The Runaway

by Jennifer Bernard

  “I might.” She looked truly concerned. “I guess I won’t know until it happens. Oh! Are you also going to grow a mustache? Do you think it will cover up the…you know…?” She bared her teeth and pointed at them.

  What the hell was she talking about? His teeth? Why did she care about two teeth with a slight overlap that had never gotten fixed?

  Trust Gracie to reach the fifth level of confusion before breakfast. “Would you mind putting this conversation on pause until I have some coffee? I don’t have the brain cells for it right now.”

  “Ah-ha! You’re so grumpy. I knew it.”

  Oh my God. He turned his back on her and stalked outside for some fresh air. Gulping in deep breaths of salt-scented oxygen, he watched an early-rising seagull perch on top of a pier post. A simple life. That was all he wanted. Ocean, boat, peace, quiet, coffee, and an occasional fish burger. Was that so hard to accomplish?

  “I’m sorry.” A mug of coffee slid into his field of vision. The steam rose into his nostrils and lifted his spirits. “I shouldn’t have mentioned your teeth. I mean, it’s a tiny flaw, not even worth noticing.”

  “Thank you,” he said dryly. “Have to admit, I rarely think about it.”

  “You shouldn’t. In a way, it just makes you more good-looking. Did you know that Japanese potters always put an imperfection in the work? Just one tiny flaw?”

  Mechanically, he took the mug from her and blew on the coffee. “Good to know.”

  “And it’s very understandable that you might be a little crabby before you’ve had any caffeine. That’s a common flaw. It’s so common, you can’t really call it a flaw.”

  He decided that burning his tongue was a small price to pay for that first swallow of coffee. As the caffeine flooded his system, he felt his mood shift from confusion to amusement. “I know you must have a reason for this conversation. Just because I can’t figure it out doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Sorry if I’m being weird. Sometimes I just am. I guess you could call that a flaw.”

  “Well, join the club then.” A group of three pelicans glided overhead, their feathers catching pink light from the morning sun. “I guess we’re all just flawed human beings trying to muddle through. Hey, can you tell me what ‘feeling emotionally supported’ means?”

  “Um, well, I’d have to know the context,” she said cautiously.

  “Sophie’s the context.”

  “She doesn’t feel emotionally supported?”

  “That’s what she says.”

  An expression of horror widened her sea-glass-blue eyes. “But you said things were going so well, and that you’re going to Connecticut to meet her parents and—” In her distress, she waved her hand too hard and nearly knocked his mug off the railing. He grabbed it just in time, losing only a splash of coffee to the harbor water below.

  “Hey, don’t worry about it. We’ll work it out…or maybe we won’t. It’s been six months, this isn’t our first fight.”

  “Six months? That’s it?” Her forehead creased. “I thought you’d been together much longer than that.”

  “Nope. It probably seems that way because I’m already driving her crazy. She’s contemplating her options right now.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “Why are you surprised? Weren’t you the one ‘sensing’ that it wasn’t going to last?”

  “Yes, but…that was before.”

  Before what? He blinked at her, confused, but she hurried onward.

  “You can’t just give up. Maybe she wants you to fight for her.”

  “Fight who?”

  “Not who. Just tell her you’ll do anything to make her happy. That you don’t want to lose her. Open up a little. Put your heart on the line. Don’t be so afraid to let her see who you really are.”

  He stared down at her, at her kittenish face and sunny-blond hair, a total contrast to her serious words. No wonder people underestimated her. Her fairy-like exterior could really throw you off. “Who I really am? You mean, Mark Castellani, marina owner-operator?”

  “I was thinking you could go a little deeper than that. I’ve noticed that you don’t talk a lot about yourself.”

  She scanned his face with a kind of gentle acceptance, as if she understood things about him that even he didn’t.

  A shiver traveled up his spine. “You’re kind of an old soul, aren’t you?”

  Her lips parted in surprise. “I’ve always thought so. But no one’s ever said that to me before. You’re the first.”

  The moment hung suspended between them, full of magic, like the sun swelling over the horizon. For the first time, he actually allowed himself to look at her. Fully. Closely.

  Once he started, he had a hard time stopping.

  This was bad, definitely bad, and yet it felt…inevitable.

  “Hey, so how would you like to take a break from the cash register today?” he asked suddenly. “A customer asked me to check out a boat he’s thinking of buying. Just a little run around the harbor, but it might be a nice change.”

  She startled, and color washed across her cheeks.

  “Um. I don’t know. I mean, wow, that sounds really fun. I’ve never been on a boat. Well, except for the one I’m sleeping on. But it’s more of a house than a boat, since it doesn’t go anywhere. Anyway, I’m really busy today. I don’t think it’s a good idea. I take my job very seriously, and my boss keeps threatening to fire me so I’d really better stick to it. Back to work now!”

  She fled back inside the office, leaving him staring after her in confusion. Gracie always rambled when she was nervous. And what was with all the talk about his flaws, his beard, and his grumpiness?

  Finally, he shrugged and downed the rest of his coffee. He might never figure Gracie out, and maybe it didn’t matter. She was Gracie, exactly Gracie, entirely Gracie…nothing more, nothing less. She’d washed in with the tide and would probably wash out again soon enough.

  11

  He decided to call Sophie and try out Gracie’s advice. It didn’t go well.

  “I just want to make you happy, Sophie. Would it help if you got to know other sides of me? Non…marina sides?”

  “Why would that help?”

  “Just…I don’t know. I can’t remember.” It had made sense when Gracie said it, but not on the phone with Sophie.

  “You know, I’m reading this book that says your happiness is your own responsibility. It says that other people can’t make you happy, you have to do it yourself.”

  “That makes a lot of sense.” Great, he was off the hook. With relief, he thought about the boat still waiting to be checked out, the fuel delivery coming up in a few minutes, the meeting with the harbormaster scheduled after that. “I’ll call you later then.”

  “So you’re just going to hang up? I thought we were getting deep.”

  “Um…of course I’m not hanging up. Let’s keep talking. This is good.”

  “I’m just kidding, I have a massage in a few minutes. Catch you later, sexy.”

  “Didn’t work,” Mark told Gracie the next time he saw her. She was emptying a can of cat food into the saucer she left out for the cats that lived in the harbor. “She laughed at me.”

  “Did you use the exact words I gave you?”

  “Close enough. I get the feeling she’s already moving on.” He couldn’t drum up much emotion over that. Sophie and he had fun in some ways, but in other ways they got on each other’s nerves.

  Gracie finished with the can and stood up. “Do you want me to talk to her and find out what she’s thinking?”

  “God, no. She’s afraid of you now because of your knife.”

  Gracie giggled. “I think this might be the first time anyone’s been afraid of me.” A cat trotted down the ramp to the bowl of milk and lapped at it with an eager tongue. “Don’t worry, I paid for that milk.”

  “It’s okay,” he said gruffly. “I’m not going to fire you for feeding the stray cats.”

  “Good. Because I
have a knife and…”

  They both laughed. Why could he laugh so easily with Gracie when talking to Sophie was like stepping through a minefield? Side by side, they headed back to the marina convenience store.

  “Maybe you should do something dramatic,” she said, tapping her finger on her chin.

  “Like what?”

  “Invite her on a romantic getaway. Go someplace where you can be alone and focus on each other.”

  Like Connecticut? Sophie hadn’t mentioned that trip again, so maybe he wouldn’t have to leave the marina after all.

  “You could book a bed and breakfast in Jupiter Point,” Gracie was saying. “It’s the top honeymoon destination in all of California.”

  “I can’t do that, I have too much work here.”

  “You haven’t taken a day off since I’ve been here.”

  “I don’t like to take days off. I find it stressful.”

  “That’s not healthy. You might get stuck in your ways, and believe me, that’s something I know a lot about. You have to step out of your comfort zone.” Scoldingly, she shook her head at him. “I’ll take care of the marina. It’ll be fine for a weekend.”

  “I don’t know about that. If I leave, you might free all the boats to roam the ocean like wild mustangs.”

  She lit up with a laugh. “I do feel sorry for them, held in captivity like this.”

  Gracie’s newest suggestion didn’t go over any better than the last one. “Jupiter Point? The place with the stargazing? No, thank you. I heard they don’t have a single dance club. You have to drive all the way to Sacramento just to go clubbing.”

  “But that’s the beauty of it. We’d spend time together, just us. No parties or clubs or other distractions.”

  “Together doing what?”

  “Jesus, Soph, we could think of something, right?”

  “If you mean sex, I’m not in the mood.”

  Lately, she was never in the mood. Neither was he, come to think of it. At what point had their relationship become something he was doggedly determined to make work, instead of something he enjoyed?

  “Sophie—”

  She flipped her feet off the couch, where she’d been curled up with her iPhone. “Mark. Yes. You’re right.”

  “I am? About what? Going away together?”

  “No. Breaking up.”

  “What?”

  She crossed her legs. She wore white leggings, which made him nervous, as if just being near them might make them dirty. “I want to break up. I realized that’s why I’ve been such a bitch to you lately.”

  “You haven’t been—”

  “Yes, I have. And it’s something I do when I’m getting bored with a relationship. See? I can do self-knowledge. I’ve been reading a lot of books lately, and they really help.”

  “Good for you.” Why was he complimenting her when she’d just broken up with him? “But why can’t that help us instead of breaking us up?”

  “Because I realized that we’re not right for each other. I was drawn to you because of your unavailability. You’re just like my workaholic, distant father. And you’re drawn to me because…well, other than my hotness, I don’t know the exact reasons, you’ll have to read your own self-help book for that.”

  “Sophie, why do you want to just throw a six-month relationship down the drain? Let’s talk about this—”

  “Nope. Nope.” She threw up her hand to cut him off. “It took a lot of thought for me to come to this decision.”

  “It’s been less than a week.” Five nights of sleeping in the stockroom, as a matter of fact. Five nights of avoiding the Buttercup like poison. Five days of seeing Gracie every time he turned around—chatting with Dwayne, smiling at customers, sketching, feeding cats.

  “Sometimes you just know things.”

  “Did you meet someone else?” he asked suddenly.

  “That has nothing to do with it.”

  He laughed once, then again. “Sophie, all you had to do was say so. Good luck to you. I hope he’s the one.” He rose up off the couch.

  “See, that’s the problem. You don’t fight for me!” she called after him.

  “But you said we aren’t right for each other.”

  She paused, then laughed and tossed her glossy black hair behind her shoulder. “Good point. Yeah, let’s call it. It’s time. Friends, Mark?”

  “You know it.”

  He laughed all the way back to his truck—at her sheer Sophie-ness, at his intense feeling of relief, even at Gracie’s romantic naivete. Fight for Sophie? Fight for what, exactly? She was absolutely correct. They weren’t right for each other. He’d happened to meet her at a time when he was determined to make a relationship work, no matter what it was like.

  Now it was over, and he felt only the joy of freedom.

  Well, and the sting of another failed relationship.

  He knew what his therapist would say. At least you tried. This is progress. Learn from it and move on. Maybe next time.

  Should he call Dr. Geller? The door was always open for an emergency session. A breakup would qualify as an emergency.

  Nah. He felt completely fine with this. He liked Sophie, and he’d miss some things about her, but his heart didn’t feel one bit broken.

  Maybe he wasn’t destined to ever make a relationship work. He had too many ghosts. They made him cautious and wary of people. They made it hard for him to trust, hard for him to open up. If not for his therapist, no one would know what he’d gone through in the past. Not even his parents knew everything.

  After he’d escaped, he hadn’t spoken for two entire months. Once he got past that, his parents were afraid to trigger flashbacks, so they never asked about what he’d experienced. And then they’d gotten distracted by their divorce.

  Even though he wasn’t brokenhearted over Sophie, he figured a breakup deserved a few shots of tequila. He stopped at his favorite dive bar and tossed back a few with the fishermen who hung out there. He played pool until he sank the eight ball and realized he was more than a little drunk.

  Too drunk to drive.

  He left his truck parked at the bar and walked home along the boardwalk.

  The marina was quiet, the only light coming from the utility lights in the marina office and the red warning lights at the ends of the ramps.

  And the hurricane lamp in the Buttercup.

  He hesitated, torn between heading straight for the extremely uncomfortable stockroom and paying a visit to Gracie.

  He should tell her that he was going to need his houseboat back now that Sophie had dumped him. Gracie would probably gloat about how right she’d been all along. She’d enjoy that.

  Decision made, he headed down the ramp, its gentle sway adding to his already fuzzy state of mind.

  He had to stop a few times to steady himself by gripping the bow of the nearest boat.

  This was a bad idea. He should just get a hotel room. Or maybe he could give Gracie money for a hotel room and claim the boat for himself. Yes, that was a good plan. He could go right to sleep in his favorite spot in the world, his happy place, the Buttercup…

  “Ahoy,” he called as he reached the boat. He bent at the waist to peer inside the cabin. Gracie was sitting at the little pull-down table in the galley. Papers covered its surface, and a metal box sat on the padded bench seat next to her.

  With a shock, he realized that was his box, filled with his papers. Things like his birth certificate, his grade-school reports, articles about the kidnapping…basically anything official relating to his life.

  “Hey,” he called sharply. Except that he was so buzzed, it didn’t sound like “hey,” but more of a garbled cough.

  Gracie looked up, shocked, and covered the papers with her body, as if she was trying to hide them from view.

  Too late for that. She’d pried into his personal stuff, and that was way over the line.

  Infuriated, he went to step on board, but something flew toward him before he could even put his foot down. Someth
ing furry and angry. It hit his chest with a yowl—by God, it was a cat!—and he lost his balance.

  The cat dashed down the ramp while he windmilled his arms, trying like hell to stay upright. Not possible. He stumbled backward, dizzy and flailing, until he felt the edge of the ramp against his heel.

  The next thing he knew, his backside hit the ocean with a splash.

  Dark water closed over his head. He let himself sink under the water, which was just cold enough to clear his head. He was damn lucky that no boat was tied up opposite the Buttercup. He could have hit his head, or tripped over a line, or sprained an ankle. Instead, he’d just dunked himself in his own marina. After getting dumped by his girlfriend.

  The old dump-n-dunk. Epic.

  12

  Gracie quickly shoved all the papers under a pillow and ran outside to the deck. She should have known better than to open Mark’s box and go through his personal stuff. But she was here to spy, and wasn’t that kind of Spying 101? Sometimes people went through dumpsters and people’s garbage bags in the search for information.

  But she’d barely had time to look at that treasure trove before Mellow was leaping off the bench and hurtling toward the ramp like a yellow firebomb.

  And then came the splash, and finally she realized what was going on. Mellow was protecting her from an intruder.

  She peered over the edge of the ramp, waiting for her assailant to surface. Should she run back and grab her knife? The thing about the knife was, she’d never used it against a person. It came in handy in the mountains, but would she actually have the willpower to stab another human being?

  A face rose to the surface of the water. A dark-haired, furiously glowering, very handsome face.

  Crap. Her temporary adopted cat had just knocked her boss, her landlord, and the target of her spy mission into the ocean. Good going, Gracie.

  She kneeled on the ramp as he swam toward her. “Hey, boss. Do you need a hand?”

  “No,” he barked. “Watch out.” He reached the ramp and grabbed onto the side with one hand. She scooted out of the way while he hauled himself out of the ocean. Water streamed off his body. His muscles flexed hard under his drenched t-shirt, and his sheer strength took her breath away. He landed on the ramp with a thud.