Chapter 13 – Claire
THIRTEEN
CLAIRE
Memorial Day weekend flies by in a chaotic haze of sunscreen and sand.
Because it’s the first real weekend of the season, the beach was packed, and since it’s my first full weekend working with the full crew, I made sure I was at the beach before anyone else and left only once Helen did.
But it doesn’t even feel like work.
I laughed with the other lifeguards, and I argued with tourists a handful of times, but really, how much can it feel like work when my breaks are spent on the sand and I can have ice cream and boardwalk fries for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if I so choose?
That being said, I was excited for my day off today, and it was the perfect opportunity to make a little bit of chaos.
The front door slams shut at six p.m. on the dot, when I can typically expect Miles home, and I smile, waiting.
The last week has been…good.
Ever since Miles and I had our heart-to-heart and he apologized, things have been much less tense around the house. Most mornings, he sits with me, eating some super healthy boring person breakfast while I eat my sugary cereal, and when he’s not working late and I’m not with June or Lainey, he’ll sit with me on the deck chatting.
We’re…friends.
“Claire,” his voice bellows, and I roll my lips into my teeth, stifling a laugh. God, I’ve been giddy for this confrontation almost all day. “Claire, come down here right now.”
I should wait, make him hold out because he’s already mad, but I’m eager to see what he thinks of the fruits of my labor.
“Yes, Daddy?” I ask from the top of the stairs, looking down the railing at him like a kid who knows she’s about to get in major trouble.
His jaw is tight, and his shoulders are raised as he glares toward the kitchen.
That hasn’t changed, at least, my incessant urge to tease Miles just because it truly unsettles him. That’s my self-assigned job this summer: to rattle Miles Miller a bit out of the cage he’s made for himself.
Or, at least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself is why I flirt incessantly with him. It’s definitely not because I have a full-blown crush on my ex’s older brother.
No. That would be wrong. So, so wrong.
Right?
“Get the fuck down here,” he says through gritted teeth, a look of exasperation already on his face like he’s resigned to this fate.
I behave and make my way down, standing in front of him with my hands on my hips.
He’s still in his work boots, adding an inch to him, making him tower over my bare-footed face even more, and I fight the urge to wipe at the small spot of grease on his cheek. The backward baseball hat he wears to keep his messy hair back is the cherry on top.
No, I lied. The glare he’s giving me is the best part. It shouldn’t be so hot, but here we are.
“What the fuck is that?”
“What’s what?” I ask, tipping my head to the side like I have no idea what he’s talking about. His glare deepens as I stand there, fighting the urge to grin. God, he really is too easy, isn’t he?
“That. On the counter.” He points to the four clear plastic containers with colorful tops. “What the fuck is that ?”
“Oh,” I say as if I’m just now understanding. “ Those . They’re hermit crabs.”
He closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath, attempting to center himself or find some modicum of patience.
I don’t think he quite gets there.
“And how did they get here?” he asks slowly.
“Oh, I saved her. And her sisters.”
“Her?” I shrug, then explain. “I mean, I’m pretty sure they’re girls.”
He gives me a slight nod like he’s trying to come to terms with…life in general before taking a deep breath and asking another question.
“How does one know this?”
“Google says the girls have dots on the back of their legs, but one’s been a little shy, so I haven’t gotten a good enough look to make an educated guess about if all of them are girls or not.”
Miles closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, running his hand over his face. It smears that little dot of grease, and it takes a Herculean effort not to run my thumb over it to clear it off myself. “And when you say all of them … ”
“Six,” I say before he can finish asking his question.
He nods, eyes still closed like he’s trying to find his happy place that is undoubtedly far, far away from here.
“Six hermit crabs,” he repeats.
I walk into the kitchen to where they all scramble along in their shells.
“It was all I could grab while they were distracted. I did manage to get Big Gina, though, so that was the real win. She’s a real beauty.”
“Big Gina?” Exasperation has entered his words, which, in my opinion, probably means I’m wearing him down.
“This one,” I say, then point to the one in a white bedazzled shell. I’m still in the process of figuring out just how ethical it is to keep them in painted, much less bedazzled, shells, but I’m hoping to find out that it’s fine.
“Who distracted them?”
“June.” He nods like he should have known. “Don’t worry, no one caught us.”
He stares at me, pieces clicking, I assume, before he leans onto the counter like he no longer has the energy to stand. “Claire, how did you get these hermit crabs?”
“I rescued them.”
He rolls his lips between his teeth and then nods before asking his next question. “Do you and the police have a different definition of rescued?”
I roll my eyes and shake my head left and right before answering. “I think everyone has a different definition of what rescuing means, you know?”
“No, I think there’s really just one definition of rescuing when you’re talking about an animal.” I don’t respond to that. “Claire, if you don’t tell me what happened, I’m marching you back down there and making you return them.”
He says it like he’s a disappointed dad, and without my mind's permission, I think about how much my dad would like him.
He never cared for Paul, and I always knew deep down from the day I met him that my dad and my older brother Nate would probably see right through him, but I deluded myself into thinking he would change.
But they’d like Miles.
I came to this decision a while ago, because the truth of the matter is I like Miles Miller. He’s sweet when he wants to be, and he’s funny without meaning to (heavy on the not meaning to ), and we get along in a strange way, his cautiousness balancing out my wild, even if his cautiousness is a bit too cautious sometimes.
That’s why I made that list for him. Because, for whatever reason, the man is so damn serious, so focused, and if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s having fun. And making other people have fun.
And, it seems, hermit crab-napping.
“Okay, okay, so June and I were taking our morning hot girl walk because I didn’t have work today. Honestly, it was pretty cold, so we had our sweaters on, but then it got warm, so we took it off and—” I start explaining my morning, and he glares at me.
“The hermit crabs, Claire.”
I lift a hand.
“I’m getting there! It’s relevant to my story!” He rolls his eyes, but I continue. “So we were walking, and there was someone opening the gift shop the surf shop owns—like they were just lifting the front door, no one was inside or anything yet, lights off and everything. That’s when I noticed the little display for the hermies—what I’ve named their pop group.” He looks at me like I’m insane, but I keep going. “Was outside. All night, Miles. They left the poor babies outside! And it was cold! So cold, I needed a sweatshirt!”
“Okay, let’s not be too dramatic. It was, like, sixty-five last night,” he says, and I slap his chest.
“They’re Caribbean crustaceans, Miles, they weren’t built for this kind of weather.” He closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath, but I don’t think he’s much calmer. “Anyway, so we kept walking and looped back around at our normal spot, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the poor babies and the conditions they’re stuck in. And when the display was still outside when we came back around, I had June go in and distract the guy working.”
“And you…”
“I grabbed what I could hold and ran. Then I came back here.”
Long, long moments pass as he stares at me, his gaze moving from me to my new babies and back.
“And now I have a half dozen hermit crabs in my kitchen?”
“Well, they’re going to be in my room in a little bit. I just needed to clean a spot for them upstairs.”
He closes his eyes and rubs his face with both hands. “What happened to no pets?”
I shrug, not worried about his stupid, useless rules.
“This house is empty. You need to bring some life into this house.”
He blinks at me. “And you decided a hermit crab was the solution?”
“I mean, petting one is on the list,” I say.
“ You made the list, Claire,” he groans, clearly overwhelmed, and I pat his shoulders.
“I know. This is all very exciting.”
“Claire—” I’m losing him, I can see that, so I shift gears.
“It was inhumane, Miles. I know that no one there was going to be able to handle the responsibility of a hermit crab. Do you know how long they live?”
“Have you considered that they’ll just…buy more to replace the ones who were gone?”
I hadn’t, if I’m being honest, but that’s long besides the point.
“Maybe I should start petitioning to end the sale of hermit crabs,” I say, contemplating how I could organize that. I think the only business that sells them right now is the one I stole from, and from what I understand, the locals don’t necessarily like the people who own it, so it might be an easy sell.
“You can’t just steal from small businesses, Claire,” he says with a sigh, and I can hear genuine apology in the words, like he feels bad that he has to be the adult in this situation. “You have to bring them back.”
“Look, Surf has, like, four shops on the boardwalk, all of them have hermit crabs. And Deck says they’re shitty employers, so?—”
He cuts me off, his intrigue piqued. “Surf?” he asks, his frustration slightly dissipating.
I nod. “Yeah. Deck says they suck, and Helen says they’re always causing issues, so don’t try to make me feel bad for ‘hurting a small business.’ I don’t think half a dozen hermit crabs is going to hurt their bottom line.”
“Trust me, I wasn’t going to say that,” he grumbles, and I wonder just what made him get that look of hatred on his face. What has Surf done to him to make him hate them so much? Or is it just the principle of the giant complex? That sounds like something he would be against inherently.
“So can I keep them?” I ask with a wide smile, trying to strike while he’s distracted. I move to one of the containers and pick up Big Bertha, who instantly hides in her shell. “Just look at her! She really wants a good home to live in.”
“She looks traumatized,” Miles says.
“Probably because she was left outside all night!”
“Definitely couldn’t be because you ran from a store while committing grand theft crab?”
“Oh, that’s a good one. Maybe grand theft hermies?” I suggest with a smile, and he fights one of his own, shaking his head at me. After a moment, he sighs, taking his hat off, running his hand over his hair, and replacing it once again. “They need a good home,” I pout.
“I just don’t understand why the good home has to be my home.”
I smile wide because that’s basically a yes.
“You won’t even know they’re here! I’ll even make sure they stay in their little home the whole time.”
He tips his head and gives me a semi-alarmed look. “Why would they not stay in their home, Claire?"
“I read they can be escape artists, but I already ordered a large tank and the right lid.”
He closes his eyes and groans. “Claire.”
Finally, I pull out my secret weapon that worked on my dad and my brother, and every man who ever passed my path for nearly my entire life. I pout.
Big eyes, pouty lips, hands in front of me in a prayer position.
“Please, Miles? Please, please, please?” I make my eyes wider, knowing I’m moving past a cute girl you can’t say no to and into a comic book character, but that’s fine. “I’ll do anything for them to stay!”
And then it happens.
A heated flicker in his eyes because, despite what he wants to think, he is not immune to my charm or…other things about me.
He snaps out of it quickly and shakes his head. I think I’ve lost the battle before he steps away and starts walking toward the stairs and toward his room.
“Just keep them away from me,” he grumbles.
“I can keep them?”
He pauses on the stairs and looks at me. “If it makes you happy,” he says, moving up the stairs.
“So you admit it,” I say when he’s at the top. I probably shouldn’t press my luck, but I just can’t help it.
He pauses and looks down at me, a guarded expression on his face when he sees my triumphant smile. “Admit what?”
“That you want to keep me happy!”
He shakes his head in response and walks away.
Yet another success in my book.