That Day Book Excerpt
Chapter One
ASHA
“This damn dog is going to be the death of me!” I scream into the wind that’s blowing in my face, whipping the stray parts of my blonde hair across my eyes and into my mouth while I’m yelling.
If I run any faster, I know my heart is going to stop, put her hands on her hips and throw a tantrum, because of course that’s what hearts do in the real world. Me and exercise are not best friends. Actually, to be honest, we have never been friends. If this body were designed to run, then I wouldn’t have these short legs that make me have to take two steps compared to the average woman’s one.
Seriously, I see all those posts on social media of the hot-looking chicks with long legs, the perfect tits, not even breaking a sweat as they pound the treadmill in the gym. The perfect bubble butt in the short little gym shorts, no panty lines, so they are probably wearing a G-string just because they can and still feel comfortable running.
Sometimes I wish I could do the honest post of how the uncoordinated women in the world exercise. I picture myself on a treadmill, my little legs trying to keep up with the speed, before the machine spits me off the end with my arms flapping around like a windmill. Then in the weights room, the red cheeks and sweat pouring off me, just from trying to lift the smallest weight they have.
I just wasn’t built to be a fit pocket rocket. Instead, I’m the little quiet wallflower who just wants to blend into the wall behind me. It wasn’t always that way, but life has a way of changing things.
“Coco! Stop!” I swear this dog is deaf whenever I’m calling her. But she has the best fucking hearing when it’s time to feed her. The moment I open the cupboard where her food is kept, she is circling my legs and I can’t even move. I swear there wasn’t much thought process that went into this when I picked a dog. I mean, who gets a dog that’s almost as big as the person who owns her?
“That’s it, you stupid mutt! You’re on your own. I don’t care if you get lost. Go find some other human to put up with your shit!” I hunch forward, hands on my knees and gasping, trying to get air into my lungs. I watch Coco running along the beach chasing the same seagull that she spotted the moment we stepped onto the sand this morning.
Our morning walks on the beach would be so much better if there were no birds. I mean, can’t the gulls wait for me to take my walk and then come out for their morning fly-by on the way to find their breakfast for the day?
I don’t sleep much, so as the sun starts to rise, I find that the most peaceful time of the day to walk. Clear out my night thoughts and try to let the new day flow into my body. It gets my creativity started. Routine has become my savior from my haunting memories.
Coco’s barking snaps me out of my thoughts. Looking up, I see her stopped and focusing out into the waves. The early-morning surfers are out getting their fix from the saltwater before they head off for their day jobs. I see the same ones every day, and the ones that are addicted are usually back in the afternoon. Obviously, they can’t get enough. I understand that type of addiction.
I often wonder who they are and where they come from. Are they teachers, bankers, scientists? Or the guy who stocks the shelves at the supermarket?
That’s my problem. My head has a story for everyone I see in the world. I blame my dad. He had the wildest imagination, and I obviously inherited it. Every night when he put me to bed, instead of reading me a story, he would make one up. Sometimes it matched the pictures of the book I picked, but most of the time we didn’t even bother with a book. Mom would complain every night when I would be giggling loudly or shouting out to the imaginary dragon that I was riding to fly higher in the clouds. I can still hear her words in my head.
“Rhett, you are supposed to be putting her to sleep, that’s why they are called bedtime stories!” Her voice would waft down the hallway from the kitchen where she would be cleaning up from dinner. She tried to sound angry, but all there was in her voice was love. For me and even more for my dad. They were perfect for each other.
I slowly creep up on Coco and attach the lead that I tried to put on her before we left the backyard this morning. Some days we don’t need it, but obviously today is not one of them. Luckily, she is still looking out to the sea. Her focus seems to be on the lone surfer that is to the right of the group, sitting on his board, just watching and waiting for that perfect wave. The surf is a little rough this morning. There are reports of a hurricane coming, but they don’t expect it to make landfall. The ocean is always a good weather reporter for me. It fascinates me on so many levels.
“Coco, shush, you’re making a spectacle of yourself. No guy likes a girl who is loud and never shuts up.” She finally stops barking and looks up at me like she understands what I just said.
“Oh, now you want to listen?” I pat her head as she starts wagging her tail at me.
“One day we’ll work out this me-the-master, you-the-dog, relationship. In the meantime, can you just stop making me run? Otherwise, you’ll be on your own, because I’ll be the dead lady, face first in the sand after my heart attack.” She looks up at me and gives me one bark and then starts calmly walking towards home like I’m the one making a fuss.
“You think I’m the diva? Well, I’ve got news for you. If there was a prize for the sassiest dog in North Carolina, you would take the gold medal.” I laugh to myself because this is my day beginning like normal. Me talking to a dog and actually thinking I’m having a conversation with her.
Yep, I’m officially a nutcase!
Looking out to sea again, I catch sight of the guy in the surf that Coco seems to have a thing for. He hasn’t moved. He’s just bobbing up and down on the waves and staring straight at me.
Fuck.
I don’t want to draw attention to myself, but I can’t look away. I know who he is. Well, I don’t know know who he is, but I know who he is on sight. It may or may not have something to do with me spying on him every morning and afternoon from my porch as he strips beside his truck, getting in and out of his wetsuit.
I’m not purposefully looking… well, sort of. I mean, if some hot guy happens to park at the end of the parking lot closest to your house and is facing you every time he lifts his shirt, what’s the point in missing the show? Or the hot ass that bends over with his towel wrapped around his waist as he pulls his wetsuit up underneath it. I pray every day that it will accidently slip undone. I still don’t know… does he wear anything under that towel and wetsuit, or is it a commando thing?
“Shit!”
Stumbling forward, I nearly fall flat on my face as Coco decides she is going to run again. Except this time, she’s attached to me.
Bitch of a dog, I’m sure she does it on purpose. Probably because she saw me eyeing her surfer boy. I swear this dog is human, or at least wants to be.
“Coco, if you don’t slow down, you are not getting any breakfast!” My squeaky voice rings out as I try to keep up with her.
“Yeah, that’s right,” I say as she slows to a walk again. “I’m the boss, remember.” I’m trying to catch my breath again, and I let out a giggle. You would think walking every afternoon and morning—with this crazy dog that has me running half the time—would make me fit.
God, what must that guy on the board think of me? I’m probably his morning comedy relief. I’m the story he tells his work buddies when he gets to work.
‘Oh, you should have seen the crazy dog lady this morning, almost face planting in the sand when the dog took off on her.’
Hmm, what would his voice sound like?
I’m sure it would be deep and a little raspy, like the real rugged guy that he looks like. Trying to imagine him talking about me is a bad idea. My mind starts wandering to what he would sound like, except not talking to his buddies. That voice I can hear, but then it changes to his dirty talk. Fuck, I have been on my own too long.
That’s what they call desperation, when you are imagining a guy you have never met talking dirty to you while he fucks you.
“I’m a lost cause,” I mumble to myself as I walk along the beach toward home. Coco just looks back at me with those sad eyes, then turns forward again and keeps walking.
“Great, now even my dog thinks I’m a hopeless case. My life is a mess.”
The sun is starting to creep a little higher in the sky now as the day is waking up. Looking up towards the houses, you can see more activity and cars on the roads, everyone going about their morning routine. Although the sun is rising, there are clouds starting to build. They might look light and fluffy now, but that tinge of gray in them tells me they aren’t going to be as innocent as they seem.
Walking up the bank of grass on the sand dune towards my house, I take a breath. My life might be a mess, but this is my sanctuary. My little house on the beach where I can be me and then let my imagination run wild.
After coming through the gate to the yard, I lean down and take off the lead from Coco’s collar and give her a pat and hug her. She might drive me crazy, but I do love her and know she is the one who keeps me from going insane. Living on your own can be lonely. No matter how many characters are talking to me in my head, human interaction is what I crave. Or to be more accurate, I miss the feeling of being touched. Not even intimately, just the regular cuddle, holding hands, or even the stupid thump in the arm of a friend joking with you.
It’s the life I walked into back then, but some days I wonder why.
Coco’s wet nose gives me nudge on the back of my leg to remind me I promised breakfast, and instead I’m standing here on the porch daydreaming again.
“Okay, girl, let’s get you some food and I can get on with my workday.” Her wagging tail tells me she approves.
* * *
Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, pulling my wet hair up into a ponytail, my mind is already in work mode. A plot twist has just come to me in the shower, and I want to get in front of the computer and get it down. It’s the strangest thing being an author. It’s my mind, and even I don’t understand how it works. The storylines that come to me happen at the strangest times. Not always in one go, either. Sometimes it builds slowly, and I know the ideas of what the book is about, then bam, it hits. The pivotal scene or the whole story starts playing my head. Or I see one character and their storyline, and the other is hiding from me.
No wonder I’m a loner. How do I expect people to understand me when I can’t even work out my thoughts some days?
One thing I know, though, is by the time I pull a book together, there are people out there in this world who can make sense of my jumble, and luckily for me, come back for more.
Opening up my computer, I quickly jot down the scene for the plot twist, so I don’t lose it.
“Right, now where was I up to?” Yeah, talking to myself is another sign I’m certifiably insane.
“You know exactly where you are up to, you idiot. They are about to have sex. Why do you think you were dreaming about surfer boy this morning, talking dirty to you?” Rolling my eyes at myself seems a waste of energy, but hey, that’s what us creatives do.
Coco lets out a snore from at my feet. The big energetic dog that wouldn’t stop running this morning has left, and in her place is the lazy lump that spends most of the day lying next to me while I lose myself in my book.
When I moved to North Carolina a year ago, I had no idea what my future held in store. Taking the leap and releasing my first book that I had written years before was the scariest thing I’ve done in my life. And let me assure you, I’ve done some scary things before now.
Three books later and I can’t stop.
Writing is my addiction.
“Okay, time to turn the heat up on my couple and finally let the tension bubble burst.” My fingers start dancing over the keys at a speed I never imagined I had. It’s like they have a mind of their own. The clicking noise of the keyboard is what calms my mind. I know that the words are flowing, and the story is coming together before my eyes. I’m lost in my own world, and it’s the safest place for me to be.
Hours pass when I’m writing, and sometimes I have no idea how many hours until I hear my stomach start voicing its disgust that it has been neglected again. Looking up from my screen, I realize I’ve been totally engrossed in my book and the day has been passing me by. It shouldn’t surprise me, because it happens on a regular basis.
Coco must sense my change of movement, as she rises slowly from her sleeping spot. I really need to set an alarm on my phone to make me get up and move more often. My body feels stiff as I start walking towards the kitchen to find food. Not sure what I feel like eating, I’m standing at the fridge door open, just staring in at all the food, hoping that something jumps out at me. I can hear my mother’s voice in my head.
‘Don’t stand there with the door open; get what you want and get out.’
Yet here I am twenty-nine years old and still doing the same thing.
Nice try, Mom.
I settle on the porch swing, eating my blueberries and yogurt, and the wind has picked up since this morning. It’s still hot and steamy, enough that you feel that sheen of sweat on your skin. The direction has changed, and it’s now coming straight off the ocean. The waves are bigger, and I know only the experienced surfers will be back this afternoon. The ones who are risk takers and love the adrenaline rush.
It’s a typical summer day: hot, humid, and building a new storm.
KURT
“I can’t wait for these sweaty balls to finally dip into the cold water. Surely we’re done for the day?” I hear the voice behind me.
“Just keep hammering, dipshit. The quicker you nail that, the faster we’re out of here.” I don’t even look at him, concentrating on finishing getting this flooring down on the deck.
“Oh, that is just gross, you two imbeciles.” My sister, Jodie, looks at me like this is the first time she’s heard this type of shit come out of Ricky’s mouth.
I roll my eyes at her. It’s not like Ricky’s language is new, he’s never been any different.
My sister thinks that the guys on the building site will speak differently on the days she’s here. Not a chance with Ricky. Being a paramedic, she works shift work, and when she’s in between her roster changes, for some strange reason she likes to come and hang out with us. She tells me it’s because she likes the fresh air and sunshine. I know it’s more than that, but I let her have her little story.
She’s either lonely or she likes Ricky. Please don’t be the Ricky option. Spending all day with him at work is bad enough. I don’t need him to be part of the family too. Plus, the age thing, with Jodie being forty and Ricky being twenty-one, would be just creepy. Part of me thinks there is actually more to it than that, but I haven’t quite worked it out yet.
Jodie and I were close growing up, but with me being away for fifteen years working and not getting home much, she grew up and lived a life I didn’t know a lot about. Since I’ve moved back to North Carolina, she’s never far away from me. It’s kind of nice to have my sidekick back.
“Come on, boss, we need to get out in the waves before the storm breaks. The swell will be cranking by now.”
Hitting the nail in front of me, I laugh out loud. “First one finished with their floorboards gets to leave for the surf, while the other packs up the job.” All I can hear is the hammering getting quicker and not another word from him. I wink at Jodie and she just smiles, knowing no matter what, I won’t leave the job until it’s all done. I’m always last out of here. After all, it’s my name on the line if the client isn’t happy with anything.
We’ve been working on this job for the last three months for the Barris family. It’s their dream beach house to retire in. We have completely stripped the inside bare and remodeled. Now we’re outside fixing the cladding and building a huge entertainment area.
Summer by the sea is the best time to live outside. Where you can enjoy the coastal breeze and the smell of the ocean. Although I love the winter on the beach, because there aren’t so many people. Since I came home, I like time on my own. The populated cities are overrated.
“Done! Tools down, boss,” Ricky yells as he stands from being on his knees, hammering.
“Oh, would you look at that? One nail too slow, my boy. Pity, you have to help me pack up now.” I pick up my hammer and saw as I head towards the other tools set up on the work bench.
Ricky grumbles behind me about me cheating or some crap. He’s young and full of energy, which usually results in him never shutting up. But on the upside, he’s a good worker. If I could just gag him sometimes, it would be nice to work in the peace and quiet.
“Jodie, stop standing there looking all girly and give us a hand,” Ricky says. “Your brother the old man is taking too long. He’s worn out by the end of the day, ready for his afternoon nap.” Ricky throws the roll of plastic into the truck while they both start laughing at me.
“So, you do know thirty-eight is not old, right?” I mean, some days I feel like it, but a good surf now will work that out.
“When you’re twenty-one, fuck yeah it’s old. You know you’re old enough you could be my father.” My body shudders at his words.
Jodie bursts out laughing while I stop dead to stare him down. “I don’t ever want to hear those words again. You, being my son, would be a fate worse than death. Christ, just kill me now. I don’t know how your parents have survived raising you.”
I wait for the smartass comment back, but Jodie beats him to it. “Ear plugs.” She high-fives me on the way past, heading to my truck with another load of tools.
“Oh, very fucking funny, you two. Can we just get this done so I can fuck off for the afternoon? Thank god it’s Friday, as they say. I don’t have to see your sorry ass again until Monday.” He tries to sound like he hates his job, which I know is the complete opposite. The truth is this job is exactly what he wanted, building and something to use up his energy every day. It keeps him out of trouble, or so his mom tells me.
“Okay, so it’s not like you’ll see me in the next thirty minutes out in the surf or anything. I swear, I wonder where your brain is some days.” Picking up the last of the power tools, I stand surveying the deck to make sure everything is safe before we leave. Although the Barris family aren’t living here, they will come to check out what we have done over the weekend, that is guaranteed.
“Just some days?” Jodie pipes up from around the corner.
“That’s it! You two are on your own. That’s enough picking on Ricky for one day. I’m out.” He’s smiling as he heads towards his old beat-up Volkswagen bus, the quintessential young surfer-guy vehicle. He’s got his board strapped to the roof racks, the curtains on the back windows, and the mattress in the rear of the van. Oh, to be twenty-one again, living life without a care in the world.
“I’ll miss you, little Ricky, it just seems too long until I’ll see you again,” I yell to his back while he’s walking away.
“And that is why I never surf on your side of the break. You think you’re cool and you’re so not, old man!” he says before he slams his driver’s door shut, starting the engine, revving it to keep it going. He leans his hand out the window, giving me the finger with a huge smirk on his face as he pulls away from the curb.
Jodie, leaning against the side of my truck, bursts out laughing.
“Well, I can successfully say, my work here is done for today. I’ve annoyed Ricky and given my sister her daily entertainment. I’d say that’s a good day.” I stow my tool belt in the lockbox on my truck and close the lid, locking it tight. The amount of money in tools in this truck is huge.
“You know he idolizes you, even though he pretends to hate you.” She looks at me with those eyes that I still can’t read, and I have no idea what she’s thinking when she talks about Ricky.
“Well, we won’t let him know that I think he’s a pain in the ass, will we. Can’t wreck my perfect image that he has of me. I mean, I am close to being a legend in his eyes, so let’s keep that on track, shall we?” I lift my shirt up to wipe the sweat off my face.
“I’ll head off too and let you get your surf in before the storm hits. The reports on the radio on the way over here say it’s going to be a big one. Which means work is going to be busy tonight. No one knows how to stay home and shelter from the weather.” She leans forward, giving me a peck on the cheek, and I wrap my arms around her for a hug.
“Yuck, you’re all sweaty and gross,” she squeals, trying to pull away from me.
“But you love your little brother anyway.” I finally let her go so she can escape the smell.
“Keep telling yourself that, bro. I’m on night shift for the next few days, so I’ll see you early next week. Make sure you stay safe out there this afternoon. I don’t want to see you in the back of my rig because you’ve done something stupid.” She slaps me on the shoulder as she steps backwards.
“Me and stupid don’t belong in the same sentence. Anyway, I’m the one that should be telling you to stay safe on the roads tonight.”
“Yeah, yeah. Heard it all before. You can guarantee, I’ll have the text message from Mom in the next thirty minutes to remind me too. Anyone would think I’m the baby of the family.”
“Nope, Mom still saves those lectures for me. Now, get going, I have a storm swell to surf and then a cold beer waiting for me.” I open the door to my truck, and she waves as she drives off down the road.
* * *