The Seacrest (6 page)

“Ready?” she asked, clicking to her mare.

“All set,” I said, urging Popeye to her side.

The Vanderhorns’ property was extensive. The cedar-shingled mansion overlooked the sea, and for three whole miles, their private beach stretched invitingly over the top of the dunes in the distance. We followed the trail down to the beach, heading for the water.

A fresh breeze ruffled the horses’ manes and tails. I glanced sideways at Libby, whose dark pigtails flopped up and down on her shoulders when we trotted. She sat tall on Dippy’s back, almost regal looking. She seemed so connected with her horse; they were practically one entity. When the mare trotted, Libby glided atop her, barely bouncing, absorbing the movement with her hips, legs, and back.

“It’s nice out here,” I said. “Better than digging holes in the sun.”

She shot me a wry smile. “Told you.”

We rode along the shore for another mile, and had almost reached the end of her property when I stopped and stared. There it was. My parents’ house on the hill, just visible from our vantage point. Its white paint glistened in the sun.

 I felt the blood drain from my face. I hadn’t been back to the farm since the fire, ten years ago. When I went to town, I purposefully avoided any roads that would take me near it. I hadn’t even seen the house since then, and was surprised to see it completely rebuilt to match the old one. I had heard an entire wing burned to the ground. We’d all been rushed to the hospital when the fire was still spreading.

Now it stood just like my childhood memories had captured it.

“You have to go back, you know.” She looked at me with stern eyes.

I met her gaze. “No, I don’t.”

“It’s yours now.”

“Not yet. I haven’t signed the papers.”

“When will you?”

“I’m supposed to meet with Sawyer tomorrow, at nine.”

“Are you going?” She toyed with one pigtail.

“I'm not sure.” I looked up again, feeling such conflicting emotions about the place that I didn’t know which way was up. Pain. Trauma. Nostalgia. Joy. It had, after all, been the place I spent my happy childhood, before I lost them all.

“You need to face your past, Finn.”

I bristled. “What the hell for?”

“It’s what adults do.”

I stared at her. “Really? You’re going there?”

“You can’t just blow it off. It’s your house now. Your farm. Your parents’ legacy to you.” She moved closer. “Your parents would want you to take it over, make it successful again. Bring back the blueberries. Get the business going.” She frowned. “If you don’t, it all will have been for nothing.”

I chewed on my lip. Feelings of outrage bubbled inside me. How dare she tell me what to do? She had no idea… Well, maybe she did. She did lose her husband.

“Well?”

I shook my head. “No way. I’m not going back.”

She snorted, surprising Dippy, who scuttled sideways even in the heat of the day. Re-gathering her reins, she practically spat the words at me. “You’re a coward. You were back then, and you are now. You hide out on our grounds, living a small life, not using your God-given talent.” Her face twisted for a moment with what seemed unusual sentiment. I wondered what was behind it.

“What? You mean my art?”

“Hell, yes.” She pulled her horse around and faced the house on the hill. “You have a chance to go for it now. You’d be wealthy. You could paint up there.” She pointed to the house. “You could follow your dreams.”

I felt myself pull away. “How do you know about my dreams? And how dare you call me a coward?” I moved my horse closer to her. “You don’t know me.”

Her lips tightened and her eyes narrowed. “Yes I do,” she said. “You’re a moron.”

With that, she urged her mare into a gallop and left me sitting on Popeye with a dropped jaw.

A moron?

I let out a long sigh and cantered after her.

Crap, I thought. Maybe she was right.

Chapter 12

July 11, 1997

6:55 P.M.

Sassy didn’t make it for two nights in a row. I waited for an hour-and-a-half the first night, three hours the next. Each evening I sat on the jetty, fidgeting in the warm evening air, listening to the cries of the gulls. I’d imagined our kiss, that deep, sweet, tongue-flicking experience that had shot me to the moon and back.

I’d never admit it to Jax, and I was barely able to admit it to myself. But it was my first real kiss, and I figured—or hoped—it was hers, too.

Sure, there had been little pecks on the cheek or near the lips. My babysitter—who I had a monstrous crush on—would kiss me beside the mouth and I’d practically swoon whenever she did. That is, if boys can swoon. It sounds a little feeble, but I had such love for her when I was ten, I’d often suggest my parents have a “date” night so I could see her. I’d get all light-headed and act silly and wait on her hand and foot each time she came.

The best times were when Jax wasn’t there, when he was old enough to spend a night at his friends and I had Serena all to myself.

We’d play Scrabble or Monopoly for hours, with a big bowl of popcorn and pineapple juice mixed with seltzer, her favorite. Sometimes we’d watch movies—she liked the mushy ones best, and I tolerated them without a whimper of complaint.

Serena was my first crush, and I’d never forget her.

Tonight I decided to stay even longer for Sassy. What if she had to wait for her father and aunt to go to sleep first? What if they’d caught her coming in her window last time? Maybe she’d shown up here the last few nights, but found me gone by the time she arrived.

I shuddered to think that. She’d think I didn’t care. And oh, how I cared!

I settled down to wait. A parade of ducks waddled past me, mother in the front and father bringing up the rear. A turtle poked his head out at the bottom of the jetty and began the long journey across the beach.

Sassy. Oh, Sassy. Please come to me.

I remembered the soft touch of her hand on mine, the merriment in her eyes, her apparent shame regarding her identity. I wished she’d tell me who she was; where she lived. I didn’t care one bit if she was poor, or if she had a father who drank, or an aunt who smoked cigarettes. Nothing would matter to me except the next time I saw her, touched her, kissed her.

With a start, I pulled myself out of my reverie. Someone had crept up behind me and put their hands over my eyes.

Lord, please let it be Sassy.

“Guess who?”

She tried to make her voice deep, but I knew it was my girl from the first word slipping past her lips.

“Jenna Sullivan?” I said, trying to sound excited.

She smacked my back, almost knocking me off the jetty. “Jenna Sullivan? Can’t you think of a better girl than her to torture me with?”

I turned and caught her in my arms, pulling her toward me. “I knew it was you, silly. Hey, where were you? I’ve been here every night.” I leaned forward and touched my forehead to hers.

She turned her head aside and lowered her eyes. “I’m so sorry. Aunt Shirley went in the hospital, and we had to visit her every night after supper. By the time we got home, I figured you’d be gone.”

“I waited every night for hours,” I said. “And if it happens again, I’ll wait ‘til midnight if you want. I missed you so much, Sassy.”

“Me, too.” She snuggled against me. “It was her heart.”

“Is she gonna be okay?”

“We hope so. But it’s too soon to tell. They might have to operate.”

“Whoa. I’m sorry. I know you two don’t get along, but this is serious.”

“Yeah, I know.” She slid down to the beach, pulling me after her. “Let’s walk.”

“Sure,” I said. I would have said okay to “let’s fly to the moon.” It didn’t matter what Sassy wanted, I’d do it.

“Where’s your dad now?” I asked.

“He went to the hospital. He let me stay home this time.”

“When do you have to be back?”

She glanced at her watch. “He’ll leave when visiting hours are over, around 8:30. So I have to be on my bike by then. It takes twelve minutes to drive home from the hospital, and I can beat him by five minutes if I time it just right.”

So,
I thought,
she lives a seven-minute bike ride from here
. Maybe I’d take a day to experiment, making seven-minute bike rides in all directions until I found her in her yard, or saw her father in the front window reading the paper.

“I’ll make sure you aren’t late,” I said. “But it means we have to hurry if we’re going to plan out our lives.”

“Huh?” She leaned down and splashed water at me. “What in the world are you talking about?”

I caught her wrists and pulled her tight against me. “I’m talking about you, and me, forever. Together. You know, like in the movies.”

“We’re already going steady, Finn.” She smiled in spite of her stern tone. “You can’t propose to a girl two days after she agrees to go out with you.”

“Why not?” I slid my arm around her waist and drew her hips as close to mine as possible. “How old are you, anyway?”

“I turned sixteen back in May. Same as you, right?”

“Right, but I’ll be seventeen in November. Guess we’ll mostly be a year apart forever. But that’s cool.”

She turned her eyes up to mine. “Forever’s a long time, Finn. You don’t know anything about me.”

“Sassy, honey,” I kissed her lightly. “I don’t give a damn about where you live or who your father is or whatever you’re trying to keep from me. Seriously.”

“You’re so sweet,” she said. But she didn’t reveal any more. “Why don’t you kiss me properly now?”

I didn’t need encouragement. I pressed my lips to hers, savoring the sweet saltiness of her taste. As we pressed closer together, kissing deeper and growing more heated, I pulled her away from the shore that surged and spread around our bare feet. “Come on.”

We headed up the beach away from the high tide. The parking area at the top of the cliffs was reportedly a great place for necking, but I’d heard Jax say he brought girls down below to the private coves hidden from either side of the beach.

“Where are we going?” she asked, panting from running beside me.

“Not far,” I said. “See that curvature over there? It’s a nice quiet spot.”

She dug her heels into the sand and pouted. “Wait a minute. Do you bring all your girls here?”

“All my girls?” I laughed. “Heck, no.” I pulled her to me. “You’re my first and only.” I wasn’t sure about telling her the truth about me, but it just spilled out.

“Honest?” she asked, dancing beside me. “I’m your first?”

“First kiss. First love. First everything.”

She looked away. “Will you think less of me if you’re not my first?”

“Of course not,” I fibbed, feeling a little jealous of whomever she’d known before me, quickly realizing I was being stupid. “You could have lied about it. I want us to be open and honest. Always.”

“There was another guy…” She shook her head. “But I’d rather not talk about him. He’s a real jerk. And he dumped me last spring.”

“Would I know him?” I asked. Jealousy crept up on me again. I didn’t want to act like an idiot, but burning curiosity hit me square in the chest. “Who was he?”

“Just a guy from Yarmouth. You wouldn’t know him.”

“How’d you meet him?”

“Through my dad. His family came over to our place. We had a barbecue, sort of.”

“How long were you together?”

“Just a few months, Finn. It wasn’t serious.”

“No?”

“No.”

“How far did you go with him?”

I figured she’d hit me for that one, and she did, hard on the chest with both fists.

“It’s none of your damned business, mister.”

I stepped back. “Okay. It’s just…I don’t think I could stand it if another guy touched you in places like…in places I want to touch you. Just me. No one else.”

A flush crept up her neck, and now she pulled me toward the cliffs. “Let’s talk about it,” she said. “But we’ve only got another hour.”

I checked my watch. “I’m keeping track, don’t worry.”

She shivered. “I’ll worry. I can’t help it. If Dad finds out, I’m toast. And you’re history. He’ll put a lock on my door and never let me out again.”

I lifted her chin. “Then we’d better get you home on time.”

She wrapped her arms around my neck and lifted her lips. “Okay.”

“So kiss me already,” I said.

And she did.

Chapter 13

July 14
^th
, 2013

10:00 A.M.

E
d Sawyer sat back in his leather chair, chewing on the end of a pen. “I don’t think you’ll regret this, Finn.”

I slumped on the chair—sullen and exhausted—having just listened to the list of my brother’s holdings, and all the legal rigmarole that went with the process of inheriting it.

My fingers burned where I’d held the pen and signed the documents. I still didn’t feel right about it, and if Libby hadn’t pushed me, I wasn’t sure I would have accepted the whole parcel.

But I did.

I signed the papers. The farm was mine. The house was mine. And all the land—with bushes that were overgrown and probably didn’t produce berries any more—were mine.

“So,” Sawyer said. “Here are the house and garage keys. Jax’s car keys. Your bank book. All the paperwork that goes with the offshore accounts.”

I just stared at it.

“I’ll email you everything later today, too. What’s your address?”

I told him and he wrote it down.

“You okay, Finn?” He frowned, spewing a chuckle. “I never met anyone so upset about inheriting a fortune.” He got up and walked around the desk, squeezing my shoulders as if we were good old buddies, which we weren’t. “It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

I nodded. “If you say so.”

“When are you going to move up there? You’ll have to take over paying the bills. I did it for your brother, it was part of our arrangement, but there’s a new cycle coming due soon. Electric. Phone. The usual.”

“What about the mortgage? How much is left on it?”

He looked at me as if I hadn’t been listening to him spout facts all morning. “There’s no mortgage. I told you that. You own it outright.”