by Violet Paige
She cast one more look in his direction—reassured that he was wholly taken by his sanding—turned, and hurried back in the direction she had come. Back to the east end of the island, back to the house, and back to Blair. Oh, did she have a story for her friend.
Three
Reid
Reid looked up from his handiwork and watched with curiosity as a petite brunette ran along the thin strip of beach away from him. He thought he had seen something by the rocks a few minutes ago. Could it have been her? It was rare to see someone wandering near the sound on this end of the island. The tide took care of that. The timing had to be just right. Most people enjoyed the island’s largest sandy beach near the bridge. She must be a tourist.
Nevertheless, there was no time to think about how she washed up down here. Mr. Yeoman expected this boat by the end of the week. It was a present for his son, who was turning sixteen on Sunday. A boy’s first boat—Randy would be excited.
Reid remembered his first boat ten years ago. He remembered the feeling of complete freedom when he navigated the small wooden skiff across the open waters toward the lighthouse for the first time that early spring morning. Just knowing that the powerful vessel bouncing over the swells had been crafted by his hands gave him a sense of accomplishment and purpose. He and his dad had spent the winter working on his boat whenever they had a spare minute not devoted to the family boat-making business, or Reid’s school and sports demands.
For Reid, the only thing that felt better than being on the water in one of his family’s boats was being in the water. An all-state swimmer in high school, he had broken several eastern North Carolina high school records. He considered walking on to a swim team in college, but this island boy couldn’t imagine living somewhere without a view of the water, even if it was only a couple hours away and for four years.
So, he joined the Coast Guard, which was more than happy to take a recruit with such a stellar swimming background. The former all-star packed his bags, headed off to coastlines unknown, and channeled his love for salt water. It didn’t hurt that he had a killer freestyle.
After eight years, he concluded none of those faraway seaside places—Charleston, the Great Lakes, Maine, or Hawaii—was as beautiful as the shores where he’d grown up. Tired of distant waters, Reid retired his rescue gear and returned to Harkers Island. The close-knit community who’d watch him break all those records in the pool welcomed him home with open arms.
He chuckled as he remembered those first few days back home when it seemed like every little old lady stopped by his house to say hello, dropped off a plate of cookies, and told him about her daughter or granddaughter. They went on and on about how brave Reid was and how time away from the island agreed with him. Growing up in a small town, he was used to his mother’s matchmaking efforts.
Reid shook his head. No time for memory lane, man. He was already late to meet Justyn. They had a quick fishing trip planned. It was beautiful out on the water today, and they needed to discuss some new business ideas while waiting for the flounder to bite. He tossed his sandpaper aside and climbed down from the boat.
This one might be a basic skiff, but Reid and Justyn had ideas for making bigger waves in the custom boat-building world. Reid headed toward his Jeep to meet his cousin at the marina.
Four
Justyn
Justyn had been called a brooder, and at times much worse. He liked his beer, an occasional dip, and every now and then, the company of a girl. At twenty-six, he valued his time and space more than the warmth of someone sharing his pillow.
He carried his 6’2” frame with confident strides across the sandy parking lot, and threw the six-pack of beer in a cooler. Beads of perspiration started a slow trickle down his forehead, and he knew if he didn’t get on the water soon, the fish would be running from the sun just like he was. Dammit. This Fourth of July was hotter than hell.
He guided the truck under the water oaks, keeping the shoreline in sight. The road seemed to follow the curvature of the small coastline where years of ebbing and tiding had crept up on the weathered pavement of the Harkers Island road. If you asked him, Justyn couldn’t tell you a spot on the island where you couldn’t see the water. As far as he was concerned, if it did exist, it certainly wasn’t worth mentioning.
He had gone to college three hours away. His parents beamed with pride because of his full baseball scholarship, but knew they would miss his help in the boat shop. Commercial fishing was a year-round business, and so was boat building. His father counted on Justyn to put in hours with repairs, boat winterization, and filling new construction orders no matter what time of year it was.
As soon as the last pitch was tossed for the ACC tournament game, Justyn dutifully packed his bat and glove and returned home to help his dad with Strait Brothers Boats and Storage. There was never a question about traveling across Europe, backpacking out West, or even surfing with the guys. His place was on the island.
Justyn always did the right thing, and for those four years during college, that meant spending summers painting, sanding, and launching newly christened boats into the creek. He didn’t remember what he discussed in philosophy class or who was waiting for Godot. What he knew was that he couldn’t stand to be off the island.
He slowed the truck to turn onto the grassy path leading to his boat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her. He figured she was only a ding-batter, what he and the other islanders called the many tourists who tried to be local for the summer. Justyn had taken notice of her a few days ago when he saw her loading groceries in the back of a car at Easterd’s. He wasn’t sure if it was the legs, the blond hair, or that attitude of hers he wanted to break that made her stick out in his mind. Whatever it was, he knew he would run into her again. The island was too small not to see her. He had met her type before. She was the kind of girl who thought she was too good for the island, only cruised with champagne in her hand, and nothing was ever good enough. But she might just be the sexiest thing he had ever seen.
In the meantime, Reid was probably revving the boat impatiently and already a few beers ahead. They had a full day of fishing ahead of them.
Reid sat on the bow with a goofy grin and a beer in hand. “Let’s go, man. Where in the hell have you been? I’ve been sitting out here thinkin’ you weren’t going to show.”
“You know I’m not goin’ to bail on you.” Justyn smiled and popped the top of his first beer. “I had a lot of shit to get done today. I’m ready now.”
Justyn loaded the cooler, a box of tackle, and a bag of sandwiches he had picked up from the Seaside Café into the toolbox at the stern of the boat.
She still didn’t have a name. He knew it was bad luck not to name his boat, but he wasn’t superstitious. For now, she was nameless but a strong, sturdy craft that had weathered many tides and wild nights out in the sound. Justyn trusted her. He had handpicked every limb of her frame and driven every nail into her seams. His father tried to help, but Justyn refused the free pair of hands and stubbornly labored away on his dream.
“Can you believe it’s already the Fourth? Man, this summer is flying by.” Justyn positioned himself behind the steering wheel.
“Yeah, we better steer clear of the cape today. It’ll be full of ding-batters, dit-dotters, and those damn ski boats, scaring off the fish.”
Reid loosened the sailor’s knots and tossed the ropes up on the dock. With one hard shove, they started drifting in the creek, and Justyn cranked the engine. The creek was alive with jumping mullets, diving pelicans, and the always-aggravating mosquito. Justyn steered her under the bridge and headed east.
Five
Blair
Blair leaned slightly over the bridge and watched the stern of a nameless boat drive into the overpowering glare of the afternoon sun.
“Damn, this island is hot,” Blair whined. She shielded her eyes from the reflection and tried to focus on the two fading figures laughing and sipping from koozies.
For a minut
e, Blair wondered what the island guys were like. Did they know anything beyond this island? She had seen them riding around with their dogs and congregating in the Easterd’s parking lot. They all seemed a little foreign to her. T-shirts, cutoff shorts, deck shoes, the occasional cigarette, and, of course, country music seemed to complete the island-guy package. They always made Blair a little nervous the way they all knew each other. She felt out of place just walking into the store. Sometimes she felt their eyes on her and picked up on the crass comments that filtered through the parking lot. Her opinion of them wasn’t high. She couldn’t get over the island drawl. It was an accent like none other.
Sweat trickled down her neck, and Blair piled her hair on her head, hoping a breeze would find her. She had wandered a little farther than she planned. Her mission was to jog to the store and pick up some ice for the cooler, but once she reached Easterd’s, she kept running. Maybe she was trying to outrun the heat or just outrun this feeling that she was going crazy. Maggie assured her that the island would be a place for summer fun, but Blair couldn’t shake the feeling that she was trapped on this small piece of land, surrounded by a bunch of ignorant rednecks, and as far away from civilization as she could get.
Despite her growing boredom and disappointment with her summer plans, Blair wasn’t about to admit that her decision was a mistake. Her mother had tried to talk her out of the house-sitting gig for the months leading up to college graduation. The chairwoman of the Junior League of Charlotte, president of the Art Society, and coordinator of the Historic Homes Christmas Tours did not approve of her daughter spending a summer of leisure on the remote island.
Charlene Emory knew there were far better ways for her daughter to invest her time. Luckily, Blair’s father had a soft spot where his daughter was concerned, and coaxed his wife into supporting Blair’s last summer hoorah before the big move to Dallas.
Blair smiled. It wasn’t the first time her dad had come through for her.
Timothy Emory was a respected businessman in Charlotte, who had turned calculated business investments into fortunes. It was no wonder he and Maggie’s father ran in the same circles in the sprawling banking city.
Blair knew she was spoiled, but felt it was completely justified with a professional socialite for a mother and a millionaire business mogul for a father. Spoiled or not, she loved her parents and knew the two of them had something together that money couldn’t buy—love.
A seagull perched on a bridge piling near Blair. She imagined he was toying with the idea of gobbling up fish, but even to a bird, exertion in this heat was unthinkable.
Maggie would be waiting for the ice to add to their ice cream bucket. She was really getting creative with ways for them to cool down. In the back of the old shed, they had stumbled across an ice cream maker. Maggie had jumped up and down, almost knocking Blair down in the commotion.
“This is just like the one my mother had when I was little.” Maggie smiled. “Blair, we can make all kinds of ice cream this summer—just like my family used to.”
To Blair, ice cream making was a novelty, but at the same time, it didn’t seem like an epic event either. She humored her friend and volunteered to get the needed ice. She turned from the bridge and wondered why she had ventured this far without a car. Now she still had to stop by the store and walk home with a bag of ice.
Blair was hit with a gust of cold air as she pushed open the door to Easterd’s. Immediately, the smell of turpentine, fishing tackle, and candy bars hit her nose. It was such an odd combination to her senses. The hardwood floors had been worn from years of fishermen and islanders waiting in line at the counter for their handwritten receipts. As far as Blair knew, this was the last place in the world that didn’t electronically print receipts.
She smiled at the old timers hovered in the corner near the magazine rack. They tipped their hats and refocused their attention on the smooth pieces of wood they were whittling. Their rocking chairs gently rolled on curly-cued pieces of new wood shavings.
The clerk handed Blair her ice receipt, and before she could make her way out of the door, she bumped into a woman who rushed through it. Most island women wore their hair long—really long, even when it turned gray, but this lady was one of the few with a short classic cut that reminded Blair of some of her earthy neighbors in Chapel Hill. Bright nail polish flashed on her toes, on display in her fluorescent flip-flops. Her earrings, obviously shells, matched a print on her T-shirt. Her arm jingled from the sound of bracelets that reached almost to her elbow. The woman let out a shrill cry that could be heard from the other side of the street.
“Why you’re one of those girls Mrs. Buttons mentioned is staying at the house for the summer!”
Blair, a little stunned and alarmed by the attention, nodded meekly and smiled.
“Well, shoot! I’ve been meaning to come down and introduce myself to you girls. I usually do a better job of making people feel welcome on this island than I have with y’all. I can’t believe I’ve let an entire month slip by. You know, I’m not from here myself.” She winked. “I came down one summer, caught me an island man, and haven’t left since. I know how strange it must seem to you at first. Honey, I didn’t even catch your name. I’m Shirley.”
Blair, overwhelmed by the commotion, managed to eke out a reply. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Blair.”
“Why don’t you and your friend join my husband and me tonight for some island-style cookin’?”
“Oh no, no. We couldn’t impose on you like that. We just met. I’m not really sure what Maggie would think about it.”
“You need to go ahead and learn this right now. There is no one on this island that I don’t know, and if I don’t know ya, I’m sure goin’ find out about ya. So, you and your friend just plan on being at our house at seven o’clock. It is the Fourth, and we know how to do it up right. Henry got some clams today and we’ve got a plan for them. You’ll love it.”
Blair knew how to pick her battles, and it looked like she had already lost this one. She also realized there was nothing on the agenda for her and Maggie except ice cream making and maybe a trip to the pier to watch the fireworks.
“Sure, ok, I’ll tell Maggie and we’ll be there. Thank you for inviting us.”
“Oh, I’m so excited. You girls are just gonna love it here. We ding-batters need to watch out for each other. I’ll see you tonight.”
Blair had no idea what she was talking about. However, being called a ding-batter didn’t sound like a good thing. She started to leave and then realized she didn’t have directions to Shirley’s house. “Oh, wait. I don’t know where you live.”
“Honey, just drive toward Shell Point, and when you hear the music, you’ll know you’re close to Shirley Lane.” She flashed a big smile, and turned to avoid bumping into a fisherman loaded down with a bag of bait and a fishing pole in the crook of his arm.
Blair watched as the woman climbed into a car and drove away. She gripped the bag of ice she had just purchased and faced the heat.
Six
Blair
When Blair finally walked in the door, Maggie was standing over the sink scrubbing viciously at the ice cream maker. Years of being buried in the shed had not been kind to the machine. It was stained and rusted from paint, fertilizer, and some green substance Maggie was viciously attacking.
“I thought maybe you had melted out there or something.” Maggie scrubbed at the handle.
Blair appreciated that Maggie didn’t criticize her wanderings, even though lately she was turning little errands into long afternoon excursions. Often she would come home to find her friend elbow-deep in some kind of massive project. The blonde knew she wasn’t the only one who was bored.
“You won’t believe this, but we actually have dinner plans tonight.”
Maggie stopped scouring the bucket for a second, but looked distracted by the dirty, soapy mess in front of her.
Blair continued. “I ran into this crazy woman at the store. You should
have seen her earrings. I think she picked them off the beach and glued them on her ears. Anyway, she insisted that you and I have dinner with her and her husband tonight for the Fourth of July. They are going to do something with clams. She is a self-proclaimed island know-it-all and she says she knows everyone on this damn island.”
Maggie rested her elbows on the top of the half-clean appliance. “Um, is she an islander?”
“No, she said she met her husband here, at least I think that’s the story. She hasn’t left since. I didn’t catch where she is from originally, but I guess we can get the full scoop tonight. If nothing else, it should be pretty entertaining.”
“Are you serious? That sounds like so much fun!” The brunette picked up the scouring pad and started another vigorous round of scrubbing. “What else did she say? I need real people stories.”
“From what I can gather—” Blair was starting to second-guess her decision. “She is really into all the people who live on the island and she just wants to get to know us. We don’t really have to go, but if we cancel, you are going down to that house and telling her. I don’t want to be the one to put us on the island’s social blacklist. Besides, I don’t even have a phone number to call her.”
Maggie looked discouragingly at her bucket. “Hey, we can take them some homemade ice cream.”
“If you ever get that thing cleaned. I did my part. Here’s the ice.” Blair tossed the dripping ice bag in the freezer and jogged up the stairs.
The summer is just getting started…
There’s a party, a huge wedding, and so much sex in boats! That’s right, sex in boats!
Don’t miss episode 2 of Dirty Summer!
Available Now!
