August 25
Is it just me, or does the grandeur of life sometimes sneak up on you? I was going along in my same-old, same-old life when grandeur walked through my front door. Beauty, emotion, depth of connection. Art.
Aly at www.The-Art-Of-My-Life.blogspot.com
Fish flung his poly sci text at the bulkhead and rolled off his bunk. At ten p.m. the grimy blades of the box fan wheezed heavy, ninety-degree air at him. He’d stripped down to his gym shorts an hour ago. Tomorrow’s quiz knotted the muscles at the base of his skull. He needed a break.
He scooped up the book and smoothed out the wrinkled page corners. Maybe he’d get fifty bucks for it at the end of the semester. He rolled his shoulders. One thing he’d fight to keep—if Cal hadn’t ruined his run at politics—was government funding for higher education. A good thing about being dirt poor was bagging Pell Grants that added up to free college. Maybe the country had problems, but some things America got right.
Someday he’d be part of the US fighting for the people who needed a leg-up. He tossed the book onto his bunk and headed out to the dock. It had to be cooler outside.
He stood on the darkened deck and eyed Cal’s empty slip for the five-hundreth time since Cal left for dry dock six weeks ago. No Escape. His gut felt hollowed out, too. The corner of his eye caught movement on the dock.
A girl sat on the dock storage box facing the empty slip, arms wrapped around a pair of shapely legs. A riot of dark curls cascaded down her back. She wore a tank top and short shorts, the kind that made guys glad they had eyes. Dock light rained down on her, leaving her face in shadow.
Realization dawned—the girl was Cal’s little sister, Missy.
She stood and stretched, her face tilting toward the light.
His breath stopped. His eyes galvanized to her mother’s cheek bones and nose, the lush brows and lashes. Her clothes carelessly hugged the curves of her compact form, oblivious to the slow burn of a light bulb warming inside him.
She checked her watch and sat down.
He shook his head, schooling his thoughts. He’d lived with the Koomers his senior year of high school, spent every holiday with her family for as long as he could remember—the one tradition he’d clung to when his folks ripped themselves and his siblings out of his life. But when had she turned into the hottie camped on Cal’s dock box? Seeing her in a new setting flipped some switch inside him. He did the math. Geez, she must be twenty now.
He’d always liked her when she was a kid. Five years younger than he and Cal, she used to follow them around till Cal would chase her off. And he must have had a hundred conversations with her, sitting on the Koomers’ back steps, tossing shell pieces onto the sandy drive while he waited for Cal to finish his chores or homework or a fight with Starr.
Now that he thought about it, Missy had always been a hottie, at least since she hit middle school and made no secret of the major-league crush she had on him. He’d given her a wide berth since then. For a minute he was seventeen, slumped in a chair in the Koomers’ kitchen feeling sorry for himself because his family was a continent away.
Twelve-year-old Missy wandered in, arched her brows at him, and pressed a pointer finger into his side for a couple heartbeats—something she’d done since she was little to “poke a hole to let the sad out”—then walked out the back door.
He smiled like he had that day, feeling lighter.
Well, she wasn’t twelve anymore. He crossed the gangplank and walked toward her. “Hey, Missy, what up?”
She startled. “Where’s Cal?”
“Dry dock.”
“Why does no one ever tell me anything?”
Fish grinned, enjoying her familiar huff. “You’re the baby.”
She rolled wide-set eyes. “I finally get myself worked up enough to tell Cal what I think about his going to jail, and I sit here for an hour for nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“I have my speech all ready, and I’m not giving it to you, Sean Fisher.”
“I’m not asking for your speech. Just tell me how you feel.”
Her face swung from the empty slip to him. Dock light illuminated the hurt in brown eyes the color of a cowry shell he’d once found. She eyed him, weighing whether to say more. “How could Cal do this to me—the big brother I’ve always idolized? I can’t look up to him now. I don’t think he even cares about me. It’s like he cut me off. He never wants to hang out. I hadn’t seen him for weeks, maybe months before he went to jail. Did he look for me after he got out? I am so over him.” She smeared angry tears into her cheeks. “But you can’t get over your own brother. Not even if you want to.”
Fish smacked a mosquito on his arm. He knew what she was talking about. As pissed as he was at Cal, he still felt connected to him. Ditto for his family in Peru.
Missy dropped her legs over the side of the dock box and scooted to the edge. “Sorry. You were at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Some part of his brain catalogued the absence of raccoon make-up smudges from the tears. “It’s okay.” His voice came out hoarse, and he cleared his throat. In five minutes she’d moved from being his best friend’s kid sister to a peer. He leaned against the dock box beside her, trying to gain his equilibrium. “So, Chas started college online from Peru.”
“Yeah, I know.”
He jerked his chin back toward her.
“We e-mail,” she said.
“Oh, so you e-mail my baby brother, and I haven’t seen you since Easter. And I’m right here in New Smyrna Beach.”
She shoved his bare shoulder. “Like you noticed.”
“On second thought, what would you want with the Fisher family black sheep?”
“Don’t give me that crap. I followed you around my whole life. I quit a couple of years ago—my eighteenth birthday gift to myself. I’ve grown up.”
He stared at the emotion pulsing in her eyes. All that hair, loose for once, dispelling forever the impression of Missy as Starr’s mini-me. Had her lips always been that full? “Yeah, I noticed you grew up.”
“When?”
“So, what about them Bucs?”
Missy narrowed her eyes at him.
“You still rescuing bad boys—visiting them in the hospital when they turn up shark-bit?”
“See, that’s what I mean. You treat me like some great aunt you see on holidays and are polite to…. I’m a junior—like you, Mr. Oblivious—at Daytona State College. Get a clue.”
He stood and faced her. “What I was going to say was” –he lasered his eyes into hers— “you can rescue me.”
Her mouth dropped open. Missy speechless? That was unusual. He got in her face, planting a hand on either side of her thighs on the dock box. “What do you say?” He could almost see her squirm. The evening just got a whole lot more interesting.
Missy’s chin lifted a fraction. “You don’t look shark-bit to me.”
Her breath fanned his cheek in soft bursts and warmth flushed through him. “Some wounds are inside.”
She pushed his arm out of the way as she slid off the dock box. “Maybe I could rescue you from yourself—if I had the inclination. But I don’t.”
Little Missy must have passed Flirting 101 with a four-oh. The spearmint scent of her gum hung between them. She was still close enough to kiss.
“But God knows you need saving.”
When had her voice matured into a woman’s? He’d swear she spoke an octave lower than she used to.
Her eyes bore into him. “End this stupid tug-of-war and go see your family. My folks Skype your parents once a month. It breaks my heart to hear how much your mom and dad miss you. You know they can’t get away from the orphanage. Go for Christmas.”
“It’s my business.”
“Yeah, but maybe it’s time somebody got in your business.”
He stared her down, truth ringing in his ears. Irritation gnawed at the back of his neck. “You’ve grown up, I’ll give you that. But you’re just as annoying. You know what? I changed my mind. Don’t bother trying to fix me.”
Even in the shadows, he saw the hurt from his barb flash through her eyes, but her voice held firm. “Be mean, Sean. You don’t scare me.” She pivoted. “Because I’m right,” she tossed over her shoulder and walked down the dock.
His gaze fixed on her legs as she moved toward the gate. She said she missed looking up to Cal. But he was the one who felt bereft. Her hero-worship had been a constant for as long as he could remember. Funny how he didn’t miss it until he knew it was gone.
Tomorrow he’d sign up to take the LSAT. It wasn’t reconciling with his family, but maybe getting into law school would buy back a few points with Missy.
Cal sat atop a ladder at the bow of the dry-docked Escape. He balanced a pallet of black, white, and various shades of gray left-over marine paint—the most expensive paint in the world as far as he could tell. Sodden clouds bunched in the August sky like his boat repair bills, the meeting with his probation officer, and the hundred and fifteen pound question mark of Aly.
He eyed the freshly-painted expanse of the Escape’s hull and envisioned the figurehead the boat begged for. Flowing locks of hair spilled from his brush. Aly’s hair. Her graceful neck, chin, mouth.
He wanted Aly with a passion that eclipsed even his seventeen-year-old starvation for her. He didn’t have another eight years to waste. He wanted his body fused to hers, his name tacked onto hers. Kids someday.
She’d framed and gallery-positioned some old sketches he’d tossed. That had to count for something. She loves me, she loves me not sing-songed in his head.
Oh yeah, he was going to find out whether she still loved him. No more waiting his turn because she had a boyfriend. But he wouldn’t go after Aly until he had a driver’s license and money in his pockets. Aly’s father was a doctor. Her college diploma hung on the wall of her cubicle at the bank. He had to win at business before he had a prayer of winning Aly.
His grandmother’s nineteen ninety-one Toyota Corolla rattled through the boatyard gates and coasted to a stop in front of the Escape.
He grinned and waved. His chest expanded, warmed. How like Henna to show up to admire his boat repairs when he’d seen her dozens of times since he got out. His kindergarten art still hung in her bathroom, encased in clear contact paper. He pictured her oohing and aahing over a mud sculpture he constructed in her back yard as a kid.
The car coughed and sputtered as Henna scooted her muumuu-clad bulk from the driver’s seat and submitted to Van Gogh’s epileptic greeting.
Cal climbed down the ladder and bent to hug her. The patchouli scent of her skin recalled a lifetime of hugs she gave him no matter how sweaty or dirty he’d gotten—a skill his mother never mastered.
She squinted up at Cal’s work. “Love is in the paint,” she trilled.
Cal’s gaze skimmed from the sloppy white bun on top of Henna’s head to the face taking shape on the bow. Well, it was too late to disguise Aly now. Maybe no one else would notice the resemblance. “Let’s keep it our secret.”
Henna beamed at him, both chins smiling. “Ready to float your barge?”
“Yeah, tomorrow.”
“She’s looking peachy cream.”
Cal shook his head at her fractured clichés and turned back to the figurehead. Did Henna think them up intentionally or did they just come out that way? Missy would shake her head, say, “Silly Grandma,” and kiss her cheek. Jesse would never admit it, but Cal swore Henna had always embarrassed his brother, even more so now. He shrugged. She might be slipping a little mentally, but she was still so deeply Henna, his Henna.
“I bet it cost a pretty nickel.” Henna hobbled toward the stern, taking her positivity with her.
With the rebuilt engine, the repairs had come in just under forty thousand dollars, twice what he’d anticipated and leaving nothing for startup costs.
Twenty minutes later, after Henna’s Corolla putted away, he brushed the last strokes on the figurehead. There was nothing to do but wait for tomorrow when the boatyard Travel Lift would hoist the Escape off her wooden blocks and jack stands and deposit her back into the inlet.
He surfed all afternoon as though mastering the waves would conquer his worries about advertising money and whether Aly was seeing someone. And maybe it would have—if Fish had been with him. A thousand problems had shrunk to a manageable size while floating on his board beside Fish.
Stashing the joints in Fish’s locker had been monumental stupidity. He should have flushed the stuff. He needed a do-over. And epic grudge-holder Fish was unlikely to make it easy. He’d never imagined a life without Fish. He was more of a brother than Jesse had been. Salt stung the edges of a scab on his elbow, and he headed for shore.
Cal propped his board in the sand against Leaf’s hot dog stand and poked his head through the window.
Missy! He hadn’t seen his sister in months. Man, did it feel good to run into her. She wore yellow rubber gloves and scrubbed the counter to some country tune about a guy wanting to check a girl for ticks.
He laughed. “Sissy Missy! You seriously need to upgrade your music choices.”
She looked at him and stilled. Her face paled.
He grinned at her. “What are you doing here? Where’s Leaf?”
She crossed her arms and looked down at him through the window. “Working. Leaf didn’t say what he was doing today.” She shrugged, her tone chilling him like the wind hitting his wet skin.
What was her deal? “It’s not safe. What if one of his customers gets PO’d because you won’t sell him weed? I’ll stay with you till closing time.”
“I’ve been running the store whenever Leaf doesn’t feel like working for months. I’ve got pepper spray,” she said through wooden lips.
“So much for protecting the baby from the family dirt,” he said.
“Maybe you should have thought about that before you got yourself arrested.”
It would hurt less if she’d slapped him. “What are you pissed about? I’m the one who got locked up for three months.”
She planted her palms on the counter and looked him in the eye. “Think about anybody but yourself much?”
“Excuse me for being self-centered during the shittiest time in my life. If anybody should be pissed, I should. You could have visited me.”
“Forget it.” She turned her back on him.
He watched her Brillo the hot plate, movements jerky, shoulders stiff. His stomach growled. “How about a dog and an A&W?”
Missy slipped off the gloves, fished a hot dog out of the crock pot, slapped it into a bun, ran two stripes of mustard and one of catsup down the middle just the way he liked it, and handed it to him. She snagged an icy root beer from the cooler, slid it across the counter, and turned back to the hot plate.
His gut churned. He stared at the hot dog in his hand and inhaled the salty-sweet scent. No way could he chew and swallow. “Mis, look, don’t be this way.”
She spun around. “I don’t know why you care. I hardly saw you for months before you went to jail. Did you even remember I existed?”
“That’s not fair. I walked up here expecting Leaf, and I was glad to see you.”
Tears sprung to her eyes. “It’s almost September. You’ve been out a month and a half. Did it cross your mind, like, ‘Hey, I miss my sister, I think I’ll text her and hang out.’?”
“You couldn’t have texted me?”
“Whatever.”
“Why are you being such a drama queen about this? It’s not your life that was totally screwed.”
“When you got arrested, I cried buckets. I’ve never known anybody who went to jail. Locked in there with evil men. I imagined you getting beat up. Worse.” She shuddered. “I couldn’t face seeing you behind bars. I was terrified you were suicidal.”
He didn’t want to think about how his going to jail affected Missy. Maybe he actually had been avoiding her on a subconscious level. “Don’t worry. I don’t have the balls to kill myself.”
Missy stared over his shoulder. “When I got my hair cut, your ‘cool’ made me feel like the prettiest girl in third grade. Jesse was always off doing big kid stuff. But you let me tag along to the playground with you and Fish, patted my back when I cried over a skinned knee, made sure I didn’t watch inappropriate TV shows on Henna’s watch. In middle school and high school you were my hot big brother who reduced my friends to stuttering idiots.” Her eyes returned to him. “You were my hero.”
The sun warmed his shoulders. He really did love Missy, but how could she expect him to worry about her when his life went into nuclear meltdown. He took a bite of his hot dog.
“Now, I worry that you’re going to get murdered in some drug deal gone wrong. What if you’re doing coke or meth or fill-in-the-blank?”
The food turned to sand in his mouth. “I’m clean.”
“Save your words. They don’t mean anything. The only way I’ll know if you’re telling the truth is if you don’t turn up dead or in prison.”
The fear in her eyes and in her voice soccer-cleated him in the stomach.
“I thought I knew you. But you’ve turned into a stranger. I wish I could climb inside your head and know how you think. But I can’t.”
“I’m telling you the truth. I never dealt. I’m clean.”
She stared at him. “Next time you’re going to do something stupid, stop and think about how it will slam me—and everyone who loves you.”
Her anger finally sparked his, but he clamped down on it. “I care about you, Mis. A lot. None of this has anything to do with you. Try not to take everything so personally.”
Missy leaned through the window on her elbows and got in his face. “Trust me, Cal, if it were possible to quit loving you, I would have done it already. Now, I’m just begging you not to screw up my life along with yours.”
He slammed the hot dog and soda into the trash can, grabbed his board, and stalked into the sea.