Chapter 27
Wiry arms grip me before I hit the sand. The smell of rum is so strong, just standing next to this Keston look-alike is making my head spin. As if it wasn’t spinning enough already.
“Get off me,” I say ungratefully, and push him away.
He lets go of my arm. I collapse on the sand. My throat feels tight. I can’t catch my breath. I inhale gulps of air but end up coughing it back out.
“Oh God, I feel ill.” I clutch my head and squeeze my eyes shut. Let him be gone when I open them back up.
The man says in a husky voice, “I’m sorry. I didn’t take you for a delicate flower.”
For some reason that makes me way more angry than it should. “Well, who asked you? Oh wait, nobody! Because you don’t exist. You’re in my imagination. You’re not even the right color to be Keston’s brother.”
“That would be politically incorrect to say in your country.”
“In any country,” I agree. “But there it is. I said what I said.”
The man chuckles. “I see why my brother likes you.”
I suck my teeth. “You see nothing. Because you don’t exist. If Keston had a brother, he’d have told me.”
“I’m the black sheep of the family.”
“More like the white one.”
He laughs. Unscrews something from his hip. He bends down and passes me a flask. “Take a sip. You’ll feel better.”
I hold the flask up to the moonlight. I blink twice. The tarnished silver flask has an intricate crest adorning it. Just like the one on the chests at Keston’s house.
“Where’d you get this flask?”
“My grandfather.”
“Liar.”
“Take a sip. I can’t believe how rude you are. I’m family.”
The man squats on his haunches on the sand. Eye-level with me. His wavy brownish hair ruffles in the sea breeze. Under the light of the stars and moon, his eyes look grey. Maybe green. A color that is not brown like Keston’s.
I drop my head in my hands. “I thought I knew him.”
The flask appears under my nose. God, does this man need a drinking buddy or what?
“Fine!” I say recklessly before grabbing it and taking a huge slug. A flowery liquor slides down my throat. Not that I’ve tasted many flowers. Or any flowers. But this is the only way I can describe the drink.
It makes my eyes sting and my nose run. But it’s delicious. I swipe a hand across my eyes.
“What the hell is this?”
“Homemade wine.”
The only wine I’ve ever drunk is made from grapes. This is not from grapes.
Very carefully, I ask, “What exactly did you make this homemade wine from?”
He takes a sip of the flask. “Dandelions.”
“Dandelions?”
“Yup. Dandelion petals and grapefruit.”
“What do you call it? Dandelion wine?” I don’t expect an answer.
“Yes.”
“Nobody makes wine from dandelions. They’re weeds.”
“Haven’t you read Ray Bradbury? He’s a famous American writer.”
I frown. “No. I read romances.”
“You should read Ray.”
“Does he make dandelion wine too?” I scoff.
“As a matter of fact, he does.”
“You’re very strange.”
I push myself off the ground with both hands even though he’s offering me one of his own.
Face to face with Keston’s brother, I see the resemblance is not so obvious up close. This brother has a small, wicked looking scar on his left cheek bone. And another Frankenstein scar over an eyebrow.
Where Keston is clean shaven, this brother has days old scruff on his face. A hoop earring hangs from his right ear. And his arms are tatted.
“You look nothing like my Keston,” I say.
“Thank God for that. Why are you by yourself on the beach at night anyway? Where is our perfect Keston?”
I recoil at his accusatory tone. As if Keston would ever let anything happen to
me.
“What do you want from me?”
“I don’t want anything from you. I want to share something with you.”
I tilt my head. “Like what?”
“You’re not a very trusting person, are you?” he asks, his eyes squinting in an ‘I’m sexy and I know it’ way.
“Trusting? Ha! Some man just shows up out of nowhere . . . .”
“Kelley Kips.”
“And claims to be Keston’s twin brother and offers me information about a secret diary that I know nothing about, and I’m supposed to be okay with all that?”
He squints again. “You know about the diary.”
“This conversation is done.” I gather my Vans and turn to head back to the beach bar. I can still hear the music streaming from the bar. The cocktail scoring game must be running its course by now.
“Here, take this.” He shoves the flask into my hand.
I hand it back. “I don’t want it.”
He tilts his head. A shock of unruly hair falls over one eye. “Why do you think he hasn’t told you he has a brother?”
That stops me cold. My heart feels like it’s being buried alive. “I don’t know,” I whisper honestly. “I wish I did.”
“Don’t be hard on him. He’s had a tough life.”
“And you haven’t?”
He smiles. The same smile I saw in my dreams. Keston’s smile. But different.
Oh shit! This is the man from my dreams.
“Open your hand.”
He doesn’t ask any questions. Just opens both hands at his sides.
“Oh,” I breathe. “I thought you’d have gold coins in them.”
His smile hitches up on one side. “I usually do.”
“Not funny.”
“I don’t joke about money.”
“I have to go.” I need to go is more like it. Part of me is wondering if I’m asleep and dreaming all this. I pinch my arm hard.
“Ouch!”
“What’re you doing?”
“Pinching myself.”
“I don’t usually have that effect on women. I leave that for Loverboy.”
Loverboy, Keston’s nickname before he met me.
“What’s your nickname?” I ask. “Everyone on this island seems to have an alias.
“What’s yours?”
All he says is, “There are two diaries. Don’t get them confused.”
“I only have one diary.” I slap my hand over my mouth. “Damn.”
He squeezes down one eyelid. “And I have the other one. Our grandmother Viola Kips knew what she was doing when she separated the family archives.”
“What was she doing?”
“Trying to make sure her grandsons didn’t go after the treasure. She lost her beloved son, our father, to the treasure hunt. She didn’t want to lose us too.”
“You said there are two diaries?”
“You’re not alone here, CJ.” His voice softens. As if he’s extending an olive branch, or a friendship bracelet.
I stare at this impossibly handsome man. Even with his scruffy face, his unkempt locks, his slurring voice, and his slouchy linen pants, he’s still the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.
And somehow, also the most dangerous. I shiver. I don’t want to know him. But it looks like I may have to.