11. Tobias
CHAPTER 11
Tobias
J ust as I’m unlocking the bookstore for the day, a punk kid strolls out of the café next door with a large pink coffee cup. I don’t recognize him, but he looks like trouble with that messy blond hair of his and the leather jacket he has slung over his shoulder. He hooks a left down the street, heading toward the parking lot before changing his mind and turning around. His eyes glide over the signage above the bookstore, letting me know that it’s my establishment he’s now interested in. I go back inside, and for a moment, consider locking the door to keep him out.
I’m out of luck when the bell above the door chimes and makes his entrance known. Before I know it, his voice is raised and it’s directed at me.
“Are you the Book Asshole?” he asks me, setting his drink on the table of books that Marie set up yesterday. He gently lays his jacket on the table as well, though I don’t know why. The door barely has the time to close behind him before he starts walking closer to the front counter, which is where I stand.
I look a little closer at him and—wait a second—could this be Goth Girl’s boyfriend? He definitely has the characteristics Lily described.
Even if he is attached to the women next store, I don’t know who the fuck this guy is or what the hell he’s talking about. “Excuse me?”
“You are. You’re the Book Asshole who called my cousin out in front of the entire town because she wants a liquor license.” His lip pulls up in a snarl over his perfectly white teeth, and his hands ball at his side.
Ah, so he’s family. He has a harder edge that she doesn’t have, but they have similar eyes and noses. Goth Girl and Punk Kid are cousins. I’d bet my last dollar that this is who has been rumored to be her boyfriend by the town’s gossip mill.
I’m not stupid, so I move farther behind the counter, putting space between me and this aggressive jerk. He’s well-built in that intimidating way that a lot of guys are, and while I’m not afraid of him, I don’t feel like ending up in the emergency room with a broken nose because this guy doesn’t know what self-control means. The counter provides a well needed buffer that I appreciate as he continues to stare me down.
“I don’t know what your issue is with my cousin but know this: we come from a large tight-knit family. Fuck with one of us, you fuck with all of us.” The fury burns red across his face, and I can’t tell if he’s always this protective of his family or it’s me he doesn’t like. Maybe they are part of a motorcycle gang or some other organized crime group. Ack, he could probably make me disappear if he wanted. Now I’m beginning to wonder if their wealth isn’t from some nefarious doings.
He doesn’t give me a chance to reply before grabbing his beverage and jacket from the table and starting toward the door. Before exiting, though, he turns back. “If I hear you’re harassing her about anything, you’ll have the entire Rebels family to deal with, and trust me, you’ll regret it.”
Rebels family?
Are they part of some motorcycle gang? An underground cockfighting ring? The mafia? A gang of roaming hooligans? This only adds more intriguing thoughts to my head when it comes to the girl next door. How does she fit in with everything this guy just said to me?
The front door to Kellehers Bookseller’s slams as Marie comes in from the back at the exact same time, backpack slung over her shoulder. “Who was that so early? Did I hear yelling?”
“Just some punk kid. Apparently, he’s related to The SeaSong chick next door.”
Marie rolls her eyes at me. “You mean Harmony? ”
“Same difference.”
Marie shakes her head like I’m the most ridiculous person in the world. “You need to be nicer to her, Tobe. She’s a human being and your business neighbor. And …my new boss.” Marie cringes with her announcement.
“Marie—”
“I’m still going to do the table displays for you. You know I love tapping into my creativity by picking different books to put out. I’ll do that and my recommendation lists in the mornings before school. But I like the idea of learning new skills from Harmony. Plus, I get a free drink and pastry each day—even when I don’t work.”
Shit. I need her to stick around more than that. “There’s nothing I can do to get you to stay?”
She shakes her head, a sheepish smile forming on her lips. “No, Toby, but don’t worry. There’s a girl in my English class who’s looking for a job in the afternoons. I’ll bring her by to talk to you today after school, if that’s okay?”
Defeat fills me, but I force myself to nod my answer, too afraid to speak. Nothing constructive will come out of my mouth, only vitriol for Harmony.
Marie stows her backpack under the front counter, this odd silence circling us, and heads toward the books until she severs it, effectively putting an end to it in true Marie fashion. “So, why were you yelling at him?” she asks.
“I wasn’t yelling, actually. He was the one with the raised voice, telling me to leave her alone or else. He threatened me. "
She rolls her eyes in a way that says she doesn’t completely believe me. Or maybe that I’m over-exaggerating my story. Then, she heads over to the children’s books section and straightens the area rug that we use when we have reading events for the kiddos in town. “Whatever you say, Tobe. I’m going to work on a display for the younger kids, I think.”
Marie gets to work, and before I know it, she leaves for school. I help customers with book requests and input a delivery of new stock in the computer system—I only have to put two damaged books to the side to return, which is a major win. I eat my lunch at the front counter, foregoing my usual lunchtime walk for no real reason. Then, sometime in the late afternoon, Marie brings her friend, Veronica, in so we can discuss potential employment.
After a quick interview, I gather that she seems to have a good head on her shoulders and might even be a quick learner. She won’t be a Marie, but I’m learning that I need to take my wins where I can get them. I need someone else to replace the time Marie won’t be here. Even if she does plan on still doing the tables and the suggestion lists.
I lock up for the evening, realizing I need to consider hiring someone else, beside Veronica, who can work full-time as back up for me. Especially because of Mom’s recent declines.
If I can’t find the extra help, I might need to move her into the assisted living facility, The Meadows, across town. I don’t want to do that. I already know she won’t be happy there. Plus, I promised her she could stay in the comfort of her home for as long as humanly possible. I don’t know how feasible that’s going to be even if I get help at the bookstore. But then, every time I think about putting Mom into an assisted living facility, my heart aches with the thought that it will hasten her decline.
I check out a couple of the boxes of new books but ultimately decide to deal with them tomorrow. I peer out the back window in time to catch Goth Girl jumping into her monstrosity of a Jeep and zip down the alley at a speed that’s most likely over the limit. I never see her out and about. I assume she goes grocery shopping and does other stuff, but The SeaSong is the only place I seem to see her. I mean, it’s a small town with only one grocery store. Shouldn’t I have bumped into her by now? Everyone runs into someone eventually in Port Haven.
This has me daydreaming, wondering what Goth Girl does in her spare time. Eventually, my curiosity gets the better of me and I begin to marvel about other things where she’s concerned. Is she using her style to fend off people’s nosiness about who she really is? And why she’s here?
While both her and her cousin have a style that’s not mainstream for a place like Port Haven, I don’t think they necessarily look or act like a motorcycle gang but Punk Kid did refer to them as Rebels…
This is a problem. She’s my enemy, for one. And too damn young for me to care this much. But there’s just something about her. Every interaction with her leaves me more interested. And that right there is the crux of my difficulty with Goth Girl. If I were twenty-five or twenty-six, I’d be into exploring the possibility of something between us. But with me being nearly forty? Not gonna happen.
The thought weighs heavily on me. I don’t want to be that gross old guy who’s interested in a woman fourteen years younger than me. Not that she’d give me the time of day if I was interested. But honestly it really doesn’t matter. It’s easier knowing that my responsibilities in life revolve around the bookstore and taking care of Mom.
Once home, I check in with Mrs. Peabody to see if she can stay a little longer. When she agrees, I go for a drive up to Overlook Beach. I haven’t been up here in months, but it might as well be forever. This is my favorite spot. It’s out of the way and known mostly to local surfers so it’s often quiet and not as populated as the beach the town is known for. Pulling into the lot, I’m surprised to see Goth Girl’s bright pink eyesore of a Jeep sitting in the middle of the dirt lot. How did she find out about Overlook?
I take the stairs that lead to the beach two at a time. This has always been my thinking place, and when I was younger, I’d surf here when my thoughts became too much.
I look around the sandy shore and breathe in the saltiness of the air. My eyes shut for a brief moment, but in that small space of time I’m taken back to visits here with Mom when I was younger and she was of sound mind. My father never understood it, but this beach—for Mom and now me—has always been a salvation of sorts. A peace. A place where my problems seem just a little less daunting.
When I open my eyes, I’m glad for the reminder that there’s not many people here. I assume it’s because of the steep staircase you have to take to get down to the shoreline. The sand here is pristine, almost like someone came along and flawlessly brushed it flat when really the tide is the one responsible.
It’s not very noisy, unlike the one public beach access that’s closer to the bookstore. I take my shoes and socks off and the minute my toes squish into the sun-baked sand, the tension from my day releases. I need to make time to come here more often.
I walk straight out to the surf line and let the Pacific wash over the tops of my feet. Will my slacks get wet? Probably, but it’s worth it. Because when I’m here, my problems and stresses seem insignificant. I let the salt-infused air fill my lungs. I consider taking a walk down the sandy coast when I hear what sounds like sobbing.
I turn around and find her.
Goth Girl sits on a paddleboard a little before the spot where the water stretches up onto the beach. She’s hugging her legs, forehead resting on her knees. Her black and pink hair blows around her head in the late afternoon breeze brought in by the water, creating something of a curtain around her.She has a wetsuit on, the top half tied around her waist in a way that exposes her bikini top. It’s a watercolor infusion of the same pinks and purples found in her café. I can’t help but stare for a beat longer than I should. Even with that look of dejection on her face, she’s beautiful. More than that, she’s a lighthouse drawing me into shore more and more every time I see her.
I may strongly dislike her for stealing the café out from under me, but she’s obviously upset. I don’t even think she realizes she isn’t alone on the beach anymore. She has no idea I’m here, so I walk right up to her undetected.
“Are you okay?” I stand next to her and feel awkward as my eyes glide over her body for a second time. Stop being creepy , I chastise myself.
She startles and looks up at me, grimacing once the recognition hits her. Tears flow freely down her face, and in this moment of obvious vulnerability, I’m struck by her beauty yet again. I don’t understand what’s happening to me—why in the space of a few minutes I’ve thought about how gorgeous she is multiple times—but I want to comfort her, my nemesis, in a way that doesn’t entirely feel natural.
She wipes at her tears with the back of her hand.“Um, I’m fine. Really.” She hugs her legs tighter, creating a defensive wall to hide behind.Her posture tells me she’s not fine at all. But what could be bothering her? Surely, she’s not this upset with me for the town hall meeting?
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yeah. Yes,” she says, stumbling over her words. “I’m just leaving, actually.” She stands abruptly, brushing the sand from her legs before picking up the board she was sitting on and heading toward the stairs. Something in me tells me to follow her, but the logical part of me says to let her go. She’s probably homesick since her cousin just visited. She may have traveled a bit, but I have a gut feeling this is her first time without that safety net of home.
I look down at the sand where Harmony was sitting a second ago and find her phone in a watermelon colored waterproof pouch. I grab it and jog up the stairs to see her sitting in her topless Jeep, paddleboard sticking out of the back, trying to start it. I expect to hear the roar of the engine, but instead it clicks repeatedly, not even trying to turn over.
“Dammit!” She yells and pounds the steering wheel a few times before resting her head on it in defeat. She mutters to herself and then tries to start the engine a second time, but it still doesn’t turn over.
She startles when I tap on her driver side window, muttering out. “Shit!”
“You left your phone down on the beach.” I hold it up to show her.
“Oh. Thanks.” She opens the door and reaches for the phone. I slip it into her hand. When she has it in her grasp, her pinky brushes along the side of my finger, inciting a current of electricity to ricochet through me.
I swallow past the funny feeling that zips down my spine. “Sounds like you have a dead battery. That, or your alternator crapped out.”At least, that’s my best guess. I don’t know a lot about cars, but I’ve had troubles with my own from time to time.
She nods, and then mutters something about having a dead phone as well.
“You need to borrow mine?” I reach for my back pocket to dig it out.
“No. I’ll be fine. I’ll figure it out. I need to figure it out myself.” Her voice wavers at first, but as she ends her sentence, it’s stronger, more confident. Almost like she’s picking herself back up, broken pieces and all. About three seconds later, the skies morph into a moody fit of grays that indicate a downpour is imminent. And then I feel it, the wetness of a raindrop on my skin, despite being half shielded by a tree.
Welcome to Northern California, Goth Girl.
As if the rain is the final straw in whatever has her so upset, she starts crying again. “Of freaking course,” comes out of her mouth in a defeated mutter. She drops her chin to her chest and shakes her head, tears rolling down her nose and onto her lap as she gets soaked. The waterworks soften all the hard edges inside of me, and again, I’m left wanting to reach out. To offer comfort. To make her feel better.
This girl is going to be the death of me.
“I’ll drive you into town. We’ll call Richard’s Tow to take it over to Three Jims to have them put in a new battery and make sure it holds the charge to verify it isn’t a problem with the alternator.”I motion to my silver car a few spots away then grab my keys from my pocket.
She looks at me, the side of her head now against her steering wheel. She sniffles and asks, “Why do you care? Why should I go with you? Why would you even offer?” Her eyes narrow as suspicion sets in. Most likely because I’ve never been this nice to her.
“You being stranded over twenty minutes from home without a working vehicle or phone doesn’t have a thing to do with how I feel about you taking the building next to my bookstore. I’m human, I have my flaws, but I would never leave you, or anyone for that matter, in the pouring rain, knowing they didn’t have a way to call for assistance. I’d do it even if it weren’t raining.”
She stares at me, her head still resting on her steering wheel, and gives me a once over. She’s sizing me up, wondering if she can trust me.