Thrown (11 page)

‘You lost your mom and brother. He must see that it hurts you too.’

He shakes his head. ‘No, not really.’ He checks his watch. ‘I need to get to the garage and open up. You want a ride home?’

‘Yes, please.’

We say goodbye to Sarah as we leave and she tells us to come back soon. Stoker doesn’t take my hand on the way back to the Land Rover and I’m surprised by how much I want him to.

When we’re on the road climbing the cliffs toward Promise House, I look at him as he drives. Could this perfect but wounded boy really like me? Today feels so surreal and it’s barely even begun.

He drops me at the house and reminds me that he’ll be by tomorrow at eleven to pick me up. As he pulls out of the driveway, I wave to him and watch the Land Rover head back down the road.

I can hardly wait until tomorrow.

*

‘You’re kidding me!’ Dell says. She’s lying on her stomach in her bed in front of her webcam. I’m sitting in the living room at Promise House with my laptop on the coffee table in front of me. Dell’s room with its familiar posters of rock bands and her collection of trolls on the dresser makes me wish I was there with my best friend.

There’s a five hour time difference between here and there so for me it’s ten o clock at night but or Dell it’s only five in the evening. That makes me feel like we are living different lives and she is even further away from me than the thousands of miles. She’s on a different time line, living her life out of synch with mine.

‘It’s all true,’ I say.

‘Oh my God, Amy, that is incredible! I knew the poor boy couldn’t stay away for long but he’s a faster mover than I thought. You have to admit, I called it.’

I let out a mock sigh. ‘Yes, yes, you called it.’ I pause. ‘Did you really, though? You said he would call. He didn’t. I just sort of bumped into him on the beach.’

‘Don’t you get it? That’s even better. That means it’s fate!’

‘Oh boy.’

‘And he’s a painter. That means you have even more in common.’

‘I don’t paint, Dell.’

‘No, but you write. Did you tell him you write poetry and stories?

He’ll love all that arty shit.’

‘Shit?’

‘You know what I mean. OK…arty stuff.’

’No, I didn’t tell him. We really didn’t talk all that long.’

‘Because your body language said it all. Just take one of those journal notebooks you’re always writing in. He’ll totally love it. Two star-crossed artists fated to be together.’

‘Dell!’

‘Sorry. I’m just glad you’re not hanging around in the house alone.

It’ll do you good to see new things and go places.’

‘I don’t have any of my journals here anyway, they’re being shipped over on the boat with the rest of my stuff. It’s going to be a couple of weeks before it gets here.’ Apart from what I brought over on the plane in my luggage, my entire life has been packed in a single trunk which is being shipped over from Boston. There really isn’t a lot in there except a lot of books and my writing journals. Stoker paints to escape the world for a little while and I write.

I started making stories up when I was ten years old and writing them down in handmade books that I glued together. I would draw covers for them and most of the stories involved knights and damsels in distress.

The fact that my dad left us when I was ten years old probably has a lot to do with why I escaped into a fantasy world where the princess heroines had fathers who were noble kings. I was probably trying to make sense of things by creating these worlds where everything was orderly and right.

When I was twelve and we heard that my dad had died in a car crash in Michigan, hit by a drunk driver, my stories turned a lot darker. I’m sure that was when I first cut myself too. I was out in the street after hearing the news and I found a piece of shiny clear glass shining in the sunlight. I picked it up and without even thinking, I drew it across my arm.

I told my mom later that I had fallen over. I still don’t know if she believed me or not.

‘What do you mean you don’t have a journal?’ Dell asks, ‘You own a store that friggin’
sells
them!’

‘Do we sell them?’

‘Yes, we sell them. You really have been daydreaming all this time.

Go to the back on the right. There’s a display there with journals, notebooks, pens and all kinds of stuff. Some fancy ones too.’

‘OK, I’ll take a look.’

Dell bursts into laughter and rolls around on her bed holding her stomach.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘How can you own a store and not even know what it sells? Too funny.’

‘Shut up.’

That makes her laugh even more.

She looks at her bedroom door then back at the camera. ‘I have to go, Mom is calling me for dinner.’

‘OK. I need to get some sleep anyway.’

‘Yes, you do. Get plenty of beauty sleep for your big day tomorrow.’

I giggle. ‘I will.’

‘Love you.’

‘Love you too.’

She signs out and I do the same, closing the lid of the laptop. I feel tired. The bookshop was quite busy today and getting up at six o clock this morning means the day was a long one.

And Dell is right, I do need my beauty sleep. I turn the lights out and head wearily upstairs. I don’t know if tomorrow is going to be a big day as Dell says or not because I don’t know what Stoker has planned. I didn’t bring my swimsuit in my luggage so I went to the only women’s clothing store in Promise Cove during my lunch break and bought a black bikini.

And a black cotton shirt that is tight but has long sleeves. Perfect.

They’re laid out on the top of my suitcase along with a beach towel and my blue jeans and a pair of sandals which I also got from the store today. They’re wedges with blue canvas straps.

I also have bobby pins to put my hair up and a straw sun hat as well as sun cream and makeup in a little black nylon back that has a shoulder strap and is waterproof.

Whatever Stoker has planned involves water and since he asked me if I could swim, I’m guessing I’m going to be getting wet tomorrow.

As I get into bed, I realize that if Dell could have heard my last thought, she would have added it to her list of double entendres. I laugh and lay my head on the pillow.

The moment I close my eyes, I drift into a dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER NINE

Offering

Amy

Stoker arrives at exactly eleven, pulling onto the driveway in a black car and parking out front next to the Volvo. He gets out and I remind myself again that this handsome young man actually asked me out on a date today. A mysterious date for sure but still a date nonetheless. He’s wearing a dark blue sleeveless t-shirt which displays tribal tattoos running down his muscular arms.

As I get closer, I can see that the intricate swirls and knots rendered in black ink are made up of celtic patterns and lines that loop eternally around each other. He also has on faded blue jeans with a black leather belt and the eagle buckle he was wearing when I first met him and a pair of black boots.

He looks really hot with his muscles and tattoos and intense gray eyes and I have to remind myself to act casual. I just want to grab him and pull him inside and taste those sensuous lips of his but we haven’t even kissed yet and that might be too forward of me. I don’t want to scare him off.

I’m not sure what’s come over me; I’m not used to having these thoughts.

The last time I had these kinds of feelings about a guy was sometime never.

I have on my bikini beneath my jeans and the long-sleeved shirt. The wedges took some getting used to because I mainly wear pumps but a few circuits of Promise House helped me adjust to them. I’m wearing my sunglasses and sun hat, under which my hair is pinned up, as I go out to meet him. The little black bag is slung over my shoulder and all that’s in it is the sun cream, a layer of which I’ve already applied, and a spare lipstick and my towel.

‘Wow,’ Stoker says when he see me, ‘you look great!’

I smile and his compliment makes me feel taller than the wedges ever could. ‘This your car?’

‘Yeah, it’s our Astra. My dad drives it mainly, which is probably why I there’s a big scratch on the front passenger side panel. He sometimes drives it when he shouldn’t.’

‘You mean when he’s been drinking?’

‘Rarely, and not if I know about it. I probably need to hide the keys when he’s drinking but I can’t watch him all the time. Anyway, I had to leave the Land Rover at the garage in case he gets called out to an RTA.’

‘RTA?’

‘Road Traffic Accident. If there’s a wreckage or a car that can’t be driven, we get called out by the police. It was Dad who got called out to the accident that killed Mum and James. The police didn’t know who the victims were until he got there.’

‘Oh my God, that’s terrible!’

‘Yeah. Anyway, shall we go? It’s a lovely day.’ He opens the passenger door and I get in, taking off my hat so I can fit inside. They really need to get larger cars in England. The Volvo is fine but this compact is way smaller than an American car.

Stoker slides into the driver’s seat. He smells good, like he’s wearing a cologne that’s musky and spicy at the same time.

‘So where are we going?’ I ask.

‘I can’t tell you that until we get there. Where we are going is a secret place known only to a few.’

‘Ooh, sounds very intriguing.’

He drives us along the cliff top road toward town and I think he’s taking me to the main beach, which is really busy today with people on vacation. Kids run riot on the sand while their parents sit beneath big parasols and drink coffee from Thermos flasks. Stoker drives past.

‘I thought we were going to the beach,’ I say.

He shakes his head. ‘Nope. Not that beach anyway. Today’s adventure starts at another beach.’ He drives through town, along Main Street, past Promise Books which now looks so familiar to me and is starting to feel like mine. The first few days, even though I love the place, I felt like I was trespassing on Aunt B’s turf. Now I do feel as if it’s my responsibility and my place.

Even if I didn’t know we sell notebooks and pens.

Stoker takes us out of town and back up onto the cliff road then down a bumpy dirt track to a tiny cement parking area next to a little cove with its own sandy beach. There’s no one here. The sun reflects off the calm sea and the air smells of salt and seaweed. Gulls cry in the distance. The rocks sweep up on either side, protecting the cove from the wind and from the sight of the thousands of tourists who come through Promise Cove every year.

‘It’s beautiful,’ I say.

‘It is,’ he agrees, ‘but this is only part of what I brought you here to see. Come on.’ He grabs my hand and leads me down to the beach. We walk across the sand and this picture perfect place is made even more perfect because I’m here with Stoker and he’s holding my hand. It just feels so right.

He leads me to the base of the cliff and behind a natural rock wall.

‘We’ll leave our shoes and clothes and stuff here.’ He starts to unbuckle his belt and I want to just stand her and watch him but I have to get my own clothes off too so I pull at the buttons on my own jeans and slide them down my legs. I notice him glance over at me. I fold the jeans and put them on the sand next to my shoes and bag. I stow the sunglasses in the bag and use the weight of the bag to hold my hat on the sand so it won’t blow away.

‘What about your top?’ Stoker asks.

‘This stays on.’

He doesn’t ask why. He puts his jeans with his boots and stands there in swimming shorts and the sleeveless t-shirt.

‘What about the top?’ I ask him.

‘This stays on.’

Is he being weird with me because he thinks I’m being weird? I can’t tell him why I’m not taking my top off an I can’t let him see my scars.

How to lose a guy in thirty seconds flat…make him think you’re a psycho and show him how ugly your body is.

If he was being weird with me, it seems to have passed just as quickly.

‘You ready?’ he asks with a grin.

‘Sure.’

He leads me back out from behind the rocks to the sandy beach and points at the side wall of the cove. ‘See where the cliff goes out into the sea there?’

‘Yeah.’

‘We’re going to swim around there…around that corner. Can you handle that?’

I nod. ‘Yeah, no problem.’

‘But first, you need to pick a pebble from the beach.’

‘A pebble?’

‘Yes. Just look around the water’s edge and find one that speaks to you, one that draws you to it.’

‘You’re full of it. Is this a joke?’

He looks at me with those intense eyes and shakes his head. ‘No, it’s no joke. Just find a pebble.’ He goes down to the water’s edge himself and starts looking at the pebbles there, sifting through them with his fingers.

Alright, I’ll play along.

I walk ankle-deep into the sea. The cool water feels good on my feet after the hot sand. Little pebbles of all different colors roll back and forth with the gentle waves. I see a blue one I like and grab it. Standing back up, I see Stoker approaching me. The sun hits his muscular arms, highlighting the curves of his broad shoulders and solid biceps. He holds out his hand to show me a little black shiny stone with flecks of dark green around its perimeter. ‘Got mine,’ he says.

I hold up my blue one between my thumb and forefinger. ‘Is this OK?’

‘Only you an answer that, Amy. It has to be the one you think is right.

Did it stick out from all the others?’

‘I guess so, yeah. It’s pretty.’

‘Then it’s the right one.’

‘When did you go all new age hippy?’

He grins and says, ‘Ready for a swim? Don’t drop your pebble in the sea.’

‘I won’t.’

‘It’s about half a mile to the end of those rocks. You sure you’ll be OK?’

‘I’m a strong swimmer.’

He nods and says, ‘Follow me’ and wades into the sea, taking his pebble with him. When he gets to thigh-depth, he launches himself forward and starts to swim in a breast stroke toward the far rocks.

I follow him and when I hit the water it takes my breath away because it’s colder than I thought it would be. I swim out after Stoker, holding the little blue pebble trapped in the pad of my thumb. I have no idea what this is all about but I’m enjoying myself so far. The secret beach is gorgeous.