Page 29 of Forever Mine
“Good enough for the jar?” Julien asks.
During our first vacation together on Topsail, he gave me a large mason jar to store my beach finds. I fill it with shells of all shapes, beach glass, stones smoothed over time by the waves, sand dollars, and brightly colored coquinas. My favorite is a huge extinct giant white shark’s tooth I stumbled across after a thunderstorm passed through. Those are the best times to look.
“It’s a keeper,” I reply and pocket it.
Hand in hand, we continue our stroll along the shoreline. The foamy edges of dissipating breakers roll over my bare toes before retreating into the ocean. It’s a constant ebb and flowas the waves slowly creep up the shallow incline of the beach toward high tide.
“How are we on time?” I ask.
We’ll need to head back to campus soon, so Julien won’t be late to practice.
Lifting our joined hands, he checks his watch. “We’ll need to get going in a half hour or so. You look hot.”
I catch the smirk on his handsome face at the same time I do the hidden meaning, but it’s too late. Gravity escapes me when I’m bodily lifted and carried into the crashing waves. The salt stings the sunburn on my neck that no amount of high SPF sunscreen could prevent. Julien calls me a human lobster. I don’t tan like he and the guys do. An hour in the sun turns me into the equivalent of a Craisin.
When we get far enough out, I hook my legs around his waist, anchoring to him, and lean all the way back, letting the incoming swells rhythmically bob me up and down in the water.
Not being serious, I say, “We need a waterbed.”
Julien braces my back as I float. “Hell no, but a California king would be good.”
Shadows pass over my closed eyelids, probably a flock of gulls scoping the beach for easy pickings. I hope one doesn’t decide to take a shit. I still refuse to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches after a bird crapped all over mine when Dad and I were camping a few years ago. And for some bizarre reason, thinking about bird shit makes me think about April’s phone call.
“I forgot to tell you. I’m not going to Durham on Sunday. April called to warn me that Beverly is going to be there. Told me not to come.”
When he doesn’t say anything, I engage my core and hinge upright. The gray of his irises reflects the greenish tint of the water, turning them a pale pastel tradewinds color.
“When did April call you?”
Wary of his tone, I carefully reply, “A couple of days ago.”
His eyes narrow. “And you’re just telling me this now?”
Sensing I’m in trouble but not completely certain, water sluices down my back when I shrug. “David said I should go anyw?—”
Dark-brown brows form a deep scowl. “You told David but forgot to tell me?”
Shit. I am in trouble.
I unhook my legs and drop them to the sandy bottom, bouncing on my toes as each swell passes. Raking my hair away from my face, I look toward the beach, then back at Julien.
“I honestly forgot,” I lamely reply, not helping to dig myself out of the hole I unknowingly created.
My phone call with April happened to come up when I was at David’s. We talked. I felt better. Shelved it away in that mental bookcase of things I prefer to forget. I didn’t think about it again until just now.
“It’s not a big deal,” I state, hoping to smooth things over.
Julien hates my mother, probably more than he hates Marshall, and he really, really hates Marshall.
Julien stares at me for a beat.
“Let me ask you this? How did you feel when April said Beverly was coming and for you not to come?”
Angry that the expectation of her mere presence was fucking up my plans to see my stepsister.
“Pissed,” I answer.
“Exactly. You were upset.”
