Tattered Innocence (16 page)

“Quill Broadbeck,
Southeast Coastal
Magazine.
” A delicate gold chain dangled from the wrist she
held out to Jake. When she leaned over to connect with his
outstretched hand, the back of her blouse slid up revealing a
tattoo that might be the top third of the Harley Davidson eagle
emblem.

“Captain Jake Murray, at your service,
Ma’am.”

Ma’am?
The girl had to be Jake’s age
or younger.

Jake nodded toward Rachel. “This is Rachel
Martin, first mate.”

The woman slid her fingers from Jake’s and
faced her.

Rachel’s lips stretched into a smile and she
shook the stubby, pink-lacquered fingers. “Quill. Cute. And you
write for a magazine.”

Quill narrowed her eyes at Rachel. “My full
name is Quillan.”

Rachel bit her tongue to keep from mimicking
the woman’s drawl. “Welcome aboard.”

Jake pointed with his chin toward her
laptop. “Business or pleasure?”

Quill hooked short, straight hair the color
of dirty sand behind her ears. “Vacation, but I’m writing a feature
on the
Smyrna Queen
to pitch to my editor.” She quirked her
head to one side, giving Jake the once-over. “And I’d say it’s
definitely going to be a pleasure.”

The boiling pot of spaghetti steamed
Rachel’s face and slimed her armpits. She fished out a noodle. Too
stiff—four more minutes of torture, at least. And two more days of
Miss
Southeast Coastal
.

Rachel glanced through the companionway at
Quill, in her neon orange bikini, curled up in a shady corner of
the cockpit with her laptop, as cool as if she’d stayed in her air
conditioned office. No wonder the woman’s suitcase was an overnight
bag—how much room did five bikinis take?

The first three days had crawled by like the
first three chapters of
Early Childhood
Development
.
It had come down to a choice between sleeping and reading.
Thankfully, Quill had kept Jake too preoccupied to notice Rachel’s
exhaustion. No way could she pass this class without Hall reading
for her. And she’d be delusional to think she’d get a yes now.

Quill’s laugh grated Rachel’s last nerve as
she shoved the garlic bread into the oven.

Jake and Quill’s conversation spilled down
the companionway.

Rachel tore lettuce into a bowl.

“So, you sailed on the team at the
University of South Florida?”

“Right.” Jake’s tone said he’d rather scrape
barnacles off the
Queen
’
s
hull than talk about
himself.

“Sorry, I want to make sure I’ve got the
facts right. Your life has been so different from mine. You
fascinate me.”

Quill had dropped ocean liner-sized hints on
Jake all week. Either Jake was stupid as a horseshoe crab or he had
honed fending off women to an art. Rachel hefted the Dutch oven and
dumped the steaming noodles into the colander in the sink.

“You refitted
The Smyrna Queen
by
yourself?” Quill prodded.

Rachel blew the hair out of her eyes and
reached for the plastic carton of tomatoes.

Jake’s voice filtered through the hatch.
“Enough. You’ve picked me dry. What’s your story?”

A breath blew across Rachel’s damp skin.
Jake must have switched on the fan for her.

“Coming about!” Jake brought the
Queen
around. The boat righted, sails flapped, the boom
squeaked as it swung over the cockpit.

Rachel braced her feet as the sails caught
the wind and the
Queen
listed to starboard.

“I come from Atlanta white trash. Two
sisters and their babies on welfare. Mama’s still cleaning rooms
down at the Hyatt, like she always has. Daddy took off. I saw a
picture of him once.... Anyway, I starved through community
college, won a journalism scholarship to the University of Georgia,
paid my dues at
Atlanta Journal Constitution
for a year. And
I’m going to win a Pulitzer.” Steel laced her voice.

Ambition. Something Rachel never seemed to
scratch together.

“At
Southeast Coastal
?” Jake asked
the question on the tip of Rachel’s tongue.

“Cutting my chops on features. Look for my
byline in the
Times
in a few years. So, be nice to me
and—”

“How nice?” Jake asked.

Was he flirting?
Oh please.
Rachel
rolled her eyes.

“Did I mention I could probably pull down
some half-price advertising?”

Jake chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Rachel climbed the steps into the cockpit.
“Dinner time!”

As Quill and the other guests filed through
the companionway into the cabin,

Rachel mumbled, “Man whore,” under her
breath and coughed.

Jake’s eyes widened, then he laughed. He
hooked his elbow around her neck. “Yeah, what do I have to do to
get you to work Saturday? I booked an anniversary party for the
day.”

She glanced through the companionway and saw
Quill studying them. Rachel ducked out of his grasp. “You don’t
have to do anything because there’s no way I’m working Saturday.
Lucky you.”

Bret’s smile danced across the page of
Rachel’s textbook. She batted it away like a dragonfly buzzing her
head. The all-day Saturday classes were killers, but at least they
only lasted six weeks.

She lay still on the bowsprit, clicked off
the flashlight, and waited for the familiar longing for him. But it
didn’t come. She let out her breath.
Thank God.

The passengers had long turned in for the
night. Jake slept in the aft cabin, snoring softly on his right
side. She could have poked him with her foot.
H
e’d roll over and quit like he had a half dozen times
before. But she had to study, and late night was her favorite part
of the day to spend with the
Queen—
when deepest blue ocean
washed everything away.

Judging from the eagle tattoo on her lower
back Quill tried to hide under make-up, she had her own things
she’d like to wash away. Rachel might even like the woman if she
hadn’t set her compass on Jake.

Rachel scooted further out on the bowsprit,
enjoying the sensation of gliding like a gull over the water. The
Queen’s
gentle bounce soothed her. The generator hummed in
the night air, driving the fore cabin’s electric fans. Her eyes
drifted shut. She’d read in a minute.

Something warm clamped on her foot, shooting
adrenalin like man-o-war venom up her leg.

“Rae, what’re you doing out here?” Jake’s
sleepy voice croaked.

She jerked her foot free and sat up.

Jake, still befuddled with sleep, sat back
on his heels while she climbed on deck.

“Why did you grab my foot?”

“I didn’t want you to fall overboard.”

Rachel rubbed her arch where his fingers had
been. “I always come out here when I can’t sleep.”

She settled on the gunwale, clutching the
book in her lap, her gaze skimming over Jake’s gym shorts to the
light atop the mizzen mast, back to the fine hair curling on his
chest. She’d seen his chest countless times. Why did she feel
magnetized by the sight tonight?

Jake scratched his head. “I wonder why I
never woke up before.”

“Probably because you sleep like someone
who’s been dead for a week.”

Jake smiled. “Like you sleep in the
mornings, you mean?” He grabbed the stay behind her head and leaned
back to peer at the stars dotting the sky. “Beautiful.” He inhaled
the humid, salty air. “I’m never up at this hour to enjoy it.”

Rachel studied his Adam’s apple, the
moonlight pouring over his night-whiskered chin and sleep-tussled
hair. What would his face feel like against the palm of her
hand?

Jake caught her gaze, and held it. The
tiniest smile played at the corners of his mouth. His eyebrows
arched a centimeter.

What would Jake’s kiss be like? If she let
her gaze drift to his mouth like she wanted, he’d know what she was
thinking. Maybe he did anyway.

A gust of air knocked a halyard against the
mast and broke the connection.

They soft-soled to the aft deck, careful not
to disturb the guests.

“What are you going to do about Quill’s
Southeast Coastal
advertising offer?” Rachel asked.

Jake shook his head and chuckled. “Man
whore.” He leaned against the aft cabin. “What do you think I
should do?”

“It’s your life.”

“Don’t you have an opinion?”

Rachel chewed on her lip. “I’m just
curious.”

“Nosey, you mean.” Jake rubbed his chin.
“She mentioned a feature article, four-color ads at half price. So,
suggestions?”

Rachel huffed. “Guys never hit on me. What
would I know?”

“Except Bret.”

“Yeah.” Her gaze dropped to the cabin.

Jake chuckled. “There’s a word for women
like you.”

Rachel turned toward him. “Oh?”

“Oblivious.”

The champagne of the word fizzed through
her.
Oblivious.
She wanted to fall asleep saying the word
over and over. She’d never noticed how it rolled off the tongue and
arced gracefully over the ocean like a gull.
Oblivious.

“You don’t believe me.” Jake shook his head.
“For the whole sea campers’ cruise, ten pairs of eyes moved when
you moved.”

“Pete pinched me.”

“And you—”

“Made sure he’d never do it again.”

“You didn’t see it as the most sincere
compliment a sixteen-year-old could give you?”

“No.”

“Oblivious.” Jake pushed himself off the
cabin with a shake of his head. “About Quill—”

“You do rude well. Try that.”

“And if I want a five-page feature article
with glossy photo layout?”

“Give her a backrub.” Rachel slipped into
the cabin. Jake’s soft laugh floated down on top of her as she hid
the textbook in her bin.

Out of habit, she rolled over on her bunk
and grabbed her phone from between the mattress and the hull to
check her messages.
1Text Message Hall
glowed from the
screen.

The steps creaked as Jake climbed into the
cabin.

She waited for Hall’s words to load, her
stomach clenching.

Need to talk.

Her skin prickled. Even when they were at
odds, he kept his text short in deference to her dyslexia…. Would
he ex her out of his life permanently? She couldn’t
exist
without Hall.

Jake nestled onto his sheet, and she wished
she could ask him to hold her like he did after the storm. But Bret
had killed her naivety.

She flopped her head back against the
pillow. Fear’s acid sloshed in her stomach and a prayer whispered
from her lips. She couldn’t wait another three days till they
docked and she could track Hall down at the camp.

She grabbed her phone, leaned up on one
elbow, and texted back.
About?

I let it go.

Let what go?

Hall’s letters swam across the screen in a
jumble.
Hurt, embarrassment.

I’m so sorry.

We’re good.

Her thumbs danced across the keypad.
Thank you.
She fell back on the bed. Relief, like an
anti-adrenaline, ran through her limbs.

Rachel positioned the ball of her left foot
on the smooth wood of the bowsprit. A barrel-shaped guest hoisted
her body over the transom ladder, grinning from ear to ear. Her
husband slid over the side, dragging a life jacket.

Rachel twisted her right foot into position,
her knees bending and straightening with the
Queen’s
sway.
Her gaze skimmed across Quill in the port corner of the
cockpit—where she’d been planted like a barnacle all week—to
Jake.

His warm eyes fixed on Rachel.

Guess I’m not oblivious today.

She balanced with her arms stretched out in
front of her, flexed her knees, and arced into her personal-best,
back dive.

Later, Rachel stood amidships, water running
from her body toward the scuppers in the gunwales. Nearby, Quill
gripped the coaming. Make-up smudged one wing of her eagle,
tramp-stamp tattoo.

Quill’s eyes followed Jake as he spun a
one-and-a-half off the bowsprit, then drifted to the rest of the
Queen’s
occupants swimming in the ocean. Her wistful
expression evaporated when she felt Rachel’s scrutiny.

“You don’t swim, do you?” Rachel clamped her
mouth shut. Where had that come from? But she was sure, now that
she’d said it.

Quill’s eyes flicked to the water and back
to Rachel. She crossed her arms over her chest without
answering.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Lots of
people never learned to swim.”

The air seemed to go out of Quill. She sunk
to the edge of the coaming.

Rachel settled on the coaming beside Quill.
“I taught a Terrified of Water class after I graduated from high
school. Go down to the Y and take the class.”

“Maybe I should. Working at
Southeast
Coastal
, I’ll be around water a lot.” Quill stared at Rachel as
if she were weighing whether to speak. “You got something going
with Jake?”

If only. “He’s in love with his
ex-fiancé.”

Quill sighed. “That explains a lot. Hey,
sorry if I’ve been cold. I have a competitive streak—”

“Really?”

They both laughed.

Quill shot her a sheepish look. “The guy’s
too good-looking for his own good.”

Rachel’s eyes connected with Quill’s. “For
anybody’s good.”

Jake faced Quill from the
Queen’s
deck.

She stood on the finger pier, laptop
clutched under one arm, bag strung over her shoulder. “Rachel says
you’re still in love with your ex.”

Did Rachel believe that piece of fiction? Or
did she just do him a favor by getting Quill off his back? “Rachel
said that?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”