About That Kiss Page 2

“I am, I might and I do,” Owen readily agreed to all accusations.

  Nathan glanced once more at the now-empty dock. Again, he shaded his eyes.

  Probably just some summer renters. That was a regular occurrence on Cassabaw. Renters came. Renters left. End of story. Owen was simply too damned nosy for his own good.

  As his father eased the trawler toward the Malones’ dock, Nathan and Matt jumped out and tied up. Emily, Matt’s wife, hurried toward them. She wore a kerchief on her head to keep her hair back, and a pair of big, white-rimmed sunglasses. Her baby belly was just starting to show beneath the white tank and pair of knee-length cutoff jeans she wore. Em preferred the days of old. As they all had grown up on Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong and the big bands of the thirties and forties, Emily hadn’t strayed too far in terms of her taste in music—or style. If it was older than, say, seventy-five years, she loved it. She even dressed in vintage clothing—hats, dresses, shoes. Kerchiefs. Kind of added to her charm, he supposed. Em had a wide arm of culture, however. She could belt out all the words to just about any Aerosmith song. One of kind, his sister-in-law was.

  Old Jep, moving a bit slower than Em, followed, wearing his iconic baby-blue cotton overalls.

  “Hey!” Emily called cheerfully. “How’d you guys do?”

  “Girl, would you quit all that jumpin’ around? You’re gonna scramble my great-grandson’s innards,” Jep called after her.

  “Or great-granddaughter,” Emily corrected over her shoulder.

  Jep just grumbled.

  “We capped out,” Owen said, stepping onto the dock. “Got top dollar at the docks. Better than last year, even.”

  “Good, good,” Jep said. His thick white hair, mostly buried beneath a USCG—United States Coast Guard—cap, flipped up on the ends. “Hope to God you brought some home.”

  “Dad,” Owen chided.

  “Jep, you could eat shrimp every day of your life,” Matt said, wrapping his arms around his wife and placing his hands over her belly. Nathan watched as his little brother kissed Em on the top of her head, and her arms went around his waist. They both fit. Clicked. Like they were made for each other. He’d had that once.

  And he’d lost it.

  The grief had dulled somewhat over time, but not enough. If his thoughts lingered too long on it—on Addie, on what they’d had—his stomach would hurt, and he’d feel the hole her death had left in his chest widen a little more. It’d been nearly three years since that day in the Bering, when Nathan had been right there, ready for her. Then, she’d disappeared. The sea had, in fact, swallowed her up. If his thoughts went there too much, the memories and guilt would consume him. Being home with his family had saved his life. The void was still there, though, silently digging in when he wasn’t looking. Staying busy helped.

  Nathan liked seeing his younger brother so happy. Matt’s stoic and hardened ex-marine demeanor had changed the moment he’d admitted that he’d fallen in love with his childhood friend. Well, he’d fought it for a while, and he’d been a pain in the ass to live with until he’d finally given in. Still, he damn well deserved the happiness.

  “Well, of course I would,” Jep agreed. “Jewels of the sea, that’s what they are. The most perfect edible sea creatures God ever created, if you ask me.”

  They all laughed. Jep had a one-track mind: his stomach. Might be why he was closing in on ninety and still going stronger than a mule.

  The rest of the evening passed as it usually did once the summer shrimping season started. Early to bed, early to rise. A day in the trawler. Home-cooked meals on the back porch. And thanks to the longer days of sunlight, Nathan squeezed in a run almost every evening. Sometimes Matt joined him, but lately he’d spent more of his evenings with Em remodeling one of the rooms in the old river house where they lived—Emily’s childhood home, which was next door—into the nursery. Emily called it nesting, and Nathan guessed she was probably right. So he set out alone in the late evening; gray running shorts, black Nikes and a neon yellow handkerchief tied around his head to keep the sweat from running into his eyes. And, according to Jep, to keep his long girlie locks from flying all over the place.

  “Stop by the beauty parlor on your way home,” Jep called from his rocker on the front porch as Nathan took off down the drive. “And watch out for cars!”

  Another reason why Nathan wore the neon yellow headband. Jep was full of bark, but that old man loved his family like no one’s business.

  It was probably the one thing that kept Nathan grounded since Alaska. The one thing he had left.

  “Yes, sir.” Nathan threw his hand up and waved, hearing Jep grumble something about the mosquitoes, then headed out to the coastal road.

  * * *

  “MA-MUH, COME ON! Just a little walk. Just long enough to kick a pinecone until the pointy things all fall off. I want to see lightning bugs! Pleeeeeease?”

  “Willa, quit all that whining,” Sean Jacobs gently scolded her five-year-old daughter. “It’s unbecoming.”

  “But I can’t help it,” Willa said, and looked up at Sean with those wide, endless pools of blue eyes. “It just falls out of my throat and rolls right on past my lips. I can’t stop it! I want to go so bad!”

  A smile tugged at Sean’s mouth, and she gave her small daughter a critical eye. She wore a blue-and-white-striped tank top and white shorts, and her skinny little legs and knobby knees seemed to hang straight from her ears. “Well,” Sean said thoughtfully, and smoothed Willa’s almost-black hair—cut bluntly in the most adorable of short bobs—behind her tiny ear. “Okay. Get your sneakers on.”

  Willa made a dash for the mudroom. “Why do you call them sneakers, Mama? Are we gonna be busy sneakin’ around or something? It’s a funny name, Mama. Did your mama call them sneakers, too?”

  Sean’s insides turned, just a little, at the irony of Willa’s words. Sneakin’ around. She inhaled. Exhaled to brush the jolted feeling away. “That’s just what we called them when I was your age, is all.” She joined her daughter in the mudroom, pulled on her navy Keds. Willa set in her lap something that seemed to be becoming a more frequent part of her wardrobe. Sean gingerly fingered the costume fairy wings she’d picked up last Halloween.

  “Willa, seriously?”

  “Yes, Mama! We have to be fairies all the time!” Willa argued. Rather, crooned.

  Sean sighed, shoved her arms through the thin elastic bands that went around her shoulders to keep the wings in place, then helped Willa into hers. She imagined if something as simple as wearing a pair of sparkly fairy wings made her daughter happy, she’d gladly do it. They set out, with Willa nonstop chattering about everything her eyes lit upon, her little wings flapping up and down with her movements.

  “Now go find a superior pinecone, Willa Jane. One that will withstand a good kicking.”

  “Okay, I will!” Willa exclaimed, and took off into the dense yard of pines, scrub oaks and palms. She’d bend, retrieve a pinecone then inspect every single inch of it. Only the most perfect one would do.

  Sean stared out at the saltwater property they’d leased for the summer. She liked it. A little worn down, perhaps. Unkempt. The windows needed washing. The grass needed cutting. The inside was a little musty from being closed up for so long. But she felt safe. The furniture was old but sturdy, and the refrigerator kept things icy cold. Perfect, in her eyes.

  The small river house nestled in the shade beneath mammoth oak trees drenched in long, wispy Spanish moss. It looked like a picture straight out of a travel magazine. A fairly decent-size porch overlooked the back of the property, which meandered through tall magnolias and scrub palms, leading down to a single wooden dock that jutted out over the marsh and stopped at the river. At high tide, she and Willa could sit on the small wooden landing and dangle their feet into the water. This would be a nice retreat for a while.

  �
��Mama, you’re being so slow,” Willa called ahead of her. “I found the most stuperior pinecone. C’mon! I wanna walk through the graveyard.”

  “Willa, again?” Sean replied, catching up to her daughter. They crossed the small two-lane river road and headed down a worn dirt path scattered with bits of seashells that led to an old cemetery they’d come across a few days earlier. “Don’t you think it’s kinda scary?”

  “Nope!” Willa announced cheerfully, and having found the perfect pinecone, dropped it on the ground. She gave it a kick, then waited for Sean to take a turn. “It’s the place where all the lightning bugs go. Probably so the ghosts can see at night.”

  “It’s also a place where all the mosquitoes go,” Sean replied. “We’re going to get eaten up again.”

  “So? Just scratch it!” Will answered. “It’s fun, Mama. Hurry! Use your wings, why don’t ya? You’ll be faster that way!”

  Willa always had an answer. For everything. Her five-year-old mind never rested. And she feared nothing.

  Completely unlike Sean herself. Afraid of everything.

  As she and Willa took turns kicking the pinecone, Sean noticed the sun had disappeared beneath the horizon now, leaving the sky a grayish purple streaked with marigold. The light surrounding them was nothing more than a haze, and she could smell the salty sea. Even with Willa’s chatter and the occasional gull’s screech, Sean heard hundreds of night bugs begin to chirp. Cassabaw Station was a pretty place, a hidden gem that seemed to have wedged itself into another time and not budged. Ahead, Willa waited at the cemetery’s old rusty gate, hopping from foot to foot impatiently. Sean stepped clear of the path, met her daughter at the gate, lifted the old latch and they walked inside.

  “There’s one, Mama!” Willa cried out almost immediately. Sean looked, and sure enough, she’d already found a lightning bug. Then another, and another. Willa leaped and giggled as she chased the blinking insects, flitting around like a little firefly herself. Sean stood back and grinned. Savored the small moment of joy in their lives.

  “Careful not to step on the graves, Willa,” Sean called.

  “I’m careful!” Willa answered. “Come on, chase them with me!”

  Sean joined her daughter, and together, they raced, jumped and squealed as they cupped their hands together to capture the illuminated creatures, then peeked through the cracks of their fingers to see each little bug’s bottom light up. She watched Willa and thought how beautiful her daughter was; so young, innocent, carefree and full of love and laughter. Sean suddenly regretted not having a camera to photograph Willa, to catch her with the light just right, making her truly seem like a little woodland sprite. Sean prayed Willa would never know cruelty, possessiveness. Or evil. Only love. Joy.

  It was then that Sean heard heavy footsteps on the path. She stopped and whipped around. A dark figure jogged toward them, a neon yellow band around his head the only thing standing out. For a moment, fear strangled her insides, and her gaze darted to her daughter. To the figure, growing closer, then to her daughter again.

  He was big—much bigger than she was—and probably faster, too. Even from where she stood, and in the low light of dusk, she could tell he was muscular, fit. Sean didn’t know him, or anyone else on the island. And they were about as isolated as they could be. He was right between her and her daughter.

  “Willa, come here!” Sean called out. “We have to go. It’s getting dark fast.”

  “Mama, I’m busy!” Willa replied, annoyed. “Just a few more minutes.”

  “Willa, now!” Sean demanded, and broke into a run toward her. Sean had to reach Willa. She couldn’t let the jogger get close to her daughter.

  As the figure jogged past the cemetery, he spoke. “Evening,” he said in a low voice, with a short nod and a slight Carolina drawl. His longish hair was pulled back, and a beard covered his lower jaw.

  He kept on jogging.

  Sean kept her eyes on the man but didn’t reply. He ran in the direction she and Willa would return, then disappeared from sight.

  Sean’s tension slowly eased, and she turned to Willa. “Just a few more minutes, then.”

  “Thanks, Mama,” she cried, and continued chasing the lightning bugs and talking to the ghosts, as if they were all sitting around watching her.

  Sean let out a long sigh and turned her stare in the direction the stranger had disappeared. She hated that she allowed such terror. He’d been merely jogging, nothing more. The hazy light fell faster by each passing second, and she wondered briefly if she’d ever, ever stop looking over her shoulder. If the fear would ever leave her alone.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “MAMA! CAN WE get an ice cream cone? Please?”

  Sean shielded her eyes against the sun beaming down as they ambled along Cassabaw’s boardwalk. She shook her head. “You haven’t had dinner yet, Willa.”

  “How about a hot dog?” Willa, dressed in a blue tank top and white shorts and sneakers, pointed toward the pier. “From that man with the cart?”

  Sean squinted as she glanced at the hot dog vendor and his pushcart with a broad, red-and-white-striped umbrella. “But you need veggies, sweetie.”

  Willa crossed her skinny little arms over her chest. “Mama, you don’t get veggies at a hot dog cart.” She clasped her hands together and jumped up and down. “Pleeeeeease?”

  “Okay, but double veggies tomorrow night.”

  Willa took off toward the vendor, and Sean followed. “Two, please,” she requested. “And a bottle of water.”

  “Put lots of ketchup and mustard on mine, please,” Willa requested.

  “No onions?” a low voice said from behind.

  Sean turned and came face-to-face with the bearded jogger from the cemetery. Well, face-to-face only after she looked way up. He was tall—at least six foot one or two. He wore a kerchief tied around his head, and dark shades covered his eyes. She couldn’t help but notice the size of his biceps, and the sun-kissed color of his skin. He was every bit as mammoth as she’d thought the night before. A force she would be unable to stop, if the situation came down to that. She pushed herself to her full height, edging herself between the stranger and her daughter. In a way, she felt silly. They were in public. Just a small coastal town. More than likely, everyone within a hundred-yard radius knew him. Yet, he unsettled her. So she took caution.

  Willa, though, peered around Sean and looked at him, too, and made a face. “Those are stinky,” she said. “Mama, why are you in my way?”

  “Willa,” Sean warned. Suddenly, she wanted to be...away. Not in this place. Not with attention drawn to them. It was the last thing she wanted.

  “Yeah, but good on a dog,” the stranger said, continuing his conversation with Willa. His voice had a slight rasp. A slightly lilted Carolina accent. “You should try it.” One corner of his mouth lifted, and Sean noticed full lips and straight white teeth. “Best dogs on the Eastern Seaboard.”

  “What is an Eastern Seaboard?” Willa asked.

  “Pah! Eastern Seaboard. Best dogs of anywhere in world!” the vendor cried out in a broken accent. He seemed like a friendly guy, and clearly was a regular on the beachfront.

  “Sorry, Hendrik. Best dogs of anywhere in the world,” the stranger agreed.

  “For the lady?” Hendrik asked Sean. She noticed he was polite, too. Respectful. She liked that.

  “Just mustard for me, thanks,” she answered the vendor, watching his dark brown eyes assess her closely.

  “Are you gonna get stinky onions all over yours?” Willa asked the stranger.

  “I am,” he replied. “You?”

  “Nah,” Willa replied.

  “Willa, what have I told you?” Sean needed to stop the exchange. Willa would talk to a goat if she’d let her. Her daughter had no fear, and that alone put terror into Sean’s heart.


  Willa sighed. “Never talk to strangers,” she answered, then looked at the stranger, squinting against the sun. “Mama says child abductors and serial killers and just plain ole weirdos lurk everywhere and that I should be extra extremely careful.”

  “Willa,” Sean growled. She glanced at the stranger, wishing she could at least see his eyes. You could tell a lot in a person’s eyes, she’d learned. That grin remained on his face.

  “It’s true,” Hendrik added. “Must be careful at all times, little one. Many weirdos.” He handed her the hot dogs, wrapped in red-and-white-checkered waxed paper, and pulled an icy-cold bottle of water from a cooler. “That’s seven American dollars,” he said.

  Sean handed him a ten-dollar bill. “Thanks, and keep the change.” She handed Willa her hot dog, and they headed out onto the pier. As they passed the stranger, her daughter, with mouth crammed full of hot dog, gave him a curious eye.

  “Bye,” Willa mumbled around the bite she’d just taken.

  He merely waved.

  Perhaps Sean had misjudged the stranger. In all sincerity, he was obviously a local and friendly with the townspeople. The exchange he’d had with Willa had been...harmless. He was just making casual conversation. Wasn’t he?

  As she and Willa wandered the pier filled with locals and tourists fishing along the sides, Sean felt the stranger’s eyes on her. She’d been so...aware of him. Of his presence looming beside her. Yet she hadn’t felt that threat of fear that usually accompanied her initial internal terror. The vendor had seemed to like him. And, for that matter, so had Willa. Still, Sean and her daughter were not locals. They were summer tourists. She had zero plans to get to know anyone on a personal level.

  But when Sean turned, the stranger wasn’t lurking and staring at her, as she’d thought. He was gone, and Hendrik had a new set of customers at his cart.

  That probably wouldn’t be the last she saw of the stranger, though. This was a small island. They couldn’t stay cooped up in their river house all summer long. And despite her repeated warnings to Willa, her opinionated daughter would undoubtedly make some sort of conversation with the stranger. Who, while somewhat reserved, would converse back. If not him, another stranger. Willa was...verbose in the most charming of ways, to say the very least. People couldn’t help but engage with her. It was nearly unavoidable. But Sean would again try to caution her daughter.