November 10
Sometimes a friend has the one answer you desperately need to fix the cracked mosaic of your life. Now, you’re free to become who you were originally supposed to be. Happy becoming!
Aly at www.The-Art-Of-My-Life.blogspot.com
Cal sprayed Van Gogh with the hose, one hand clamped around his collar. He glanced up at Mom where she sat on the dock box, wondering why she stopped by. It wasn’t like her to just shoot the breeze. He squirted doggie soap onto Van Gogh’s coat and lathered his front legs and chest. “That’s a good boy. Now see if you can stay out of the river for a few days, champ.”
Starr picked up their conversation. “Do you see why I’m so excited about being told my childhood was sad and lonely?”
“Yeah, I get it. Kind of a you-figured-it-right-all-along moment.” He scrubbed Van Gogh’s back.
A seventy-degree breeze blew across the dock.
Mom cleared her throat. “Sometimes I think you understand me in a way your siblings can’t—because you’ve lived in the world I grew up in….”
He cupped his hand over the pressure sprayer and dribbled water onto Van Gogh’s face. Part of him warmed at her words, but another part wanted her to understand how differently he viewed his grandparents. His gaze settled back on her. “Funny. Henna’s has always been my happy place where no one expected me to be perfect. I could be myself. I could have a pet. I could get dirty. Henna has always loved me just the way I was.”
“Wow. I sure didn’t get that from my mother.” The bitterness in her voice said more than the words. “There must be something to grandparenting that gives you a second chance at getting it right.”
Cal soaped the dog’s hind legs. “I was a preacher’s kid. You expected me to be perfect, live up to the role—like Jesse. And Missy was so dang cute, that was all that was required of her. At home you wanted me to be the ideal kid, too. Nothing I did was ever good enough.” He narrowed his eyes, watching for her reaction.
For a moment her eyes looked misty, then she swallowed. “I wanted you to fit into New Smyrna Beach because I didn’t. In my school photos, braids stuck out of my head at odd angles because my parents were always passed out when I left for school. Look at Henna—she didn’t even buy a bra till she got her AARP card. Kids called me hippie girl. I wanted better for you.”
“I could have used some acceptance. Answer this: Have I ever done anything that satisfied you?”
Soap bubbles pooled around Van Gogh’s paws in the silence.
“How can you even ask after I watched you smoke a joint?”
He felt the familiar knife thrust to his gut and stood, shaking his head. “Do you even get that you’re doing to me what Leaf’s father did to him?”
“There’s only one thing I want you to change. For your own good.”
Her pleading tone, the anguish in her usually shuttered eyes, only twisted the knife inside him.
He moved mechanically as he sprayed down the dog, then coiled the hose and hung it on its hook beside the dock box. “Yeah, well I’m an adult. I guess I get to choose how I live my life.” He walked down the finger pier, boarded the boat.
Van Gogh shook and rattled his collar.
Cal glanced up as he stepped on the top rung of the companionway ladder in time to see Mom sluice wetness off her arms. She shivered, and her face looked old and tired. She slid off the dock box. Van Gogh’s tongue slurped her knuckles. She started to wipe off the doggy spit on her jeans and halted, looked up and caught him watching.
The naked pain looking back at him from her eyes felt too much like his own. He descended the ladder and shut the hatch overhead.
He slung himself into the dining nook and spewed the whole conversation with his mother to Aly. “Mom’s judgment sprung down on me like the metal bar of the same mousetrap that’s been nailing me my whole life.”
Aly shut her laptop. “At least you know she loves you and wants to be part of your life. That’s a whole lot more than my father is dishing.”
“She loves some imaginary picture of who she wants me to be.”
“She’s kept you in oils and canvas for years. She believes in your art.”
“Only because she thinks I got the artistic gene from her. It’s all about her. A guy could kill himself trying to please her.”
“Maybe you sabotage yourself to get back at her.”
“Or maybe her everlasting criticism is a monkey I’ve never pried off my back.” He paced the cabin. “Thank God I didn’t marry Raine. She was Mom’s twin. I never measured up for her either.”
“Raine—”
“What?”
“She has a baby now.”
“Hard to imagine when she wouldn’t even let me kiss her. She probably spent an extra thirty minutes on her knees thanking God she didn’t get stuck with me when I went to jail.”
Aly stood and got in his face. “You are a brilliant artist. Genius. Andrew Wyeth infused with Van Gogh’s color and texture; your own passion. The director of the Atlantic Center for the Arts bought one of your paintings. Do you have any idea how many artists pass through that place? And she bought yours. You have an incredible work ethic. You’re constantly sketching or painting. Your paintings are stuffed in every relative’s attic, garage, the backroom of Starr’s studio.”
Aly caught his face in her hands. Her palms pressed against his cheeks as though willing him to accept her words, pretty words, words he’d believe if he could.
“You’re loyal. You’ve stuck by Starr regardless of how she’s treated you. You’re an excellent sailor and tattoo artist. Stoney hires you back every time you ask.”
Her eyes seared into him with hazel fire. “You’re the kind of guy who makes friends for life. You’re… important to me. People bail on me. They don’t come back. You did.”
Aly searched his eyes, and he felt like she could see the cocktail of belief and disbelief swirling in him. She leaned toward him in slow motion, her eyes welded to his until her lips branded the words into his spirit.
He couldn’t consume enough. “Aly.” Her name came out with a groan, and he folded her against his chest. His lips returned to hers, thirsty, gulping great draughts of her confidence in him.
Her arms twined around him. She tasted of Juicy Fruit gum and his future.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt like a man instead of a poser. His fingers curled into her ribs, and her softness melted against him until their jeans and T-shirts felt tissue thin.
Aly broke the kiss and stepped back, her hands still resting on his shoulders. Her chest moved in and out with shallow breaths. Her eyes looked unfocused. They wandered to her hand on his right shoulder, and she jerked back from him. “What about Evie?”
“I don’t care what Evie thinks.”
“She’s your girlfriend.”
“What? We haven’t been out in seven months.”
“But she acts like—”
“Get back on the New Smyrna Beach gossip train.” He stared at her, incredulous. “You think I’m a cheater? If I wanted to cheat, I would have kissed you when I was seventeen, or eighteen, or pick a year.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That you’ve always had a boyfriend until now.”
Aly’s eyes were huge, her cheeks blotching white and pink.
He blew out a breath. “First Mom flattens me. Then, you reinflate my ego. Now you decimate me. I can’t believe you think I’d hug, kiss, and sleep in the same bunk with you if I was committed to someone else.” He climbed the companionway. “I need some air.”
The boat rocked and Aly grabbed the bulkhead to steady herself. Oh, God.
She sunk onto the bench. What in flippin’ hell had she done? Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She still loved him. That kiss had obliterated any doubt. She’d never forget what it felt like to have Cal hungry for her. If they’d kissed like that when they were teens, they’d be married now with a couple of kids. Maybe there never would have been an Evie.
But there still might have been jail, under-employment, excess marijuana. Her IQ plummeted ten points just thinking about a relationship with Cal. There was probably some psychological reason she fell for a guy who would ultimately hurt her.
Just as well Cal was upset.
But part of her didn’t regret kissing him. Cal needed to know she believed in him. She wasn’t happy with Cal’s marijuana consumption either, but Starr’s criticism would completely crush Cal if someone didn’t step in. And kissing him had patched up his confidence—for a few minutes. She wasn’t sorry she’d done it.
She sucked in air and emptied her lungs, lost in the taste of Cal. Wanting. She had no one to blame but herself.
Her phone vibrated. A text from Cal.
I’m sorry I got pissed. Not your fault. Let’s work it out. I want to earn back your trust.
A coal deep inside heated red, blue, white like it had been infused with oxygen.
Cal had wanted to kiss her since they were in high school. What if he loved her, really loved her?
The wake from a passing speed boat hit the Escape’s hull and jostled her off balance.
She gripped the dining table as the boat continued to bob in the diminishing swells.
She texted. Let’s focus on the business now, r drama when the business is good.
Cal scanned the horizon trying to spot Fish’s boat headed for the inlet—anything to take his eyes off the honeymooning couple on the bow. At three-thirty in the afternoon, it would be quitting time for Fish’s charter. The boats were too far away to recognize. He brought the Escape about and tacked toward land.
The lovers dangled their feet over the side of the fore deck, their arms looped around each other. The wind whisked away their conversation before it reached Cal. Thank God for small favors. Every so often they kissed. The current kiss closed in on epic. Did they even notice they were sailing? He’d felt like a middle schooler taking notes behind a conjoined couple in a movie for the past two hours.
They made him want a repeat of yesterday’s mind-blowing kiss from Aly. He glanced through the companionway at her.
He shook his head to clear it. He had to think about something else. The business hadn’t turned around in the month Aly had been at the helm, but at least they weren’t going to lose the boat. They’d done a birthday party cruise, a school field trip which had been great PR, but no money, and a few tourist charters.
Aly didn’t seem worried. But she only had money riding on the business. If it failed, he was out of skills to break into real life. He’d be marooned in the counterculture with his grandparents. His self-worth depended on the Escape’s success. His future depended on it. Asking Aly to marry him depended on it.
Whoa, he was coming in hot, too close to shore. He headed into the wind to slow the Escape’s progress.
The grainy crunch of the keel sliding across sand registered in his brain a second before the boat slid to a halt.
Aly climbed into the cockpit. “What happened?”
“Ran aground,” he said through clenched teeth.
He fired up the engine and threw the boat into reverse, gunned it.
The Escape held fast to the sand bar.
What a boneheaded thing to do. He couldn’t even get sailing right. Had he damaged the keel?
Aly glanced at the newlyweds who had barely taken notice of their stalled state. “What are we going to do?”
Cal gunned the engine again.
No movement.
A boat wasn’t like a car you could push out by hand. Nor could the Escape be dug out. Any kid who built sandcastles could tell you sand rushed in as fast as you shoveled. “Tide’s going out. We’re screwed.”
“How screwed?”
“We could be here for twelve hours till the tide comes back in.”
“What about calling the Coast Guard.”
“They only pull you off if your life is endangered.”
“Sea Tow?”
“Got two hundred dollars? And who knows if they’d get here before we’re totally stuck.”
Aly forked out her palm. “Hand me your phone.”
Cal passed it to her.
Aly scrolled through his contacts, hit the call button, squinted at the horizon. She jerked the phone away from her ear, and Cal recognized Fish’s trash talking.
“It’s Aly. We ran aground. Can you pull us off on your way back to the marina? We’re on the lip of the Intercoastal, north side. Great. Thanks. See you in ten.”
The couple moved down the deck toward the cockpit, their fingers still linked.
Cal focused on their matching I heart Kinsey, I heart Josh T-shirts. He wiped the scowl off his face and explained what was going on.
The guy laughed. “Whatever.” He snagged his bride’s hand and headed back to the bow.
Sooner than Cal was ready to face him, Fish roared up, smashing his wake against the Escape’s hull, shoving the boat further onto the sandbar.
Cal clamped his teeth down on the inside of his cheek and caught the tow rope Fish hurled at the Escape’s transom.
He secured the line and signaled Fish.
Zeke’s Ambition roared to life.
Cal held his breath and watched the white water boil between the two boats. Come on.
A second attempt.
Cal’s stomach knotted. They would have to send the honeymooners back to shore with Fish, maybe refund their money.
The boat budged a few inches.
Cal circled his arm overhead, signaling Fish to keep gunning his engine.
The Escape scraped off the sand. Floated.
Relief sloshed in his gut. Cal loosed the towline into the water, and Fish hauled it back onto his boat.
Cal raised a hand over the rumble of Fish’s engine. Thanks. Annoyance that Fish had rescued him doused his relief.
Fish eyed him, turned away, and planted himself in the pilot’s seat.
The six fishermen looked on, oblivious.
Fish shoved his throttle to full and arced into the channel.
Cal swung wide from the shore and aimed for Fish’s wake.
After docking, Cal donned his wetsuit, mask, and snorkel and inspected the keel. Some scratches in the paint, but nothing serious.
As the sun set beyond Canal Street, Cal walked Aly down the dock toward her car. A trickle of water from his hair snaked under his sweatshirt collar. He shivered and dug his hands into his pockets. He’d need to scrub the hull clean this week or he’d be looking at barnacles and a premature trip to dry dock.
“Aly, hold up.” Fish bounded off his boat. “Give me your phone.”
Aly pulled it from her pocket and gave it to him.
He punched in a number. “For next time.”
“Thanks.”
Cal swallowed his pride. “I appreciate your hauling us off today. I owe you.”
“Got that right. But I did it for Aly.”
“Whatever. Thanks.” Cal nudged her with his elbow to keep walking. At this moment he hated Fish with the intensity that he’d loved him the day Fish vomited a gallon of Aqua Park chlorinated water after being pulled from the bottom of the pool when they were ten.
Fish of all people knew he loved Aly. If Fish stole Aly, he’d get what he wanted—the end of their friendship. Forever.
Aly glanced at him as they neared her Honda. “You don’t need to look so disgusted. We made money today. Fish towed us for free. The keel is intact.”
“There’s only one thing that will salvage this day.” He backed her up against the driver’s door, pinning her with his hips.
Aly’s eyes widened.
He lowered his mouth to hers. His lips found hers. Desire oozed tonic onto every annoyance of the day.
Her hands settled on his waist.
The tentative touch flashed the chill from his body, and his hands left the cool metal of her car and cupped her shoulders. He needed her.
Fish’s truck rumbled past, and Aly shoved Cal away with her palms on his chest. “Is this all about Fish and your little man-war?” Her eyes spit fire. “He humiliated you by pulling you off the sandbar, now you stake your claim on the girl?”
“It crossed my mind.” Cal arched his brows. “But Fish is gone now.” He leaned in.
Aly straight-armed him. Her eyes searched his. “I wanted to talk to you about” —she dropped her arm— “touching, kissing.” She met his gaze. “Something changed between us the night I spent on the Escape.”
“Nothing changed for me. I feel the same way I’ve always felt about you.”
“Well, I feel… confused. I know you used to touch me to make me feel cared about, that you valued my friendship. But… this is more.”
She looked down at her hands, then over his shoulder at the Hummer behind him. “I finally have my dream of owning a business. I need to concentrate on it. I don’t want to freak out about our relationship every day.” Aly bit her lip. “You’ve always been my friend. I want to hang onto that. Anything more….”
Hope sloshed out the bottom of her words like a fist-sized hole in a bailing bucket. Whether she’d been mistaken when she thought she loved him or he’d killed her love by sleeping with Evie, the end result was the same. She didn’t want more than friendship with him.
“Like I said in my text, let’s focus on the business right now. First things first,” she said.
Cal squeezed her arms. He gazed into her eyes, willing her to believe him. “You. Will. Never. Lose. My. Friendship.” Or my love.
Aly sniffed. “Thanks. Same here.”
Cal kissed her temple. “I—we’ll talk about it another time.”
Aly gave him a small smile. “Okay, then, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She got into her car and drove away.
Sadness hung in the twilight. Was it all his, or had Aly left some of hers, too? He’d almost told her he loved her. But he would have to put the words on hold, too. He was back in the same place with Aly that he’d been for years. No, that wasn’t right. Now he was worse off.
He’d keep her request. As much as he hated to admit it, a cease kissing edict was probably for the best. How many kisses like yesterday’s could they survive without having sex? And Aly needed him to prove he loved more than her body. He’d used Evie and felt all kinds of guilt about it. He’d only feel worse about Aly because the other guys had used her and not loved her. He’d love her and not use her. He’d stake his life trying.