Before the Storm (16 page)

the houses near The Sea Tender and they’d be snoopy and

curious.

I didn’t have to lie to Mom about where I was going tonight,

since she and Andy were in New York. I hated lying, but that

seemed like all I did anymore. It looked like my little brother

had been doing some lying himself lately. Mom called from

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New York to tell me about the lighter. I had a feeling Andy

smoked. I caught a telltale whiff on him sometimes, but when

I came right out and asked him if he smoked, he said,“Of
course

not, Maggie!” I fell for it.

Andy’s screwups scared me. So far, they’d been little things.

As he grew up, the chance for him to make bigger mistakes

would grow along with him.

Like I had room to talk.

I parked down the street and kept my flashlight off as I

walked along the road. I turned up the little boardwalk

between two of the front-row houses to where our old cottage

sat on the beach.

I lugged the cinder block beneath the steps and climbed up

to the front door. Inside the cottage, I didn’t head for the rear

deck like I did when trying to make contact with Daddy. I was

there for a different reason tonight—a
worldly
reason, one that

made lying absolutely necessary.

The bedroom that had been my parents’ was smaller than

the other two, but it was the only one with a view of the

ocean. It was also the only room in the entire house without

a broken or boarded-up window. I could see a couple of lights

far out on the water. I watched them long enough to see that

one was sailing north, the other south. Then I lit all six of the

jasmine-scented candles on the little plastic table in the corner

of the room. The full-size bed—just a saggy old mattress, box

spring and rusty frame—was one of the pieces of furniture

Mom left behind when we deserted The Sea Tender. I pulled

back the covers on the bed and took out the sheets of fabric

softener I’d left on the pillows. I never knew how long it would

be before I came back, and I hated the smell of stale linen.

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I just finished plumping up the pillows when I heard footsteps on the front deck, then the creak of the sticky old door.

“Anyone home?” Ben asked quietly.

I tore through the living room to get to him. He pulled me

into his arms and I buried my face against his chest, suddenly

crying.

“It’s okay, angel,” he said, stroking my hair. “It was too long

this time. I know.”

I couldn’t stop blubbering. Total meltdown, like I’d been

saving it all up for him—for the moment I could finally let it

out. I always had to be the strong one in my family. With Ben,

I could just be me. He held me till I stopped crying. He always

knew what I needed.

“It’s been torture,” I managed to say.

We hadn’t been together—not
this
way—since before the

fire. We coached the Pirates together, acting like we hardly

knew each other so no one would wonder about us and start

gossiping. We talked and text-messaged and exchanged a few

e-mails, but no way could that substitute for being alone

together.

He leaned back from me and ran his hand over my cheek.

A little candlelight spilled out of the bedroom and I could see

his chocolatey-brown eyes and the gory new scar on his

forehead.

“How is it?” I touched the scar lightly.

He winced and I pulled my hand away.

“Sorry! Sorry!” I hated that I’d hurt him.

“Just tender,” he said. “Got the stitches out this morning.” He

touched the scar himself. “I’ll always have a reminder of that

night.”

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“You’re safe, though,” I said.

“Others weren’t so lucky.”

“I was so scared.”

“Shh.” He kissed me, then suddenly lifted me up, the way

an old-fashioned groom carries a bride over the threshold. He

carried me into the bedroom. The jasmine smell was so strong,

I felt drunk. Ben put me down on the bed and started undressing me. My throat still felt clogged with tears. I didn’t want

to start crying again, though. I wouldn’t. Ben needed a woman

tonight. Not a little girl.

I wasn’t one of those wide-eyed girls who believed in love

at first sight, but the first minute I saw Ben, something

happened to me. It was my seventeenth birthday, nearly a year

ago, and I was in the lounge at the rec center waiting to meet

the new coach of the older kids. Their old coach, Susan Crane,

was moving to Richmond, so a new guy was taking her place.

Susan was thirty-five, so I don’t know why I expected the new

guy to be my age, but I did.

Ben stood at the check-in counter, filling out paperwork

and laughing with David Arowitz, one of the managers. I

thought he was opening a membership at the center, and I

took him in in one big gulp. He wore blue-and-green-striped

jams, like he was checking in to use the pool, and a short-

sleeve blue shirt and sandals. He was big. He’d probably been

one of those boys who had to wear those “husky-size” clothes.

His hair was short, dark and wavy. He had a straight nose,

dimples—at least on the side of his face I could see—and

long, heavy-duty eyelashes. I swear, I took in all those details

in one instant and literally felt something happen to my

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heart, like someone squeezed it hard enough to send tingles

down my arms.

I knew what he was like just by looking at him. He was kind,

he loved animals, he’d rather play volleyball than golf, he

believed in God but wasn’t religious, he loved scary movies,

he could talk about emotional things, he smoked marijuana but

never cigarettes. I knew all of this in the time it took the

tingling to run from my heart to my fingertips. I also knew he

was way too old for me, but I didn’t care. I was in love.

Suddenly David pointed in my direction. Ben said something to him, then started walking toward me. The one thing

I hadn’t figured out about him was that he was the new coach.

“Maggie?” He held out his hand. The dimple was only on

one side of his mouth. “I’m Ben Trippett.”

I wasn’t all that used to shaking hands with people. When

I shook his, I felt heat coming off his palm, like he ran a few

degrees warmer than everyone else on the planet. I would

learn that about him—his hands were
always
hot. Maybe it was

the heat that did it to me. All I knew was that I was completely,

totally lost.

He was all I could think about. I suddenly understood why

my girlfriends developed tunnel vision when they were hung

up on a guy. I couldn’t wait for our twice-weekly swim team

practice. Sometimes he and I would stop at McDonald’s afterward. I’d get a soda; he’d get a milk shake. We’d talk about our

swimmers—who was strong, who needed more work on a

certain stroke. We’d set goals for our team. The whole time,

I’d be thinking
I love you, I love you, I love you.

He lived with Dawn Reynolds, but I tried not to think about

that. I didn’t know Dawn well; she’d only been on the island

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for about a year. I didn’t believe in breaking anybody up, but

I couldn’t help what I felt for him. I made up reasons to see

him. He worked at the Lowes in Hampstead, and sometimes

after school I’d think of an excuse to go there. I bought paint

for my room that I never got around to putting on the walls

and a lamp I knew I didn’t like and would have to return.

We started talking about other things when we went to

McDonald’s. Movies—we both loved scary ones, as I predicted. His divorce, which was “messy,” and his seven-year-old

daughter, Serena, who lived with his ex-wife in Charlotte. He

missed her a lot. I could tell he was a good father. I loved that

about him.

Then one night, he said he wanted to talk about Dawn.

“When I first moved here, I rented one of the mobile homes

in Surf City,” he told me. “I was in Jabeen’s Java one day and

started talking to her. She was about to tack a flyer on the

bulletin board looking for a housemate. She’d gotten divorced

around the time I did and she was going to lose her house on

the beach if she didn’t find someone to share expenses. So it

was a no-brainer.”

“So…you and Dawn are just housemates?”

When he nodded, I felt like I was sitting on a cloud instead

of a molded plastic bench at McDonald’s.

“Except it’s a little more complicated than that,” he said.

“She’d just gotten divorced and I’d just gotten divorced and…”

He looked straight at me with those chocolatey eyes.“Have you

ever broken up with anyone?”

“Not really.” I’d only had three dates in my life.

“Well then, it might be hard for you to understand, but

when a marriage ends, especially if you tried hard to save it

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and you still care about the person, it leaves you really

raw…and very lonely. Dawn and I were both in that place

when I moved in.” He took a sip of his milk shake. Then

another. He wasn’t looking at me. “She’s a pretty woman,” he

said finally, “and I was attracted to her physically.”

I cringed. “Am I gonna get TMI here?”

“TMI?”

“Too much information.”

“Oh.” He smiled. “Probably.”

“Oh, no.” I sat up straight and got ready to hear the worst.

“Okay,” I said. “Go ahead.”

His cheeks had turned pink. I loved that he wanted to talk

to me about something personal enough to make him blush.

“Well, you’ve figured it out,” he said. “I screwed up. We slept

together the first week I moved in. By the second week, I knew

it had been a mistake. She’s a nice woman, but we were never

going to be right for each other. I told her I just wanted to be

friends and offered to move out. She was upset. In her mind,

she thought—she still thinks—we’re a good match and she

didn’t want me to leave. Not only that, but she needs the financial help. So that’s why I’m there.” He blew out his breath

and poked down one of the little raised bumps on his milk-

shake lid.“And the reason I’m telling you this is because I have

very strong feelings for you, Maggie.”

Oh…my…God.
“Me, too.” I was amazed I got the words out.

My mouth was so dry I thought they’d stick to my tongue.

“I know you do,” he said. “There’s such a connection between us.You might be seventeen chronologically, but you’re

no kid. No immature teenager. I don’t really want to fight the

feelings I have for you. But…you’re seventeen.”

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“You already mentioned that.”

“And I’m ten years older. I don’t want to take advantage of

you.”

“Ben.” I hated the table between us. “I love you. I’ve loved

you for months. And you’re right. I’m not an immature

teenager. I hardly ever date because guys my age are such—”

I shook my head “—total losers. The way I feel about you is

different. It’s like the way I love my brother and my—”

“What?”
He laughed.

“I mean, it’s really, really deep and…” I was afraid I was

starting to
sound
like an immature teenager. It was hard to

explain how I felt about him. “It’s…pure,” I said finally. “I

don’t know how else to describe it.”

“Well—” his dimple was so cute when he smiled “—I like

that description.” He leaned back and sighed.“Whew,” he said.

“I’ve wanted to have this conversation with you for weeks. I

wasn’t afraid of what you’d say. I knew you felt the same way

I did. But it changes things, and I don’t know what to do next.

You’re just starting your senior year. Maybe we should try to

keep it…you know,
platonic,
until you’re out of high school.”

I’d pictured lying in bed with him a thousand times. One of

my arms would be across his chest, and one of his would circle

my shoulders protectively. I didn’t really care about having sex

with him. I wanted something more than that. Something

deeper that would last the rest of my life.

“I don’t want to wait,” I said. “The age of consent in North

Carolina is sixteen. I’m seventeen and five months.You have

my consent.”

“We can’t be out in the open,” he said. “Your mother…

God, your
uncle.
They’d kill me.”

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“I know.” He was right about that. I was certain Mom had

been a virgin on her wedding night, and Uncle Marcus was

always giving me that “guys are out for one thing” lecture.

Maybe guys
my
age were. Ben was totally different.

“And there’s really no place we can be together,” Ben said.

It was my turn to smile.

“Yes,” I said, “there is.”

Later, when I realized I could tell him anything at all—

almost, anyway—I told him how I felt in the beginning. How

I didn’t think I wanted him sexually. He laughed and said,

“Well,
that’s
certainly changed.” I guess it did, but my favorite

part of being with Ben was still lying in his arms in the