The Best Week of My Life (5 page)

“Carter?”

“Hmm?”

“Can we go swimming?”

I felt his smile without looking up, and it made me all toasty inside.

“If you make me a promise,” he said.

“Okay. What? Remember to shuffle?” No way was I going to forget that this time.

“No. I mean, yes, do that, but I was going to say double check for sharks because knowing you, there’s a school of them out there waiting.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

***

Carter leaned back on his palms in the sun-warmed sand, Daphne’s slightly damp head in his lap, and his gaze traveled over her curves. She looked sexy in the suit, but telling her felt like too much too soon. But then so had everything else this week. It seemed God, or fate, or … something kept pushing them together.

In his thinking, this was a good thing instead of a bad one. After all, he’d been prepared for boredom, endless days of staring at the surf with forced meals beside his mom’s new boyfriend, and yet so far, it hadn’t been that way once. He had Daphne to thank. Yet what was happening inside him was more than thankfulness. It was a change to his heart.

Somehow, she’d wormed her way in, becoming an addiction, something he craved to have more of then when he did, he couldn’t get enough. And the worst part of that was, he liked it. He liked feeling as if every moment was different from the next and all of them revolved around her, as if any step he took he might stumble and end up face down beside her.

Crazy.

She extended an arm skyward, uncurling her fingers and spraying grains of sand into both of their faces. “Watermelon or strawberries?” she asked.

He tossed his head, to clear his face. “Strawberries. I hate watermelon.”

She looked up at him from her prone position. “Really? Me too.” She glanced away again and laid her arms on either side of her in the sand. “Grapes or blueberries?”

“That one’s harder, but I think I’d say grapes. Blueberries are pretty much only good in muffins.”

“But you can’t put grapes in a muffin,” she said. “Then again, they would on that TV cooking show, the one with the baskets and the timed rounds. You know what I think?”

He studied her. “I have no idea what you think at any minute in the day.”

She smiled at that. “Funny. And true. But I was gonna say, I think they need to take all those judges and force them to eat at a senior buffet. You know, like pressed chicken patties and stuff.”

“And boiled cabbage,” he added.

“You don’t like cabbage?”

He shook his head. “Not really.”

“But then how do you eat coleslaw?”

“I don’t.”

She wrinkled up one side of her face. “You don’t eat coleslaw? Isn’t that like … un-American? I mean, hot dogs, apple pie, coleslaw. You’re supposed to eat them together.”

“Sounds nasty.”

She giggled. “I didn’t mean together-together.”

“So what about you?” he asked. “Blueberries or grapes?”

“I’m not sure. Depends on whether or not I’m making muffins.”

He chuckled. “Can you make muffins?”

This brought her attention back to his face.

“I mean, do you cook?” He rephrased it.

“Well, some stuff,” she said. “Does that matter to you? If I’m the horriblest cook ever, would you run away from me?”

“I think if I’m running away from you it won’t be over food, but something cataclysmic that happened.”

She laughed. “I’m not really that bad.”

No sooner had she said this though than a seagull flew over and splatted on her abdomen. She hopped up with a squeal.

“It went on me. That bird actually went on me,” she yelled. She raced toward the water, hurling herself into the tossing surf. “The whole beach to go on, and he chooses me.”

Carter pulled himself up from the ground with a laugh.

“Not you, Mr. Perfect,” Daphne shouted, “but me.”

“Mr. Perfect?” He waded in after her, capturing her by the waist and spinning her around to face outwards. He then pulled her in deeper until she was floating, her hair making a wreath around her neck.

“Yeah, you’re so perfect all the time. You know, my stepping on the stingray was really your fault.”

The heated water splashed between them.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you took your shirt off, and I was too distracted.”

“But I buried your foot for you.”

She nodded. “Yes you did.”

They fell silent then. Carter tugged her along the shore at his side until a wave sloshed over her face. Sputtering, she righted herself and noticed how far out they were.

“How’d we get out here?”

He smiled at her. “I took us out here. It’s low tide, and I saw people out here yesterday.”

“A sandbar,” she said.

“Yep.”

She spun in a slow circle until she gazed out toward the horizon. On impulse, he came up behind her, and encircled her in his arms.

“Daph, if I ask you something serious, will you think about answering it?” he asked.

She tilted her head back and their eyes met. “Just think about?”

“Yes. Because I don’t want you to feel obligated to reply.”

She looked forward again, making no motion to move away from him. “There’s no harm in asking,” she said.

He sucked in his breath. “I’ll even do what you did before. I’ll trade you. If that makes it easier.” He laid his palm on the flat of her belly.

“I guess ask,” she said.

“What is it that scares you?”

She glanced back upwards. “Like anything? I don’t like spiders at all.”

He shook his head. “No, not like spiders. Like … about people. I get the feeling sometimes you talk to cover something up. Is there something?”

She folded her lip between her teeth, not speaking, and glanced away.

He sighed. “Like I said, you only have to think about answering. And I’ll make you a trade. I’m
not
perfect. In fact, most times I’m a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Her voice was soft.

“Yes.”

“But …”

“But nothing,” he said. “I think all the time about how what I say affects someone else. It’s part of what Carrie hated, why she broke up with me.”

This sent Daphne spinning around. She laid her hand on his chest. “
She
broke up with you?”

He inclined his head. “Said I was too sensitive, and she wanted a real man.”

“But that’s … and she’s … and …” She laid her cheek to his chest. “You’re perfect. I can’t find a flaw, and even if I do, I’m going to love it because …” She peeled her cheek back again. “Is it okay if I make a declaration, or are we not to that stage yet?”

He gave a soft laugh. “Go ahead. I think we’re okay because I made one yesterday.”

Her eyes brightened then she placed her head back against him. “My turn then.” But she didn’t speak for a few minutes and the sun blazed hot on their faces, the saltwater drying crisp on their skin. He took her into the deeper water.

“I’m afraid of being a fool,” she said. “You see all the stuff that happens to me. It’s always been that way, and yeah, I know a lot of it’s funny. But sometimes I simply want to be normal. Normal and average, the kind of person people pass by and not one they snicker at.”

They’d reached an even level now, her body floating higher, his legs bent. Face to face they stared at each other. Her cheeks were reddened from the sun, and her hair was a mess. Like she was. And that was perfect to him.

“Daph,” he said. “I like you exactly as you are, for all the reasons you think you’re different. Because you
are
different. But different good, not different bad.”

“Honest?” she whispered.

“Honest.”

She gazed past him, and then returned her eyes to his face. “Then I can make my declaration.”

“Okay. Go ahead,” he said.

She took a deep breath. “I was going to say, if you had a flaw, I’m going to love it because I have a crush on you.”

A crooked smile rose on his lips. “A crush, huh?”

She nodded, eyes wide, and her voice barely emerged. “I can’t believe I told you that.”

“But you did,” he said, matching her volume. “And it’s okay. I’m still here. Besides, it might be mutual.”

The trembling of her hands and quivering of her breath startled him. He adjusted his grip, folding her tighter. “Daph?”

A tear rolled down her cheek.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “I thought you’d be happy.”

“I … am,” she croaked. “And for once, I’m also incredibly lucky.”

CHAPTER 5

“So we’re going to the aquarium today and my mom says she’s already talked to yours about you going. But you know what’s weird? I think they’re friends now. They were like, ‘Hello, Martha.’ ‘Hello, Barbara.’ ‘How are you?’ ‘Well, I’m doing just fine.’ ‘I wanted to ask, because I figured Carter might be bored, but we’re going to the aquarium and he’s welcome to come along.’ ‘Oh, that’s so sweet of you, and you know, he and Daphne have gotten to be good friends.’”

“Good friends?” Carter asked, interrupting Daphne’s retelling of the story.

“Yes, ‘good friends.’ Is there a ranking for friendship?” she asked.

He quirked a smile.

“Because ‘good friends’ is higher than ‘plain friends’, but what do you reckon’s above ‘good friendship’?”

“Close friends?” he asked.

She nodded. “Close friends. I should have thought of that. Wait. Does that mean we’re not close friends yet? Do you have to be friends a long time to be close?”

He didn’t have answers to any of those questions, so he made no comment. It didn’t matter anyway because she was off again.

“So your mom says, ‘He and Daphne have gotten to be good friends.’ And mine says, ‘I’ve noticed that. Daphne’s always needed someone to hang out with.’ Why are parents so slow to pick things up?”

He shrugged.

“And ‘hang out with?’ Is that what we’re doing? I don’t think boys ‘hang out with’ girls.”

“I like your mom,” he said.

This threw her off because she paused. “You do?”

“Sure, and your dad. They’re nice.”

She rolled her eyes. “They’re weird. I mean, who comes to the beach and never goes out to the water.”

“They went out to see you.”

“True.”

“So what else did they say?” He prompted her.

She inhaled. “Nothing much, just that it was okay for you to go, and we’d maybe have dinner together tonight. Your mom’s making lasagna.”

“She makes good lasagna,” he said.

“And my mom suggested playing cribbage.”

“Cribbage?”

“Yeah.” Daphne laughed. “Mom loves cribbage. She even packed the board in case she could find someone to play.”

“Your dad doesn’t play?

She shook her head. “No. Dad doesn’t do much. He mostly watches the news and reads the paper. Except …”

He waited for her to finish. When she didn’t, he waived a hand before her face. She blinked.

“Except he talks to our fish.”

A little speechless, he didn’t respond. She twisted herself sideways and sliding down on the couch, laid her head in his lap. She hung her feet over the arm.

“He’s a beta. Dad calls him Gerry. But he’s all crooked, gimpy-like. The pet store was gonna flush him, but Dad said no.”

“A gimpy fish?”

“Yes, well, gimpy fish deserve to live, too. We should make that a t-shirt slogan,” she said. “Red shirts with a picture of Gerry on them. Would you wear one?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Right, maybe not you. But I would.”

“Daph?” he interrupted her.

She craned her neck back to see his face.

“What time did you go to sleep last night?”

She wrinkled her forehead. “I think it was nine. Why?”

“You seem … rested.”

“I am, but maybe I should stay up later tonight. Maybe we can go for a walk in the dark. You think?”

“If you want.”

“That reminds me,” she said, giggling. “Last year, mom and dad decided to go for a walk on the beach … alone. Mom said she was tired of watching TV and needed fresh air. So they go out, but maybe twenty minutes later come back, and she’s all white-faced. She said they saw … saw … a couple like … you know on the beach.”

He pulled back a laugh.

Footsteps from the bedrooms shut Daphne up. She put a finger to her lips and hissed. “Shhh.”

“Oh, Carter, you’re here,” Martha Merrill said, one hand on an earring. “Good. Howard will be out in a minute.” Successfully clamping her earring in place, she then lowered her arm and smoothed her skirt. “Well, that’s done,” she said.

“Martha have you seen my …” Howard Merrill appeared in the room, and his gaze lit on Carter. “Ah, good to see you, Son,” he said. “Going along with us to see the big fishes, huh?” He flexed his arms. “Used to be quite a fisherman in my youth. Once caught a twelve pound largemouth bass. That sucker was this big.” He extended his hands on either side of him. “Shoulda had it stuffed, made a trophy out of it, but my dad said, ‘Howard, fish are for eatin’.’” He deepened his voice at that point.

Daphne inserted herself. “Granda loved fish. He could eat a plate piled this high and still weigh only one hundred and ten pounds.” She held her hand about 12 inches above her lap.

“Never could fatten him up,” Martha said. “Though he used to compliment my cooking.”

“Too bad he passed on.” Howard wagged his head. “I miss the old feller sometimes.” He seemed to indulge himself in a moment of thought, then just as quick moved on. “Where’s my camera?” he asked. “Want to take some pictures. Need to get some of the young people together, and then all of us.”

“It’s on the table, Howard,” Martha said.

He lumbered across the room and spotting the camera, offered a satisfied grunt. “Yes sir. We must make memories. Martha and I met at the beach. She ever tell you that?” he asked, nodding toward Daphne.

Carter cleared his throat. “No, sir.”

“Can’t believe our Daphne hasn’t told you.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Carter’s mouth. He couldn’t believe it either.

“Martha here was a babe.”

“Howard!”

Daphne giggled.

“Well, you were. You had on that hot little number.”

“Behave,” Martha scolded.

Howard chuckled. “She comes prancing down the sand …”