Finding Haven (8 page)

His sigh filled the room. “No, I don’t want to leave. Why would I? Our families are
here
. The beach is
here
. Everyone we know is
here
. I wish you would stop thinking that you could be happier somewhere else.”

“That’s what you don’t get. I have been happier somewhere else. I went to college.
I loved Carolina. Every single day I was in Chapel Hill was better than being stuck
here. But you wouldn’t know anything about that since you refused to live life off
this piece of sand.” She could feel her clenched jaw grating harder against her teeth.

Gradually, he peeled his back from the door. “I can’t believe you.”

“Trav, don’t go like this. We shouldn’t be arguing about this stuff. It’s always been
this way.” She pulled on his arm. “I didn’t want you to get hurt. Believe me. I didn’t
want
this
to happen.”

His eyes narrowed. “Crazy, because when you were begging me for it the other night,
I thought you wanted me.”

She slapped him across the face harder than she meant to. It was the first time she
had hit anyone. Her palm stung.

His eyes dropped to the floor before he opened the door, walked out, and closed it
behind him.

Haven traipsed to the kitchen and inhaled the glass of wine. Maybe it could soothe
her again. She opened the sliding door and tucked her feet under her as she sank into
the hammock. She didn’t know when they started, but the tears were there, running
down her face like the rain.

“H
EY, THERE.”
Charlotte waved as she placed her beach chair ten feet from Evan’s. “This spot taken?”
She pointed to the open patch of sand and proceeded to bend forward from her waist.
Today’s suit was a one-piece leopard number with big ovals cut from the sides.

Evan pretended to adjust his hat. He didn’t want an accidental peep show of anything
that belonged to Charlotte. It was clearly her intention. In the past two weeks, she
had worn every skimpy outfit imaginable, and he didn’t know how much more he could
take.

“No, it’s free.” He limited his smile. It was one of his new habits on Perry Island.

If he smiled too much, someone might recognize his magazine-selling grin. He was certain
a couple at the gas station had recognized him yesterday. They whispered nonstop while
he filled the Jeep, but he kept his head down and his smiles short. Eventually, they
had driven off in the direction of the ferry, and he knew he had stolen another day
of freedom. So far, the paparazzi hadn’t descended upon him.

“Good. I love this part of the beach.” She wiggled her bottom into the striped chair.
“Want a chip?” She extended a bag in his direction.

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

“You probably don’t eat stuff like this. Not with a body like that.” She pulled her
sunglasses to the bridge of her nose.

Evan hated when she looked at him like that. “Well, I try to eat healthy.” He reached
into his cooler, pulled out a beer, and twisted the top off. Maybe a few of these
would help drown out Charlotte’s chitter-chatter.

“I saw you running this morning. What kind of workouts do you do?” She stuffed the
foil pack of chips into her beach bag. “Do you need a workout buddy? I love running.”

Evan swallowed hard on the beer. He wanted to tell Charlotte to give up. He wasn’t
going anywhere near the Pirate’s Booty or her. She had invited him over for drinks
and dinner almost every night. He was running out of excuses.

“No thanks, ma’am. I like to do things on my own.” He dug a hole in the sand with
his feet. The surf rushed in and filled the hole as if Evan’s heel had never moved
the sand.

“Well, that’s too bad. Let me know if you ever need help, you know, with the
workout
.” She giggled.

“Will do.” He pulled his hat farther over his eyes and reclined in the chair. He didn’t
have to talk to her if he was asleep.

I
T COULD
have been two or three hours since he had drifted off. Sleep came a lot easier now.
Evan didn’t bother with clocks anymore. His cheeks prickled with the first signs of
sunburn. He swatted at a fly.

“Dammit,” he mumbled as he caught himself from tipping over onto the sand.

He looked over his left shoulder. Charlotte was gone. He was grateful for that. He
flipped the lid on the cooler and reached into the container that was now more water
than ice. He twisted the top off an icy bottle and chugged until it was empty.

The water was flat today and calmer than Evan remembered seeing it in the past two
weeks. Usually surfers dotted the break line, but with quiet waves, he noticed a few
kayaks floating close by.

Since he had moved into Silver Belle, he had managed to get an even brown tan, drink
as much as he had in college, and remain completely anonymous as Jay, the writer from
Georgia. Evan chuckled, knowing that so little had ever been accomplished in two weeks.
It took real effort to do nothing, and of that, he was prouder than hell.

He rubbed the scruff that had grown on his face. He had never had this much facial
hair before. There were always actors who had to grow beards for roles or dye their
hair, but Evan’s bankability was in his face. It was never a request he had to fulfill.
Maybe next film.
As soon as the thought entered his mind, his chest tightened and it felt like shards
of glass had slipped under his ribcage. He struggled to push them out. No, no more
films.
It’s not happening
.

He fished in the cooler for another beer. A fiddler crab waved its large claw near
Evan’s toe before scurrying sideways into an open hole in the sand.

There was something settling about the beach. The longer he watched each wave roll
toward him, unfurling in a smooth flutter over the bank of broken shells, the longer
he wanted to stay and do nothing more.

“T
RAVIS,
I didn’t hear the answer. Was Haven late this morning?” Mr. Owen peered at the store
clerk. He had a Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand.

Haven tied the apron behind her waist and waited for the truth to be revealed. Of
course she wasn’t on time. She was never on time. It was 5:45 in the freakin’ morning.

Travis gripped the broom handle tightly. His knuckles were white at the tops where
they should have been flesh-colored.

“Dad, stop. Just stop.” Haven couldn’t stand the torture anymore.

Her father looked down the brim of his nose at her. “I was speaking to Travis.”

“Right, but he doesn’t need to answer for me. I was late, ok? I was not here at five
thirty. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Travis had resumed his sweeping duties and had cleared a path away from the employee
hallway.

“That fifteen minutes is coming out of your check or you’re staying late today.” Denton
Owen stood and observed the morning routine in his store.

“Whatever.” Haven huffed her way to the register. She watched her father sip on the
steaming cup of coffee. She wished it would burn his tongue.

“We can talk about this later, Haven. Travis doesn’t need to hear your tantrums.”

Haven clenched her fists as she popped open the register to count the till for the
morning. He was condescending, insulting, patronizing, and her father. She could do
anything but try to get through each encounter.

For the most part, she avoided him. If he walked in the front door, she walked out
the back. If he needed help in the coolers, she raced to the kayak stand on the docks.
If inventory in the storage room needed to be counted, she volunteered to run the
register at the front. She calculated every way possible that she could be in the
same store as him and not be within earshot or sight of him.

Despite his failure to acknowledge she wasn’t ten years old anymore, there was a time
when she loved being around her father. They used to close the store together, grab
ice cream, and plot how they could get Mom to stop making that awful crab casserole,
or on slick days they would take the clam rakes out to the cove and load up the boat
with a fresh haul. Days at the store and on the docks were a part of her life—a part
of being Haven Owen. However, three months ago, everything changed.

Haven heard it. She heard every scream and rhythmic thump. She heard a woman call
out her father’s name. Then she saw Betra Meeks leave her father’s office—hair in
a rat’s nest, blouse half-buttoned, and her cheeks redder than Hester Prynne’s scarlet
letter.

Haven panicked, ran, and threw up in the women’s bathroom. She clung to the toilet
until the heaving stopped. No one knew she was there, and Betra hadn’t spotted Haven
on her way out of the office. When she was certain she could stand without shaking
so much, she washed her face and sprinted out of the ladies’ room and right into Travis.

“Haven? Did you hear me?” Her father hadn’t moved from his spot.

“Yes, I heard you. I’m trying to count the register.” The quicker she started working,
the quicker he might actually leave her alone.

“All right.” He sighed. “I’m headed to my office for the morning. I’ve got reports
to run.”

Haven rolled her eyes as she counted out a stack of ones. She had forgotten it was
Monday, and that meant her father would be in the store for the first part of the
day. It was really the only time during the week when she had to interact with him.

“Have a nice day, sir,” Travis called from the corner of the store.

Once her father turned the corner, she couldn’t hold back. “Seriously, Trav. Have
a nice day? What is wrong with you?”

“He’s my boss, Haven. Or do you still think the world revolves around you? Just because
you hate him, doesn’t mean I have to.” He reached down with the dustpan and scooped
up a pile of yesterday’s dirt.

Haven rushed from the register to face Travis. “What did you say?” This morning was
progressively getting worse.

He straightened his stance, brushing the hair off his forehead. “Just leave it alone.
We’ve got work to do.”

“Work? You think I can work with you glaring at me every chance you get? Now you’re
teaming up with my dad like you two are best buddies? You know what he did—what he’s
doing
. You are the only person I’ve ever told.” She sucked in a big breath of air. “This
isn’t work. This is torture.”

She walked back to the register as she heard the jingle of the door. The early customers
had arrived for their morning coffee and donuts. Quickly, she tallied the money in
the drawer and returned it to its slot. Travis had disappeared. Good, she thought.
They constantly needed more distance between them.

It was almost impossible to be in the same room with him since their falling out almost
two weeks ago. No more smiles, jokes, or flirty banter. It was like the history they
had never existed. She knew she destroyed it the minute she let him kiss her. Regret
was an awful roommate who had moved in the night she kicked Travis out, and like terrible
roommates, it made everything messy and awkward.