On the Rocks (A Turtle Island Novel) (2 page)

Her mother, without a doubt,
had
that girly-girl trait that Ginger was lacking.

“Sean had other plans for the evening,” Ginger explained. She wasn’t in the mood to provide details, nor to share that the man hadn’t so much as sought her out before leaving the ship. She’d already moved past it.

She leaned in and kissed her mom’s unfloured cheek, and ignored the fat orange tabby at her feet who was actively ignoring her. The cat was the only feline Ginger had ever known who would tolerate wearing accessories, and currently sported a purple daisy-shaped bow at the back of her neck. It made a statement against the orange fur.

“Thought maybe you and I could hang out tonight,” Ginger said. “I’ll help with dinner.”

Her mother’s hands slowed.

“What?” Ginger popped a waiting blueberry into her mouth.

“Clint’s back in town.” Clint was her mom’s boyfriend.

Unlike Ginger, her mother never had trouble keeping a man, and in fact, had been known to have more than one calling on her at the same time. She and Clint were monogamous, though, and had been for over five months. It was as serious as her mother got.

After being devastated over the loss of her husband, Pam had finally turned the corner a few years back, working hard to drag herself out of the hole of depression. Since then, she’d learned to enjoy herself. She’d especially mastered reveling in the attention she received from men. And, from Ginger’s point of view, tended to be a little naughty at times. But, good for her. Everyone should have fun in their lives.

“I’ll cancel,” her mom added. “Clint and I can see each other tomorrow.”

“Absolutely not.” Ginger swiped a muffin off the cooling rack, ignored the woe-is-me attempt at self-pity vying for attention in her head, and grabbed a beer from the fridge. “You have a hot date with a man who adores you. Whom you haven’t seen in a week. I won’t get in the way of that.”

“We’re just having dinner in. You could join us?”

Ginger chuckled drily. “No.” Playing third wheel had never been fun. “But thanks.”

She’d change and head to the bar . . .

She quickly retracted the thought. She wasn’t in the mood for any more of the opposite sex tonight, and being a holiday weekend, the bar would be hopping. Grabbing an apple to round out her dinner, she shifted to plan B. “I’ll check on Julie, then head over to the house.”

“The house” being the one she’d begun building shortly after her birthday four months before. It was an impressive two-and-a-half story with a 180-degree view of the ocean from the top deck. Only, it wasn’t finished. Work on the inside had stalled—the delays, hers. She wanted everything to be just right, but she’d begun to question what exactly “right” even meant. She hadn’t even been able to pick out a countertop for the kitchen.

The stall had gone on for so long that the construction crew had been forced to move on to other projects, but that didn’t mean
she
stayed away. There was a pier at the north end of her property, and she had a stash of fishing rods tucked away in her basement. She’d fish off the pier until late tonight. That would give her mom and Clint plenty of time to catch up without Ginger having to hear evidence of it through the too-thin walls of the house.

“Tell Julie I said hi,” her mother called out as Ginger exited the room. “I’ll take a casserole to her tomorrow. And invite her over for a cookout on Monday night, will you?” With Labor Day being Monday, Clint would be at the house, and the grill would be fired.

Ginger mumbled an acknowledgment around the bite of apple in her mouth, and headed up the stairs to her bedroom. Julie Ridley was a twenty-two-year-old recent college graduate who’d moved back home over the summer to manage the new art gallery in the small community. She’d also shown up pregnant with no sign of the baby’s father.

Julie’s parents still owned the house next door, but they’d barely been home the past four years. They’d been traveling the world and were currently on a mission trip, not scheduled to return until closer to the baby’s due date. Since Julie was alone, Ginger and her mother had taken it upon themselves to occasionally check in on her. See if she needed help with anything.

Ginger glanced out the window as she entered her room, taking in the closed curtains of the bedroom across from hers, and couldn’t help but wonder what Carter was up to these days. Did he know that his baby sister was pregnant and alone?

Similar to his parents, her childhood friend didn’t frequent Turtle Island, either. He’d gone away to college, married a law student, and according to Mr. and Mrs. Ridley, had settled somewhere in the New England area. Ginger couldn’t recall which state.

Wherever it was, she hoped he was happy.

But she couldn’t help but be a little disappointed that he hadn’t once come home to check on his sister. There was a time when he’d been the epitome of the overprotective brother.

C
HAPTER
T
WO

T
he mid-September fog lying low over the water didn’t surprise Carter as he stood, arms crossed, at the railing of the ferry and watched the morning crowd milling inside. The day matched his mood. In fact, it would have surprised him to have anything
but
a dark cloud hovering nearby. The gray mist was on par with everything about his life these days, but good had actually come from it today. The heavy dampness in the air had allowed him to have the uncovered deck to himself. He needed a few minutes before driving off the ferry and back into his past. He was on Turtle Island again. Or he soon would be. And he didn’t want to be.

How long had it been? Six years? Eight?

Too long, probably. But at the same time, not long enough. If things hadn’t changed . . .

He didn’t want to be here, it was that simple. And it was all he’d let himself focus on. He wanted to be back in Rhode Island in his own house. He wanted to be at his desk. Writing the next great American novel.

Or the next great horror novel. Which, in his mind, was the same thing.

Not that he’d be writing, even if he were at home. With his big breakthrough and a major contract had also come his first bout of writer’s block. Along with so many other things he hadn’t expected.

He ground his teeth together as he forced those other things from his mind. He was back on Turtle Island for at least the next few days, but he refused to stay the three weeks his mother had asked of him. It wasn’t his job to watch over a sister who should have had enough sense not to get knocked up. Add to that, Carter wouldn’t even get the pleasure of beating the guilty party to a pulp. The man wasn’t on the island, not that Carter knew of. Not that he knew
who
the father was.

With Julie seven months pregnant and his parents on the other side of the world, Carter’s mother had pleaded with him to come home and keep an eye on his sister. She’d insisted for the last week that Julie wasn’t feeling well. Said she could tell by their phone conversations.

But Carter wasn’t an idiot. Julie was fine. He’d talked to her himself. It was
he
his mother was worried about. His parents had made a quick trip to the States last month, and had stopped by his place on their way back out of the country. And in a moment of great weakness, he’d shared things he’d had no intention of sharing. His mother had not let up on him since. She thought his coming here would “fix” him.

But he had news for her. He didn’t need fixing. He wouldn’t
be
fixed. He liked who he was these days, and no amount of coaxing from his well-meaning mother would change that.

But he would come home and check on his sister. Just in case.

He’d visited her in college in North Carolina occasionally, had been at her graduation ceremony in May, and she’d even spent part of last summer with him. But he hadn’t been the brother he could have been over the years. If he had, maybe Julie wouldn’t have ended up pregnant and alone.

So, he would check on her. But he wouldn’t stay long.

The horn sounded on the ferry, and Carter pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his black peacoat as he watched the small island come into view. The fog fuzzed the lights glowing through the thick morning, making him think of a particularly horrific scene from one of his earlier novels. It had been a good book, but he hadn’t gotten paid big money for it. Not like the one due to his editor at the end of next month. The one he had yet to start.

He lit a cigarette and held it in front of him, studying the burning tip and thinking about his life. His mother hoped this trip would fix this, too—his latest bad habit. Probably she thought he drank too much as well. And for a second, he wanted to have the kind of hope that she did. He wanted to be fixed.

But none of it was as simple as a trip home. Shit happened, then you had to live with it.

He brought the cigarette to his mouth and drew deep, closing his eyes with the sting of the nicotine. He’d never smoked before this year, but he liked it. He liked the wrongness of it.

Opening his eyes, he exhaled, and through the smoke he watched a woman exit the side entrance on the far end of the ferry. She headed away from him, her red hair swishing at her shoulders as she moved in quick, sure strides up the back staircase. She had on a clear raincoat, but hadn’t bothered with the hood. Her lack of concern for the wet day made him suddenly think of the girl who’d lived next door when he’d been a kid. Ginger had been like that, only the girl he’d known probably wouldn’t have bothered with the coat at all. She would have simply stood out in the rain, not caring if she ended up drenched. And she would have laughed while doing it. She’d had the brightest outlook of anyone he’d ever met.

He hadn’t thought about Ginger in years, but memories suddenly filled him. Being in the same class and living next door to each other, their friendship had been a given. They’d played in their yards together as children, had explored the island side by side once they got bikes . . . then they’d slowly found their own paths after starting high school.

Their friendship had remained intact, though. In their own way. Though their time together during their teen years had been less, the friendship was something he’d cherished.

He wondered if she still lived on the island. Her dad had died while they were in college—he remembered his parents telling him about it. She’d come home to be with her mom then, but had she stayed? Had she ever gone back to finish school?

He looked up the back stairwell again, but the woman was no longer visible, and then anger hit when he realized the reason she’d grabbed his attention to begin with. Her hair. The way she carried herself.

She reminded him of his ex-wife.

He took one last hard drag on the cigarette before tossing it over the railing and pulling the keys to his rental from his pocket. The last thing he wanted to think about was his ex. She’d occupied far too many hours of his time over the past months as it was. But he couldn’t seem to keep her away.

Love sucked. That’s the lesson that had come from marriage. Do everything right, and it didn’t matter. Some heartless person would still trample on your heart as if it was as cold and lifeless as hers.

So no—dear, good-intentioned mother of his—sending him back to Turtle Island would not “fix” him. There was no fixing to be done. This
was
the new him.

The stench of fish guts clung to Ginger’s clothes as she entered the combination mud and laundry room that midmonth afternoon. After a too-long fishing trip and an even longer workday, she closed the door, leaned into it, and pressed her forehead to the cool wood. And sighed. She was exhausted. And in a foul mood. And the last thing she wanted to do was come home and face reality.

Her eyes suddenly burned with threatening tears, but she held them at bay. She’d have a good cry later tonight while soaking in the tub. Maybe she’d even take a bottle of beer in with her. Or six. Because every once in a while a girl deserved a night, just her and her favorite six-pack of IPAs. But right now she had to get out of her stinky clothes.

She undressed, underwear and all, and started the washer without adding any other clothes to the pile. She noted the fact that they were almost out of washing liquid, mentally added it to the grocery list, then stooped to scoop out the litter box.

Mz. Lizzie was nowhere to be found, of course. Because Ginger wasn’t her mother. The blasted cat only came out when the older Atkinson was home, but Ginger’s mom was with Clint right now. They’d taken the day off together.

When Ginger stood, she sniffed the air and frowned. She still smelled like fish. It was in her hair, and probably ground into her skin. That bath might come sooner than she’d planned.

Though the day had started in the thick fog of the early morning ferry, she’d later been pulled into a last-minute charter. Which had turned into a hugely productive trip for the customers. As part of the cost of expeditions, guests’ fish were cleaned and gutted—if they wanted them to be. And today, everyone had wanted them to be. Which normally would have been fine. It was part of the experience, and Ginger saw it as a small price to pay for the benefit of having a job where she got time on the water whenever she wanted it.

Except today’s group had been all men, and too much beer had been consumed. The alcohol encouraged three of them to declare that a female fishing captain was their ideal woman. Then they’d gotten grabby—while she’d had a knife in her hands.

She’d had to set them straight, which had only turned them on more.

Sigh.

It had been a frustrating day for so many reasons, but the sad reality was that the jerk men hadn’t even been the worst of it. She stepped through the door into the kitchen, and turned her gaze to the small blue box sitting in the middle of the quartz-topped island.

That
was the worst of it.

Her mother and Clint’s six-month dating anniversary had arrived the day before, and they’d gotten engaged.
To be married!

An engagement had been the last thing Ginger had expected to learn about when she’d come down to catch the sunrise that morning. As well as seeing her mom’s smiling face before dawn. Yet there she’d been. Beaming. And holding out her left ring finger.

The engagement made no sense. Her mother was a compulsive dater. She didn’t get engaged.

Only, she had.

And she was floating in the clouds over it.

After telling Ginger all about the special evening Clint had planned the night before—and waving that chunk of a rock under Ginger’s nose—her mother had posted a picture of it to Facebook.

Ginger wanted to be happy for her. Really, she did. Her mother deserved love and a happily ever after. She’d been destroyed when Ginger’s dad had died from an unexpected heart attack. He’d been the love of her life. So yes, her mother should be first in line for a second chance at forever. And Ginger
was
happy for her.

Only, she couldn’t help the thought that had echoed in her head all day.

It’s not fair.

It wasn’t fair that everyone could find the man of her dreams except her. It wasn’t fair that, try as she might, all dates tended to backfire. In one way or another. And it wasn’t fair that she could no longer hide from life by living in her mother’s house, pretending it was okay that she was single.

Her world was moving in a new direction, and Ginger either had to get on board and go along with it, or she would be left watching by the sidelines. Her mother
was
getting married, Clint
would
be moving in, and
she
would be underfoot.

And unless something changed, that marriage would be taking place in a short six weeks.

She ignored the robin’s-egg–blue box, and grabbed her phone. She needed to talk to her friends.

Andie Kavanaugh and Roni Alexander had been her best friends since the age of seven. The other two hadn’t grown up on the island, but Andie’s aunt lived there, and Roni’s mother was a die-hard fan of the beach, so they’d visited every summer. A few years ago all three of them had seen the pact they’d made as kids come true when Andie and Roni had both moved to the island full-time.

Only, they’d subsequently fallen in love with men whose lives were
not
on the island.

That wasn’t to say they didn’t come back when they could. Roni, her husband, Lucas, and her stepdaughter, Gracie, had been there in June. Gracie had turned five, and she’d wanted a birthday party on the beach. Since Roni still owned her house here—and Lucas could telecommute from anywhere—they’d stayed for the month before Lucas and Gracie had returned to Dallas, and Roni had headed off for her first concert tour in years. She was a concert pianist. And she was amazing.

Roni had managed a day away from the tour after Andie and Mark’s first child had been born in July, and both she and Ginger had flown to Boston to see the young man just a few days after he’d entered the world. Theodore Wayne Kavanaugh had been born with a head full of dark hair and the kind of blue eyes that would someday turn many a girl’s head. Ginger had lost her heart to the little guy immediately. As well as promised countless hours of babysitting anytime they came for a visit.