December 23
Ever lose your temper because somebody let you down? But after you cool off, you think about all the times you’ve made hideously bad choices?
How do I repair my slash marks from a soul-deep friendship-in-progress on the canvas of my life?
Aly at www.The-Art-Of-My-Life.blogspot.com
Cal jerked his Jeep into a spot outside the church. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d come. Mom had given up texting him on Sunday mornings years ago.
Thad Mack unfolded his suit-clad bulk from a beach baked Subaru. A suit. Really, Thad? Suits covered up things people wanted to hide—like the fact that Cal hadn’t seen Thad sober since they graduated from high school. Suits strained to impress. They pasted a smile on your life that said you had achieved success, and now you belonged. Even Dad quit wearing suits when Cal was still a little kid.
The gunmetal gray material strained across Thad’s broad back. He slipped his keys into his pocket, flashing the too-snug seat of his beltless pants. Spineless, colorless Thad, a jellyfish really, no doubt showed up because his mother had commanded him.
Not so different from Cal, sitting in the silence of the darkened Jeep because, like an idiot, he kept trying to please Mom—a mother duck who marshaled her offspring into formation behind her to church on Christmas Eve.
He shoved open the car door and breathed in the scent from someone’s chimney as he headed for the building. And he was proving to Aly he could change. The fifteen renderings of New Smyrna businesses he’d knocked out this month helped. He’d been so obsessed with painting he’d barely seen her in December.
He swung the door open and stepped into the bright lights of the lobby. Familiarity wrapped around him with the hugs and handshakes from people he knew as well as the divots in his favorite board—Myra Johnson who taught fourth grade at Coronado Elementary for as long as he could remember and slipped him a twenty when he got fired from the camp; Daryl Crites, mechanic at Stuart’s Car Care who taught him how to change his brakes; leathered Kelly Lantana, beach lifeguard who told him to call her if he ever needed a designated driver, flooring salesman Chuck Jessup who wrote him a reference to get a job at Stoney’s. And they knew him a damn sight deeper than the flaws published in the Hometown News.
They’d caught him and Fish “swimming” in the baptistery in their Spiderman undershorts, crawling on their bellies under the pews playing army, concocting a witches’ brew of cider, hot chocolate, and Cremora at the fall festival. Peppered between the Bible verses and prayers, they marched their own embarrassments out to comfort him in notes to jail or when they saw him around New Smyrna Beach.
He inhaled the scent of evergreen from the Christmas wreaths hung on the walls and wondered why he stayed away from a place where he belonged, not in Thad’s poser-suit way, but for real.
Starr sailed toward him. “Merry Christmas, Cal. Thanks for coming.” She wrapped wiry arms around him.
Odd.
She released him. “I’m glad you’re here.”
He couldn’t read the emotion in her gaze or the whitening of her scar. She was communicating something deeper than the statement her words framed. “Of course.”
“Sit beside me?”
He smiled. “Sure, Mom. I’ll save you a seat.”
She stared at him another second as though there were something else she wanted to say, then she smiled and turned away.
A Christmas cookie sweetness settled into him, the kind that made you want to take a swig of milk. But he wanted to savor the sugar his mother had left behind.
His gaze smacked into Fish who stood across the foyer transfixed, looking up the stairs leading to the sound booth.
Cal’s gaze lifted to the stairs where his sister and Aly jogged upward. Aly wore slacks, and Missy’s forest green skirt flounced against her thighs, showing more leg than Fish had any right to see.
Fish held his hands out like, Hey, it’s not my fault they ran up the stairs in front of me.
Anyone carrying a man card knew exactly what Fish was thinking. Whatever. Cal turned and pushed through the swinging doors into the sanctuary.
He made his way to the pew where his family always sat, three quarters of the way back on the right side. His mother had always reasoned that if the kids acted up during church, only a fourth of the congregation would see it.
He slid onto the shiny wood, like he had a thousand times before. The hymnal scent mingled with furniture polish and candle wax. His father talked to Hellen Ruffner at the piano. The rest of the room was empty. But Cal felt something there. Something that embraced him like his mother had, but certain, rather than awkward. It had been a long time since he’d felt this—whatever it was.
His mind skipped back to the day he sat on his surfboard at seventeen basking in the Presence, capital P. Sun warmed his back, wind caressed him, waves lapped at his knees. He’d asked for Aly’s heart.
Then, he’d waited.
Aly had one boyfriend after another and never considered Cal an option. Somewhere along the way, he couldn’t remember which guy she was seeing, he’d given up. On Aly. On the Presence.
Aly slipped into the pew and searched his eyes, tentatively, almost like they were strangers.
He smiled at her, reached for her hand, and squeezed it. Maybe it was time for him to grow up. You didn’t always get what you wanted. He wasn’t a two year old who could stomp his foot and demand his own way. He released Aly’s hand and smiled at her. She was alive, and that was enough. It would have to be enough.
Missy said, hey, and took a seat next to Aly. She leaned back in the pew, lips curving upward. Her lashes fluttered on her cheek as though she were communicating with the Presence. She hadn’t gotten Fish or a husband like she wanted, but she didn’t give up on faith.
Mom came down the opposite aisle and slid in beside him. She smiled—like cocoa and milk warmed in a saucepan on the stove. And he realized she hadn’t said anything about his coming to church in jeans. Maybe for once, just showing up was enough.
Fish’s eyes tracked Missy across the front of the sanctuary. His hand felt for the jewelry box in his pocket. After the service she’d flitted up to say something to her father, then over to old Mrs. Ruffner at the piano. She’d barely said two words to him all evening. He needed five minutes alone with her before the bedlam of gift opening at her folks’.
Aly nudged his shoulder and he realized everyone had left the pew but them.
Aly quirked a brow at him. “Missy thinks no one’s noticed she’s grown up.”
“Yeah, and I didn’t notice the last hurricane that rolled through.”
“Maybe you should mention it to her.”
“Maybe I have.”
“Maybe she’s not convinced.”
“Maybe if you’d quit jabbering at me, I could convince her.”
Aly laughed. “I’m gone.” She stood. “And, Fish, for the record, I know you were only hitting on me to annoy Cal.”
“Did it work?”
“He was annoyed.” She stopped like she wanted to say something else, but pivoted and exited the pew. “Good luck with that little project.” She walked through the back doors of the sanctuary.
Did she mean annoying Cal or convincing Missy he saw her as an adult?
Missy headed up the center aisle of the church toward him.
He motioned to her. “Got a sec?”
She eyed him warily as she stepped into the pew. She slid onto the bench beside him and crossed her nylon-covered legs.
He pulled his gaze from her legs and cracked a smile to put her at ease. “I got you something for Christmas.”
Her eyes widened. “I didn’t get you anything.”
“Except for the fishing lure with the yellow feather on it, the sand dollar, the scrapbook of every fish I ever caught.”
Missy looked at her hands in her lap, her cheeks blushing all the way to the three tiny pearl studs she always wore in her ears.
“I still have those, and a bunch of other gifts you gave me over the years. They’re with my stuff in a box in your parents’ garage labeled kitchen because I didn’t want Cal to give me a hard time about keeping them.”
Missy’s chin popped up. “You kept them?”
He dropped an arm across the pew behind her, his fingertips barely touching the shoulder of her soft, cream sweater. “They were…. You were… are… special.” He set the Killman Jewelry Store box in her hands. “Open it.”
Missy’s hands quivered as she slid the ribbon from the box and lifted the lid. Then, they went still as she stared at the single pearl on a delicate gold chain. “Thanks, Sean. It’s beautiful.” Her voice was subdued.
“I don’t think you’re a snot-nosed kid anymore.” He brushed her cheek with his lips.
Missy’s eyes blinked back at him, unasked questions swimming in the depths, questions he didn’t know the answers to. Questions he didn’t want to think about. He stood. “Let’s go check out your mom’s Christmas cookies.”
Cal followed Aly into her condo. The charcoals he’d given her for her birthday hung on the wall behind the sofa. One of his doodles he’d seen there before hung in the hallway.
Aly set her purse on the counter. “Thanks for going with me to Mom’s for Christmas dinner.”
“Sure. No problem.” He pulled an envelope from the back pocket of his jeans and sat on the couch.
Aly had given him a Nichols surf shop T-shirt last night at his family’s gift exchange, but he’d told her he’d give her gift to her today.
“I wanted to get you something for Christmas. This isn’t exactly a gift. It’s already yours, I just got it in writing.” He handed her the envelope.
Aly sat on the chair across from him and ripped open the envelope. Her eyes scanned the forms he’d downloaded and filled out. Disbelief, annoyance washed her face. “You want to put me on the boat title? Why? You know how I feel about Dad’s money. I don’t want to be half owner of the boat.”
“Think about how I feel. You bailed me out of my loan, quit your job, and the business still tanks. At least, let me keep my pride when this is all said and done. You really deserve the whole boat, but I knew you’d pitch a royal fit.”
“It’s your grandparents’ boat.”
“It’s my boat. When the loan was paid off, my folks signed it over to me because Henna gave me the Escape. You’ve always wanted your own business. We can sell it, and you’ll have capital for whatever business you want.”
Aly crossed her arms. “I’m not giving up on the business.”
“If you want to believe there is still life in the business, that’s your choice.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You of all people know how broke I am. I wanted to give you a gift. This is all I’ve got. Just take it.”
Aly sighed. “Fine. I’ll sign the papers tomorrow. You could have just shown me your tattoo.”
Cal laughed. “It’s really been eating you, huh?”
“Like, since high school.”
He grinned and slowly sobered as he stared into her eyes. Call it craziness, but he wanted Aly to know how he felt, even though he was back to square one in becoming a man Aly would consider marrying. No matter what Aly thought, the business would never fly. “Okay.” He stood.
Aly’s eyes rounded.
He sucked in a breath. Getting naked with Aly was at the top of the list of things he wanted to do in life, but this was awkward—all but stripping in front of her under enough wattage to illuminate a soccer field.
But only a wuss would back out now. He stared her down and unbuckled his belt.
Aly swallowed.
His eyes slipped to the cleft between her breasts, now visible in the vee of her sweater because he stood above her. Awkward turned riveting. He slipped free the button on his jeans and felt the fabric loosen around his hips.
Aly’s gaze intensified. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth.
He turned his back on her and slid his jeans and boxers down a few inches. His heart hammered. Would she laugh? Would she pity him? Would she feel honored? His lungs inflated and deflated. A minute stretched into two. He stared at the blank, olive wall. In his mind he imagined what Aly saw on his lower back near his left hip—a pink ornate heart encasing a blonde girl on a pink surfboard. Aly scrawled across the board. A heart matching the outer border had been engraved on the fin. He’d designed it himself when he was seventeen.
He looked over his shoulder at Aly.
Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. She cleared her throat. “Th-thank you for showing me.”
He looked back at the wall, puzzling over the expression in her eyes. Something soft, happy—almost as if she loved him, too. His hands went to the waistband of his jeans.
Aly’s fingers closed around his bare hips.
He froze. His breath sucked in.
Her mouth pressed against the tattoo, then whispered kisses across the ink.
Goosebumps rose on his flesh. His body turned hyper aware of every touch, the warmth of her breath on his skin.
Was Aly simply accepting his love? Was she saying she loved him, too? Did she mean to make him crazy with wanting? Hope bottle-rocketed inside him.
She tugged the material at his hips and it slipped another inch.
His breath came quick and loud in the silence.
He latched onto the last rational thought in his brain—whether or not he had a prayer of a future with Aly, protecting her meant no sex today. He grabbed hold of her wrists. “No.” The word tore from his throat and came out in a croak.
Aly’s fingers went limp, and she pulled out of his grasp.
Cal tucked in his shirt, buttoned his pants, and buckled his belt, his body screaming for the opposite. He faced her and drew a shaky breath.
She had drawn herself into a ball in the chair, face tucked into her knees. Her shoulders shook.
He didn’t trust himself to touch her. “Aly.”
She looked up, mascara smearing her eyes black
“I want to do this right. Us.” He’d get a job, enroll in college part time, propose to Aly.
“I’m so embarrassed.”
He knelt down beside her chair. “I want you. But not like this—”
His text message alert chimed, and he slipped his phone out of his pocket without thinking. His probation officer. On Christmas Day. Really? Reminder: your appointment is 4 p.m. 12/28. There are consequences to skipping meetings. Tell me what’s going on. Look at options.
Dread sloshed over him and chilled all desire to finish this conversation with Aly. He shoved his phone back into his pocket. “I have to go.”