Coming Home Again (A Coming Home Again Novel Book 1) (11 page)

I walk down
the aisles, skimming my hands along the way. My eyes sting with wanting to cry,
but my body won’t give in. I focus on the lovely packages as I walk by and push
the hurt away. There are so many batter mixes, everything from hot and spicy to
sweet and fruity. The sauce varieties are just as endless in choices.

I grab a
large garbage can by the register and head to the produce area to weed out the
spoiled items. It’s not a very large section so this takes no time. On
autopilot, I then head to the seafood display. I know what my dad would do, so
I do it also. I dump each bin of fish and shellfish into the trash. It’s not
fresh and needs to be tossed. I work in silent anguish as I scrub the bins
after tossing the trash in the back dumpster. My last task is to mop my way out
before heading next door.

I’m at the
front door of the restaurant and have to force myself to unlock the door and
step in. It’s almost unbearable. The quietness echoes as I walk over the worn
wood-planked floor. I glance around the lonely dining area before heading to my
favorite spot—the kitchen. It’s impeccably clean as it has always been. I do a
quick scan of the refrigerators and toss a few items. There’s not much to take
care of in here, so I make my way to my dad’s office.

I brace
myself before pushing through his door. The familiar scent of my dad’s spicy
cologne assails my senses as I walk in. I expect to find him sitting behind his
desk, but it’s empty. My eyes sting and my throat constricts, but still no
tears. My chest tightens as I ease into his chair. I push the pain away as much
as I can and focus on the task at hand.

I check the
numerous messages, which are mostly customers wanting to pay their condolences.
I record a brief message on the phone service. “This is Savannah, and on behalf
of the Thorton family, I would like to thank you for your concerns and well
wishes. An announcement will be posted by next week with information as to when
the businesses will reopen.” I pause before continuing to clear my throat and
add, “My father loved these two places, and he held his customers in high
regard. Thank you for being such a special part of his life.” I end there
because emotions take over, and I just can’t say anything else.

I lay my
head down on his desk and mourn… I sit here tearless, but mourn just the same.
I mourn for what we had—the camaraderie here in this very place. And I mourn
for what we lost. I mourn not getting to know my dad better. And I mourn him
not knowing me. It’s too late. He’s gone and there’s nothing, absolutely
nothing I can do about it now. No second chance. No redo.

After a
while, I stand to leave, but a framed document hanging proudly on the back wall
grabs my attention. I walk over and discover it to be my college acceptance
letter. This surprises me. I didn’t realize my dad even had it. I always
thought it was hidden in my junk somewhere. I pluck it off the wall and take it
with me. After locking up the front, I head out back to visit the inlet. I
notice the tide is nearing its end of lazily heading out for a while and will
soon decide to come back. I pull an old rocking chair from the back porch,
deposit it near the bank, and have a sit for a spell to wait on the tide’s
return.

I let the
creek sounds lull me into a lethargic state while I rock to the tempo of the
soothing breeze. I study the lively creek bed as it mysteriously comes into
view. Hermit crabs are scampering about, looking for hidden treasure and nosy
seagulls roam around to see what they can find for a snack.

The bank is
littered with the inlet’s natural waste. Empty shells of all sorts are
scattered about—oyster, clam, crab, and shrimp shells. Fish bones are left
discarded about as well. Eventually, the inlet’s rich mud will reclaim this
natural waste. It’s amazing how this ecosystem works perfectly without any
assistance from man. If we leave it alone and not abuse it, this inlet rewards
abundantly. I have never seen a time it didn’t give generously in the form of
fresh seafood. Crab traps have always been overly occupied, and treasure hunts
for clams have always been plentiful. This major part of the ocean owns my
heart just as much as the sandy beaches and rolling waves. Maybe the love for
the inlet is a local thing or just my thing. I hold it dear and respect it
greatly for always giving to my family so generously.

A squawking
sound draws my attention to a muddy part of the bank towards my left. I find a
seagull waving his wings in the air, bickering with a crab that he is the
rightful owner of a wayward minnow flopping in a murky puddle. The grouchy crab
raises his snapping claw in challenge as he dances in front of the minnow. A
snort of amusement slips out of me as the cowardly seagull admits defeat,
flying away and leaving the crab to his meal.

I watch for
a while until the framed acceptance letter beckons my attention where it is
resting in my lap. Dormant memories of those years echo sweetly through me,
causing a wistful smile to pull at my lips. They were typical college years to
an outsider, but they were of much significance to me. College is where I found
my other saving grace. It’s where I met my Lucas.

Lucas Ray
Monroe is the best thing about life, even though I know I don’t deserve him one
bit. I did absolutely nothing to earn him, yet he offered me his love like it
was a divine ruling for him to do so.

I met him
in my freshman English class and felt drawn to him immediately. I was intrigued
by this quiet guy who always seemed to be near me. He has always exuded a
silent peace that just draws people in. Lucas is the kind of guy, that when he
speaks, people hush up and take notice. He is one who doesn’t waste words. And
man oh man, is he pretty to look at. He has an all-American look about him with
playfully curly brown hair and an always clean-shaven boyish face. Those curls
summon any sane female to want to test the luscious texture of them. We are
clear on the fact I do not put myself in the category of sane, so my hands
easily kept to themselves back then. The only wicked thing about him is his
hazel eyes. Some days they gleam like pure gold, other days they can be a
brilliant green, and creamy brown eyes sometimes make an appearance as well.
His body is lean and just under six feet in height. Lucas has a confident glide
to his walk that is never rushed, but always gets him where he’s going with
plenty of time to spare. I haven’t figured out how to have his calming peace,
but I really want to possess it too.

We hung out
at the beginning of freshman year and have never parted since. He sort of held
a big brother position with me. I made some dumb freshman mistakes and he was
always there to rescue me. I would call inebriated and he would quickly and
quietly show up to drive me back to the dorms. Or I would totally blow off
class and he would show up afterwards with a copy of his notes and hand them
over without a word. He was a constant stabilizer, and I was so drawn to it.

I know college is supposed to be a
place to develop an education on a particular career, but I was completely clueless
on what I wanted to be. I barely knew who I was, much less knew what I wanted
to be when I grew up. College for me was an escape from my life so far. I went
in without declaring a major. I honestly had no ambition to succeed in anything
but staying away from home.

Freshman
year was definitely a learning curve for me. My dorm roommate Phoebe and I
spent too much time partying and goofing off, and the evidence showed up
swiftly with my poor grades. The slap in the face from reality didn’t reach me
until that summer break. I was back home working at the restaurant. My dad
showed up in late June with a note from the university. He handed the thick
envelope over right before my lunch shift. Thinking it was my fall schedule
information packet, I crammed it in my bag to check out later. I didn’t even
open it until after a week had passed. When I did finally open it, I nearly
exploded in panic. The note declared I was on academic probation and had only
the fall semester to show drastic improvement or they would be revoking my
scholarship. That was all it took to straighten my behind out. There was no way
I would be going back to Bay Creek on a permanent basis, so I did what I had to
do when I returned.

I may have
been motivated but my returning roommate, Phoebe, was not. She continued with
the partying, and it near about made it impossible to study. Most nights our
dorm was filled with a rowdy crowd, which normally led to sleepovers. After
spending too many nights on the smelly couch in the common room, I knew I had
to find an alternative living arrangement.

I asked
Lucas to help me find an apartment, and this led us to a discussion about the
spare room in his apartment.

“That’s
sweet, but I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” I brushed his offer off as
gently as I could.

“Why?” he
asked that fall afternoon as we walked to the library. There was a bit of a nip
in the air that day. I remember it being quite a refreshing change from the
thick humidity that these southern parts are plagued by.

“You’re a
guy. I’m a girl,” I stated matter-of-fact. He eyed me with those curious eyes
for a moment before shrugging his shoulders and continuing down the sidewalk.

I knew he
wouldn’t say anything else, but expected me to explain just the same. “I don’t
trust you.” I remember blurting that out like an idiot. What I really meant to
say was that I was scared to be that near him. I didn’t want him to mess up
what we had with crossing that invisible line. Lucas nodded his head like that
made perfect sense and dropped the subject.

The
following week, the campus was abuzz with fall break coming up. Not me. I was
too busy panicking over not having my grades high enough. I had midterms to
worry over, so Lucas agreed to let me study most afternoons at his quiet
apartment while he went to the gym with his buddies. He was lucky. His parents
provided him an off-campus two-bedroom apartment. Yes, I was totally jealous.

When I
arrived that afternoon, I found a note on the dining table. I opened it and a
set of keys fell out.
The room is yours.
Take it. I installed a lock on the door. These are the only two keys to it. No
one will bother you here. You can trust me. Take these keys as my promise.
–Lucas.
 

I picked
the keys up and stared at them for a moment as I measured the weight of the decision
in my hand. It was nearly an irresistible offer, but I just wasn’t sure. Trust
issues wouldn’t let me, so I studied and left before he returned. I sat my own
note on the table with the keys thanking him for the offer, but declining.

I ended up
failing the statistics exam the next week, and I was right disgusted with
myself. I studied as much as possible, but the sporadic sleeping schedule,
mired with my usual nightmares, was becoming my undoing.

After
receiving my exam grade that morning, I walked in a deep gloom to Lucas’s
apartment to bid him goodbye. He was heading home for the small break, but I
had decided to hide out in my dorm instead of facing Jean for Thanksgiving. I
had a feeling I was going to have to see way too much of her soon enough after
flunking out of college.

I let
myself in his unlocked apartment as I normally did, and tripped right over
Lucas’s suitcase. I laid there stunned for a moment before he strolled out of
his room. He stood over me with a curl hanging in one of his amused eyes. The
teal-blue shirt he wore was causing his eyes to shine with a unique green hue
that day.

“Walk
much?” he asked in an even tone, which made me want to crack up.

“You
booby-trapped your door, hotshot,” I said as he helped me stand.

“How about
a peace offering then?” he asked as he released me to shove the suitcase out of
the way. He pushed the curl back into place as he waited for me to comment.

“Yeah?
What’s the offering?” I asked as I headed to take a seat at the table, where
the bedroom keys continued to patiently wait on me. Lucas stood by the table
without taking a seat and I wasn’t too pleased. He was ready to go home, but I
wasn’t ready to let him.

“Stay here
while I’m gone.” This is all he said as he slid the keys in front of me.
Without another word, Lucas grabbed his suitcase and walked out the door. I
stood to follow him, but he raised his hand up with a wave and shut the door
behind him.

I sat a
little longer, taking in my surroundings while I reevaluated his offer. My gaze
eased over the apartment. The open concept was masculine with crisp, grey walls
and dark, chunky furniture. The small living room was dominated by a dark grey
micro suede sofa that you could just sink into because it was so plush. A black
leather recliner and massive TV joined in the mix. The only wall décor was a
giant framed Gamecocks emblem. The table I sat at matched the black chunky
coffee table, so I guess they came as a set. The kitchen was a generic
apartment setup with grey Formica counters and a black fridge and stove set.
Nothing fancy, but incredibly tidy for a young man.

Curiosity
finally won out. I walked to the vacant bedroom to peek, and was surprised at
what I found. The last time I had glanced into the room, it was bare, with
white walls and a mattress set without a bedframe. The space had been
transformed into a beach-themed room with light blue walls and gauzy,
cream-colored curtains. The bed had been outfitted with a comforter set in a
thick, striped pattern in delicate shades of blue and cream, and framed by a
wicker headboard. A large seascape picture of the ocean and beach shore that
glowed warmly under a tender sun dressed the wall behind the bed. In awe, I
skimmed my fingers along a cream-colored, distressed dresser that sat quietly
in the corner carefully holding a vase full of seashells. After circling the
room in admiration, I took a seat on the edge of the bed, sinking slightly in
the softness. A conk shell rested on top of the nightstand, giving me
permission to pick it up. I raised the iridescent shell to my ear and let it
whisper the secrets of the ocean to me for a while. I let out a sigh. It
baffled me as to why Lucas would do this for me, and I was more astonished by
how well he really knew me.