Chapter 10
My mother waits in the camper when Whit drops me off. It’s mid-afternoon and I expect her to be busy at her computer, but it’s closed and pushed aside. Instead, a half-full glass of wine sits on the table.
“Hi,” I say, leaving my wet towel outside along with the cheesy grin I know will reveal my beach-side make-out session with Justin. “Productive morning?”
“I got a couple thousand words down,” she replies. I duck into the bathroom and start the shower. I’m peeling off my bathing suit when she says, “But then Sugar came to visit.”
I stop undressing and step back into the main room. “How did that go?”
She holds up her glass of wine. “Not bad—but not good either.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means wounds from the past are hard to heal.” She takes gulp of wine.
“I’m glad you two talked,” I tell her, stepping back in the bathroom. “It’s been a long time and you need to patch things up.”
“You sound like Richard,” she says. I step into the shower and wash the sand and salt off my body.
My mind wanders to Whit and our time on the beach.
Things got hot and heavy between us—fast. I snap out of my daydreams when she asks from outside the bathroom door, “So what’s going on with you and these boys? ”
I pause. “Ummm…we’re hanging out? Why?”
“They’re all very handsome.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Obvious understatement of the summer, I think.
I squirt a glob of shampoo into my hand and start scrubbing out the sand.
There’s a lot of it embedded in the back of my hair, from, well, basically dry-humping Whit on the beach.
I wonder briefly if she noticed, and scrub harder.
She doesn’t say anything else, so I finish my shower, making sure to get the sand out of all the places it managed to travel today.
I’ve got my towel wrapped around my body when I come out. She’s still there, just watching me. I notice the glass of wine on the table is full again. “Okay, what’s going on?” I ask, curtaining my ‘room’ off so I can change.
“I’m just curious,” she says, from the other side. “Justin in particular seems like a nice boy—young man. Richard really did a fine job with him.”
After putting on shorts and a tank top, I pull back the curtain. “Justin’s really appreciative of everything Richard has done to help him. He struggled a lot as a kid, from what I understand.”
“Cute and damaged. Those are the dangerous ones. Watch out,” she says with the touch of a slur. She waves her wine glass in the air and continues to ramble. “He’s probably like Richard, always there when you need him—except when he’s not.”
I’m not sure where this is going but I decide to push the limits, since she keeps bringing it up. “He also dated Sugar, right? That’s what Anita told me.”
She snorts and I look around for the bottle of wine. How much has she had? “I wouldn’t call it dating as much as a rebound.”
Ahh, the rebound. I knew a little bit about that. “So…”
“So, contrary to modern legend, I was the one that dated Richard in high school, he only spent time with Sugar once I left.”
“Okay.” That’s a surprise, but not a big one. Obviously, there’s some bitterness between them all. Guy trouble could easily be the issue. “So is this why you and Sugar don’t speak anymore?”
She shrugs and takes a sip of wine. “Some of it. She was jealous of our relationship and when…well, when what happened, happened, no one around here could deal with it. I was the only one with enough maturity to walk away. They found solace in one another. It’s why I never came back.”
“What happened?”
“What happened is, once upon a time, I loved Richard. He was my fairytale, but I found out pretty fast that when shit hits the fan, he’s not the guy you can trust.”
I laugh. “And dad was?”
“Nope, he wasn’t either and that’s my point.
Don’t go down this road with Justin or one of these other boys if you can’t handle what’s at the end.
You’re here for the season and seasonal romances are romantic, wonderful things.
But what happens here stays here. You can’t take this home with you.
” Her eyelids droop and she leans back against the cushion.
“I’m not planning on marrying one of these guys,” I tell her. “That’s why I’m not getting exclusive with anyone. We’re just having some fun.”
“It all starts out as fun, sweetie, don’t forget that.”
“Why don’t you take a nap, Mom?” I suggest. “Here, use my bed.”
She doesn’t fight me so I help her off the couch and into the bed. I try to pull back the blanket but she’s already flat on her stomach, nuzzling her face in my pillow.
I’m pulling the curtains closed when she opens one eye and says, “Just be careful, don’t let him break your heart.”
I try for my most reassuring smile. “Don’t worry Mom, we’re just having fun. That’s all.”
Justin stops by the camper the next morning. My mother is still asleep and I’m reading when he taps quietly on the window over my bed. Not wanting to wake her, I tip-toe past her and open the door as silently as possible.
“Hey,” he says, greeting me with a fast kiss. The visit and kiss come as a surprise but I can get used to waking up like this.
“What’s going on?” I ask. I see he’s in his work uniform, so I assume that’s where he’s headed.
“Just wanted to see you before my day started.” His fingers tug at mine. “Invite you out tonight. Maybe hit the beach or come over?”
My stomach flutters at his invitation. I bite my lip to keep from smiling. “I have to work with my mom today. Not sure when I’ll get back.”
“Whenever is fine. We have a meeting after closing, too. I won’t be done until eight or so.” He’s staring at my lips. It’s okay though, because I’m staring back at his.
“Okay, call or text or something,” I say.
He nods and takes a step forward and I move back on instinct.
I hit the trailer with a thud. Justin’s hands wrap around my waist and he leans down to give me another kiss.
This one I’m ready for and respond with enthusiasm.
That is until Mr. Johnson turns on his weed-eater next door.
The zipping sound rips through the air, breaking the moment.
“Tonight?” he asks, with a smile as big as the sun.
“Tonight.”
Seeing my mother groggy and hung-over is weird, but so is sharing a tiny trailer with her and listening to her talk about ancient history with Richard.
“That was another dead-end,” my mother says, tossing her notes into a folder and securing them in her bag.
Since our visit with Darlene, she had spent her days either writing or researching possible victims. Somehow she managed to get her hands on several crime histories from the period, including the notes from the DA’s office.
Her suspicions were right. Several victims came forward during that time period but their cases were never prosecuted.
Most, she said, didn’t have enough proof or evidence for the police to proceed.
This injustice has fueled my mother to give them their moment to speak.
The problem we face now is that we can’t find any of these people.
They’ve either died or moved away. Today we searched for three in the Conway area and came up empty-handed.
“We’ll try again,” Nick says. Yeah, he’s with us. Invested in our research and volunteering to drive since he’s familiar with most of the back roads, he drove while she took notes in the backseat and I sorted her files.
“There are a couple more on my list, plus I’ll just keep looking in the employment records.
Maybe I can track them that way.” Every day I learn a new trick to gathering information.
She has dozens. She really may have missed her chance to be the next Nancy Drew.
“Actually, do you know where the library is? I may dash in and see if they have anything.”
“Yeah, it’s a couple blocks over.”
The building isn’t anything special. Just a small red brick building with the familiar paper scent that lingers in places with a lot of books.
In the corner is a woman reading a story to a group of children.
My mother pays us no attention and heads straight to the desk.
In a matter of moments, they’re off in some dark corner of the building that holds ancient records and Nick and I are left alone.
“Should we go help?” he asks, watching my mother’s retreating form.
“Nah, she’ll tell us if she needs anything.”
A couple of the parents nearby give us a dirty look for talking and I slink down a stack of books. Nick follows.
We’re quiet—he’s quiet all the time—and driving around the backroads of South Carolina gives me a lot of time to watch him. He’s physical in a different way than the surfer boys; more intentional—a threat. He’s huge and it’s not hard to imagine him on the football field.
“How come you don’t surf like the others?” I whisper, pulling a book from the shelf. It’s about bugs. I pretend I’m interested. “You’re never there in the morning.”
“I used to but now I have a conditioning schedule I have to meet. I drive into town to the gym every morning.”
That makes sense. “It’s mandatory?”
“Yep. Surfing is a big workout but not the kind my coaches want.” He removes a book and flips through the pages. The scent of decaying paper is strong and pleasing.
“You don’t seem as upset as Whit about going to the Citadel.”
He doesn’t respond right away, looping around me and grazing my shoulder as he goes for another book.
This one is filled with magnificent photographs of wildlife.
“I’m proud of my family tradition and want to continue it.
My grandfather and his brothers and my father and his brothers…
they all went to the school. It feels right.
Whit sees it as an obligation. I view it like a rite-of-passage.
Like a piece of my personal puzzle that has to fit into place. ”