Thirteen
WAS IT THE best kiss in the history of humanity?
Um… yes.
I think all the history books will agree.
Hutch tightened his arms around me in a way that felt like a rescue. And then he kissed me so well, and so intensely, and so relentlessly, and so meltingly that I forgot everything else. The virtual haters disappeared, and so did the real-life partyers all around us, and so did the sunset, and the ocean—until there was nothing left but his mouth on mine, and the tightness of his arms, and all the tenderness in the world.
The longing, too. Like embers that had been fed a little kindling at last and were flaring up into flames of joy.
I won’t say that one kiss fixed every broken thing in my life. But I will say this: having someone stand up for you and then kiss you senseless by the water at sunset is a hell of a thing. Something quiet and forgotten and neglected in my soul got an undeniable dose of healing.
I’m also not declaring that kisses are magic.
Though maybe the right ones at the right time with the right people are—who knows?
But joy is a kind of magic, for sure. And if kissing Hutch at the water’s edge in Mallory Square doesn’t qualify as joy, then there’s nothing on this earth that does.
I could have stayed there all night. I might have, in fact.
Except that not long after we got started, we had to stop.
Because that’s when Rue called Hutch’s cell phone.
Actually, it was all The Gals. On speaker.
“Did you find her?” Rue asked, sounding worried. “She left without her shoes.”
“I found her,” Hutch said, resting his forehead against mine, his voice sounding a little rough.
“Well, bring her home,” Rue said, like Hurry up . “She hasn’t even eaten.”
AND SO, BECAUSE we all knew better than to disobey Rue, Hutch lifted me up onto Rue’s bike and positioned me sidesaddle on the steel rack over the back wheel.
“Can this rack hold me?”
“On a Dutch bike, it can,” Hutch said.
The chain had a solid guard I could rest my bare feet on, and once I’d wrapped my arms around Hutch’s waist, we were off.
But slowly. Gently. No rush.
I relaxed into it. The wind ruffled my hair, and I leaned against his back and wrapped my arms around his waist. For stability. Mostly.
For a little while, we didn’t talk. Just got used to the motion, and the feeling of balancing together. A lot had been said. And done.
But then Hutch said, “I’m torn between wanting to take you back to Rue and wanting to steal her bike and keep you to myself.”
I thought about Rue—what a force of nature she was. “She’s lucky to have you,” I said. “I’ve never seen a nephew so devoted.”
Hutch nodded. “She raised us, so I owe her a lot. Plus, I like her.”
“I like her, too,” I said.
“She retired to Key West when she bought the Starlite. I was stationed in Kodiak then. I put in for here on my next tour, thinking I probably wouldn’t get it, but then”—we went over a little bump on the street—“I did.”
“That’s lucky,” I said.
“It really is,” Hutch said. “I’ve been here a year, but tours are usually four, so I’ve got some time before I move on. I’m trying to make the most of it.”
Hutch was good at cycling. Despite everything—having no helmet, and no shoes, and not even really having a seat—I felt at ease. The side streets were quiet. I could hear the tires ribboning along the road. It was easy to talk.
Next, I asked, “Rue raised you after your mom died?”
“Parents,” Hutch corrected. “After our parents died.”
“Oh,” I said. “Wow. I’m sorry.”
“It was an accident,” Hutch said. “I was twelve and Cole was eight, and there really was no one to take us after that.”
“No one except your aunt Rue,” I said.
“ Honorary aunt,” Hutch explained. “We were headed for foster care when Rue stepped in. She’d never wanted kids. But she couldn’t not help.”
I felt my admiration for Rue rising. “Was she a friend of your mom’s?” I asked.
“No…” Hutch said.
“A work colleague or something?”
“I never talk about this,” Hutch said then. “It’s so strange to talk about it.”
I frowned. Was I asking sensitive questions? “We don’t have to talk about anything,” I said.
“It’s okay,” Hutch said. “You’ve shared a few things tonight.”
“More than a few,” I agreed.
Hutch paused for a second, and then he said, “The accident my parents died in… My dad caused it.”
At that, I shifted position—from leaning against him dreamily, my head resting on his shoulder, to sitting up alert, watching his body language from behind.
“He’d just gotten a promotion,” Hutch went on, “and he’d taken us out to dinner, and I definitely remember him having at least one drink from the bar because I asked if I could get my Sprite in the same kind of glass. But I don’t really know how many drinks he had, or if he might have been a little”—Hutch hesitated a half second before deciding on—“impaired.”
I waited, watching over his shoulder.
“On the drive home,” Hutch said, “he blew through a stop sign at the bottom of a hill and T-ed into another car.” Hutch hesitated, and then he added: “Rue’s car.”
“Oh,” I said, as Hutch kept pedaling.
Hutch shook his head, and I watched his neck muscles flex with the motion. “He didn’t seem drunk. He wasn’t a big drinker. But Rue’s husband, Robert, was killed instantly.”
Hutch had slowed, and I wondered if he would stop, and get off, and find a bench to talk face-to-face.
But he didn’t.
Maybe it was easier to say it this way.
Hutch went on. “Rue says there was an overgrown tree blocking the sight of the stop sign. That’s her explanation—plain and simple. That my dad didn’t know to stop, or even slow down. I’ve never mentioned that drink from the bar to her. But of course she would know one way or the other from the autopsy.”
“So whatever they told her, she didn’t tell you?”
Hutch shook his head again. “No, and I didn’t ask.” Then he kept going. “After the impact, Rue was able to climb out of her side, but when she came around to try to open Robert’s door, he was caged in. He must have already been dead. But Rue didn’t know that yet. Somebody—a man, a bystander—pulled her back and away. The collision must have ruptured a gas tank. The fumes were so strong, everybody could smell them. The whole front of our car had crumpled like an accordion—and both my parents were still inside. I was able to get out, and I got Cole and led him away. Seconds later, the whole scene exploded—both cars, and everything in them. I can still remember the heat on my face.”
Hutch fell silent.
So did I.
“It’s funny,” Hutch said next. “There aren’t too many things I can recall about that night. The fire, I remember. How tightly Cole gripped my hand. But I can still see so clearly—almost like on a movie screen—the sight of Rue fighting the man who’d dragged her to safety.”
I saw Hutch lift the back of his hand to wipe his face.
Now I tightened my arms around him, and leaned against him in a legitimate hug.
“Wow,” he said. “I’ve never told that story before. To anyone.”
“You’ve all been through a lot,” I said.
“I guess I’ll keep going,” Hutch said then, “and add that our whole town knew about what happened, and whose fault it was. Some dipshits in my middle school took to calling my dad a killer—which I couldn’t even argue with, technically. Cole was still in grammar school, and somehow he got lucky and escaped the worst of it. I always think the one who had it toughest was Rue. She did a good thing, taking us in, and she loves us now, but it wasn’t easy. She and Robert were high school sweethearts. They were happy. It’s not like two squirrely boys were any replacement for the life she lost. And then, suddenly, she was driving car pools, and signing permission slips, and tied down in ways she’d never wanted. But she rescued us. She saved us. I’ll never forget it, and I’m grateful every day.”
“That’s why you’re so attentive to her,” I said.
“It’s not just duty. Rue is a lot of fun.”
“She really is.”
“That’s why I don’t want to be famous, though. Every time something about me shows up in the news, it brings it all up again. And then Rue does what she’s been doing since I was a kid: tells me she’s fine, puts on a brave face, and then goes outside to cry.”
“That’s why you didn’t want to do any interviews? It wasn’t just”—I tried to come up with a better term, couldn’t, and then finally went with—“false modesty?”
“It wasn’t any kind of modesty,” Hutch said, not taking offense. “It was just knowing, from firsthand experience, that when people are talking about you, most of what they’re saying is wrong.”
“I’m so sorry that happened to you. All of you.”
“Me, too,” Hutch said.
“Now I’m wondering if we should be doing this Coast Guard video,” I said.
“I wouldn’t have volunteered for it,” Hutch said. “But there’s an upside if it helps recruitment.”
“Unlike just being Puppy Love–famous for no reason.”
“Exactly,” Hutch said. Then added, “So you better do a good job.”
“I always do a good job.”
“Anyway, it’s not up to me.” He shrugged. “Or you, either, for that matter.” Then he added, “But I thought if it could bring Cole here, at least, that could make Aunt Rue happy.”
“Sorry,” I said, wondering if I’d made things worse.
“Not your fault.”
“I had no idea,” I said.
“We’re okay, now. Mostly. Kind of. It’s been a long time.”
“Your story makes my internet bullies look almost cute.”
Hutch shook his head. “There’s nothing cute about those assholes.”
I tightened my arms around him. Somehow, all this seemed to raise more questions than it answered about Hutch. Was this why he didn’t drink? Was this why he’d signed up for a life of rescuing people? Was this the reason for whatever beef Cole had with him?
I wanted to ask, but I didn’t.
We’d both shared plenty for one day.
One thing was pretty clear, though. I would not—absolutely not —be asking Hutch if I could borrow his star power to make a “Day in the Life” video to save my job. Now that I knew the reason he didn’t want to, I didn’t want to, either. Making a video to recruit rescue swimmers was one thing. Protecting me from Sullivan was another.
First order of business, when I got back to the Starlite, was to find my phone in the grass. Then to text an answer to Cole’s waiting question: Will he do it?
No , I texted back. Absolutely not. Case closed.