moment before he answered. “Practice?” The word was a question, but didn’t seem to need an answer. “I’ve been in a slump lately.”

  Join the club, she thought. Her life often seemed like a slump. But what she said out loud was “I figured along with the smoking and drinking, you were also busy sleeping with all the wrong women.”

  Wasn’t that the stereotype?

  “I’m not sleeping with anyone.” He spoke quietly. Then the acceptance thing she’d thought she’d witnessed was gone. It was all pain and hurt once again. “You ever feel so badly about yourself that you didn’t even want to sleep with the wrong people?” he asked.

  “I have.” More times than she wanted to admit.

  There was something about not being the “ideal” that most men seemed to want. It shamed her at times.

  “It sucks,” Carter said.

  “Yes, it does.” She tried to force a smile. To tease away the moment. But she couldn’t do it.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you, you know,” he added softly.

  Tears burned at the backs of her eyes. How was it that they were suddenly talking about her? “You mean other than the fact that I love the ocean more than dating?” she asked. Then she shrugged. “And yes, I know there’s nothing wrong with me.”

  But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t have to eventually change.

  He reached over and took her hand in his and squeezed. The move made her catch her breath. But then he removed his fingers, and she was left feeling cold.

  “So horror stories, huh?” His quick change took her a moment to catch up.

  “You got me started on them, don’t you remember? I used to devour your Stephen King books. Since then I’ve read everything I can get my hands on.” She curled to her side. She could talk about books for hours. “There’s this fairly new author I can’t get enough of. Jules Bradley—have you heard of him? I’m in love with him.” She chuckled as she pictured Julie’s bookcase. “Your sister must be, too. She has all his books. She even had his last one before it was released. I have no idea how she pulled that off, but I want her secret.”

  Carter stared at the sky. “You like Jules Bradley?”

  “Love Jules Bradley. So much. I heard his next book has been contracted for a movie, which I’ll be first in line to see. But wow, his last book . . . have you read him?”

  Carter’s heart pounded so rapidly as he listened to Ginger talk about how much she loved his latest book that it threatened to cut off all oxygen. He could feel each pump of his blood in the main artery of his neck, as if someone had slit the tiny vessel open and he were bleeding out. He’d wanted to know if Ginger had ever read one of his books, but hearing about it firsthand moved him in a way he hadn’t been ready for.

  His parents liked his novels. Julie did, too. They were proud of him. And he’d gotten plenty of accolades from readers. But Lisa had never read a single one. She wouldn’t lower her standards to such.

  He needed to tell Ginger that he was Jules Bradley. To stop her gushing. And honestly, he wanted to tell her. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it tonight. She’d be embarrassed, and he didn’t want to change the atmosphere of the evening.

  He’d come over because he’d been sitting in the house by himself, contemplating another night of drowning his sorrows, and he’d realized that he wanted to see Ginger. She hadn’t been around that morning.

  She’d made it home last night, he knew. Alone. He’d forgone the beer and watched out the window until he’d seen her make it safely inside. But she hadn’t been around for sunrise.

  So he’d come over, hoping to find her, or entice her to come outside. What he hadn’t expected was to discover her there with her mom and Clint. Doing so had sent him back to his childhood. He’d always liked her mom. He’d liked their families hanging out. And he’d suddenly not wanted to be mad and angry, if just for one night.

  “You seem lighter tonight,” Ginger said, running out of commentary on his books, and mercifully changing the subject. A slight breeze slid a lock of hair across her cheek and he focused on that, because he was embarrassed that she’d picked up on the change in him.

  “What does ‘lighter’ even mean?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Not as angry.” She gave him a tiny smile. “I worry about you.”

  He looked down at his hands where they lay clasped in his lap, and thought about the phone call from his mother earlier that day. She’d expressed the same sentiment. Again. “You and my mother, both,” he griped.

  “I miss your mom,” Ginger said breezily as she seemed to curl deeper into the wood of the chair. “Your dad, too. I always loved watching them together. They’re so in love.”

  “Like your parents were?”

  “Yeah.” She blinked rapidly, and he felt momentarily bad that he’d brought her father up. “They were good role models,” she said softly.

  He agreed. If anyone ever wanted an example of true love, they’d only had to look at either set of their parents. It was part of why he’d stupidly believed in love for so long.

  Hell, it was the exact reason why. And that added to his anger now.

  How did it exist for them? Or did it really?

  Or had it totally been a figment of his imagination for his entire life?

  He knew it wasn’t fake, though. His parents were still as in love today as they’d been when they’d first met. Probably more so. And he was anxious to see them again. To see their love. To remind himself that it wasn’t all like his life.

  “I miss them, too,” he said. He looked at Ginger. “And yeah, I feel ‘lighter’ today.” He wasn’t sure why, exactly. Maybe the ocean air was getting to him. “Don’t tell my mom, though. She’ll think she was right.”

  “About what?”

  He paused, o
nly for a second. “She wanted me to come here for me as well as Julie.”

  “Ah. Because of the divorce?”

  “Among other things.” He pulled a hand over his face and wished he’d taken a second beer. “It’s been a rough summer.”

  “Do you miss your wife?”

  He moved his gaze to hers. “I don’t.”

  “But you loved her?”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to deny it. He nodded instead.

  “What did you love about her?” She asked the question quietly, but it was enough to send his “light” mood into the ether.

  His instinct told him to get up. To leave. To ignore her probing. He shouldn’t have left the house tonight to begin with. But he kept his gaze glued to hers. “What good would it possibly do to talk about how stupid I was?”

  “Love isn’t stupid,” she objected.

  Their gazes dueled as he fought the urge to tell her to face reality. It didn’t work for everyone. He shoved to his feet. “Love is idiotic. Thanks for the company.”

  She didn’t reply, and he moved to the edge of the deck. But before going down he looked back at her. She sat quietly in the light of the flames, a slight frown on her face, and his pulse once again thundered. She was his friend. His only one at this point; his months-long bad mood had pushed all the others away. He didn’t want to end the evening with this tension.

  “I missed you this morning,” he admitted. His tone softened, and he tried hard to ease the sternness from his face.

  “I left you a note.”

  “I got it.”

  After getting up and trying to write again—only to reread her sex scene, this time rewriting it to have her stripping off the faded, curve-hugging jeans she’d had on the night before—he’d come over well before sunrise ready to see her. Only to find a small note taped to her door.

  “What’s tomorrow look like for you?” she asked.

  Relief hit him hard. And unexpectedly. He didn’t want to come across as needy, but he needed to watch the sun come up with her. “I’m thinking there’s a sunrise in my future.”

  She smiled lazily at him, and he smiled back.

  Then she stretched, her arms reaching high above her head and a sleepy little purr slipping out. His breaths grew shallow. It was time to take his returning libido home before he did something he’d regret. He didn’t want to hurt her.