Swept Away (2 page)

Tucker swallowed the lump in his throat and managed to thank her before driving away. He didn’t quite know why, but he wished she’d said his dad knew about him from the beginning, but just didn’t care he existed. Then he could hate the man and write him off. Now, he supposed, while he was in town, he owed him a visit.

The nursing home was a short drive from the trailer park. The nurse on duty, a willowy lady with a pinched face, assured him he was wasting his time. As she led him toward his dad’s room, she said, “He’s a bad tempered SOB. Has a tendency to throw whatever’s in reach when he gets tired of being bothered with company. Keep that in mind.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Tucker said.

The nurse pushed a heavy wooden door open and yelled, “Knock, knock, Mr. Morgan. You have a visitor.”

Tucker frowned and stuffed his hands in his pockets, wondering why people assumed everyone in a hospital was deaf.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to visit. Remember to duck if he gets mad,” she whispered as she took off down the tacky mauve hallway.

“Mr. Morgan?” Tucker announced, entering the room slowly. The meeting seemed like a great idea in the parking lot, but as he ventured into the darkened room, he lost some of his nerve.

Rob Morgan sat slumped in a wheelchair. Turning it with a single foot, he slowly faced Tucker.

Tucker kneeled in front of him. The man was a frail shell with gray hair and shaking hands.

“Sir, I’m Marlene Adkin’s son, Tucker? Tucker Boone?”

Rob grunted and pointed toward the door. Tucker looked over his shoulder, but he wasn’t sure what Rob wanted from him.

“I, uh, went to your place and talked to Gloria. She told me about Maddy, asked me to find her.”

Over and over, Rob slapped his hands on his legs, seeming more agitated with each blow.

“I don’t understand. Is it Maddy?”

Rob yelled as his clumsy hands cleared his lunch from his hospital table.

A carafe of coffee landed in Tucker’s hand, but the plates and utensils clattered to the floor. Within seconds, the nurse returned, carrying a hypodermic needle. She had his dad stabbed and drugged quicker than she could say, “Now, Mr. Morgan, there’s no reason to be rude.”

“I think he wanted something,” Tucker said.

She flashed Tucker a disgusted look. “He’s a cantankerous pain in the who-zits. And getting visitors always unsettles him. Don’t make so much of it, Mr. Boone.”  Standing upright, she pressed the call button on the side of his bed. “He’ll take a little nap and hopefully wake in a better humor. You remember your way out?”

Rob’s head dropped to his chest as the drug coursed through his body. Tucker backed out of the room.

A gull cried overhead. The Ocracoke Ferry was approaching land. Tucker wasn’t sure what he thought he’d find on the quiet North Carolina island, but it was this or another tour in Iraq.

After meeting with Gloria and then his dad, logic told him the girl probably did run away, and that she’d return if and when she wanted. But then there was Gloria. That crazy cat lady got under his skin. How could he add his name to the list of people who advised her to give up without even following a single lead? Besides, what else did he have to do right now? Without the mystery of Maddy—he had no other diversion to life other than a war zone, and the idea of re-enlisting without Ash was like a knife to the gut. It seemed trite to say the man was like a brother, but he was the best friend Tucker ever had.

The boat slowed. People moved from the railings and the viewing deck to their cars. As Tucker sighed and headed toward his own car, his phone rang. His mother. “What?”

“No need to be snotty. I’m just checking in.”

“I’m fine. Just arriving on the island. And you?” He unlocked his door and climbed in.

“Also fine, though worried sick over the sanity of my only child.”

Tucker laughed.

“It’s not funny, Tucker. You realize you didn’t even unpack before running off on this little adventure?”

“Shove it in my closet. I’ll deal with it when I get back.”

“And when will that be?”

“No idea, but I’ll guarantee I’m in no hurry.” Tucker started his engine and flipped on the AC.

“It’s Holly, isn’t it? That bitch was crazy; even your dead friend knew that.”

Tucker moved the phone from his ear and stared at it. His mother was amazing, and that wasn’t a compliment. Putting it back, he said, “His name was Ash.”

“Ash, that’s right. Bottom line is—you are jumping out of the frying pan into the fire. What happened with Holly isn’t your fault. Running away won’t change anything.”

“That’s ironic coming from you.”

She was quiet a minute, before she said, “So, that’s what this is about? You’re still mad at me about Rob? How was I supposed to know he’d have a stroke before you could meet him?”

“I’m not discussing this anymore. I need to try to find Maddy.”

“She’s probably a hooker somewhere, given her environment and gene pool.”

Rubbing his chin, Tucker didn’t answer.

“Fine. Whatever.” His mother’s words were clipped. “You never listen to me anyhow. I just hope you don’t regret this. Trust me. Anything that has to do with Rob Morgan is bad news.”

“You started it, not me.”

“It wasn’t my idea for you to track him down.”

“But it was your idea to have sex with him.”

There was a weighted silence that Tucker had to break. “I don’t want to fight. I have to do this.”

She sighed. “Fine. Scour the globe for a white trash runaway.”

“That’s the positive spirit I know and love,” he said with a laugh that was far from merry. “If it makes you feel better, it’s beautiful here. It’s more like a vacation.”

“God knows you could use one of those. This was a bad year, sweetie. It’ll get better. If I could take your pain, I would. I swear.”

The banging and clanking of the stewards removing the wheel blocks grabbed his attention.  “I know you would. I need to go. The ferry is unloading.”

“Okay. Love you. Be careful!”

Tucker shifted into drive and slowly rolled his grey Fusion onto land. He’d planned on getting a Mustang or a Corvette when he joined the military, but ended up listening to his mother and getting the smaller, more economical car. It was one concession he could make, considering he’d ignored her advice about everything else, from joining the Corps to Holly.

The image of a feisty blonde tried to nudge its way back into his thoughts, but he shoved it out. Instead, he tried to think about Maddy. His only clue was the cryptic,
I’ve gone Mad, Mags
note.

At first, the only stories his internet search popped up were satirical
Mad Magazine
articles. He spent an hour or more wading through page after page of comic links before he finally stumbled onto a different sort of Mad Mags: a restless spirit that supposedly haunted the family graveyards of Ocracoke, North Carolina.

A ghost story. Tucker knew it was a stretch, but it was all he had.

Driving down Highway Twelve, he took in this new world. Fresh and foreign felt good. The two-lane blacktop ran straight down the narrow island. The green of home was replaced by the beige of sand and sea oats. Gulls gathered in puddles along the road, squawking indignation at passing cars. Tucker couldn’t blame them. Humans could be so intrusive.

He was beginning to think there was nothing on the island but trees, sand, and birds, when the land opened up and a town appeared. Grey-sided stores and restaurants lined the road. The towns along the Outer Banks boasted little color, unlike other coastal towns that flaunted Caribbean flare. This place conformed to nature, allowed itself to be carried along with it like the tides surrounding it.

Tucker pulled into a general store that promised free saltwater taffy and AC. The door chimed as he walked in, and the lady behind the counter looked him over with a smile. She had an athletic, slender build that belonged to a twenty-year-old, not to the middle-aged, graying woman in front of him. “Hey there, handsome. What can I do you for?”

“Pardon?” Tucker nearly stuttered.

The woman laughed. “Relax soldier, I’m too experienced for a young pup like yourself. You vacationing or just passing through?”

Telling people he was on a quest to find a runaway sister felt a bit dramatic, so instead he said, “Just got out of the Marines. Was feeling cooped up, so I thought I’d try a change of scenery.”

“Was it bad over there?”

“It’s war.”

“Hard to come home? My uncle was a Vietnam vet. He had a hard time adjusting to civilian life.”

Tucker shoved his hands in his pockets. “Nothing like that. I’m just glad to be stateside and need a place to relax.”

“A sojourning soldier, eh?”

Tucker smiled and nodded. “I suppose so.”

“Well, you came to the right place. Salt heals wounds, and you can’t escape the salt in this place. That’s how I ended up here. Got set aside for the younger model and needed to find a place I could breathe. My original intention was to write a book of all the people who travel here from wanderlust—The
SoJournal. G
et it? Sojourn?
SoJournal
?”

“Yeah, that’s clever.”

“Evidently not. Couldn’t find a publisher to buy it no matter how many trees I shook.”

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s all right. I met a lot of people writing it—got a lot of stories from people passing through.”

Tucker’s eyebrow shot up, and he stepped forward, leaning across the counter. “You’ve met a lot of people here?”

“Most certainly. We’re the first stop and only full service grocer on the island. Isn’t anyone here that stayed for any amount of time that I don’t know.”

“When I got out of the service, I, uh, looked up my biological father. He’s gone, but I was told I had a sister—Madison Morgan.” He pulled her picture out of his pocket and showed the smiling blonde teen to her.

She looked it over. “She looks a bit like Murray Bank’s niece, Josie McCoy. Only Josie has brown hair. And she’s a bit older. I’d say about your age.”

Tucker nodded, excited that it could be this easy. “Do you know where I could find her?”

“And what? Go up to Josie and ask her if she’s your long lost sister? Seems her and Murray are pretty sure she belongs to his sister.” She took the picture from him and looked more closely. “Though the resemblance is uncanny. Eyes may be a little different, but then I’ve never seen Josie smile like that. You know, I always thought it was weird that Murray suddenly had a niece come live with him.”

Tucker looked down at the picture. “If it’s not her, it’s not her. No harm in asking.”

“We’ll see if you think that after meeting Murray. The way I see it, you drive down there and ask outright, you’re going to get a firm no. If you want information from a guy like Murray, I wouldn’t ask any questions at all. Here,” she said as she ripped off some register tape and started writing an address. “You said you needed a break anyhow, so what’s your hurry? You go to Murray and tell him you're looking for work, and Ella sent you his way. He’s always needing summer help. Then you snoop about for dirt on Josie. I mean if she is this Madison, she’s evidently hiding from someone, right? Why else would she change her name?”

Tucker took the picture, the address, and thanked her as he backed out of the store. Ella leaned a hip against the counter as she said, “You better tell me what you dig up. Nothing I love better than a good story. Even if I can’t write one and sell the damn thing.”

“Will do. Thank you, ma’am.”

“Ma’am? Pah. I’ll let that slide since you’re a soldier. But I’m too damn young to be a ma’am.”

Tucker grinned and offered her a wink before the door closed.

Murray’s place was a bit harder to find than Tucker expected. Half hidden behind a grove of small cottages was a peeling yellow house. Seems Murray Banks was willing to do battle with nature and paint his house, though he was obviously losing ground. Nature always won. The heat, wind, and salt spray could scrub a house back to grey in a season, but other than the peeling paint, the house looked sturdy. The driveway was in better shape than the pitted sandy road he took to get here, and there was a large garage peeking from around the side of the house that looked almost new.

As Tucker climbed out of his car, a man emerged from the house. He was a short, stocky guy dressed in jeans and a button-up. His shirt had stains and sweat marks under the armpits, but the sleeves were creased like they had been freshly ironed. The man gave him a nod. Tucker read a lot of respect and snap in that head nod. Tucker suspected he was former military.  With a fresh burst of hope, Tucker moved forward.

“Mr. Banks? Murray Banks?”

“Yes, sir. I’m Murray. Can I help you?”

“Sir, my name’s Tucker Boone. Ella sent me. She said you may be able to help me find work?”

Murray nodded as he pulled a rag out of his pocket, wiping his hands clean before reaching out to shake Tucker’s. “Always looking for a good worker.”

A smile spread across Tucker’s face. “That’s good news for me.”

“You got any experience with motors?” Murray asked.

“No, sir. Graduated high school and went into the Marine Corps. That’s pretty much the extent of my skills.”

“I figured from the haircut. Well, I suppose an old Airman can teach a jarhead all he needs to know,” Murray said with a grin. “Come with me to the shop. We’ll get your information and get you started.”

“Yes, sir,” Tucker said as he followed the man down the short drive to a room off the garage. A window air conditioner hummed and blocked the view to the outside, making the room dark. Murray flipped on a light, revealing a room filled with neatly lined rows of worktables. Each table had an engine or appliance on it. Attached to each table was a swing arm lamp and a clipboard hanging from a nail. It was like a mechanical surgical center.

“This is where I fix most of the engines. No sense battling the bugs and the heat, just pop them off and bring them on inside. I’ll teach you how to do it. Guess that means you’ll mostly be out in the heat. But shoot, you’re young.”

“Heat doesn’t bother me, sir.”

Murray laughed. “That sir stuff will wear off. How long you been out?”

“Two weeks tomorrow.”

“Well now, no wonder. I’ve been out over twenty-five years and still haven’t shaken all the habits. You’re probably still gulping your dinner like a black snake.”

“Yes, sir.” Tucker nodded with a grin. That habit bugged his mom and Holly, but dinner while deployed wasn’t a social affair. It was done as efficiently as you made your bed or polished your boots. His mother had gone so far as to insist he set his fork down on the table after each bite. And she wondered why he didn’t want to stay at home. “But I do chew with my mouth closed,” Tucker informed Murray.

It was Murray’s turn to laugh. He opened a file cabinet and pulled out a sheet of paper. Tucker looked over the standard employment application, filled it out, and handed it back. After a quick glance, Murray filed it in the cabinet. “You got a place here on the island? I see you’re from Ohio. I assume you don’t own land here.”

“No, sir.”

“The cottages out front are mine. I can let you have one of the small ones as part of your wages. Say instead of twenty dollars an hour, I’ll give you twelve and lodging. Used to offer room and board, but my wife, Hetty, ain’t well enough to keep up anymore. Or if you need, I could ask Josie if she’d cook for you. She’s one helluva good cook.”

Tucker’s heart sped up. “Josie?”

“My niece. She lives in the cottage by yours. Sweet girl—don’t you go getting any ideas.”

Tucker thought about Josie being the possible runaway Madison, and therefore his
sister
, and he almost cringed. “No worries of that, sir.”

“Well, you don’t have to be so quick to say that. Just ‘cos I’m an ugly son of a bitch doesn’t mean Josie isn’t a looker,” Murray said with a snicker. “Come on, I’ll show you the cottage. You’re in the Fig Tree. Hetty named them all. She’s not overly creative. We have Fig Tree, Atlantic Shore, Sunset, ah shoot…look around you. If you see it close by, that’s one of the names of our cottages.” Murray led him out of the garage. The garage and personal residence were separated from the cottages by a tangle of wild vines, pine shrubs, and crooked-trunked trees. A packed sand road wound its way through the cluster of rental cottages like a community of small, look-alike homes. They were all grayed cedar with a nameplate on the porch. Only the doors were painted different colors. 

At the back edge of the property, nestled in the woods, were two tiny rectangular structures. They were no bigger than lawn sheds and sat only a few feet apart. They couldn’t offer much more than a few hundred square feet of living, but for a guy who spent the last year sleeping in a hole he dug in the desert, they looked as good as mansions.

The isolation of the cabins also appealed to him. A mini jungle, similar to the one providing Murray’s house with privacy, surrounded the cottages. He could sit out on the porch and almost feel like he was alone in this wooded sanctuary. There was even a porch swing. This place was perfect.

As they moved closer, Tucker could smell fresh paint on the breeze. The front doors of the cabins were a crisp marine blue. Large pots of pink flowers flanked each blue door. A bit girly, but nice after spending the last year surrounded by brown.

“Josie maintains the cottages. Makes ‘em right pretty if you ask me,” Murray said as he fished a key out of his pocket. He unlocked the door and handed the key to Tucker. “I’ll let you make yourself at home today. Put you to work in the morning. I start about ten in the summer. I’m too old to wrestle myself out of bed with the damned rooster.”

As Tucker stepped into the cottage, Murray flipped on the light. The living area and kitchen area were all one space. It took Murray two strides to reach a narrow doorway covered with a shell-splattered curtain. “Here’s the bedroom,” Murray said, pulling back the curtain to reveal a solid wrought iron bed. The bed took up most of the room. But it looked comfortable, covered in a colorful quilt and stacked high with pillows.

Nodding as he scanned the room, Tucker was satisfied. Nothing was perfect, from the mismatched furniture to the miniature appliances in the kitchen, but it was all good. This place offered nothing more and nothing less than exactly what he needed. 

“AC unit is in the bedroom. Keep the curtain pulled back, and it will keep the whole place cool.”

Tucker pulled back the navy blue curtain of the north facing window and found himself staring into what had to be Josie’s place. The structures were so close, he could open his window and tap on hers. He could easily see that her cottage had the same layout as his, but hers was decked out in yellows and pinks, with pictures on the walls and plants and flowers in every corner and on every table.

Movement inside the cabin caught Tucker’s eye. A woman walked into view. Tucker sucked in a breath. Yes, she was pretty. She had all the necessary parts—cute little nose, big eyes, silky-looking hair that curled in wisps around her ears. Dressed in cutoff denim shorts and a tank top, she had a style that promised a lack of complication. Her eyes widened when she spotted him, and an immediate blush stained her cheeks. Nothing coy in her response. No rehearsed smile or suggestive stare.

Tucker wasn’t one to brag, but being all-state in three sports and having a face that wasn’t hard to look at got him quite a few looks and frequent offers from women, even a few from his teachers and once by a friend of his mom’s. Such an honest, clumsy response was refreshing after the whiplash changes in his love life.

“Told you she was a pretty girl.” Murray gave him a nudge.

“And you’re sure she’s your niece? Was she adopted?”

“Dang boy.” Murray laughed. “Damned but if you don’t just put it right out there. I told you she doesn’t look like me.”

Tucker’s cheeks burned, and he felt hot. “I didn’t mean that. It’s just…well, your coloring is different.”

A good-natured grin spread across his face as Murray scratched his ear lobe. “It’s all right, son. I own a mirror. Josie is my sister’s girl.”

“You’re sure?”

“Hell, boy, I think I know my own family.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you do. It’s just…well, this is going to sound crazy, but my mom just recently told me I have a half-sister I’ve never met.”

Murray’s laugh nearly rattled the windows. “Oh Christ, you poor kid. That’s got to put a damper on dating.”

“It doesn’t make it any easier, that’s for sure.”

Murray shook his head, his laugh reduced to a chuckle he seemed unable to stifle. “Damn if I couldn’t use this to my advantage, but hell, you look like a good sort, for a jarhead. I promise you, Josie ain’t your sister. She’s an only child.”

Tucker breathed a sigh of relief. Sure, finding Madison would have been nice, but he couldn’t help but be glad as hell Josie couldn’t be her.