Chapter Thirty-three – Jack
Chapter Thirty-three
JACK
A few hours after I’ve deposited Andie back at Moorings’ beach, I’m waiting for her at my jetty. I watch her dawdle down the pier towards me, a shawl draped loosely over her shoulders, like she has not a care in the world – like the island has truly permeated her.
‘ The Codfather ?’ You named it The Codfather ?’ she exclaims as she stops in front of my boat.
‘What were you expecting?’ I laugh, tickled that, after our conversation with Mum out on the water, she’s noticed my boat has a name.
‘It’s just pretty convenient that it’s named after a movie, isn’t it? Who are you looking to impress?’ She gives me a pointed look before leaning down to inspect the gold gleam of the lettering, wiping her hand like she’s expecting to discover wet paint.
I shrug. ‘What can I say? I was mildly obsessed with Al Pacino when I was seven. At one point, I believed he could be my real dad,’ I chuckle.
‘Really? I didn’t realise Hazel was in showbiz too?’ Andie murmurs, her head still bent, pinched fingers keeping the shawl from slipping from her shoulders.
‘No showbiz. But I wouldn’t put anything past my mother,’ I say. ‘I figured having Al Pacino as my sixty-year-old father was preferable to not having one at all . . .’
Dating rule number six: Start opening up when the time feels right.
Andie’s head lifts. ‘I’m sorry, Jack. Hazel told me about your dad.’
I wave away her sympathetic tone. ‘Ah, nothing to be sorry for,’ I say. ‘I was going to mention it yesterday when you told me about your mum, but it’s not really the same thing – it was so long ago now. I barely even think about it.’
I don’t mention that there’s plenty I do think about. Like whether I should accept Alec’s offer and betray my home. I’m relieved I didn’t have to break the news to Keith myself, but his seemingly blasé attitude has only left me more confused.
I clear my throat. ‘Actually, it’s Keith who’s like a dad to me.’
‘Keith, as in Keith’s place?’ Andie asks, surprised.
‘Yup, he and Mum were together for over a decade. He’s actually back on the island at the moment.’ I pause, remembering one of my dating rules: Don’t come on too strong . Fuck it, she’s already best friends with my mum. ‘I’d love for you to meet him.’
‘I’d love that too,’ she says, her tender gaze sliding over me.
Dating rule number seven: Share what’s important to you.
‘Now, if you’re all done there, inspector. I’ll be needing you over here.’ I pull her away from the boat and into my arms. I don’t want another second to pass without kissing her.
As our lips meet, it feels like the most natural thing in the world. But after a moment Andie tenses and turns her head to glance over her shoulder. Maybe she’s not comfortable with public displays of affection.
‘Are we expecting someone?’ I ask, puzzled, following her eyes up the dock.
‘I wasn’t sure if you were . . .’ She pauses. ‘Expecting another suitcase delivery, maybe?’ She finishes merrily, looking pleased with herself.
My mouth twitches upwards. ‘Today’s lost-luggage special was from a flight to Antarctica, and I wasn’t sure I had much use for woollen underwear here.’
‘Or, apparently, any underwear,’ she remarks, her eyes lingering on the waistband of my shorts.
Dating rule number eight: Still banter, always banter.
Oh, hell. I wanted to show her a nice time and get to know her outside of the bedroom, and now all I want to do is scoop her up in my arms and run back to my cabin.
I swallow hard, urging myself to stay in the present.
‘Now, can I interest you in some dinner?’ I ask, reaching for her hand to help her board The Codfather .
‘Like, proper dinner-dinner?’ Andie asks, a suggestive look flickering across her face.
I wonder if she’s been transported back to the same moments I have – scenes of seared lobster, footsies, and grilled bacon-and-egg sandwiches.
‘Proper dinner-dinner,’ I confirm, pausing. ‘Followed by a late-night snack.’
It’s close to an hour’s journey up the river to Crescent Island. I stopped in to see Beryl earlier to purchase water and a fistful of Chupa Chups (rounding up my payment to make up for last time), so we’re all set for boat snacks.
We head off in the opposite direction to the oyster farm, and as Andie moves around the boat, sucking on her lollipop, I point out different sights – the dense mangrove canopies and the secret rock carvings Keith showed me.
As we near our destination, the tide starts to recede, so I try to avoid the unglamorous view of the mucky salt marshes.
Andie’s facing the wind, seemingly lost in the moment. I know the feeling well – the sensation of weightlessness and freedom that comes from being on the water. Her hair is caught in a wild dance – all tangled and messy. She calls it her ‘poodle hair’, part of her self-deprecation schtick, but she can’t convince me it’s not adorable.
A few strands get stuck to her lip gloss, and she turns to face me, giggling as she reaches the rudder and wraps her arms around me. Her glossy lips brush against my neck, and I try to keep my focus on the water.
‘I hear you ordered one Love Boat package,’ I announce, fully embracing my role as Cap, complete with headwear – as requested by Andie.
A short while later, I dock at The Oyster House’s wharf. Tom has left the door of the working shed open for me, so I slip inside and grab our supplies.
I’m not sure if Andie has figured out where we are yet, but she asks minimal questions as we swap her dress and shawl for waders. I like that she seems to trust me – something I’ve come to understand isn’t her default.
‘Am I catching my own dinner?’ she asks as we stride out to the oyster lease, stopping when the water is knee-deep.
‘Maybe,’ I reply coyly, waggling my eyebrows.
‘Oh, oysters!’ she exclaims as she catches sight of the faded OYSTER FARM sign. ‘So this is why you have me dressed like a Minion?’
‘Ha. Yes. What did you think we were doing?’
‘I don’t know,’ she admits, scrunching her face. ‘Can we eat the oysters here? Or are we looking for pearls?’
‘Well, it never hurts to look for pearls too,’ I say. ‘But our main goal is definitely dinner. Fortunately, the oysters are still edible up here – they’re rocks, not pearls.’
The sky is painted with dusty pink hues as I drag one of the floating baskets filled with oysters towards us.
‘So, the first thing we need to check for is any hiding blue-ringed octopuses,’ I explain, scanning the basket for signs of danger.
‘Perfect, another delightful creature that could kill me. Don’t they carry enough venom to kill, like, twenty-six humans?’
‘Someone’s been watching the Discovery Channel.’ I’m impressed by her trivia. ‘But it’s the sharks you need to be wary of. It’s dusk, after all,’ I tease.
‘Jack!’ Andie yelps, punching my arm. I almost drop the oyster basket, and she squeals, ‘That was your fault!’
‘Is that Woof nibbling your ankles? Oh, and don’t forget the jellyfish.’ I wink. ‘Luckily you have your protective gear on.’
‘I’m surprised that Arthur hasn’t developed some type of anti-sting suit technology.’
‘Oh, he has,’ I say. ‘How do you feel about rash vests made from aluminium foil?’
‘Yeah, not super great,’ she laughs. ‘So, how do they stop people from stealing the oysters?’ she asks as I pull a knife from my pocket and cut through the rope connecting the basket.
‘You mean people like me?’
‘Well, yeah.’
I secretly relish the idea of being seen as a bad boy in her eyes, especially since I’m known as anything but around here.
‘Well, they can’t, really. It’s how we – I mean, ah, they – found out the pearl oysters were diseased. A few hundred baskets were stolen from the island lease and sold on the black market to seafood restaurants. Dozens of people ended up in the hospital.’
‘Shit.’
‘Yeah, real shit.’ I shrug, pushing down the instant guilt that blooms in my gut, and open up the basket. ‘But these ones look perfect,’ I say, hoping to shift her focus to the delicious feast awaiting us. I want to share the sublime magic of oysters with her and forget the miserable details for once.
‘How many are in there?’ she asks.
‘About fifty or sixty-odd. Don’t worry, we don’t have to eat them all,’ I reassure her, noticing her bewildered expression. ‘Want to hear something cute?’
‘Always.’
‘Oysters love a cuddle.’
Her face lights up. ‘Naww, they do?’
‘They’re such sociable creatures that they stick together to reproduce and protect themselves from predators.’
‘Like Woof?’
‘More like big waves from boats.’
‘That is cute,’ she says, considering me thoughtfully. ‘You know a lot about this stuff, huh?’
‘A little, yes.’ I shrug, aware that I haven’t even scratched the surface. ‘So, are we shucking these here, or should we head into The Oyster House?’
‘We have a reservation?’ she asks.
‘If you count breaking and entering as a reservation, then sure,’ I quip.
‘I don’t think Bob would like that,’ she shoots back.
We lock gazes and the soft pink light shines in her ridiculously captivating amber eyes.
‘Well, good thing this isn’t his jurisdiction, honey,’ I drawl.