A week after her and Jane’s disastrous, delightful fishing trip, Samantha closed the cash register at her family’s shop and began bagging two sacks full of candy, postcards, and several umbrellas emblazoned with black cats on the handles. Her mind barely registered the bell above the shop door signaling another customer.
“Just in case, these will be perfect for tonight’s late walking tour,” Samantha assured the woman as she handed over the bags. Light clouds had just begun to mar the perfect blue sky, and the evening promised rain. “Enjoy the rest of your day in Locklow.” Her stomach growled and she grinned sheepishly. “And if you’re like me and haven’t had lunch yet, Mackelroy’s Fish Hut serves the best lobster rolls in town.”
“Thanks,” the woman said cheerfully and stepped aside for the next customer.
Samantha reached for a new box of plastic sacks beneath the counter.
“I’ll never get used to you with all that eye makeup on. Ya look like a hooker.”
Samantha’s head snapped up. “Pops? What are you doing here?” She half-glanced behind her. Her grandmother would be finished with the psychic reading she was doing at any moment. He couldn’t be here when Leola emerged. She wouldn’t allow it.
Jeremy smiled unrepentantly and held out his arms, palms up. “Is that any way to greet your old man? Don’t look so shocked. I told ya I’d come by more this summer.”
Samantha’s face turned to stone, and she lowered her voice despite the fact that they were alone in the front half of the shop. She couldn’t believe he had the nerve to show up here. “I could greet you with the cops, like you deserve.”
Jeremy’s lips thinned at the threat. “I was drunk, Samantha. I don’t even remember what I did or said.” There was no apology or regret in his words. Just cold facts.
“The problem is, I remember,” she hissed. Her stomach gurgled again, this time sourly.
Jeremy raised heavy eyebrows bifurcated by an old white scar. “Leola not keepin’ you fed?” Before Samantha could defend her grandmother, he bulldozed ahead. “Let’s go to Mackelroy’s like you told that stupid tourist.”
Her jaw worked. “I can’t afford to eat there.”
“My treat.”
Samantha blinked. She never in a million years thought she’d hear her father say those words. “You can’t afford to eat there either.”
“Shows what you know, little girl.” He flashed her a familiar smirk. “I took care of some business last weekend. I’m flush at the moment.”
“Business” never meant his day job, driving his gypsy cab. But it could be anything from keeping an eye on some thug’s cheating wife, to playing lookout for a Southie fight club ring, to providing a little extra muscle for neighborhood debt collection. He didn’t offer any additional explanation for the change in his circumstances, and Samantha knew better than to ask. It didn’t matter. No matter how much it was, the money would be gone in a matter of days anyway.
Jeremy’s finances blew as hot and cold as the wind. Though they did strongly favor the frigid.
She eyed him with open contempt. Despite the recent trouble he’d caused, he looked better than she’d seen him in recent memory. His perpetual stubble had been shaved away, and his normally disheveled hair had been stylishly cut. For the first time, she noticed that silver had sprouted along his temples.
He smelled like Old Spice soap, and Samantha hated that she found the scent endearing. His clothes, a stiff pair of old-school blue jeans and a gray T-shirt whose sleeves had been cuffed several times over his substantial biceps, reminded her again that she’d gotten her slender build from her mother.
He’d always looked a bit shorter than six feet because of his bulldoggish physique. And for a second, Samantha was astonished that he hadn’t plowed right through her grandparents’ front door when he’d nearly pounded it off the hinges.
“Good for you. Now go home, Pops. I don’t want you upsetting Yaya.”
“I’m here to take you to lunch.”
Samantha rose to her full height and looked him straight in the eye. She didn’t want to feel it, but it was there, brewing in the background: Fear. “No.”
The color rose in Jeremy’s cheeks. “What did you say to me?”
Just then Leola emerged from the back of the shop as she briskly escorted one of her regular clients out the door of the séance room with a sunny, “See you next month.”
Obviously recognizing the thick tension in the air, the man scurried past Samantha and Jeremy.
Leola moved alongside Samantha and rested her hand against her granddaughter’s lower back. She gave a gentle pat for support, and after a few deep breaths, Samantha leaned into the touch and began to relax.
“Leola,” Jeremy greeted stiffly. He glanced away from Leola’s penetrating, dark eyes. “My condolences.”
“What—?” Then Samantha remembered. Today was her mother’s birthday. She sighed. So that’s why Jeremy was back in town. “Oh.”
“Thank you.” Leola inclined her head, her clunky jewelry jangling with the motion. She had her headscarf on today and a silver broach of a half-moon that fit her mysterious fortune-teller persona to a tee. She focused on Samantha. “Is everything all right, moro mou?” she murmured as she stood on her tiptoes to give Samantha a light peck on the cheek.
Jeremy rolled his eyes at Samantha. “You’re a little old to be called someone’s baby, aren’t ya?”
Anger and embarrassment flashed hot inside Samantha. “Why do you have to keep coming back? Why can’t you just leave us alone? How is it you even have the nerve to show up here?”
For a moment, father and daughter could only stare at each other. Samantha wondered what he saw when he looked at her. They were not even intimate strangers. “You’re my daughter. I’m goin’ nowhere!”
Leola took Samantha’s hand and squeezed. “Shh…Everyone calm down. Everything is fine.”
She gave Samantha a meaningful look, and Samantha squeezed her hand back. She knew better than to antagonize Jeremy.
“I’m here to take Samantha to lunch,” Jeremy said flatly, daring Leola to complain. “After lunch, we’ll go to the graveyard and pay our respects to her mother.”
Samantha was certain she had somehow entered a parallel universe without knowing it. “Respects? You’re going to pay your respects?”
Jeremy’s eyes blazed. “I go every time I’m in town, little girl.”
Leola shook her head. “Not possible. Samantha’s working today, and we already went to the cemetery this morning.”
Even though Leola’s ability to lie so smoothly was a little startling, Samantha held back a self-satisfied smile. They hadn’t even discussed visiting her mother’s grave today, and the only reason she hadn’t eaten lunch yet was that she was going off the clock soon and would have the rest of the afternoon off until she had to work again for this evening’s walking tour. But Jeremy didn’t need to know that.
“She has to eat,” Jeremy persisted. “I have a right to see her, Leola. You can’t keep me from her.”
Samantha didn’t know what to make of her father’s sudden interest in her. He’d never especially cared about spending time together before, and they’d never gone to the cemetery together. Her stomach clenched uncomfortably. This was about more than her mother’s birthday. Something else was up.
Why couldn’t her magic dreams help her with him?
“And you’ll be buying her something to eat?” Leola clarified, skeptical.
“Yaya!” Samantha couldn’t believe her ears. She didn’t want anything to do with her father.
Jeremy couldn’t quite smother his sneer. “Ayuh. I said it, didn’t I?”
Leola covertly worried at a large faux-ruby ring on her middle finger. “She has to be back in forty-five minutes.”
“Whatever. We’re leaving in one minute.” Without another word, Jeremy stomped outside, his leather boots creaking as he strode out.
When the bell above the door confirmed that he was gone, Samantha whirled on her grandmother. “What the hell, Yaya?”
“Language!”
“Fine. Sorry.” Samantha blew out a disgusted breath. “But why would you want me to go with him?”
“Oh, honey, it’s not what I want! You know that. But he’s your father and he still has a right to see you whether we like it or not. Until you’re eighteen, when—”
“When I can never see him again.” Samantha closed her eyes and sighed wistfully, wishing she could speed up the clock. “Fifteen months and twenty-two days.”
Leola cracked a grin and glanced at the clock on the wall. “And twenty-one hours. Not that we’re keeping track.”
“No.” Samantha did her best to smile. “Not at all.”
Leola cocked her head to one side and gazed sympathetically up at her granddaughter. “Will you be okay?”
Samantha squared her shoulders. “I will. After I order a lobster roll the size of my head and send Pops packin’.” She didn’t feel okay. She felt shaky and furious. But maybe if she played the part convincingly enough—accepting, secure, forgiving—she’d start to believe it herself.
Leola gave Samantha a gentle shove toward the door. “You’re stronger than you think. Text me when he’s gone so I’ll know you’re okay.”
Samantha heard far-off thunder as she began to pad across the shop. She couldn’t stand the thought of Pappous waking up from his nap and walking all the way back into town to stand in the pouring rain. “I’ll be back in time to give the early tour. And since I’ll already be wet anyway, I’ll take the late one too. You and Pappous stay in tonight and have a nice evening.”
Leola started to protest but stopped herself at Samantha’s determined look. She smiled proudly and Samantha could feel the love. And that’s what she focused on as she and her father walked the five minutes to Mackelroy’s.
It wasn’t until Jeremy was opening the door and ushering Samantha inside the restaurant that her stomach dropped to her knees for the second time that day. Please, God, she prayed. Don’t let Jane be working this shift.
The lunch crowd had mostly cleared out, but the restaurant still had a few lingering customers enjoying coffee and berry cobbler. Samantha and her father were given menus and seated in front of one of the large bay windows that overlooked the docks. Samantha wanted to relax and enjoy the heavenly scent of fish, garlic and Old Bay Seasoning. But she couldn’t.
Jeremy set his menu down on the table and narrowed his eyes at his daughter. “Do you owe Patrick Mackelroy money or somethin’?”
“Huh?” Samantha set her menu down. She already knew what she was ordering. It also happened to be the quickest thing to prepare on the entire menu.
“Do you owe him or his cronies money? Ya look like you’re avoiding somethin’, and if you sink any lower in the booth you’ll be under the table.” He snapped his fingers as though just remembering something. “Doesn’t he have a weekly game goin’ somewhere?”
“Jesus. Do you really think teenage girls play cards with a bunch of old guys?”
Jeremy snorted. “Stay away from men and cards. You didn’t inherit my poker face, and yours is for shit.” He paused. “You sure you didn’t learn that the hard way?”
Samantha wondered if she could feign illness. “I’m sure.”
Jeremy looked doubtful. “Then what is it?”
When Jane walked up to their table, Samantha’s breath caught in her throat and her chest tightened. Shit.
“Welcome to Mackelroy’s Fish Hut. My name is Jane and I’ll be your server today.” She set down two tall glasses of ice water and straws.
Samantha’s face suddenly felt so hot she thought her head might burst into flames like the tip of a match.
Jane offered the pair a friendly, neutral smile. Only her eyes, and only because Samantha knew to look, showed a flicker of distress at Jeremy’s presence.
Apparently, Jane was the one with the poker face.
“We haven’t had a chance to look at the menu, sweetheart,” Jeremy said. “Can you come back in a few? And—”
“No!” Samantha fought the urge to clamp her hand over her mouth after her outburst. She lowered her voice when a few patrons from across the restaurant turned her way. “I mean, the waitress doesn’t need to come back. I know what I want. A lobster roll and a Coke. You want the same too, right, Pops? It’s the best. Besides, I gotta get back to the shop soon.”
Jeremy’s face turned sour. For a moment it looked as though he might protest, but instead he released a deep grunt. “Fine. Two of the same but add some fries and hush puppies.”
With a nod, Jane quickly scribbled down the order and headed for the kitchen, but not without a worried glance back.
Jeremy didn’t notice. He was too busy watching Jane’s ass as she walked away. He made a light clucking sound. “Where were girls like that when I was in high school, eh?”
Avoiding you. Samantha’s blood pressure jumped another notch. “So Pops,” she ground out between clenched teeth, trying not to notice the leer still plastered on his face. Surely if she stabbed him in the neck she could find a way to get away with it. “Why are you really here?”
Jeremy tore his eyes off Jane. He smiled and scratched his jaw. “Straight to the point, huh, kid?”
Samantha just waited, trying not to shred the napkin she was twisting in her lap.
“I’m moving back to Locklow.”
It felt like all the oxygen had just been sucked out of the room, and Samantha’s pulse boomed in her ears. “What? You are not!”
“I knew you’d be happy for me.”
Samantha blinked owlishly, uncertain whether that was sarcasm or cluelessness. “Bu…but you hate it here. Why would you want to spend more time someplace you hate?” Scenes of the havoc he could, he had, wrought on their lives cascaded inside her head, one after the other, like clips of a horror movie.
He turned his palms toward the sky. “I feel like I need a fresh start. I’ve been sayin’ this town needs a taxi service for years. Might as well be me who does it.”
She leaned forward a little, and the worn leather bench seat creaked under her shifting weight. “This isn’t Boston. You’d have to get a real business permit and pay taxes and everything. Besides, this wouldn’t be a fresh start. You left this place a long time ago.”
Her father fiddled with his straw as he spoke. “Boston…isn’t an option for me at the moment.”
Samantha quickly translated. He needed to lay low. God only knew what sort trouble he’d gotten into back in Boston. “Cops or lowlifes?”
Jeremy’s expression cooled ten degrees. “What difference does it make?”
But she knew exactly why he was being so cagey. If it was the cops, Samantha might just turn him in herself. A month ago, she wouldn’t have considered such a thing. But now…“What about Tanya?”
Jeremy slammed his elbows on the table, rattling the silverware, his eyes glinting with sudden anger. “How do you know about her? You been spyin’ me?”
“What?” Samantha swallowed hard. “Of course not! You mentioned her last time you were here.”
Jeremy seemed to relax a little. “Oh.” He waved one hand in a dismissive motion. “We aren’t together anymore. So good riddance to bad trash. I just need a place to stay is all.” He looked at Samantha expectantly.
He couldn’t mean…“So?”
“So I wanna crash with you. Just for a few days. Maybe less. When I said I was flush, that might have been a slight exaggeration.”
Samantha gaped while Jeremy placidly looked on. Then it hit her. It wasn’t just that he didn’t care about anyone’s feelings but his own. He really, truly didn’t see anything wrong with his request. “Are you crazy? After what you pulled the last time you were here? Pappous just repainted the front door yesterday! And Yaya spent money we didn’t have on a new, better deadbolt.”
She didn’t mention that Pappous had worked an entire Sunday afternoon installing another set of locks on her bedroom door. The only ones on any internal door in the house.
“Samantha…”
“How can you expect to stay someplace you threatened to burn down?”
He gripped the edge of the table in obvious annoyance. “Since when are you a drama queen? I had a few drinks and lost my temper. So what? Nothin’ actually happened.”
“Only because Yaya made sure of it! You took things too far this time, Pops. No amount of badgering or pleading will get you inside that house. Ever. Boston is your home.”
What she didn’t say rang out between them as clearly as if she’d screamed it in his face: Even if she or her grandparents actually had two nickels to rub together, they wouldn’t share them with him. She would make sure of it.
“So that’s how it is?” A thin, throbbing vein appeared in the center of Jeremy’s forehead. He wiped dots of sweat from his hairline with a closed fist. “Family takes care of each other!”
Samantha couldn’t help herself. “Are you shitting me?”
Angrily, he drew his head back in disbelief. “You would turn away your own father? I taught you—”
“The only thing you ever taught me was that I needed to protect myself.”
He threw his hands up in the air. “Well, yah, there’s nothing wrong—”
“From you.”
For a few seconds, there were no more words. Samantha and her father glared at each other across the table, both flushed, two sets of nostrils flaring, the small space between them was as wide and as dangerous as the sea.
Then something inside Jeremy snapped, his mouth twisted into a snarl and he shot to his feet. “You ungrateful little bitch.” He reached out and yanked Samantha up by her wrist, his meaty fingers tightening like bands of iron, so fast and strong that Samantha let out a surprised, pained yelp.
On the way up, she had knocked over her glass of water, and a small flood of icy liquid drenched Jeremy’s thighs.
“Christ!” Jeremy swiped at the front of his jeans. “Idiot!”
“Is there a problem here?” Patrick Mackelroy materialized at their table, a gleaming police-issue baton from his days on the force in Boston clutched expertly in one hand. Well into his sixties, and with a belly that extended a few inches over his belt, he still cut an imposing figure as he towered over Jeremy.
Jane stood right behind Mackelroy, fiery blue-gray eyes flashing as she shifted from one foot to the other. She looked as though she was just barely keeping herself from jumping into the fray.
A hush came over the restaurant, as quiet as a grave.
“Not that it’s any of your business.” Jeremy reluctantly peeled his fingers off Samantha’s wrist, his eyes never leaving Patrick’s baton. “But there’s no problem here. Isn’t that right, Samantha?”
Patrick looked to Samantha for an answer. She shook out her tingling fingers and cradled her wrist to her stomach. An angry red handprint was already blooming across her olive skin. “I’m-I’m okay.”
Jane narrowed her eyes at the quiver in Samantha’s voice.
Patrick gave Samantha a solemn, understanding nod. “I see,” he said evenly. He turned back to Jeremy. “I thought you might appreciate your sandwich boxed up to go. It’s up by the register, where my son Liam and his friend Veronica will cash you out.”
At the register, Liam, a younger and bearded version of his father, stood stone-faced in his stained kitchen whites. A scarred Louisville Slugger with the name Veronica written in bold black ink was now prominently propped up against the table next to him.
Jeremy pointed angrily at his daughter. “We’re not finished.”
Samantha just stood there in shock.
Fists clenched at his sides, Jeremy stormed past the cash register, daring Liam to stop him by the set of his jaw and hate-filled glower. He ran into a man entering the restaurant with his wife in tow. “Watch it, buddy!”
When Liam glanced at Patrick in question, the older man waved him off. Apparently, they weren’t interested in starting a brawl over two sandwiches. Or maybe they were just taking pity on Samantha. Neither man looked particularly averse to a good fight.
Samantha sank into the booth and pinched the bridge of her nose. A headache blossomed behind her eyes. What was she going to do? Jeremy couldn’t move back to Locklow. There would be no end to the trouble he’d cause.
But first things first. She’d just been stuck with a fifty-dollar lunch bill. “I-I’m really sorry, Mr. Mackelroy.” She rested her hand on the front pocket of her black work slacks. “I only have like ten bucks on me. But I can come back with the money. I promise.” She’d spent last week’s tips refilling one of Pappous’s blood pressure prescriptions. Maybe if she pawned her—
“Don’t worry about that,” Patrick instructed her kindly.
Shame washed over Samantha. “You-you don’t have to do that.”
Patrick’s face softened and his gap-toothed smile seemed genuine. He smacked his open palm with the baton a few times. “Doesn’t hurt to get my blood pumping every now and again. And a couple of lunches is still cheaper than joining a gym.”
He motioned to Jane with his thumb. “You’ve got a good friend in this one. She’s been watching your table like a hawk since you came in.”
The girls exchanged watery, knowing glances.
Patrick tugged down the crisp white bar cloth that was draped over his shoulder and slapped it on the table. He made quick work of the spilled water. “Take a break for a few minutes, Jane, while I box up that second lunch.”
Jane nodded gratefully. “Thank you.” She waited until they were alone at the table before she sat down alongside Samantha and reached out for her wrist. She held it as gently as she would a delicate butterfly. “You okay?” she whispered, her eyes glossy.
A lump rose in Samantha’s throat. Her father had yelled and threatened but never touched her in anger before. “My wrist?”
With a frown, Jane examined the body part in question. Her wavy red ponytail shifted over her shoulder. “Your everything.”
Samantha was certain her wrist was only bruised and would be fine. It felt more like she’d been punched in the gut anyway. “Not really.” Her jaw worked silently. “My asshole father wants to move to town.”
Jane nodded sympathetically but didn’t immediately complain.
Samantha was surprised by the lack of a negative reaction. She knew for a fact that Jane was scared to death of her father. She’d told her so. “I’m sorry you had to get Patrick and come to my rescue.”
“Samantha…”
Samantha had gladly taken on the role of Jane’s vigilant protector, convinced that her stalker was merely lying in wait and not gone, but now that the shoe was on the other foot, it felt painfully awkward. “And I’m sorry he wanted to come here for lunch. I tried to talk him out of it on the way over, but he wouldn’t budge. I wanted to keep him away from you.”
“You don’t need to be sorry, because nothing here is your fault.” Concern threaded with anger, colored Jane’s soft voice. “I’m just sorry that you needed rescuing from your own father.”
Samantha’s chest felt like it was caving in on itself. She almost protested Jane’s words, not wanting them to be true. But finally, she closed her eyes and nodded weakly. “Me too.”
“What can I do, Sam?” Jane brushed cool fingertips lightly over the bruised flesh. “Anything. Just name it.”
Samantha’s eyebrows lifted in hope. She desperately needed a hug but wondered, when push came to shove, how much Blackwell family drama Jane would really put up with. Not to mention that while they weren’t exactly standing in the middle of the town square, Mackelroy’s was a far cry from private. They were already sitting together. That should be enough, right? “I-I…Call me tonight? Please?”
“Of course.” Jane examined Samantha closely then leaned forward until her breath brushed hot against Samantha’s ear and caused the tiny hairs inside to stand at attention.
Samantha froze, confused but delighted by the closeness.
“Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s okay to ask for what you need.” Then, without a second’s hesitation, Jane wrapped her arms around Samantha and pulled her close enough that it was hard to distinguish where she left off and Jane began.
Samantha exhaled unevenly and marveled at Jane’s tender brand of boldness. The simple hug threatened to unravel her. It sent sunshine shining straight into the heart of so many of her fears that they skittered away like cowardly ghosts desperately seeking the shadows.
Greedily, Samantha pressed into the embrace and buried her nose against the silky skin of Jane’s neck. She thrilled at the scent of Jane herself, and the thrumming of Jane’s lifeblood at the edges of sensitive lips. An overwhelming sense of peace enveloped her…but there was something else there too. Something more. Something that made her want to laugh and cry at the same time.
With a quiet whimper, Samantha laced her fingers together behind Jane’s back, holding her in place, not wanting to let go. She sank into Jane’s warmth and strength and helplessly chased after the blissful, unfamiliar feeling, even when it felt as though she was trying to grasp a puff of smoke.
As if sensing her internal struggle, Jane somehow tugged Samantha even closer and whispered calming words that made her melt and shiver. When Jane pressed her lips into Samantha’s hair, that mysterious, unnamed feeling inside Samantha filled her completely, expanding her heart and lungs without her needing to inhale. It took on shape and form and solidified into something achingly real.
This, a voice deep inside Samantha whispered, is love.
* * *
Samantha sat at her kitchen table staring off into space. It had been less than an hour since she’d left Jane at Mackelroy’s to finish her shift. Worry was making her skin itch. Normally she would think that Jeremy had just come up with a story about wanting to move back to Locklow as a means to weasel some money from her grandparents. Same old, same old. But something was different about things this time. He was serious.
Her head snapped sideways at the sound of knocking on her front door. Moodily, she decided to ignore it. If it was her dad, he could go to hell. She never intended on being home for him ever again.
Then a familiar voice forced a tiny smile to come out of hiding. “Keep your shirt on,” she muttered as she unlocked the front door. Its mechanism was heavier than the one Jeremy had damaged and didn’t squeak when it slid in and out of place. “’Sup, Sulls?”
“Hey,” Sully greeted warily. He peered inside the house behind Samantha and then looked at her sympathetically. “How are…things?”
“You don’t have to keep looking behind me. Jeremy’s not here. I’m alone.” Samantha scowled. Jane was sweet to worry about her, but she didn’t need a damned babysitter. “She called you, didn’t she? And asked you to come over?”
Sully rubbed the back of his neck and shifted the old newspaper delivery bag that was slung over one shoulder. When he’d quit delivering the paper years before, he’d never bothered giving it back. “Maybe.”
Troubled eyes rolled. “I’m fine, but you might as well come in since you walked over.” She stepped aside and Sully entered with an audible sigh of relief.
Respectfully, he stayed put on the doormat and waited for Samantha to hand him a towel that Yaya kept by the door for rainy days. He brushed it over his head to dry his hair, then wiped off his damp arms and shoes. “Don’t be mad at Jane. Your bae’s just worried about you. I am too.”
“My bae?” Samantha scoffed. “Seriously?”
Sully’s eyebrows lifted in disbelief. “You sayin’ she’s not? Cuz that’s news to me.”
She didn’t bother to answer that. They both knew how she felt. “I didn’t know Jane even had your number.”
“You don’t need to know everything about me. Hey!” He quickly darted out of the way of her swinging fist and successfully saved his shoulder. “Fine. We exchanged numbers a while ago. She gave me her new one earlier this week. When she dumps your grumpy ass, I plan on using her number to make my move.”
The teasing jab caused an unexpected pang beneath Samantha’s breastbone, but not because she thought Sully would ever intentionally hurt her. “When she dumps me?” Was it so obvious that would happen?
Sully’s smile faded at the somber look on his best friend’s face. “Man, I was just kiddin’.” He held his arms out wide in apology. “For real, Sam. C’mon.”
Samantha squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She needed to get herself together. Every second she felt like her world was about to fall apart was a second lost to her father. “Yeah, I know.”
“You’re really not okay, are you?” He handed back the towel and Samantha motioned for him to follow her. There was never a question of whether he would.
The small cottage felt stuffy and oppressive. The rain had stopped momentarily, and Samantha wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to be in the fresh, salt-tinged air so they headed out onto her much-loved deck and she dragged in a deep lungful. She spent more of her time out here than anywhere else. Well, here and the fishing spot where she’d taken Jane. She’d never liked being cooped up inside school or the shop. The ceilings felt too low, the air too thick, the light too artificial.
She used the towel to wipe off the remaining rain droplets from a couple of chairs, then gracelessly flopped down. It wasn’t even dinnertime time yet, and she still had several hours of work in front of her tonight. She still hadn’t eaten lunch. Her stomach was in too many knots to even think about it. Some summer days felt like they lasted a month. “Hungry?”
Sully perked up. “Yeah.”
“Lobster rolls in the fridge.”
“Yaas queen!” His eyes widened in reverence, but he tamped down his excitement with visible effort. He couldn’t, however, stop himself from licking his lips in anticipation like a hungry wolf. He was perpetually starving. “But in a sec.”
Samantha was impressed. She could practically hear him salivating. “So Jane told you about my dad showing up?”
Slowly, Sully nodded. “Yeah. I mean he shows up unannounced every once in a while, right? That’s just Jeremy. I know he’s your dad and all. But he’s a total dickbag.”
And for the first time since Jeremy had walked into her grandparents shop today, Samantha laughed. “That dickbag wants to move back to Locklow.”
Sully blanched and whistled through his teeth. “Damn.”
“Exactly.”
After that, the pair went quiet for a while. Samantha watched as Sully shifted uncomfortably in his chair. She knew he didn’t really know what to say to her. Knew that he felt awkward. But he was here. He always showed up. And she loved him for it.
“Sam,” he finally offered. “You want my dad and his brother Cormac to talk to your dad and get this all straightened out? They will, you know. No questions asked.”
“And by ‘talk’ you mean they’ll have the shit beaten outta Pops, drive him in the trunk of your dad’s car all the way back to Boston, and dump him in some smelly alley garbage bin, right?’”
“Or maybe on the side of the road. It’s not like it’s been decided or anything.”
The corner of her mouth quirked, and she propped her feet up on the deck railing. She exhaled slowly and tried to push away most of the worry and upset that was making her feel sick. Even if Jeremy did come back to Locklow to stay, with people like her grandparents, Sully, and Jane, she’d be okay. If she told herself that enough times, it was bound to sink in, wasn’t it? “We don’t need to do anything right now. But I reserve the right to change my mind about it.”
Sully nodded. “Done.” A serious expression on his face, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Did he hurt you? Physically, I mean.”
She’d never heard his voice so tentative, and he’d never asked her that obvious of a question before. Not even once. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth and for a second she held back, as though sharing more might change their relationship forever.
“Tell me, Samantha,” he urged quietly. “Jane said you had an argument, but she wouldn’t gimme any more details. I could tell by her voice somethin’ else was up.”
Samantha shook her head. “He just grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet. Then he started talkin’ crap like always. Patrick Mackelroy showed up right then with a police baton, and Jeremy took off with his tail between his legs.”
Sully’s olive-green gaze narrowed and his nostrils flared. The color ran high in his ruddy cheeks. “He grabbed you?”
Samantha looked at him. Really looked, for what felt like the first time in ages.
Though still a bit wiry, he’d put on weight this summer. The days of receiving his hand-me-down blue jeans would now be a thing of the past. His work at his father’s fishing equipment repair shop was paying dividends in the form of a thickening neck and shoulders and in lean corded muscles in arms that were just beginning to stretch the confines of his wrinkled T-shirt.
His hair, always worn super short, was longer than she’d ever seen it and wanted cutting. But at the same time it looked good. Different. Like he hadn’t sat for his mom in the garage while she shaved it with the same clippers they used on their dog. Even his voice was a little coarser.
The transformation had surely been gradual, but with her attention firmly on Jane and if she was being honest, on herself, when she finally looked outward, time seemed to surge forward all at once, making the changes feel painfully sudden. When had Sully gone from being just a guy to almost a man?
Sully reached for his face, his eyes crossing as his gaze followed his fingers. “Do I have a booger on me or somethin’?”
Samantha chuckled affectionately. Some things would never change. “Nope.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Leave it just for now, Sully. Please?” Subconsciously, Samantha rubbed her tender wrist.
Gravely, he nodded, his eyes studying her intently, like a puzzle he could never quite manage to put together. “If that’s what you want. Okay.”
“So what’s in the bag?” Samantha motioned to the sack at his feet, knowing he would allow the change of subjects.
He brightened quickly and flashed a confident grin. “It’s the time-tested, patented, Sullivan family get-happy supply kit!”
She blinked dazedly. “You brought me cigarettes, rubbers and whiskey?”
“No, stupid. We were out of whiskey.” He reached out and gently pinched her leg, earning a yelp. “I brought you beef jerky, Lemon Heads, a packet of Kool-Aid.”
Samantha’s eyes lit up. She hadn’t had Kool-Aid in years! “Grape?”
Sully looked offended that she even had to ask. He began rooting through the bag. “And my trusty, old-ass Wii,” he continued. “Time to kill some zombies!”
“Wow. ‘A’ for effort and execution.” Samantha could have lived without every one of those things, even though she was secretly looking forward to the Kool-Aid. But that was hardly the point. “You know you’re the best, right?”
He beamed under her praise. “I know. How are things going with Jane?”
“Fine.”
“That’s all I’m going to get?”
“Okay, I think I like her more than she likes me.”
“No way. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. Why do you say that?”
Samantha chewed the inside of her cheek. “’Cause I like her a lot.”
“How much is a lot?”
Samantha rolled her eyes at herself. “I want to buy her a kitten.”
Sully’s ears pricked. “That’s lesbian code for some sex thing, right?”
“No, Sully! I want to get her an actual kitten. We were talking about Oliver the other day, and she told me she wanted one. Maybe, after a while, and if her folks actually liked me enough, they’d let her have one.”
“What does that have to do with you likin’ her more?”
“You only get people pets when you’re in a relationship.”
“I see.” But it was clear that he didn’t.
“I’ll watch it when she goes to college. I don’t think you’re allowed to have a cat in the dorms or whatever.” She wrung her hands. “And she’ll come back a few times that semester to visit. Then she’ll meet somebody, a cooler college kid. But she’s so nice she probably won’t want to tell me at first. I’ll just go on for a while thinking things are fine, when they really aren’t. Then she’ll just slowly stop returning my calls. And I’ll be left in Locklow alone forever. Miserable. With nothing but a broken heart. And a cat.”
Sully blinked a few times. “I doubt your life is going to be the shittiest Taylor Swift song ever.”
“Aren’t they all shitty?”
“Point taken. Where will I be in this fantasy of doom?”
Samantha waved a hand dismissively. “You’ll probably knock up some girl senior year, she’ll have twins, and be working three jobs just to pay the diapers and baby stuff. I’ll never see you.”
“Our futures sound so great, I can hardly wait.”
They both laughed.
“What’s all that?” She gestured with her chin at several tattered catalogs and envelopes that were sticking out his bag.
“Some of your mail was delivered to my house again.” Sully lived on the same street as Samantha, but well into town and nearer to the docks. Their addresses, however, only had a single digit that was different, and the lenses on their mailman’s glasses were as thick as a slice of bread. And still apparently not thick enough to deliver mail to the right house on a consistent basis.
Sully’s eyes danced with sudden merriment. “There’s a mysterious envelope in there for you. My guess is that the school realized your last semester’s disgustingly good grades were all given in error, and you have to repeat sophomore year.”
“Bzzz! Try again.” She relaxed in the familiar atmosphere of affectionate camaraderie. “What else ya got?”
“Pappous’s Playboy subscription now comes in plain envelopes?”
Sully peeled the crumpled wet towel from his face. “Dammit, Samantha! I have very sensitive skin, you know.”
Samantha chuckled evilly as she grabbed the mail. She began to dig through it. “Ugh. Why won’t these AARP people believe that Yaya and Pappous don’t want a free glucose meter? They’re like bulldogs who think ancient people are juicy bones! Not everyone has diabetes. And here are more stupid catalogs for stuff we’ll never buy.” She made a face. “What even is a freakin’ Finger Hut?”
“Sounds nasty.”
She nodded and began tossing junk mail to the deck. “Coupons. Yeah, I want those.” She stopped at a plain manila envelope with her name and address typed on the outside. This had to be what Sully was talking about.
A trickle of unease settled deep in the pit of her stomach. There was no return address. She opened it slowly and then pulled out the contents as though they might bite her. “Oh, my God.” She began to curse virulently, the words exploding out of her like bullets from a machine gun.
Sully jumped up and moved alongside her. His mouth opened and stayed that way, and he gripped the back of Samantha’s chair so tightly Samantha could hear it moan under his hands. “What kind of fuckery is this?”
It was a stack of 3x5 photos of Jane printed on glossy paper. Samantha shifted slightly to the side and looked at each of the other photos before handing them to Sully, in case they were too private to share.
Jane working at Mackelroy’s, her hair worn up in a messy bun, laughing as she took a little girl’s food order.
Jane, in a mint-green sundress, standing in her driveway and bookended by Chloe and Kyle, eyes smiling and arms waving in the air as though she was making a point.
Jane in her car, stopped at an intersection, sunglasses perched high on her head, lower lip tucked crookedly between her teeth, looking deep in thought.
“Is that…?”
“Me? Yeah. Unless I have a twin I didn’t know about.” The next photo was of Jane and Samantha in Mackelroy’s parking lot, talking. Jane was gazing at Samantha as though they were the only two people in the world. Samantha was sure she wore the exact same lovesick grin that day. Well, as sure as she could be. Her face on the photo had her eyes and mouth scratched out.
Sully hissed, “Son of a bitch!”
As she flipped from photo to photo, Samantha’s temperature ratcheted higher and higher until her blood transitioned from liquid to flames. She felt a sliver of fear, but this time not only for Jane, but for herself as well. Not because she was concerned that she herself was in danger, but because of the deadly impulses swirling inside her. She didn’t want her to merely catch Jane’s stalker. She didn’t want him to go to jail or be punished. She wanted him obliterated. Erased as though he’d never existed in the first place. And she wanted to be the one to do it.
“Samantha.” Sully’s worried voice broke through her murderous haze. “Whoever is doing this…”
Her eyes closed momentarily. “Yah, I know. They’re not just crazy. They’re not going to stop.”
The scene in the next photo was burned into her brain from a vivid dream. It was hauntingly beautiful, but the context still made her sick at her stomach. Jane sleeping, her lips gently parted. Moonlight streamed into her bedroom and caressed her face with the tenderness of a lover’s hand.
That some sick stranger had invaded that peaceful, private moment…Jane looked so innocent, and was so vulnerable, that a surge of undiluted fury rose up inside Samantha like a roaring dragon aching for battle. When she opened her mouth to groan out her dismay, she was honestly surprised not to see flames spewing out.
A message for Samantha was handwritten in scrawling block letters and in crimson ink. Just then it began to gently rain again, and the drops made the ink smear and run red like dripping blood.
She is mine!