Coming Home Again (A Coming Home Again Novel Book 1) (25 page)

“I’ve not made my mind up if I’m going
to or not. I could kill John Paul for announcing that today. Now everyone is
expecting me to do it.” I’m still fuming at my brother. I’m also very confused
by it all.

“I think your mind is already made up. You
just don’t want to admit it yet.”

I shoot Lucas a puzzled look over his
remark. “You’ve always talked fondly of the two places. It seems like the main
highlights of your childhood. I think it would be a shame if you pass this up.”
He reaches over to tuck my long hair behind my ear so that he can get a good
look at me. I meet his confident gaze with my uncertain one.

“I totally agree,” says John Paul as he
joins us on the porch. His plate is piled higher than Lucas’s with chicken bog.
It is the first time I have seen him with an actual meal since I’ve arrived,
and I am glad to see it.

“Don’t you think you’ve said enough
today?” I’m still pretty upset with his announcement at the funeral. “Why on
earth did you do that to me?”

“I’m not giving you a chance to run
away from this. I figured if I announced it, then your stubborn butt would
finally have to make a commitment on taking care of the restaurant and market.
And before you start in with me, I had a long talk with Lucas. Dude said he
could do most of his work right from here.” John Paul is more serious about
this than anything else I can remember.

“Since you’re so passionate about Dad’s
businesses, why don’t you get off your lazy butt and run them yourself?” I
stand to walk back into the house and John Paul gently grabs my arm.

“Dad and I had talked a while back on
how things should be taken care of, Savannah. He didn’t offer the businesses to
me. He explained why and I agreed. You are better suited to do it. But I
promise you this, if he would have offered it to me, I would have gladly
agreed. Not because I want them, but because I would want to honor his last
wishes.” He lets go of my arm and tosses his untouched plate of food in a
garbage can next to the steps before jumping off the porch and stomping hastily
down the road.

I storm off after my brother so I can
choke out an apology to him. I’m stubborn. These things don’t come easy to me.

I catch up to him as we round the
corner of the dirt road just before Bradley’s field. “Would you slow down? Good
grief!” I yell at his back. “I have
heels
on!” I kick them off and continue towards him.

“Why should I?” He spits the question
out, but stops anyway. He rubs his hands over his face and sighs before yanking
off his tie in aggravation.

“Look. To be honest, I’m pretty ticked
about that stunt you pulled today. John Paul, you didn’t even take into
consideration how I would feel.” I stand my ground with my hands pressed firmly
on my hips.

I
know I told you I’m going to apologize to him. Geez. Just give me a minute. I’m
getting to it.

John Paul circles around with his hands
on his hips, as though he’s deciding his next course of action. He quickly
decides to keep going in the direction of the field, taking long strides, and
me stumbling behind him. He stops at the edge and gazes towards the spot. I do
the same in an amicable silence and wait for him.

“I want to
dream
…I want to
live
…I
want to be
happy
…” he whispers out in
hesitation. He glances in my direction before looking back over the field. “The
only time since…” he pauses to clear his throat. I can detect the emotions
thick in his words. “The only time since I lost him that I have had any amount
of happiness is when I have a camera in my hands. Photography has become my
dream, Savannah.” He sniffs back tears as he turns towards me and shakes his
head in despair. “My heart isn’t in Dad’s dream. Never has been. I can’t do it
the way he would have wanted it done.”

I eye my big brother sternly. “There’s
no way I’m going to take this on…” With this declaration, John Paul throws his
hands up in defeat, mumbles out a few choice words, and turns to leave. I grab
his arm and turn him back towards me. “
Unless
you agree to sneak me down to Scully’s Cove this very instant.”

Confusion, then understanding, flickers
over his face. He shakes his head vigorously in opposition. “
He— um, Heck
no! There’s a tropical
storm brewing up off the coast. The waves are way too gnarly.” He crosses his
arm and pinches his brows together to emphasize his protest.

“Why else would I be making a stink
about wanting to go
today
?”

“Your girly butt can’t handle those big
boys!”

“Fine then. Nice seeing you. I’m going
back to Rhode Island.” I turn around and head in the direction of the house.

“You sure about this? I can take you
next week when the weather is safer.” The reluctance oozes from his voice.

“It’s either today or never. How bad
you want your dream, big brother?” I know I have already won this battle so I
rub it in a little bit more for good measure. I’m the little sister, and it’s
my job. Right?

“You sure?” he asks again, and I know
he’s hoping I change my mind. He should know better. I’m stubborn—remember?

“Shine yeah!” I say then let out a
whoop with excitement. I’ve been itching for this chance since I arrived home
again.

~ ~ ~

We obviously cannot go back for our
gear from the house. I mean, how can one successfully sneak a surfboard out
without a house full of mourners not getting suspicious? So we end up
borrowing
bikes from the neighbor kids
and haul tail to Scully’s Surf Shop. The surf shop is named after the famous
cove we are about to seek out. We run up a considerable tab with the needed
supplies for our excursion.

We swap our funeral clothes for bathing
suits topped with wetsuits and hand over the tags to the cashier before
selecting our boards. I find me a sweet seven-foot two-inch Surf Betty. She is
iridescent white and decorated with brilliantly colored hibiscus flowers. She
should be taming the waves off the coast of Hawaii, but I hope I do her justice
against the tropical storm waves off this South Carolina coast.

I go with a fun board but John Paul is
all business with his selection. He rolls out with a manly six-foot-two-inch
Perfection Fish. It’s gorgeous with flames of fire and ice licking up and down
the deck. The edges are accented with intense black patterns—it’s tough.

We slow down long enough on the beach
to prep the boards with wax before running full force towards the awaiting
ocean. Now this is the one place where I truly feel free and at home at the
same time. I’m nearly breathless with anticipation.

John Paul is faster at slicing through
the water and I get caught inside, so he backpedals to help pull me out. We
both duck dive under an unexpected wave and finally make it past the break.

Adrenaline is coursing rapidly through
my veins as I search out my first wave. Before I can advance, I feel John Paul
grab my ankle, pulling me and my board around to face him.

“You understand that nothing, and I do
mean
nothing,
can happen to you on my
watch,” he says sternly. I see the apprehension skirt along his face.

I totally get why he says this. I will
never understand the burden of guilt he carries for Bradley’s accident. “Look,
the only thing that’s going to happen on your watch is me catching more waves
than you, old man.” I laugh wickedly before pulling away from him and towards
pure bliss. “Now let’s do this!” I squeal like an overexcited girl. Well, I
guess that’s exactly what I am.

I begin paddling towards a promise of a
wave. With my hips firmly pressed to the deck, it’s only me and the ocean, and
it’s hypnotizing. I leave all of the hurt and stress of the last several days
on the shore and am ready to let the waves carry me away for a while.

We spend the afternoon competing for
the best wave, with me only wiping out a minimal amount of times, but my
brother rides the water like it’s second nature to him. He is so fluid and
graceful with this magnetic balance that I envy. I’m a bit rusty with my
technique at first but eventually pick it back up just as you would with riding
a bike.

By the time we make it onto the shore,
my legs are trembling with exhaustion. “This has been the most fun I have had
in ages.” I giggle as I plop down on the beach. John Paul sits beside me,
laughing. I’m pretty sure he’s laughing at me and not
with
me. I am acting rather silly, but I don’t care.

We sit and admire the majestic beast of
the sea for a bit before he asks, “You seriously staying?” He’s still not sure
if he can be allowed to hope, I see. And my brother deserves the freedom of
hope.

I lean my head on his shoulder. “Yes,
I’m seriously staying. I think maybe it’s finally time to come home.” I smile
at the idea for the first time ever. I look out over the waves as the sun
glistens off them, and I swear to you that big ole ocean smiles right back at
me.

“Tell me a Bradley and John Paul
tall-tale,” I command as we sit on the beach to dry out some.

John Paul seems to be deciding which
one, so I patiently wait. A wicked grin slowly creeps on his face and when he
starts speaking; boy does he serve up a doozy!

“Me and my man went fishing down at the
Lewis Pond early one morning. You know that place should be called a mini lake,
it’s so massive. It hides all kinds of creatures, and you ain’t wanting to
tangle with ‘em. We had just been there the day before and came close to
finally snagging the king of that pond. That ole catfish had eluded fishermen
for close to a decade. Mr. Lewis was pretty sure the monster was at least up to
a hundred and fifty pounds and close to five feet long. Me and Bradley were
eatin’ up to wrangle that sucker in. Problem was, that catfish kept snapping
our blame lines. We threw in the towel and pedaled straight over to the docks
and talked Mr. Doyle out of some of his highest tension fishing line. He swore
it could haul in at least a five hundred pound shark, so we felt pretty
confident we finally had what we needed. So we were back down to the pond early
that morning. We went to the same shallow area we had played tag with the beast
the day before and got down to business. We filled the big hook full of rotten
chicken livers and went to it. That bait stunk so bad, we thought the flies
were gonna haul us away.” John Paul mimics casting a fishing line and swatting
at flies all at once.

“We’d been out there not even ten
minutes when Bradley’s pole came to life like a demon-possessed something.”
John Paul jerks about as he fights with his invisible pole. “Before I knew it,
the pole was being dragged into the pond with Bradley right along with it.
That’s when I saw what he was playing tug-of-war with. And just let me tell
you, it sure wasn’t any catfish. It was a blame gator, and that thing had no
intentions of losing to a ginger dude. But that gator didn’t know that the
ginger dude could get hot under the collar. It was Bradley’s lucky fishing pole
and my boy had no plans on losing it to a greedy gator.” John Paul pauses to
look at me. He shudders as though he’s recalling this memory, but I know him
better than that. He’s really pausing so he can think up the rest of the story.
I wait eagerly for him to continue to spin his tale.

“So the next thing I know that gator is
bucking around like a wild bull with that boy riding it for dear life while
punching it. He was swearing like a furious sailor and looked like he had gone
pure crazy! I’m a southern gentleman, so I’m not repeating it to your delicate
ears.” He winks at me as he continues, causing me to laugh. My brother and the
word gentleman do not go in the same sentence and we both know it. “It all
happened so fast that I don’t even think the boy knew what he was actually
doing.” John Paul is animating the story with his arms slinging around lively.
He punches the sand to mimic Bradley beating on the gator.

I’m laughing hysterically at the
farfetched story. “What happened?”

“I tossed a bag of the rotten chicken
livers out in front of the ugly monster to distract it and it worked. The gator
tired of playing tug of war, dropped the pole, and slithered over to the
livers. Bradley didn’t lose his pole nor did the gator take a chunk of him, so
we figured we won the battle. We gave that thing plenty of elbow room and went
right back to fishing like nothing had happened.”

I push my shoulder into his. “You know…
If the whole photography thing doesn’t work out, you can always make it as a
professional storyteller.” We both chuckle.

Do I believe a word of this story? No.
The reality was probably closer to them boys going fishing and saw a gator swim
by during their trip. The picture John Paul painted of Bradley is crazy in
itself. He was mocking how people paint redheads as such fireballs. Our cousin
was no such thing. He was the mildest, most considerate person I had known. And
unlike my brother, he didn’t use foul language. If this could have even
remotely been close to a true story, John Paul would have played the lead role
and not Bradley. I just know Bradley would have gotten such a kick out of the
tale as much as I just did. We laugh until it turns into crying, and John Paul
wraps his arm around me and we grieve for a spell. It’s something past due and
feels cleansing to be doing it now after all of these years.