The Summer of Lost Wishes (7 page)

“Obviously they knew,” Rooks says. “Everyone
knew, but no one could prove it, and we sure as hell weren’t going
to confess. But my mom knew, and she said it was too much to deal
with and maybe Dad could get me back in line this summer.”

I nod along as he speaks. “Is that what he’s
doing then? Hard labor working on the Calloway Cottage to teach you
a lesson?” I ask. I hope he knows I’m joking.

“Let’s walk,” he says, pointing ahead toward
the crowds of people. “We’re going to walk down to the next block
and back up to the downtown area.”

I trudge along with him, wondering if maybe
my hard labor remark was taken too seriously. Maybe I should
apologize. I didn’t take him as the type to be easily offended, but
in all reality, I don’t truly know him any more than he truly knows
me.

“I’m not a bad guy,” he finally says once
we’re out of earshot of the kids playing in the sand. “I really do
stay out of trouble for the most part. I had to for baseball. If my
grades dropped or I got in trouble, in or out of school, then I was
benched, so I really did behave myself. Dad knows that, though.
He’s cool about it. I screwed up. I know it. But it’s over and
done. I’m allowed to mess up every now and then. And that’s how
often it is – just every now and then.”

A weathered wooden fence lines the bottom of
the sand dunes, barely high enough not to be swallowed by the sand
itself. It trails along until it meets the old wooden steps that
lead from the parking lot down to the beach. Rooks holds his arm
out, motioning for me to walk ahead.

Sand is tucked into every nook of the steps.
It’s going to take a while to get used to tracking sand behind me
everywhere I go. I keep my beach bag close to me like a protective
momma turtle watching over her eggs. I glance back at Rooks when we
reach the top of the steps.

“Well,” he says, looking ahead at the
downtown block. “Now you know my story. I’m a liar and a lobster
thief. Still want to hang out with me?”

At the far end of the downtown strip,
there’s an old red and orange Spanish-style building with arched
windows. The words Casa Garcia are scrolled in cursive letters over
the door. A large cactus stands on either side of the
entranceway.

“That’s where we’re going,” Rooks says,
pointing to the Mexican restaurant. “Hector’s family owns it, and
that’s normally where I find him before he goes into work. I met
him last summer. He’s basically my only friend here.”

We wait for a red light and cross at the
crosswalk. For a small town, it surprises me that they have one in
place, but tragedies bring out tourists. Everyone wants to see
places like this for themselves. And the seafood probably doesn’t
hurt matters.

I keep close to Rooks as we make our way
into Casa Garcia. A young Hispanic girl greets us in the foyer, but
Rooks quickly tells her that he’s just looking for her brother.

Twinkle lights line the ceiling in every
room, casting a festive glow over the guests. Colorful woven table
runners line the surface of each table in the restaurant. Small
pots with succulents and cacti plants serve as centerpieces. I
really like the western desert kind of vibe in the middle of a
beach town. I will have to bring my mom here just to see the look
on her face when she sees there aren’t any seahorse statues or
shades of blue in the paint scheme.

“This is my favorite place to eat in Coral
Sands,” Rooks informs me. “I can do without the shrimp and sushi. I
don’t need lobster or catfish. Give me salsa and tortilla chips,
and I’ll make a freaking meal of it.”

My stomach attempts to growl, like it’s not
quite sure if it’s actually hungry or just loves the sound of
tortilla chips and salsa right about now.

“So did Hector not want to go into the
family business?” I ask.

Rooks shrugs. “He helps out sometimes. If
it’s a holiday or there’s something going on in town, he’ll jump
in, but depending on tips isn’t always the ideal job. At least he’s
guaranteed a certain pay at the boat tours,” he says.

Boat tours? My nerve endings tingle with
excitement. I’ve never been on a boat – not like a real boat. Those
rowboats and lakes back home do not count toward actually being on
the water. If you have to grab an oar, it’s not enjoyable. I would
never tell Mom that, though. She’d get too much pleasure out of
hearing her Tennessee daughter complain about it.

“Is that where we’re going later?” I ask,
trying not to sound too hopeful.

He smiles. “Don’t get too excited. You
haven’t actually seen the boat he works on,” he says.

I don’t have a chance to inquire.

“Rooks Carter,” a Hispanic guy says,
approaching us. He’s about our age, so I figure this has to be
Rooks’ only friend in Coral Sands. “When did you get back
here?”

“A few days ago,” Rooks says. “I’m staying
with my dad. This is Piper, our new neighbor. We’re helping redo
her house.”

Rooks motions toward me and then introduces
the guy as Hector Reyes. But Hector doesn’t say anything. He stares
through me, like I’m not even real. It lasts for a few too many
uncomfortable seconds.

“Calloway Cottage, huh?” Hector says when he
finally decides to speak. “Does it need a lot of work? I mean, I
figure since it’s just been sitting there for half a century, it
probably needs some major work, right?”

Well, that’s a new one. People stare. People
are amazed. People think we’re weird. But he’s the first to assume
the house is decaying. Believe it or not, the Calloways didn’t just
let the house fall in on itself. It’s in pretty good condition, all
things considered.

I quickly shake my head. “It’s really not
that bad,” I say, doing all I can to keep any defensiveness out of
my voice. “Just needs some updating. Any major renovations are just
because my mom wants them, not because they’re necessary.”

“Anyway,” Rooks interrupts. “I was going to
ask if you’re working later today. I didn’t want Piper to miss out
on the experience of you in full costume.”

Hector narrows his eyes. “Unfortunately,” he
says. “You coming to the sunset tour?”

Rooks nods. “It’s the best time of day for
it,” he says.

After browsing half the shops downtown,
talking about Rooks’ baseball season, and enlightening him with
stories of the boring things I used to do in Tennessee for fun, we
make our way down the docks at Moonlight Harbor. The sun breathes
fiery red streaks across the blue and white clouds, like it’s
trying to set the sky on fire before fizzling out for the day. It’s
an eerie kind of pretty, sort of like the Calloway Cottage.

“Which boat does Hector work on?” I ask,
rising up on my tip toes to see the signs on the ticket booth.

“The Dragon’s Jewel,” Rooks says. “It’s the
one you probably saw earlier today. Huge white sails. It’s hard to
miss.”

He steps up to the counter and asks the girl
for two tickets for the evening boat tour. A retired couple waiting
behind us says something about having to bring their grandkids out
here sometime, and now I’m a little unsure about this boat
ride.

“So we’re going on the pirate ship?” I
assume as Rooks hands me a ticket. There’s a cartoon parrot with a
patch over its eye.

“I promised you a gimmick, didn’t I?” he
asks, trying to keep a straight face. “It’s not so bad. They really
do take the same route as the dolphin tours, and they sail out
toward Lighthouse Rock a.k.a. Shark Island a.k.a. the one place I
know you’re dying to see as close up as you can. Am I right or am I
right?”

“You’re arrogant,” I tell him. “But you’re
arrogantly right.”

A proud smirk sneaks onto his face, but he
doesn’t boast any more than he already has. Instead, he leads the
way down the docks toward The Dragon’s Jewel. A long line stands
before us – mostly kids and parents.

“Let me guess,” I say, hoisting my bag onto
my shoulder better. “This is the family-friendly kids’ ride,
right?”

I’d have much rather taken the actual
dolphin tour earlier today. At least then it wouldn’t be
pirate-themed or have three dozen small children bouncing around
hoping they get to play captain or look for treasure at some point
during the ride.

“It’s really not bad,” Rooks repeats. He
runs a hand through his hair, almost frustrated with his decision
to bring me out here. “I promise. It’s a good tour, and it’s
hilarious seeing Hector dressed in his pirate costume. That alone
is worth the price of the ticket.”

The kids ahead of us giggle and squeal with
excitement while I cling tightly to the bag over my shoulder.
Something about touring near Shark Island makes me feel like these
letters will magically disappear from my bag – or that Seth’s and
Hanna’s spirits will rise from the waters and pull the massive ship
under in retaliation.

Rooks leans in and speaks so only I can hear
him. “We’ll sit toward the back if it makes you feel any better,”
he whispers. “You know, not so many excited kids.”

After the twenty-minute wait, inching along
the docks toward the ship, we come face-to-face with a girl in a
white long-sleeve shirt with a black leather vest over it. A white
bandana is wrapped over her hair. A black treasure chest logo with
the white words ‘The Dragon’s Jewel’ are scrawled over it in
cursive writing. A red diamond serves as the apostrophe in
Dragon’s.

“Tickets, please,” she says.

The man behind her catches my gaze. He’s
about ten feet back, toward the edge of the pier, with a mop and
bucket full of sudsy water. His hair is receding in the front,
drawing out a long but wrinkled forehead. However, he has long
scraggly hair in the back that looks as though it hasn’t been
washed in months. He wears an apron, but I can’t make out the logo
from here, and I don’t want to stare any longer than I already
have.

I hand the girl the paper stub in my hand.
She rips off the edge of it and hands it back. I drop it into my
bag and keep close to Rooks as we step onto the boat. As promised,
he leads us back to a bench further away from the crowd.

“Ladies first,” Rooks says, holding out his
arm toward the seat.

I ease in between the seats and walk down
toward the far end, closest to the railing. I drop my bag onto the
flooring, right between my feet, so my flip-flops can be the
guardians of the lost love letters.

“Did you see that man on the docks?” I ask,
trying to make sure no one else around us hears me when I
speak.

Rooks nods. “He’s a local guy. I think he’s
a fisherman, but I don’t know anything about him. Why?” he
asks.

I shrug, but a chill sweeps over me, and I’m
pretty sure it’s not a breeze off of the water. “No reason,” I lie.
“Just sort of creeped me out.”

I wonder if I’ll always feel out of place
and a bit paranoid about Coral Sands. I think, in time, I could get
used to this place. I could adapt, since I don’t really have a
choice anyway. I could be in a lot worse places than a town on the
beach. I just wish Mom had maybe chosen another house. I don’t want
the Shark Island stigma to follow me around for the rest of my
life.

“Don’t let people get to you,” Rooks says.
“The novelty will wear off. Once you’ve been here a year, people
will begin to associate your house with you, not the
Calloways.”

I like how I don’t have to explain myself,
but he instantly knows where my mind is. Does this make us soul
mates or something? I mean, yeah, we’re young and we just met and
I’m naïve for even going there in my mind, but I like to believe
there’s something about this town that influences young love and
fate. Like Seth and Hanna. But without the death part.

“Ahoy mateys!” A man’s voice echoes over the
loud speakers.

A brief overview of the ship’s rules is
given, along with a quick itinerary as to where we’ll be sailing
today. We’ll leave out of Moonlight Harbor, sail through the East
Passageway, and into the Coral Sands Bay, which takes us past
Hollow Cavern and Lighthouse Rock, better known to tourists as
Shark Island.

I avoid eye contact upon hearing those
words. The ship can’t sail too closely to Shark Island because of
the rocks and its past reputation. Shark nets apparently don’t
change people’s minds about the actual location. It has history,
and that’s all that’s required to scare people away.

The crew makes their way to the deck, each
dressed in ruffled shirts, leather vests, and cropped pants. They
wear large pirate hats and bandanas. Hector strolls into the crowd,
the feather in his hat swaying in the wind. He stands next to a
‘treasure chest’ filled with prizes for the kids. He looks less
than thrilled to be here.

Rooks cracks up and looks down at the
flooring of the boat. “I came out here and took this tour three
different times last summer, all by myself, just to get under his
skin,” he says. “Hector hates dressing the part, but this tour pays
a dollar more an hour than the regular glass-bottom boat tour
does.”

“He’s not going to be weird about me too, is
he?” I ask.

Rooks shakes his head. “Nah, he hates the
tragedy,” he says. “His girlfriend Natalie is the mayor’s daughter,
and her mom is all about remembering the victims, so it’s in
Natalie’s face all the time. Plus, the other girl who died that
night would’ve been the mayor’s aunt, so there’s no way to escape
it.”

Maybe after the anniversary, after the
summer passes, after we’ve officially moved into our house… Maybe
then, everything will be somewhat normal. We won’t be the new
people anymore. The fifty-year deathiversary will be over. Our
house will be finished. The town will grow bored of the gossip, and
we’ll continue moving forward.

But Rooks will be back at his mom’s house,
and I’ll be the new girl who lives in the Calloway Cottage, unsure
if people really want to know me or want to look around my
house.