Save Me (2 page)

I lumber to my feet, not wanting to leave the shore. I pull my sundress over my head and discreetly take off my bikini and roll it up in my towel.

“Must be nice,” Noble says as he appraises my quick change. I shake out my hair, which is chock-full of sand, and I love the feel. I could live at the shore, possibly right on the beach. It’s amazing how close I came to being so far away from it.

I will not think of Jason Leer.

We walk to the back bay and Noble opens the door to Twisties for me. It’s filling already, and Noble and I sit at the bar, facing the bay as the bartender puts two menus down in front of us.

“Can I get you something to drink?” the bartender asks, and Noble defers to me.

What do I want?
“I’ll take a Stella.”

“Make that two.” Noble appears satisfied with my decision.

He watches me as I read the menu, the same tense stare from this morning. I peer at him over the menu and return my eyes to the selections as our Stellas are delivered and the bartender grabs a tablet for our order.

“I’ll have the shrimp tacos.” I want everything on the menu. “Will you have one?” I ask Noble, and he nods. “And the mussels in red sauce.” I return the menu to the bartender. “Oh, and can I have an order of Strathmere Bay fries?” The bartender writes a note and focuses on Noble.

“I’ll have the mussels in white and eat most of her food,” he says, and he and the bartender share a knowing grin.

The tide is going out. It’s 6:00 p.m. Judging by the depth of the water, low tide is probably sometime around seven, maybe seven-thirty. The bay is full of boats enjoying the last few hours of daylight. Some have stopped, waiting to watch the sunset from the water.

“You know, if we’re actually going to get married, we’ll need to plan a wedding,” Noble says, and I turn to him. This is what has been weighing on him all day. It’s now time for the conversation.

“Is that how it works?” I eek out, wishing for any other topic.

“Should I be concerned that you haven’t run out to shop for dresses or dragged me to reception halls? Because that’s how I remember my sisters’ weddings.” Noble turns my body so my knees are between his on his barstool and I am squarely facing him. Nowhere to run. He is serious, and I know it’s because he’s worried. “Are you having second thoughts?” Worried about Jason; it’s always about Jason. I take a deep breath.

“No,” I say, and look down, wanting to avoid this conversation completely.
Aren’t things perfect the way they are?
With a finger to my chin, Noble raises my eyes to his. “It’s just…I don’t think I want a traditional wedding without my mom and dad here.” Noble doesn’t take his eyes off me. “No one to go dress shopping with, no one to walk me down the aisle, no father-daughter dance,” I say, and the longing pours out of me. I bow my head, but before I’m hidden, Noble’s lips are on mine. I’m on the verge of tears, I feel ridiculous, and I’m sure I am blushing.

“I should have thought of that,” Noble says, angry with himself but relieved at the same time. “How about you take a few days and think about what you want this wedding to be like and that’s exactly how it will be.”

“But don’t you want a traditional wedding? A big party?”

Noble holds my face in his hands and runs his thumb across my lips. “No.” He shakes his head. “I want to marry you. What that day’s like is completely up to you. We can do it in the backyard, in a church, at city hall, on an island…whatever will make you happy. I don’t care if we’re alone or with five hundred people as long as you’re standing next to me.” He kisses me again, this time slightly inappropriately for our barstools, but I can’t deny him.

“I know one thing I want.”

“Anything,” he says, completely at ease now.

“I want you to wear a suit. No one wears a suit the way you do,” I say with every naughty thought I’ve ever had of him shining through my eyes.

“I can’t wait to get you in my truck,” he whispers in my ear.

He pulls me into his arms and fills me with the warmth of Noble Sinclair.

W
hen Noble leaves Tuesday morning, I call the Realtor in Strathmere. I ask her about the mansion on the point, specifically about possibly renting it for a few weeks to host a small wedding. By her reaction, the request is unusual. So is this wedding. She’s much more enthused when I also ask about renting any available property in town for guests to use. As I’m talking to her, BJ studies me with his sweet beagle eyes and I remember to make sure at least one of the properties is pet friendly.

“I can’t marry Noble without my best friend there, huh, little guy?” I rub behind his ears and take out a notepad to make a list of guests. Rutgers, Salem County, family...yes, it will be small. Sixty maybe. No mom. No dad.

I can do this.
I dial Sean’s number.

“Hey, how’s it going?” he asks, instead of hello.

“I’m going to marry Noble,” I announce.

“I know, dummy. That’s what that big ring is for.”

“No, I mean, I’m going to marry him soon. Maybe the weekend after Labor Day.”

“Wow. Finally getting around to making some plans, huh?”

“Yes, and I want you and Michelle to be there. And Lily, too, of course. Do you think she’s too young?”

“She’s Irish. She’ll be fine. Are you going to send out invites or just let Mom haunt you from her grave for the rest of your life?”

“I’m working on all of that.”

“Let me know if you need any help.”

I hang up with Sean and check him and Michelle off the list. Next up—Jenn and Margo. Two girls I wish had never left Salem County. Well, they’re going to have to come back for this. I text them both:

From Margo I receive:

From Jenn I get:

I text back:

And I believe it. If there’s one thing being orphaned at twenty taught me, it’s that life is short.

It takes over an hour to compose a letter to Jason. I don’t want him to hear about the wedding from someone else. I don’t want him to hear about it at all, but I know that’s not how Salem County, or the rest of the world, works. Nothing sounds right. It doesn’t feel right. It’s just not right. The inadequate note is folded and shoved in an envelope before I realize I have no idea what his address is. I stare at the envelope. I’m not sure even Butch knows. I’ve never seen him mail anything to Jason.

I pick up my cell phone and dial Jason’s number from memory. Will I ever forget a single detail about him?

“Hello?” he says, and his voice through the phone makes my stomach flip.

“It’s me,” I say.

“Are you okay? Is anything wrong?”
Kind of.

“I’m fine.”

“Hold on, Annie. Let me pull over.” I wait and listen to him breathe as I stand in Noble’s kitchen. It’s wrong to talk to Jason in here. I walk out back and lie on the hammock.

“Okay. How are you?” he asks, and it reminds me of all the phone calls when I was at Rutgers and he was at Oklahoma State.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d still have this number, or even a phone,” I say, and drink in the sound of Jason.

“I don’t want either, but I kept it in case you ever needed to get a hold of me. For right now.” I close my eyes. I wish this call was for a different reason. I should have called to talk to him months ago. This is savage.

“I have a letter for you, but I don’t know where to send it.”

“A letter, huh?” Jason’s voice has an edge to it. He already knows, but he’s going to make me go through the paces. “Read it to me.”

“I’d rather just send it.”

“There’s nothing you can’t say to me.”

“There’s nothing you won’t hear. There are some things I can’t say.”

“Read it, Annie. It’s not going to make anything worse.” He’s right. Things reached hellish last year and we haven’t spoken a word to each other since. I take a deep breath and pull the letter out of the envelope.

“Dear Jason,

“I hope you are amazing.

“That’s the way I remember you and I want you to still be that way.” I pause. He has to be amazing. I realize that’s how I function from day to day, knowing Jason is well wherever he is.

“I’m marrying Noble,” I read, and hear not one sound from the other end of the line. “I don’t want you to hear it from someone else. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you. In fact, the thought of it makes me sick, but I wanted you to hear it from me.”
Not really, but whatever.

“If I could figure out a way to live my life without you, without hurting you, I would, but I can’t seem to get out of my own way. I’m sure you know what I mean. You always do.

“Love,

“Annie.”

I wipe a few tears from my eyes and focus on the sky. Its gray clouds threaten rain, but the sun peeks through, fighting off the storm.

“Annie.” Jason’s voice is soft, and a chill runs from my ear through my chest bone. “You marrying Sinclair doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”

A sob catches in my throat and I swallow to not sound like a blubbering idiot.

“Where?” he asks.

“What does it matter?”

“Where?”

“By the water,” I say, and Jason says a quiet good-bye before hanging up the phone, leaving me alone and weeping on Noble’s hammock and clutching a letter to the only man I ever thought I was going to marry.

My mother’s jewelry box sits in front of me on my mother’s kitchen table. I go through it drawer by drawer, remembering every earring, every bracelet.
She was so beautiful.
I lower my head onto the box. I thought this was an actual treasure chest when I was little. I loved the lid that lifted to expose the hundred tiny squares, each designed for its own riches. Today it’s empty and old, like my childhood memories without my parents here to share them.

Clint’s finishing the remodel on my parents’ kitchen and it’s awesome. It is a different house and Clint’s talents are solely responsible for the results. He transformed this house while Noble transformed me. What’s going to become of it now? I pry open the bottom drawer of the jewelry box with a butter knife. Inside are two cardboard boxes, too thick to fit.
So like you, Mom, to force them in there.

“Clint, do you ever think of moving out of your mom’s basement?” I ask.

“Every day. Every single day I think of moving out,” Clint says, making me laugh.

“Would you like to move in here?” His eyebrows rise and I realize my mistake. “Rent the place when I move in with Noble.”

“Oh. I thought you were making some big offer. You got me all excited for a minute.” Clint turns his attention to the trim work he’s installing.

“I’d want someone here who’s going to take care of the place and you’ve been working on it so long, it belongs to you, too,” I say, and realize I want Clint to live here. He is the perfect tenant.

“I don’t have a job lined up after this one. That’s why I haven’t moved out. I’m never sure of my income.”

“Live here for free,” I say, as if it’s an obvious solution.

“I can’t live here for free,” Clint dismisses me.

“Look, I can rent the place and I probably won’t know the people and they’ll be sleeping and eating in my parents’ house. That feels wrong. If you rent it, I know it will be taken care of and I’ll be able to visit.” I look at Clint, pleading with him to accept the offer.

“Okay, I’ll move in,” he says, and stands up to hug me. “And you can come home anytime you need to.”

“Thanks,” I say, and take one of the boxes out of the drawer. Inside is an ornate turquoise necklace, completely different from every other item in my mom’s jewelry box. She always wore simple jewelry. Her engagement ring and an anniversary band adorned her hands every day of my life. I never saw this on her or anything like it for that matter.
Where did this come from, Mom?

On my drive home, Pastor Johnson calls and confirms he can officiate on September 10. It is time to tell Noble. I’ve hesitated, as if something might come up that will dramatically change things. There’s only one thing that could come up and if he’s not here by now, he’s not coming.

I park in the L-shed and grab my bag of jewels from my mother’s jewelry box, including the turquoise necklace that I still can’t believe belonged to her. Noble is lying in the hammock on the side of the house. I walk over to him, wanting to show him my finds.

Noble’s asleep. I rock the hammock back and forth, but he still doesn’t wake. I go inside and shower and pick out a dress I haven’t worn since last summer. It’s green and strapless, and it’s one of Noble’s favorites. I unwrap two frozen strombolis and start chopping vegetables for a salad. There’s homemade sauce in a pot and the kitchen is filling with the aromas of home cooking. Setting the date deserves a meal.

The delicate stems of wineglasses dangle from my hand as I maneuver them out of the cabinet in the dining room. I jump as Noble sneaks up behind me and encircles my waist with his arms. He holds me tight as he rests his chin on my shoulder.

“Why do you look so good?” he asks, his voice rough on my neck.

“Excellent DNA,” I offer as I turn in his arms.

“Some of the best, I would say.” He kisses my neck. “What time’s dinner? I need a shower. I fell asleep in the hammock.”

“How are we ever going to run this farm if you need a nap every day?”

“I only need a nap because you climb on top of me in the middle of the night and take advantage of me,” Noble says, and I remember waking up and needing him. “I’m not sure what you’re dreaming about, but I hope you keep doing it—it’s working for me.”

There’s only one dream. It’s always the same. It’s Jason Leer and me and not another soul in this world.

“You’ve got at least a half hour. Take your time.” Noble raises my face to his and kisses me, reminding me even more of last night. He releases me and runs upstairs to shower.

On the shelf under the wineglasses are stacked shells from our trips to the shore. I take one out and carry it with my glasses back to the kitchen. I pull down a bottle of Good Karma wine from the shelf in the mudroom and remind myself to stop by Auburn Road and pick up some more. The cork makes a low
pop
as I hastily remove it. I pour myself a glass and search for a marker.

Hmm…Good Karma. Bring it.

There’s a drawer of odds and ends, mostly odds, that houses several pens and markers. The first two are dried up and I throw them away before finding the red one. I use it to write, “Marry Me, 9/10/11” on the inside of the shell with a little heart. I lean the shell against Noble’s wineglass and return to my salad making.

Noble comes down smelling fresh and clean and yummy and begins washing the lettuce. The strombolis heat in the oven as I stir the sauce. Candles would be nice, but it’s still light out. The days are long.

“Are you trying to seduce me?” Noble asks, surveying the room.

“Would it take this much effort?”

“I’m not easy,” he says, and takes a sip of my wine. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asks slyly.

“What’s mine is yours,” I say. “But you have a glass on the table.” Noble walks to the table and I continue to clean a pepper with my back to him. The seconds drag like hours and the silence in the room scares me. I glance over my shoulder to see him. He’s engrossed with the shell, staring at it and running his hand over it as if it’s some type of artifact. I turn and walk to him, uncomfortable without his smile, unsure of what he’s thinking.

“This is the date?” he asks, still examining the shell.

“If you still want me?” I say, and press my body against his front. I want to touch him, let his warmth settle me. Noble’s lips find mine and his kiss reminds me of one of our first, when we were on Violet’s parents’ terrace the night of her engagement party. He was confident, sure we should be together, and I thought he was crazy to even want me, let alone take a chance that someday I would be capable of what this shell is announcing.

“You never have to ask that. I will always want you,” Noble promises, and kisses me again. “You won’t regret this, Charlotte.”

“Did you think I ever would?”

“No. I’ve known for a long time you belong with me. I thought you were unsure and that that was why you waited to plan the wedding.”

“Why didn’t you say something before?” How long has Noble been suffering in silence while I was walking around completely oblivious to his fears?

“I was hoping one day you’d figure out you couldn’t live without me and set the date.”

I take the shell from him and hold it up. “Well, here’s the date. We’re getting married at the shore. On the point in Strathmere. Unless you have any input to the contrary.”

“Strathmere sounds perfect.”

“It is perfect,” I say, and consider
perfect
. It’s brilliant at hiding its flaws.

I’ve been working in the city at least once a week. It seems to calm my boss to have me around. “At his beck and call” has an appeal to him. This week I’m taking advantage of happy hour to share my impending nuptials with the Rutgers girls. Violet is taking the train into the city. I’ll drive her home tomorrow. Sydney is working here but lives in Hoboken, and Julia is here all the time. We’ll all stay at Julia’s and my condo, making it a long-overdue reunion. It’s been a while since we’ve had a good night out, just the four of us. Violet’s infidelity and wedding last year left us bewildered, and until recently, things have been strained.

“Charlotte!” Julia yells my name as she waves from the barstool she’s kneeling on to see me. I maneuver through the crowd and happily accept a beer upon my arrival. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I got you a Hoegaarden.”

I take a sip. “Summer nights need a beer.” Especially when you spend them in Bryant Park. This is my favorite spot in the city. The Bryant Park Hotel dazzles above us.

“I’m glad you suggested happy hour. I haven’t seen you in forever, and I always miss you more once the weather warms up.”

“I know. Why is that?” I ask.