Yours Always (9 page)

Nothing goes the way I anticipate once we arrive at the boat place.  First, Terry Kent, the salesperson, isn’t the gentle, older man I’d pictured in my head.  Instead, he’s a pimply turd of a teenager dripping with attitude and a false sense of empowerment because he knows he has me between a rock and a hard place.  I want a refund on the purchase, but according to Terry, it isn’t an option.  Adding insult to injury, I’m threatened with additional charges if the boat isn’t removed from their property by the close of the business day.  I plead, argue, and fight to no avail.  Asking to speak to the manager is a joke because Terry IS the manager.  Asking to speak to the owner is even worse because Terry’s dad owns the joint.  Defeated, I ask to see my boat.

Terry tosses down the cell phone he’s been paying attention to instead of me, and begins an attitude-laden walk outside a double door that leads into a lot full of boats.  He’s practically sprinting, but I drag my feet as he impatiently stops and stands next to a brand new bass boat.  Fletcher reaches him before I do, and I don’t know what exactly is said, but he’s much nicer when I finally catch up.

“
This
is the boat my grandfather bought?” I ask with disbelief.  “How much?”

“I’m supposed to say that the cost doesn’t matter, it’s taken care of,” Terry says in absolute monotone.

“Fletcher?” I say, nodding him aside, “How much do you think a boat like this runs?”

“At least twenty-five grand.”

I close my eyes and sigh.  “That’s more than I thought.”  I amplify my voice, “How did he pay for this?” I ask Terry.

“It was a cash sale.  No returns.”

“Yeah, I know.  You made that perfectly clear while inside, Terry.” My tone drips with disdain.  “How am I going to get this home?” I ask Fletcher.

“We’ll go to my place and pick up my truck.  Then we’ll come here, get the boat, and bring it to Ben’s camp.  He’s got plenty of room out there to store it.”

“I’m really not used to this.  I always do things on my own, but I honestly see no way for me to handle this one by myself.”

“Hey, don’t get all weird about this.  It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It is to me,” I argue.

“It is to you
only
.” 

I give a half smile before telling Terry that we’d be back shortly for the boat.  He couldn’t care less, and he hurriedly makes his way back into the air conditioned show room.

Back on Fletcher’s bike we go, and suddenly I’m a little nervous and excited because this will be my first time seeing where Fletcher lives.  We leave the congestion of the city and end up at a really nice apartment complex nestled deep down a tree-laden path.  He stops in front of the garage door of one of the townhouses closest to the road, and once the door is fully opened, he parks the bike next to a huge black pickup truck.

“I didn’t know this complex existed.  These are so nice and quiet compared to where I’m at.”

“Yeah, ideally, I’d have my own place in the middle of nowhere, but this does okay.”

I hand him the helmet I’d been wearing, and he puts it on the seat of his bike.  “Nice truck,” I say, running my hand down the side of the spotless vehicle.

“Thanks.  I guess it’s pretty obvious that I don’t use it all that often.  This is pretty much where it stays.”

“I’m sorry you have to break it out for me.”

“I’m not.  Did you want something from inside before we go?  A drink?  Snack?”

Curiosity gets the best of me, so I ask for some water just so I can check out his place.  The first thing I notice is how impressively neat the townhouse is.  Everything has a place, and there’s not so much as a magazine thrown on the floor or haphazardly tossed onto the coffee table.  The second thing I notice is that everything is pretty generic.  Neutral colors dominate the furniture, walls, and fixtures.  The only splash of brightness comes from the few pictures he has on the walls. 

He walks straight to the refrigerator, pulls out two bottles of water, and hands one to me.  As I drink, I slowly walk in front of the line of pictures on the fireplace mantel.  I recognize Fletcher in the same military picture as the one posted on his page.  Further down is a pic of Ben, Fletcher, and another guy, all casually dressed and laughing candidly near the waterfront.  More pics of them camping, swimming, fishing, riding ATVs—all at various ages ranging from pre-teen to adult.  I recognize Julia in a few of the pictures, and even Molly in some of the ones that seem to be more recent.  Though she’s not much more than a toddler in most of them, her striking eyes give her away.

“You all look close,” I mention as a turn away to face Fletcher.

“We are,” he says.

“Who’s this guy?  I haven’t met him yet.”

“Remember the story about the triceratops?  He was our third, Brody.”

“Was?  Is he?” 

Fletcher’s face confirms that Brody wasn’t part of the group any longer. 

“I’m sorry,” I say, quickly trying to think of a way to change the subject.

“It’s okay.  He died six years ago, and he was Molly’s dad.”

Suddenly, it clicks.  They look so much alike in their photos that I can’t believe I didn’t put the connection together.  “So he and Julia…”

“Yeah, he teased and tormented her when we were growing up, then his focus changed sometime during high school.  I wasn’t very happy with the arrangement, but there wasn’t a thing I could do to stop it.  They married the summer after our senior year.  Molly came along a few years after.  She was six when he died, and I hate that she has to grow up without him.  He was a great friend, husband, and dad.”

“At least she’s old enough to remember him, right?” I ask.

“She remembers bits and pieces.”

“A few good memories are better than a lifetime of bad ones.”

“True,” Fletcher agrees.  I hand my empty water bottle to him, and he tosses it into the kitchen garbage can.  “Ready?” he asks, dangling his keys in the air.

“Yes.  Thanks again for helping me with this mess.  I can’t believe my grandfather, who obviously hoarded money, spent it on buying me a boat.  There are a million other things I can think to do with that money, and I’m stuck with a stinking boat I can’t use.”

“You can always sell it.  You might not make back the full purchase amount, but you’ll probably get pretty close to it.”

“True.”  I shake a finger in the air.  “Grampy, you got me good with this one.” I picture him laughing his butt off at me.

Terry is just as thrilled to see us as he was the first time we arrived, and by thrilled I mean obnoxiously playing games on his cell phone.  Fletcher backs up the truck, hitches the trailer, and I’m sure to thank Terry for doing absolutely nothing as we drive away.  I’m pretty sure he flips me the bird, but I let it go.

It’s a nice, quiet ride to Lake Martin from the boat store, and I enjoy taking in the scenery of the cypress trees, marshy bogs, and vacation houses.  Before Fletcher can finish backing the boat and trailer into the side yard at Ben’s, Ben and Lizzy are joining us.  I spot Lizzy before Ben, only because she’s impatiently jumping up and down while happily squealing.  She’s all over me when I get out of the truck.

“Boat for sale.  You want it?” I ask while being crushed by Lizzy’s bear hug.

“I just might,” Ben says, running his hand down the shiny new hull.  “What are you asking?”

“What will you give me?”

“Oh, you’re one of those people, huh?” Ben says with a laugh.  “This is brand new, never been in the water, right?”

“That’s right.  Straight from the store.”

“Hmmmm.  I think we should take her out, and see how she handles before I make an offer.”

I shrug.  “Y’all launch the boat, and we’ll be there in a second!  Don’t leave without us!” Lizzy yells, practically dragging me inside the house.

“What are you doing?” I ask, rubbing my wrist once she releases it.

“You can’t go out in a boat dressed like that,” she proclaims, shutting the bedroom door.

“It’s exactly the same thing the guys are wearing: shorts and a t-shirt.”

“Exactly!  We’re girls.  Swimsuits,” she sings while emptying onto the bed a duffel that’s chock full of Lizzy-wear. 

“Oh, no.  I don’t think so,” I say.

“Yes, ma’am.”  She starts stripping, tossing her clothes aside as she goes.  “I’m wearing the red and white polka dot bikini.  You can pick anything else from the pile.”

“Don’t you have a tank top I can borrow?” I anxiously ask.

“Nope.  Pick a top.”

“I don’t even remember the last time I wore a swimsuit.”

“It was the Fourth of July party that I dragged you to three years ago.  Pick already.”

“How do you remember this stuff?” I ask, shaking my head as I thumb through the suits.  I pick up an emerald green, halter style top.  Lizzy nods her approval, so I quickly slide it on.  As I’m trying to pull my t-shirt over it, Lizzy snatches it clean off of my head.

“No,” she fusses.  “You look beautiful.  Plus, it’s a bizzillion degrees outside.  There’s no need for layers.”

“Lizzy,” I say with a warning tone.

“I’m letting you wear the shorts, so consider it a compromise.”

I roll my eyes before following her outside.  She makes a brief stop to grab some towels then we join the guys on the dock.  The boat is bobbing lightly in the water when we arrive, and Fletcher helps Lizzy and me into the boat.  As soon as we’re in, Lizzy sits up front and snuggles with Ben, who knocks it into gear. I’m in the back seat, across from Fletcher, actually enjoying the feel of the warm sun on my exposed flesh.  Listening to the hum of the motor, I find it hard to keep my eyes open. I allow them to close and deeply inhale the slightly fishy-smelling air.  I’m more relaxed than I’ve been in a long time, and I have a fleeting thought that maybe I should keep the boat.  That thought is quickly cast aside as reality crashes down.  The only reason I’m in this boat is because my grandfather died. 

Inwardly, I tell myself that he’d want me to be happy.  That it’s okay to relax and have fun, but as usual, guilt rears its ugly head with each and every positive thought I have.  I’m a little startled when I feel Fletcher’s body brush up against mine.

Loud enough for me to hear him over the hum of the motor, yet quiet enough that Lizzy and Ben don’t overhear, he asks, “What are you doing to yourself, Savannah?  I know you’re struggling because it’s written all over your face.  It’s okay for you to have a good time.  You’re riding in the boat that your grandfather bought for you.  If you relax and enjoy yourself, it’s like you’re giving him the gift of gratitude.”

“Is it really that apparent?  I didn’t really think of it like that.  I just keep thinking about how rotten I am for being out on the water the day after his death.”

Fletcher reaches out to touch me, and instinctively, I flinch.  He slowly lets his hand drop.

“I’m sorry,” we both say at the same time.

“No, I’m sorry,” I say.

“Just have fun, okay?” he asks.  I nod.  Pushing to scoot back to his original position, I stop him by putting my hand on his knee.  He gently takes my hand into his and gives it a slight squeeze.  Heeding his advice, I once again close my eyes and deeply inhale the fresh air around me.  The ride must’ve relaxed me so much that I fell asleep because the next thing I know the boat motor powers down, and we’re approaching the dock at Ben’s house.  Fletcher lets go of my hand so he can jump out to tie up the boat. 
He held my hand the entire time.
I feel a smile trying to escape, but I work to contain it.

“She runs like a dream.  Great boat.  Will you take twenty five for her?”

“Uh, twenty five is perfect.  Yes,” I say, growing excited.  I’ve made back all of Grampy’s money, and I didn’t have to go through any hassle trying to sell the thing! I figure Fletcher has something to do with it, but I’m not going to harp on it.  Life is starting to look up for me, but I know from experience that it’s usually pretty short lived.  I’m going to suck up as much of the good stuff as I can before the other shoe drops.

“Hey, Lizzy.  Got anything stronger than water inside there?” I nod my head towards the lake house.

Lizzy pops her head up from behind the windshield of the boat.  “We have beer, and a few bottles of some other stuff.  Right, Ben?”

“Yeah, babe.  We sure do.”

“What about a deck of cards?” I deviously ask.

“Absolutely,” Ben answers. 

After raising an eyebrow, Fletcher mutters, “Nice.”

The card game gives way to a campfire once dusk arrives, and we all sit around discussing Lizzy and Ben’s upcoming nuptials.  She tells us that it’s going to be a small, intimate affair with minimal fuss and hassle.  Aside from Fletcher and me, who will serve as attendants, the guest list might make twenty at most.  I still can’t believe that Lizzy is going along with whole small wedding thing; the girl’s been planning her dream wedding since we were kids.  Finally, I get the gumption to ask her about it.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask, once we’re inside.  She’s digging around in the fridge to restock our beer supply.