Mason
We both decide our all-nighter should start with coffee. So we head north out of the hotel parking lot, away from the beach, staying on the sidewalk, in search of caffeine. We pass row after row of hotels lining the Gulf. She points out a few places of interest.
“The Hilton has a rooftop cigar lounge. The Sandmeridian has canopy beds on the beach and offers hula lessons. The Wilshire has a five-star rotating restaurant complete with a forties era dance floor.”
“Ever been to any of these places?”
“Nope. Being a local means you know all about the tourist stuff, but you never do any of it. Although my prom was held at the Wilshire.”
“How was it?”
“I didn’t go.”
“No date?”
“I had a date.”
“Don’t tell me the asshole stood you up.”
She stops walking. We stand still for a moment. She tilts her head and stares up at the top of the Wilshire. There is something in her expression that spells regret in capital letters. “I stood him up.”
“Why?”
“Just didn’t want to go. He found another date anyway, so it’s all good.”
I doubt it was all good for Kiran. Although there is a story there, I can read the big red sign she’s holding up: Proceed with Caution. I should heed it. I really should. “There is a lot of freedom between us.”
“What do you mean?”
“When we leave here, you’ll never see me again. You can say anything to me. Who am I except a stranger you met on vacation? I’ll never hold it against you. I won’t judge you. We don’t have to play any games. I really suck at games, anyway.”
She crosses her arms. “I’ll keep that in mind. Can we talk about something else please?”
“Yeah.” I say that, but I can’t let go of the conversation. It feels unfinished. “I didn’t go to my prom either.”
She cocks her head. “You didn’t have a date?”
“I had offers. As a matter of fact, Sheila McGovern asked me. That was a little too tempting to pass up so I agreed.” Brilliant, Cutler. Inject another girl’s name into the conversation. Nothing says I’m hot for you like talking about girlfriends past.
Kiran doesn’t appear offended, though. “Oooh, Sheila McGovern.” She arches an eyebrow. “And what makes her so special?”
“Besides the double cup size?”
Disappointment flickers on her face. “Misogyny doesn’t suit you.”
I jut my chin toward her. “What does?”
“Honesty. I think you’re really honest. I like that about you. Besides, I have a feeling there was something really special about her because it’s obvious you wanted to go.”
She calls me out like a ref on home plate, and rightly so. I inhale a deep breath. “Sheila McGovern was very pretty and really sweet. I had a mad crush on her since freshman year.”
“Then why didn’t you take her?” She says it as if she feels sorry for Sheila… Or maybe she’s sorry for me.
“Prom is lame. Anyway, I’m not a total dick. Sheila went with a buddy of mine when I bowed out. They got married last year, so you see it all worked out. In a way, I am somewhat responsible for bringing them together.”
“Yes, you’re a regular Cupid.”
“Funny, smartass.”
“You never answered my question.”
“What question?”
“Why didn’t you take her?”
“I told you, prom is lame.”
“I would have believed you except you already committed to it. Maybe I’m reading you wrong, but you don’t seem like the type of fellow to bail on a commitment.”
I’m not sure how to answer or if I even want to answer.
She gestures between the two of us. “Or doesn’t freedom work both ways?”
“Damn girl, if you gonna serve up some crow, at least sauté it in butter first.”
She puts her hands on her hips. “The only way to serve crow is raw. Now spill it, Cutler. Why didn’t you take pretty, sweet Sheila?”
“It wasn’t about her as much as it was about me. I hate to tell you this, but you’re wrong. I did bail on her. The whole thing was too overrated and expensive.”
“Is that what you thought at the time, or what you think now?”
“At the time. Why do you ask?”
She wraps the shawl tighter, even though it is an exceptionally warm night. “No reason.”
“You had a reason for asking. What is it?”
“It’s an oddball thought for a high school senior. That’s all.”
“I have always leaned toward odd.”
Her lips purse, her expression skeptical. “I doubt there is anything odd about you.”
“It’s time you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“I’m the President of the Oddball Club, Shenoy.”
She laughs and pats my chest. God, I want to hold her hand right there against my heart for a beat or two longer.
“That’s my title, buddy.”
“We’ll have to share the title then. But prom? That was all about money. I’ve always been really careful with money. Not cheap, you understand, but responsible…maybe even frugal in a way.”
“Money was a problem for you growing up?” She closes her eyes tight and clamps her mouth shut. “I’m sorry. That’s crossing a line. It’s none of my business.”
“Don’t be sorry. Cross lines all you want.” I shrug it off, although a part of me wants to put up my own red sign with flashing lights to warn her to tread lightly. Why the hell I pried open this can of twisted worms, I have no idea. But I decide to share a part of me anyway because how can I ask it of her without reciprocating? “A year after my father died, my sister and I moved in with my grandma. It became apparent to both of us she was having some major memory problems and health issues.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. She was still herself in the end. Just confused sometimes. I know Alzheimer’s isn’t like that for everyone, so in that sense, we were lucky. The woman still beat my ass in Jeopardy every night. Funny, what the mind remembers. Anyway, I had to become head of the house. When I was sixteen, I got a job after school. I took over the bills and the groceries and the cooking.”
“You cook?”
“Damn straight.”
“Impressive.”
“But doing that stuff makes you realize how little a dollar can stretch. Don’t get me wrong. We weren’t destitute or anything, but we didn’t have a lot of surplus either. When it came to things like prom, I made another choice where to spend the money.”
“What choice?”
“A few weeks after Sheila asked me, my sister had an opportunity to visit the Georgia Aquarium for a three-day trip. It’s rated one of the best in the country. Only six students were chosen from the whole school district, and Dana was one of them. We couldn’t swing both things. There was no way I would have stolen the experience from her so I could dress up in a rented tux worn by a hundred other guys before me. Sheila was upset, but she understood. She forgave me.”
Kiran rubs her eyes and looks away from me.
“What’s going on with you, girl? Don’t tell me you’re getting weepy on me?”
“No.” Her voice cracks betraying her answer.
“Making you cry was definitely not in the plans.”
She wipes a hand across her cheeks and sniffles. “I’m really not this sappy. It’s just so…freaking sweet. I either had to cry it out or go into a diabetic coma. I chose tears.”
I struggle to find a joke because the last thing I’m aiming to do is add to Kiran Shenoy’s sad. She’s has a huge surplus of sad. “It’s not a big deal at all.”
I wish I had a handkerchief for her. But since I’m a dude and this isn’t the eighteenth century, I have nothing to offer her.
She’s almost in control again except for the slight tremble of her lower lip. “I disagree. It is a very big deal.” She wags her finger at me. “Do me a favor and don’t make me cry again.”
“Do me a favor and stop asking me probing questions, Barbara Walters.”
Like a tornado changing course, she laughs. “Deal.” As we pass the Wilshire, she takes another glance back.
“Hey, it’s too late to go to prom, but we can still check out the revolving restaurant if you want.” I twirl my finger.
She gives me a puzzled look. Yes, Kiran, I’m asking you on a date. Do I need to send you a formal invitation? Or maybe after all that money talk she thinks I can’t afford it. I really hope it’s the former and she’s confused about my intentions. I rock back and forth on my feet, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my jeans.
“It’s overrated and expensive.” Well, that was a decline if I ever heard one.
Rejection stings like a swarm of pissed-off bees. “Are you trying to be funny? Because I wasn’t joking.”
“I’m not either.”
“Do you think I can’t afford it? Is that pity I’m sensing?”
She shakes her head rapidly. “That thought never crossed my mind.”
For whatever reason, I believe her. What’s more, I feel relief in her answer. “Then what?”
“How long are you here for, Cutler?”
“Eight days in total. Seven days in counting.”
“Me too. You’re the one who said plans are for the real world. We’re both on vacation so let’s not make any.”
“Agreed,” I say with a certainty I don’t feel.
We resume our stroll, heading toward the downtown area. The stores are all closed save for a few restaurants and bars. We pass an ice cream shop with its lights still burning. A large neon sign in the window flashes Kirby’s Ice cream. Kiran pauses and looks inside. They have it decorated like a fifties joint, or maybe they never redecorated. The floors are black and white checkers and the walls are a sky blue. There is a long, flecked Formica counter with red swivel stools.
“Want ice cream?” she asks. “This place is the best. They make it here themselves.”
“Who would pass up ice cream?”
“People who suffer from lactose intolerance.”
I chuckle. “No worries there.”
I open the door for her. The bells chime above the door signaling our entry. A blast of cold air hits us both. The temperature’s almost frigid compared to the Florida heat.
The girl behind the counter grimaces. “We’re closing in ten minutes.”
“Sorry,” Kiran says. She turns back toward the door as if we’ve been caught trespassing. I reach for her arm. She stops instantly, her eyes scanning my hand. Not that I’m touching any skin. The shawl is thin and soft, but it’s a barrier just the same.
“We’ll take it to go,” I say to the clerk.
I turn to Kiran so she can give her order first. She isn’t like me. She checks out every carton inside the display case before making her decision.
She settles for some crazy chocolate concoction called Chocolate Overdrive. It’s got chunks of fudge and threads of darker chocolate woven into the base. All my plans to kiss her go up in smoke. Fuck you, chocolate. I order a scoop of Blue Moon on a sugar cone. She opens the small purse she carries, but I hold my hand out.
“It’s on me.” I give her a look that says do not argue. She doesn’t.
She grabs a few napkins for us. “Thank you, Mason.”
“Welcome.”
As soon as we’re on the street again, I regret stopping for ice cream. Her fucking tongue is driving me crazy. I focus on my Blue Moon and try not to stare. Try being the keyword.
She holds her cone toward me. “Wanna taste?”
She must think I want some ’cause I keep staring, but it’s not her scoop I’m interested in. “I can’t.”
“Oh, you’re a germa-phobe.” She turns back toward the store. “I can get a plastic spoon or something.”
I reach for her wrist. The beat of her pulse rises in the few seconds before I let go. “No Kiran, it’s not that. I’m allergic to chocolate.”
Her eyes go wide. “Are you serious?”
“No lie.”
“Is that a real thing?”
“For me it is. I’ve never officially been tested, but every time I have chocolate I end up with a migraine.” If I wasn’t staring at her so intently, I would have missed the slight tremble of her lower lip.
“You really are going to make me cry again, aren’t you? That’s got to be the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. You asked me if I pitied you earlier. I swear I didn’t, but I sure do now.” She takes a bite from her scoop. “You’re missing out on so much.”
“Yeah, it’s…tragic.”
“It is.” She closes her eyes and licks her lips as if she’s having a divine experience all by herself. The craving hits me in twenty places. I want a taste. And I’m not talking about the damn ice cream either. “Besides the fact you can’t indulge in the awesomeness of chocolate, isn’t this the best ice cream you’ve ever had?”
I’ll admit the Blue Moon is pretty damn tasty. “Not bad, but not the best I ever had.”
She tilts her head. “You’ve had better than this?”
“Affirmative. There’s this little place called The Creamery back home. They not only make their own ice cream, the family actually owns the dairy farm that produces the milk. That milk gets turned into sweet cream that eventually becomes the best fucking ice cream in the whole world. This is a close second, but The Creamery wins all day long.”
She narrows her eyes. “I think the hometown advantage is coloring your opinion.”
“I am a proud, small town boy, but you haven’t tried The Creamery, so until you do, you don’t get a vote.”
“Fair enough.” The sidewalk narrows, forcing us to walk closer. Her arm bumps against mine a few times.
“Hey, I meant to tell you that you were right about Sam. He set me up.”
“I knew he’d take care of you. How is Sam? Is he doing well?” She isn’t asking it nonchalantly to make polite conversation. She asks it wistfully.
“He seemed fine. Nice guy. I told him you sent me. He remembers you.”
She smiles. “Does he really?”
“Why are you surprised? You’re not exactly…forgettable.”
She leans against a wall. In the dim lights of the storefront, I can see her uncertainty. Maybe she thinks I’m toying with her. “He remembers me because of what I did, not who I am.”
“What does that mean?”
“I wasn’t a nice person when I was younger.”
“Now that I have a hard time believing.”
“I wish it wasn’t true, but it is.”
“Example, please.”
“Did you seriously just ask for an example?”
“I did. I’ll need some empirical evidence before rendering a verdict.”
“Case in point, when I was in junior high, me and a few of the kids in my class threw eggs at his store. When you’re a local, there isn’t a ton of things to do even when you live inside a tourist attraction.”
I shrug. “You were a teenager. Teenagers make stupid mistakes.”
“Still feel like shit about it.”
“So apologize to him. Make it right.”
“I did already. I felt so guilty I came by his store the next day with a bucket and sponge. I scrubbed and scrubbed the front window and the door. But you can’t un-fry an egg. Not even if you work at it for hours. Sam watched me the whole time. When dusk came, he came out of the store. He handed me a bottle of lemonade, thanked me, and told me to go home. I did.”
“Is that the end of the story?”
“Nope. Feeling even worse, I went back the next day. I mean, the man thanked me as if I was doing a good deed. I let him. He didn’t realize I was one of the egg-throwers. I needed to admit what I’d done. I expected Sam to call my mom or the police or at least yell at me, but he did something else entirely.”
Even after all these years, she feels remorse for actions most people would have forgotten long ago. “What did he do, Kiran?”
She pauses to lick the drop of ice cream just before it lands on her hand. “He asked me what I like to read. At the time, the answer was nothing. I wasn’t a huge reader. He gave me a book to take home free of charge. Isn’t that what drug dealers do? Give you the first hit for free? But this was a positive obsession. He had me hooked. That story was the sort of book I really needed to read at that point in my life.”
“What book?”
“Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café by Fannie Flagg. It sort of spoke to me in a weird unexpected way. You think you don’t fit in anywhere. Then you read a story about a girl who doesn’t fit in, and you don’t feel so alone. But she was better than me. She embraced the things that made her different. Whereas I tried to blend in and not make waves, even though I clashed with everything around me. I wanted to be brave like Idgie.”
I remember my grandma watching that movie. Grams was a huge Kathy Bates fan. I get what she’s saying. We both speak the same oddball language. There are books that have stayed with me, too. Ones I even give credit for shaping my life. “You’ll never convince me you’re not a nice person. And you’re brave, too, Kiran.”
Her laugh isn’t bitter, but it holds little humor. She kicks a small rock. “Brave? Hardly. Why do you say that?”
“I have my reasons.”
We’re close. My palm is against the rough brick of the building. We’re staring at each other. Her breath hitches. Fuck the headache. I want to kiss her. I want her soft, sexy mouth against mine. I want to run my hands through her long hair and down her body. I want to make her moan. I think she wants it too. I swallow it all back and drop my hand instead. Because even more than the kiss, I don’t want her to stop talking. I want more Kiran Shenoy.
She walks away from me, faster with clipped steps, heading farther north as if we’re late for a destination. Content not to push too hard, I keep step with her. The silence circles us. The light breeze from the Gulf plays with her hair. I get a sweet whiff of citrus and jasmine and that other flavor…the mystery one I have no name for, but it’s driving me crazy just the same. We ditch the paper wrappers from our cones in a receptacle. A group of rowdy drunk guys past us. Keeping a wary eye on them, I move closer to her.
Once they pass, I shove my hands in my pockets again, a physical reminder of the boundaries I’ve set for myself. “Does Sam know? Did you ever tell him how much you enjoyed the book?”
“Sure, he does. You read a story that changes you, the first thing you do is tell someone. At least I did. I came back the next day and begged him for another book. After that, I spent a lot of time there. Sam’s bookstore became a second home. My friends thought it was creepy. But I ignored them. What would Idgie do? I asked myself. Then I would do that thing. Sam and I became friends. He even let me arrange the shelves. That’s not as easy as it sounds. Sam has a really specific method. If you screw up, he gets royally mad.” She smiles, but not at me. She’s smiling at a memory of her past. “Who knew Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights could not be on the same shelf?”
“Why not?”
She lowers her voice to a whisper, the way girls do when their sharing juicy gossip. “Apparently, the Bronte sisters don’t get along with each other.”
“You don’t say.”
“I do say.”
“You should go see Sam. He remembers you not as the egg-thrower but the girl who loves books as much as he does.”
She shakes her head. “Our friendship didn’t end well, Mason.”
“What happened?”
“My mom found out where I was really going when I was supposed to be at the library. She thought it was inappropriate for a young girl to have a friendship with an adult male. She thought his intentions were…evil. Sam doesn’t have a sinister bone in his body. To me, he was just another friend. But no matter how much I tried to convince her, she refused to believe me. Sam asked all the time if my mom knew where I was. I lied to him and said she did. So you can imagine what happened.”
“I can imagine it, but I’d rather hear it from you.”
She swallows, her hands clutching the shawl. “She caught me there after I promised I wouldn’t go. She threatened to shut Sam down. She even called the police. They came and messed up Sam’s books. It sent him over the edge. They almost arrested him. He gets upset when it comes to someone mistreating one of his books. It was a big, ugly scene. People talked and rumors spread. Customers who had been going to him for years boycotted the store. I kept waiting for the For Sale sign to go on the door or, worse, the Out of Business one. That would have been my fault. But I should have known better. Sam has weathered bigger storms.”
I have a feeling Kiran Shenoy weathered her fair share of storms too. Maybe even a few hurricanes.
We pass signs for a Farmers Market. Apparently, they have the best lemons in all of Florida. “You never saw him again after?”
“I never went back, but I did see him from time to time. Jasper isn’t that huge. He’d wave sometimes. I’d ignore him. He probably thought I was mad at him, but I wasn’t. I was trying to protect him in a way. So stupid, really.”
I gently shoulder bump her. “Or brave,” I counter.
“No, it was stupid.”
“I get where your mama was coming from, Shenoy. It sucks, but it’s natural to worry about those things, especially in today’s world.”
“I get it too. I don’t blame her. I just wish it hadn’t turned out the way it did. I wish I wouldn’t have gone back.” She bites her lower lip so hard she might draw blood. “I can’t believe I’m telling you all this.”
We walk past a garage with a bright yellow door. I stop walking. I want her full attention. She follows suit. We both stare at each other.
“I’m happy you are.” I place a finger under her chin and lift it until we are eye to eye again. “Go see him now, Kiran. I’ll go with you if you’d like. He’s not angry with you.”
“Maybe.”
We reach the outskirts of town where there are no more stores and the streetlights are farther apart.
“Should we head back?” I ask.
“Probably a good idea.”
But we don’t. We just keep walking north. We pass an old-fashioned kind of movie theater. There is a sign advertising some Hitchcock film. Not one I’ve seen.
“Why are you here, Mason?” she asks.
I wanted to go on a moonlight stroll with a pretty girl. Except it sounds too much like a cheesy line. Instead, I say, “We decided to go for a walk.”
“I mean, why are you here in Jasper, Florida on vacation?”
“To surf.”
She gives me a look that has wrong answer written all over it. “There’s a lot of water to be had in South Carolina and a ton of beaches between the two cities. The waves are gnarly here, but the Atlantic is cranking too.”
“Did you say gnarly?”
“I’ve lived here since I was four and moved away when I was eighteen. You don’t think I’ve surfed?”
“I wondered,” I admit. “Someone who wears winter clothes on the beach doesn’t strike me as the surfing type.”
She crosses her arms, her back straightens. “Well, I do.” She sighs in frustration, causing a wisp of hair to blow off her forehead. “Or at least I did. I could give you some tips. I’m seriously worried you might drown out there.”
“I can handle my own.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Oh Barney, what am I going to do with you?”
I don’t know what Barney means, but I doubt it’s a compliment.
“Don’t you realize how dangerous it can be out there?” The last bit comes out a concerned warning.
I raise my hands in defeat. The truth is I know I’ve wiped out one too many times to claim any level of expertise. “Give me some tips, and I’ll do my best to listen.”
“We’ll save that for another day, Cutler.” She jabs me with her finger. “But that day has to come before you get on a surfboard again, okay?”
“Fine by me.”
“So answer me now. The whole truth this time. Why are you here? Why by yourself?”
“Is that so weird? You’re here by yourself, aren’t you?”
“I have my reasons. I asked you first.”
“It’s a long story,” I say.
“It’s a long night,” she counters.
“I just graduated.”
“College?”
“Boot camp.”
A shudder goes through her. A wind I do not feel.
“You’re in the military?”
“The Marines to be exact.”
“Wow. I asked you all these personal things, but I never asked what you did for a living.”
“If you’d asked a few months ago, I’d tell you I was a mechanic. At least that’s what I’ve done since I was sixteen. When I graduated high school, I did it full-time.”
“But now you’re a soldier.”
“A Marine,” I correct.
“Don’t people enlist at eighteen?”
“Usually, but it’s not a law.” This story is so fucking long and raveling, I’m not sure where to start.
Her gaze is quiet and assessing and patient. “So why the wait?”
“I wanted to enlist then, but it wasn’t the right time. Gram passed away and Dana was only fifteen.”
“You took care of her?”
“We took care of each other. But yeah, I was of age so I petitioned for guardianship. I did my best. I’d say I did a pretty damn good job.”
“I don’t doubt it, but you were so young.”
I shrug. “Thankfully, the state didn’t agree with you.”
“There was no other family to help you?”
“None I would trust.” There was sharpness in my voice I didn’t mean to project, but it came out anyway.
She sits on a large flat boulder in the parking lot of a convenience store. I’d give a million pennies for her thoughts. She pats the vacant area next to her and scoots over for me. “Sit with me.” It’s a tight space and not all that comfortable. I feel bad for taking up most of it. But not so bad that I don’t enjoy how our thighs touch. “Are you all right, Kiran?”
She plays with a strand of her hair, twisting it tightly. “You said I was brave, but this… What you are doing is the epitome of brave. I’m in awe of you right now.”
“I don’t see it that way.”
“Don’t be humble.”
“Honestly, it’s always been my duty, but not one I ever resented. It’s my honor to serve. That’s the only way I can explain it.”
“You always knew you wanted to enlist?”
“My dad was a Marine and my grandpa and even his dad and etcetera.”
“Etcetera?”
“The line goes back forever. Matter of fact, when you look at my ancestral tree, almost every branch begins or ends with a war. I always had my sights set on joining the family business.”
“I see.”
“You asked why I’m here earlier. I had plans for my leave. I was going to find a realtor this week to get Gram’s house ready to rent out for the next few years. Neither Dana or I need the house, but we’re too attached to let it go. It turns out Dana took care of all of it while I was at camp and found renters before she left for Pasadena.”
“She’s in Pasadena?”
I can’t help the pride in my voice. “Yeah, she got into the Marine Biology program at the California Institute of Technology. Got a scholarship too.”
“That’s amazing.”
“Anyway, when I dropped her off at the airport, she made me promise I’d use my leave to do something just for me. So here I am.”
“Why here, though?”
“My family used to vacation in Jasper. I thought of inviting a few buddies, but it’s kind of special to me, and I didn’t want to share it.”
“I feel the same way.”
I stand and hold my hand out for her. “Let’s head back.”
We’re silent the whole way as we retrace our footsteps, the path now familiar and comfortable. She yawns. We never did get coffee.
“Are you conking out on me already?” I ask.
“Not a chance. This sunrise is mine.”
“It’s probably crap, but I saw a coffee vending machine in the lobby.”
“I’ll take crappy coffee over no coffee.”
We make it back to the hotel and head straight for the vending area. Between my pockets and her purse, we find enough change for two cups. I don’t even know if you can call this stuff coffee.
“Where to now?” I ask. “The beach?”
“What about the roof? I bet it’s a good view.”
“Think it’s open?”
“Yeah, I checked it out earlier.”
The elevator is as slow as ever. I don’t mind being alone with Kiran in a small space, but I sure as hell can do without all the damn creaks and grunts that occur when we pass a floor. If there’s going to be grunting, it should be coming from one of the occupants.
“Mind if we stop at my room?” I ask.
A look of panic flashes across her face.
“I want to grab a blanket.”
Her shoulders relax. “Sure.” Did she think I wanted something else? I do, of course. But not tonight. Not now. Maybe not ever. That’s fine too. Disappointing, but fine.
Neither of us feels too great about getting back in the elevator of potential doom so we head for the stairwell. The door to the roof is open. You can see almost the whole shoreline from here. It’s not set up for people, but there are a few plastic chairs stacked in a corner. I place two by the ledge. We each take a seat, lean back, prop up our feet. I drape the blanket over us.
The moon is ripe, almost full but not quite. It provides just enough light to see the peaks of the waves as they crash upon the shore. She closes her eyes but then snaps them open again.
“You can sleep, Kiran. I will wake you.”
She rubs her face. “No. I’ll stay up.” Kiran fishes her phone from her purse. I expect she’s going to text someone, which would be a real turn-off for me. Instead, she pulls out ear buds.
“Want to listen to music?” she asks, offering me one end.
“Depends. Is it going to be boy bands?”
“Maybe.” When she laughs, it’s almost wicked, her version of a villain’s laugh. “Don’t worry, I have a variety.”
I hold out my hand. “Let me see.”
“You’ve already peeked at my library and now you want at my playlist too? This is definitely getting personal.”
“It might be your playlist, but it’s my ears. I’d rather they not bleed.”
She mocks an offended look before handing over the phone. I scroll down the long list. Yeah, this girl likes her fair share of boy bands and top forty pop, but then I get to the Pearl Jam and Led Zeppelin. Nice. I go further, curious what else is on here. I’m happy I do.
“Kiran Shenoy, you never stop surprising me.”
“What?”
“You're a fan of country. The new country is cool enough, but the old country is kind of shocking me right now. Hank Williams, Jr.? Johnny Cash? And a little Reba too. You realize I’m ten guitar licks away from proposing.”
She laughs, her cheeks turning the darkest shade of crimson. “Told you I like variety. You didn’t believe me, did you?”
“Not this much variety. How did this happen? You just decided to try out some Bocephus one day?”
“Something along those lines. I get your surprise. It doesn’t fit me.”
“It doesn’t fit most people our age.”
“It’s actually my stepmother’s influence. Linda’s from Tennessee, and her parents owned a bar where some of the greats performed. When I moved back to New Jersey with my papa, Linda would play these records all the time. I hated them at first. I made fun of them. I threatened to break them a few times. But it wasn’t long until I was singing along to Patsy Cline and Charley Pride. The lyrics spoke to me. And all my complaints were really just me hating Linda because I always thought of her as the enemy.”
“How could you hate anyone who loves Charley Pride?”
“I wonder that myself sometimes. Papa had an affair with her when he was still married to my mom. He told my mom he was in love with another woman, but they could keep up the marriage if she wanted, although it would be a sham. She asked for a few days to think about it.”
“You’re kidding. What’s there to think on? When someone tells you they are in love with someone else, it’s time to say so long.”
“You don’t understand, Mason. Their marriage was arranged in India. The word divorce isn’t even a part of their vernacular. Plus, they had me to think about. Anyway, my mom came here to Jasper. To this very hotel actually. She wanted to be by the water. It reminded her of the Arabian Sea back in India.”
“So she left your dad?”
“Not only did she go through with the divorce, she moved us here permanently. She was a software developer so she could work anywhere. She never liked New Jersey anyway. Thinking about what she did, I realize now how gutsy it was. Their divorce was a huge scandal in our conservative extended family. I blamed Linda for everything my mom went through. Every year I’d spend my summers with Papa and Linda. They would take me on these crazy vacations to Disney World and buy me all kinds of stuff. Papa tried to make up for the whole year in those few months. Later, when I was older, we’d go to Paris or Rome or London. Twice we went to India for a visit. The whole time, I was so nasty to Linda.”
“Not anymore, though?”
“Not after living with her the past few years. She’s a good person. Papa is too. Maybe they did a bad thing, but they aren’t bad people.”
I reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone so damn bad in my whole life. But this is her move to make. I wait for her to lean in. To pucker up her lovely mouth. To give me an indication she wants it too.
But we’ve shared enough sad stories to fill up a whole fucking country album. Hell, we may have even crossed the line and hit a few chords toward the Blues. That’s some pretty tragic shit. Country can make you feel. But the blues, well, they can tear a person’s soul to shreds. I think that’s the space we’re in now. Torn, fragile, and so exposed we’re already naked. She doesn’t make a move. It’s probably for the best. After all, if I start kissing her, I won’t want to stop.
I hide my frustration and shift in the uncomfortable plastic chair. “Damn, Shenoy, your whole life is a Disney movie in the making. You even have the moral of the story figured out. I can’t decide if I’m on a beach vacation or at Sunday sermon.”
Thank God, she laughs and doesn’t freak. It really could have gone either way. She nods in agreement. “Oh my God, I do read a little like a fable.”
“A little?”
“Shut up, Cutler.” She playfully punches my arm. “Ouch.” She shakes her hand out.
“I will say this, you’re a whole lot cuter than my pastor, even if you didn’t offer me any wine or crackers.”
“Hey, you’re no better, Mr. Take-a-girl-for-a-walk-and-make-her-cry.”
“That was not my intention.”
“I guess there’s just one thing left for us to do.”
“What’s that?” I’m grinning way too wide for my own good.
She claps her hands. “On with the music, Mr. DJ.”
Again, not my goal.
She slips on her ear bud. I take the other. I scroll down her list, passing up any songs that are too heavy, too numbing, too boy band. I finally find something that fits the mood. Or at least my mood.
“Sister Havana” by Urge Overkill.
We listen to music until the night fades into day. The sky turns a deep rose color. She’s asleep, her head on my shoulder.
“Get up, Kiran. You’re going to miss it.”
She mumbles something incoherent. Whatever it is, it sounds sexy as hell. A language I’d enjoy decoding. Her hair falls against my arm. It is soft as silk. I almost don’t want to wake her. “Kiran, it’s time.”
She lifts her head just in time to see the golden light come over the water.
She rubs her eyes and straightens. “It’s beautiful.”
“It is,” I say, except I’m not looking at anything but her.