7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
Betty
K arma is a bitch.
That’s all I can think of as I jog down the empty Seaside boardwalk, still in disbelief at the news. I squeeze the phone in my hand and reread the string of texts.
This is all your fault. Find her.
What a great example you’ve set—no wonder.
My mom harassed me from the early morning hours. Texts arriving since four thirty this morning. I learned to sleep with the ringer off some time ago, but the constant buzz proved annoying enough for me to rise at six in search of my little sister, Margo.
Margo is nineteen years old; eleven years separate us. Normally, it’s a chasm for siblings, but we defy the odds and are closer than most siblings who are born much closer together.
Margo is home for the summer from college, which means she’s back home with my parents and the restrictive rules my mom clings to, regardless of our age. My parents are freaking out because Margo didn’t come home last night.
She’s a college-aged teenager home for the summer. It’s not the end of the world. And it certainly doesn’t warrant them activating the DEFCON 1 bat-phone.
Margo is not responding to my texts, and her bestie told me she last saw her at Driftwood around two in the morning, sucking face with a stranger. That last tidbit got me out of my bed and racing down the boardwalk. And I’ve called in the cavalry.
I wave my arms high above my head at Olivia, who is racing toward me from the other end of the boardwalk. “Anything?”
She shakes her head and wipes sleep from her eyes. Olivia worked last night at Driftwood until closing. Her head had barely hit her pillow when I called, but she didn’t hesitate one second. She’s my ride or die.
“Nothing.” She unties and reties her ponytail. It’s pointless. Tendrils of blonde hair whip across her face. The early morning breeze wins this battle.
Olivia is not just my best friend but is also part sleuth. We both were when we worked at the bar. When I woke her, she gave me a full description of the boy Margo was with—including a picture of his credit card and license, which she snapped. It’s a protocol we started from the time Margo turned eighteen and began hanging at Driftwood. Every guy who isn’t a local or regular gets the Margo treatment.
Seaside is a safe small town. The sheriff is an imposing former football player, and his deputy sheriff gives off a mysterious Secret Service agent vibe. No one is foolish enough to test them. But as a tourist town, Seaside gets its share of misbehaving wild children who forget their home training the minute their toes hit the sand.
After I hung up with Olivia, I drove through town to the only places open at this hour—Patti’s Pancake House and Sun-Up Sun-down twenty-four-hour diner. Margo wasn’t at either.
Olivia called the hotels, familiar with nearly every person working at the front desk in town. “He’s booked at the courtyard. Security pounded on his door until his roommate opened the door. But he wasn’t there. No Margo either. The roommate says he hadn’t seen him since sharing a corn dog on the boardwalk with him around nine.”
I nod. Both of us remain calm. We don’t do rabbit holes. We work systematically down our list of options.
We turn to face the ocean. The sea provides us comfort; it steadies us, beats back concern. It’s a powerful force that we both rely upon to get through tough times.
Seagulls float majestically in the air, unaware of the drama being played out in front of them.
Olivia taps her fingernails across the railing, and I force myself to focus. She lifts a finger, but I complete the thought for her. It’s been a decade since we were nineteen. Many of the places where we hung out are no longer considered cool enough for the next generation. Except for one. “Mile marker eight three.”
A half smirk spreads on her face before she remembers I see her. She runs her hand over her mouth to hide the half smile, and for that, I’m thankful. “Let’s go.”
We jog together in a synchronized stride as if we’re out on an early morning run. Marker eight three is a hidden hangout spot near the end of the boardwalk. It is known for late-night bonfires, drinking, and occasionally having local musicians drop in with impromptu jam sessions. When the sun rises, the party typically breaks. However, couples linger. It’s a perfect make-out spot to watch the sunrise.
“When’s the last time you snagged someone at eight three?” Olivia asks to distract us from the early morning sun hitting the back of our necks.
I shake my head, not wanting to think of him. He was my last. In so many ways. Laredo.
“I’d rather not think about it or have an image of my little sister doing what I’ve done there.” I hear the hypocrisy in my voice, but I don’t care. As the older sibling, I’m allowed to be a hypocrite, despite the things I’ve taught her. “Give me the latest bar gossip. But leave out the part about Margo hooking up with some dude.”
I twist my neck, expecting to capture Olivia’s smile, but her face turns white. Two thin lines form where her lips were seconds ago. Lips snapped tight. The look on her face sets off alarm bells. “Out with it, Liv. What’s going on?”
“N… nothing. Just the usual. A rather slow Tuesday, in fact.” Her voice is strained, and she lengthens her stride, increasing our pace. She’s literally running away from my question.
I run charity 5K races nearly every weekend. Her pace won’t deter me. “What did you see? Don’t tell me Mr. Britt came in again with a woman, not his wife.” My laugh is like a tiny dagger to my chest. I can’t believe how much I miss the Driftwood. It was home to me for eight seasons. It feels like I’ve lost a good friend by not only quitting the bar but refusing to even hang out there.
“It’s nothing.” Olivia tips her chin ahead of us. Marker eight three is about a quarter mile ahead. “We’re almost there.”
“And you’re almost lying.” I race two steps ahead of her so that I’m in her periphery. I turn so she can read my face. “Almost lying… to me.”
She lowers her head, avoiding my gaze, and that’s when I realize the gossip is about me. She stops running, hands pressing to her hips, and she takes a long inhale. Her eyes fill with a compassion I’ve seen too often this last year when it comes to me. She’s worried about how I’ll react to the news.
My feet halt, and I fall in step next to her. “Just say it. Whatever it is, I can handle it.”
She wipes the back of her hand across her forehead, her eyelashes saying words she doesn’t. Are you sure?
“Say it, please?”
She chews on her tongue for a long beat before speaking. “He’s back. He’s here. I saw him last night.”
I stumble backward as if kicked in the chest. She doesn’t have to say the name. It’s the only name that she would act this way toward. It’s the only name that could affect me like this. “H… how? Why?”
Her hands press on the top of my shoulders to let me know she’s here for me. “The music festival. He’s working with one of the acts. I don’t know. I didn’t get a lot of details. I was trying not to kick him in the nut sack.”
A wave of apprehension, mixed with guilt and shame, forces me to lower my head. A boomerang wave of emotions from nearly a year ago resurfaces in my chest, bringing with it an overpowering need to scream. This can’t be happening. I shouldn’t ask, but my stupid heart needs to know. “Did he…”
I force myself to look up, needing to see her eyes. When she nods yes, the tears release. How could he be so cruel? “Who was she?” I feel weak for asking. Much like Mrs. Britt when the gossip reached her and she raced to the bar.
Olivia’s brows arch up in confusion. “Who are you talking about?”
I jerk back from her touch. I won’t let her lie to me. “The woman. Who was the woman he came into the bar with?” I have no right to be jealous. I have no rights at all. Neither one of us does. Yet it still stings. He knows that’s where I work. Worked.
“Oh my god, no.” Olivia pulls me into a tight hug and lets my tears soak her T-shirt. “No. When you asked… I thought you meant did he ask about you. It was the first thing he did. He was alone.” She rubs my back until I stop heaving in her chest. “I think he came in looking for you.”
Don’t.
I warn myself not to latch onto this tiny whisper as if it’s a rescue balloon. It’s not. “What did you tell him?”
Olivia unwraps her arms from around me and takes a half step back. “I told him you don’t work there anymore, and he should leave.”
I nibble on my lower lip in gratitude for having such a supportive friend. “Did he?”
She shrugs. “He’s an ass. Of course he didn’t. He marched to the bar and ordered a beer.” Olivia turns and begins a slow stroll down the boardwalk. I follow. “He probably didn’t believe me when I told him you quit. Wanted to see for himself. I monitored him from across the bar. He polished off the beer, walked into the break room as if he didn’t believe me. Even hung out by the ladies’ room for twenty minutes, looking up every time the door swung open. Another ten minutes and I would have called the deputy sheriff.”
“He didn’t stay for the band?”
“Didn’t seem interested.” Her words linger in the air. Every time Laredo came by the bar, he positioned himself near the band. Even when I wasn’t working and was on his arm, I had to compete for his attention with the music.
I go silent, trying to process the news of his reappearance. Why was he looking for me? This town is too small to hold my secrets. If he continues to ask… I don’t let the disastrous thought fester. Not when something more important requires my immediate attention.
Margo.
Faded red and white stickers near the bottom of a light pole. Eight—three. Designations used by the locals to navigate locations on the boardwalk.
I race down the short ramp to the sand. Two overflowing pails at the base of the ramp. Torn boxes of beer cases tied with yellow rope. Glass bottles and cans separated, stacked to the side next to a tower of red plastic party cups three feet tall. We may have our fun and get drunk, but us locals take care of our beach.
The evidence of the bonfire is everywhere. I lift a hand to block the harsh sun and look for Margo. Two signature pieces of driftwood sit right where, according to local legend, Wes Utley dragged them from the back of a dune buggy back in the eighties. It’s now the centerpiece of every bonfire, an Instagram-worthy set piece that is probably on the photo roll of every person in Seaside.
“Hey,” Olivia whispers behind me. I turn. She’s rooted at the base of the ramp, her eyes fixated on the dark space beneath the boardwalk. She juts her chin in that direction, and that’s when I spot it. The edge of a purple-and-white blanket.
Margo’s beach blanket. The huge one she brings to the beach with enough room for the entire girls’ basketball team.
Sand kicks up as I race toward the blanket, ducking down at the last instance to avoid the overhead beam from the boardwalk. I spot the dude first. He’s lying on his back, arm wrapped around Margo’s shoulder, her head on his chest. Both sound asleep.
My breathing steadies. She’s safe.
Olivia appears next to me, her arms back around my waist, her head on my shoulder. “Ohhh, how sweet is that?” She pulls me back a few feet so that we don’t disturb them. “You can let your parents know she’s okay, and I can go back to bed now.”
I nod, but my gaze remains locked on my sister. “Have you seen him in the bar before last night?”
Olivia removes her hands and taps her chin in thought. “No, but I don’t work Mondays. Bev at the hotel said they checked in a few days ago. What are you thinking?”
I take a step toward the sleeping couple, and Olivia hooks my arm. “I’m thinking he might have been making out with a different girl the night before. How long is he in town? Is he here for the festival? Is he a goddamn musician?”
Olivia steps in front of me to prevent my movement. “I see where this is headed.” She pushes strands of her hair from her face and lifts her hands chest-high in front of me. “He’s from out of town. She’s home for the summer. They’re just kids having a good time. That’s all this is.”
Her words don’t reach me. I know exactly what this is.
“One night.” I bite out the words. “One night can change your entire future. Trust me, I know.” She must read the fire in my eyes as she doesn’t stop me when I step around her.
“Margo!” I pound a fist on the wooden beam above them. “Wake the hell up.”
My sister jolts awake, pushing dark hair the same color as mine from her face. Wide-eyed and shocked, she glances down at the guy, who is still sleeping.
“What the hell, Betty.” She raises a finger to her lip for me to shush.
I refuse to be silenced. “You stayed out all night. You don’t answer your phone. Mom and Dad were two minutes away from calling the sheriff. You pick up some rando at a bar. That’s what the hell.”
Margo’s electric eyes spot Olivia, and she gives her a brief nod. “First, I’m an adult.”
“You’re nineteen.”
“Whatever. I live in a dorm and stay out all the time.”
“I hope that’s not the defense you tell Mom and Dad.” I can’t believe these insincere words escape my lips. My history and list of transgressions is ten times longer than anything Margo has ever done. I pray longer than anything she will ever do.
“My phone died after we left the bar. And Chuck isn’t some rando. I’m sure by now Olivia has collected his DNA and has his birth records. Am I right?” She directs her last question toward Olivia.
“Uh-hmm, expecting the email any second.”
Margo’s laugh should ease the tension in the air, but it has the opposite effect. “You think this is funny? You can’t disappear into the dark with a stranger. I thought you were smarter than that.”
She steps into my personal space. I expect to smell alcohol on her breath, but I don’t. “I am. You’ve taught me well.” I shrug off the half-hearted compliment. “Why do you think I went to the Driftwood?”
“Because it’s the best bar in town,” Olivia jokes, and I cut her off with a sharp gaze.
“There’s that, but also, I know all the staff. I know how you guys operate. I know how you watch out for the girls. I’ve seen you take pics of strange guys’ licenses and cards since I was allowed to sit inside. I made sure enough people saw me and Chuck together.” She twirls a finger in front of my face. “I even ran them through the Betty checklist.”
My shoulders finally release the heavy tension I’ve held since I pounded on the boardwalk beam. The checklist was developed by me and Olivia during a slow, rainy week years ago, a list of questions to ask a guy to get a sense of whether he was full of crap. I printed it and gifted it to Margo when she went away to college.
“He has a younger sister, whom he adores, and spends Christmas with his family every year.” Margo recites two green flag questions. “He only had two drinks all night, stopped when he saw me only drinking pop. A fellow Dr. Pepper fan.”
I raise a hand in her direction. I don’t want to hear how well Chuck has aced my checklist. I only have one question that matters. Okay, two.
“Is he here for the music festival?”
Her head nod puts me back on edge.
My next question isn’t fair. Margo knows my history and love of music and musicians. She has no clue what I went through with Laredo last summer. “Is he a musician?”
Her trademark smile appears, the one that melts Daddy’s heart every time and lets her get her way no matter the ask. It typically works on me too, but not this morning. Not after the news Olivia dropped on me.
I step around her and kick the bottom of Chuck’s sneakers. “Wake up, asswipe. You got to go.”
Chuck lifts, elbows pressed into the blanket, and I take in a set of dreamy eyes that would have made the nineteen-year-old version of me sneak him into my bedroom.
Margo drops to a knee next to him, hand on his shoulder. “We fell asleep. My family came looking for me. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“It’s not!” I bark and reach to pull Margo by her wrist. “Chuck, if that is even your real name. You’ve had your fun. Time to move on. Your next gig awaits out there.” I point toward the crashing waves of the ocean behind me, hoping he gets the message— go drown yourself. “ Your next girl is out there too. Stay away from my sister.”
“ Why are you doing this?” Margo screams in my face. How could she be so invested in this guy after one night? “You’re acting like…”
My breathing hitches. “Say it.”
She stomps her feet like a six-year-old. “Mom!”
I don’t try to stop her as she marches around me, scooping up her sandals and her purse. I glance back at the rising Chuck, who is folding up the blanket. I turn to follow Margo up the ramp but am stopped by Olivia.
“ Let her go. We both know this isn’t about her.” My gaze snaps to her, and I’m met with defiant eyes. “I’m not backing down. She didn’t do anything we both haven’t done dozens of times. You’re not mad at her.”
She’s right. The rage I feel is for myself. For being so stupid.
“ And what you are feeling won’t go away until you confront him and tell him the truth.” Olivia pounds another nail into my coffin. Words she knows I need to hear. I hear, but I won’t listen. Not when it comes to him.
She senses I’m not listening, so she repeats it with all the clarity in the universe. “Meet with Laredo.”
I march up the ramp with a blind fury running through my bones. “When hell freezes over.”