Past Due (6 page)

She checked her watch. It was close to ten. Tanner would be settled in at Maureen’s probably with a couple of friends, eating pizza and watching movies. She didn’t want to go home and be alone. She could join her family at Maureen’s, but Maureen would undoubtedly sense something wrong and question her. She knew she should go home and sleep, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn in that direction. Instead, her feet carried her toward the shore–down the road, across the highway, and over the Cape Hatteras boardwalk. After crossing the coarse sand on the west side of the dunes, she removed her sandals and allowed her feet to sink into the cooler, softer sand. It squeaked under her heals as she walked. The ocean’s roar called
a
greeting as she crested the dune. The continuous harmony- the crescendo of the wave’s roll as it glided toward land; the crack as it hit the earth; and then the sizzle of the salty foam as it retreated- never failed to soothe her. It was steady and predictable. Timeless and loyal. One wave always followed by another. The air here filled the lungs more easily. It came fresh in quick, constant gusts, each seeming from a different direction.

She sat, sheltered at the base of a high dune, distracted only by the moon’s placid rays spreading a glow over the blackened waters. She pulled the sleeve of her tattered sweatshirt over her hand and twisted off the metal cap of the wine cooler. The air hissed from under the lid as Jenna removed it and shoved it in her pocket.

As she sipped the sweet liquid, she thought of the wreckage at the bottom of the Diamond Shoals, the twelve mile long sand bar off the Cape Hatteras shore. Here, the Gulf Stream collided with the Labrador Current and created a swift, invisible force below the surface, which steered the fate of ships and souls in the Graveyard of the Atlantic. This area proved treacherous to all navigators who passed, although its beauty and tranquility on nights such as this made it hard to imagine.

She went to take another drink and realized it was empty. A single bottle left her feeling warm. She supposed she should have grabbed a bite to eat, but she hadn’t really been hungry all day. Opening another, she continued her reverie. Legs pulled into her chest, she rested her head on her knees, and began to feel at peace.

“Jenna?”

She heard her name, but ignored it. She assumed it was her imagination.

The voice came closer, repeating her name.

Her eyes opened and her jaw clenched as she lifted her head.

Tres. What were the odds? Her heart sped with anticipation, irritating her to her very core. “I think I have already told you how I feel about spending time with you.”

“Just for a minute. Please, Jenna? I won’t bite.”

She shrugged, trying to remain aloof, willing the pace of her heart to slow. “It’s a free beach.” She drained the last half of her wine cooler without a single glance in his direction. He sat beside her and watched her as she stared straight ahead.

“I remember a time when I shared wine with a girl on this beach. It was the true pinnacle of romance,” he joked. “Gas station wine, Styrofoam cups, and the perfect girl. Ah, what a girl. I remember how her warm skin smelled of coconuts and her smile was so pure it crinkled in the corners of her blue eyes. She was the epitome of summer. All energy and life.”

Jenna snorted, “Cheap wine tastes like vinegar, and Styrofoam is bad for the environment.”

“And the girl?”

Jenna stole a glance at Tres without turning her head. She needed to see his face, but knew better than to make full eye contact. Did she see hope in his eyes? A bit of pain? She snuffed these thoughts as quickly as they were born. She answered him hastily, her voice brittle, “She never existed.”

“Of course she did. Remember getting caught by the park rangers up on Jockey’s Ridge after closing because you wanted to see the sunrise from up there?”

Jenna let out a long sigh, “I have no plans to walk down memory lane with you, Tres. And save me the pretty words. I’m no longer a child.”

She focused her gaze on anything but Tres, but it proved difficult. She wished he would go away and leave her alone, yet she realized her heart would break when he did. Not trusting herself to speak or look at him, she said nothing. Tres picked up a handful of sand and let it slide through his fingers. The minutes ticked passed and Jenna made no motion of communicating at all, ignoring his polite inquiries about her life, her work, even the weather.

“I’ll leave you be, Jenna,” he said, finally giving up. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I just—oh, the hell with it.” His usually straight shoulders slumped. He wiped the sand from his hands on his pant legs and started to leave when Jenna finally turned to him.

The melancholy in his voice squeezed at her heart. Could the magnificent Mr. Coulter be suffering? Locking her eyes with his, she saw her pain mirrored in his own. His velvety browns were raw, unshielded. Her anger dissolved in what she hoped was pity. Tears burned in her eyes and her throat tightened. Fearing another breakdown, she tried to break from his gaze before the first tear spilled down her cheek, but she couldn’t. It fell in a large unblinking drop. Instinctively, Tres brushed it away with his thumb, allowing his hand to travel down the smooth contour of her cheek to her chin. More tears traveled the first tear’s path, defying her will to stop them.

He sat beside her in the sand as she wiped at the tears, attempting to compose herself. Offering no resistance, she allowed herself to be nestled against his chest. A protective hand cradled her head as another stroked the escaped tendrils of hair. He kissed the top of her head, inhaling the timeless summery scent of her.

“I never meant to hurt you, Jen. I’ve just missed you so bad, and when I saw you, I just thought...hell, I just want to know what went wrong with us, but if I’d known it would cause you pain...” He closed his eyes and rested his chin on her hair, “I’d rather die than hurt you.”

Jenna relaxed against his chest. It felt good to be touched, to be held. His hands made lazy circles on the tender skin of her neck hypnotizing her good sense.

“I remember the wine,” she whispered.

His chest reverberated against her ear as he laughed. She pulled herself upright, but not away, and smiled as she dried the last tear with the edge of her sleeve. “And I’ll always remember you trespassing on government property to show me the sunrise.” Her voice was soft and wistful as she looked at him, remembering back then, as if she were seeing him across time, “Everything. I remember everything.”

Jenna knew she should just say farewell and leave, but her curiosity swelled. She had wondered every day since the last day she saw him what his life was like. Thoughts of him were never far away, always lingering like the shadows cast by a light from another room. Sounding much more casual than she felt, she asked, “So, what’ve you been up to, Charles Winston Coulter, the third?”

Tres smiled. “Ah, Jenna. You know how obnoxious my
name sounds
, especially in your sweet drawl? You know I hate it.”

Pleased the jibe got the expected rise, she couldn’t freeze her grin or the humor in her voice as she asked, “So, have you been busy, Tres?”

“Not really– working for the governor. Learning the political ropes. I suppose testing the waters for a possible future in an elected office someday.”

Shocked, Jenna admitted to herself how little she truly knew about him. He was a far
cry from the young man who desperately desired to build and create. “So, how’d you get there from architecture?”

He answered simply, “I suppose life takes you on different paths, different journeys.”

Jenna dropped her gaze, concentrating on the bottle in her hand, running her fingertip over the rim, unable to meet his eyes as she answered, “That’s for sure.”

“So what about your life? Is it all you wanted?”

“Yeah,” Jenna answered, but her heart wailed an unspoken cry: I’ve always wanted to be a loveless, hopeless, single mom.

“Well, I’m glad you’re happy. That means a lot to me.”

Looking at him as if to better read his emotions, Jenna asked quietly, “Are you happy, Tres?”

“I’m content and I suppose successful.”

She repeated the question, “But are you happy?”

“Happy is a relative term, Jen.” He rubbed away a smear of paint from her cheek. “Right now I’m happy. Right now I feel as if I’m dreaming and I don’t want to wake up.”

“I’ve imagined you were happy. Beautiful wife, couple
of kids, big house and all.”

“You have?” Tres’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Well, there’s no wife, no kids, and my
apartment was decorated by my mother.”

Jenna nodded, ashamed she felt so damned pleased by his answer. His arms closed tighter around her and she allowed herself to be tucked tighter against him. It was a mistake, but right now, she didn’t care. She inhaled deeply, savoring the fresh salty air mixed with his masculine scent of soap and aftershave. His body felt warm and firm against her cheek. She wanted to melt against him, to abandon the worry and pain haunting so much of her life. Wanted to ignore the past and for but a time live only for this moment.

Thinking of her own flawed existence, Jenna grinned, stating honestly, “I’m glad you don’t have a perfect life.”

“Really?” Resting his forehead against hers, he said, “Does it bother you that right now, it feels perfect?”

Cradling her face in his hands, he forced her to look at him. Her hands moved to his chest where his heart beat against her palm. Thoughts of answering faded as she forgot his question. Instead, she sat, staring up at him, her lips full and parted. His warm finger traced the pink smoothness making her entire body shiver, awakening her passion and her defenses. Walk away, her sensible nature counseled. When her heart took issue, she reminded herself that she had already played in the fire and knew how long it took the burns to heal.

Certain leaving was the only option, she took a deep breath, planned to break away, but instead, her hand went to his cheek. It was a bitter epiphany: she loved him. It was insanity to be enticed by poisonous fruit, but like a junkie, she felt hopelessly snared. The feel of his warm, whisker coarsened skin on her palm and the gentleness of his eyes made it difficult to breathe. Every bit of him was still emblazoned on her mind and soul after all the years. Seared there, she knew, until the day she died.

Desperate to despise him, she was stunned by the reality that she never could.

But never could she trust him again either. “I have to go,” she sighed. Then without considering the result, she brushed her lips against the corner of his mouth in farewell. Fresh tears wet her trembling lips as they met his cheek. On contact, she heard the sharp intake of his breath. She realized too late the elemental effect. No one tells lightning when to strike. Its energy is never shackled or slowed. It is a pure primal force—unharnessed and raw.

In a moment, his hands slid into her hair tightening around the back of her head, holding her to him. Unable to draw back or take a breath, she felt his lips compelling hers to join him, to share a hunger drawn from the deepest hollows of a starved soul. His hands urged her head back opening her to him greedily, his lips fervent and unyielding. Surrendering, her mind thought of nothing but the feel of hands and lips touching her flesh, forcing her to grip his shoulders for support. The feel and taste of him were familiar as if so many years had never passed. Groaning, her body igniting, her mind was unable to render an alert. His lips trailed from her mouth down her chin to the secret crevices of her throat as her hands raked through his hair absorbing and cherishing the feel of him. His mouth returned to hers, kissing and nibbling causing her mind to blur and time to suspend.

Clinging to strong shoulders, she felt him lower her onto the sand. The weight of him so natural and perfect, she offered no protest, instead her hands moved across his neck and shoulders, squeezing the hard muscles under his shirt. Pausing for a moment, he studied her as if memorizing every curve and facet of her face. He started to speak, but his words were choked, so he buried his face in the curve of her neck and crushed her body to his. Cradling his head in her hands, she kissed the curves of his ears and brushed away the single tear that escaped from a closed lid. Tears burned her own eyes, so she squeezed them closed and held him a little tighter. Feeling his pain, she sought his mouth with hers, opening his lips to feel and taste of his tongue. His response was almost painful, as he drew her closer, ever closer, but never close enough. She wanted to drown in him, to wash away the loneliness and doubt, wanted to know this was real and not just another dream. At this moment he belonged to her and for now it was enough. She moaned against his mouth as his hands moved down her body and his hips pressed against hers.

Slipping his hand under her sweatshirt, her body arched into him. He groaned, his hips instinctively pressing harder against hers. “I’ve missed you, Jen. You’ve haunted my every thought and dream. You taste and feel so perfect.”

“I don’t ever want this to end,” she said breathlessly without realizing what she was saying.

Tres seemed more than willing to comply until he heard the muffled sounds of people talking as they approached. He blocked their view of Jenna with his body as the group passed giggling, unable to ignore the couple entwined in the sand.

Pausing, he gazed down at her, brushing the strands of hair from her face, “Come back with me, Jenna.”