Take Me All the Way (13 page)

He'd worry about his trespasser in a minute, but for now was busy checking out the envelope, where he saw his name written in a nice script. He still had no idea what this was, but seeing something addressed to him so officially made him feel . . . human, maybe. And it made him open it more gently than he probably would have any other piece of mail. He guessed he didn't want to tear up being human.

With dirty fingers, he drew out a matching yellow card that said:

You are invited to a wedding party and shower for

Christy Knight

and

Jack DuVall

“He was never as puzzled in his life.”

Frances Hodgson Burnett,
The Secret Garden

T
HE DATE
on the invitation was this coming Saturday night. And the card indicated that the party was being thrown by Tamra, Cami, and Bethany—the girl he'd met with Christy last week.

He just stared at it. Good thing it had had his name on it or he'd think it had been shoved under the wrong door.

As he stripped off his clothes and got in the shower, he wondered what on earth had prompted the invitation. Mainly he was curious if Tamra had been involved in this decision.

She was such a wild card. One minute kissing him, the next telling him all the reasons she didn't want to be kissing him. One day telling him off and the next inviting him to come see her art. He shook his head as he ran a bar of little motel soap over his arms, torso.

He didn't know if he'd go. Just like the Sunset Celebration, it probably wasn't his thing. Once upon a time, back in Destiny when he was younger, sure. But
he wasn't that same guy. And there was the whole crowd thing—he would never like crowds. He remained glad he'd come here, glad he'd started slowly inching forward into having some kind of life—but damn, keeping to himself up at Whisper Falls sure had been easier.

Upon exiting the shower, he was surprised to nearly trip over a cat, naked. “Damn, I forgot you were here.” He shook his wet head, then moved past the cat and dressed in a clean pair of faded blue jeans and a red T-shirt.

Stepping up to the sink outside the bathroom, he looked into the wide mirror above it. Truth was, it had been easy to let his hair grow and not give a damn when all he did was sit around at Lucky's, but now that he was working, it was irritating and hot. Today, he'd gone so far as to pull it back in a rubber band. At the moment, it hung in twists and waves around his head and shoulders like tentacles. He considered trying to comb it, but the sad-bordering-on-ridiculous fact was that he didn't have a comb.

So he just ran his fingers through his sandy-colored beard, then grabbed up his wallet and room key and headed for the door. “Come on, Captain, out we go,” he said. He made his usual short walk across the parking lot to the Hungry Fisherman, the cat still faithfully on his heels, and managed to get inside without Captain following.

He passed by a life-size statue of a fisherman that looked suspiciously like Abner, and which he'd learned in passing that Polly had actually carved herself many years ago. She was a simple woman in most ways—but a woman who would carve the man she loved from a
giant block of wood, especially a man like Abner . . . well, that was pretty special. Weird maybe, but special.

It caught him a little off guard to see that what had become his usual booth was filled with women—in particular, Tamra, Cami, and Christy. They all looked up and waved as Christy called, “Hey, Jeremy!”

“Hey,” he said, trying for a smile. But he was tired. He found himself wanting to make eye contact with Tamra but at the very same time wanting to avoid her since he never knew what to expect from her.

So he leaned toward the avoiding by making a beeline toward the opposite side of the restaurant beyond the seafood buffet. The only table in that area occupied was the one where Abner frequently sat. Tonight he wore a bright yellow hard hat with a red golf shirt and khaki pants. He didn't look up, so Jeremy left him alone and slid into a nearby booth. Most nights he ate out behind the Crab, but wind had started kicking up a couple of hours ago, so eating inside sounded better tonight. He'd feed the cat after he left.

Polly brought over his usual soft drink and told him to help himself to the buffet with a wink that he figured had something to do with Captain. And as Jeremy dug into a big plate of food, he occasionally heard the girls on the other side of the restaurant laughing. Though . . . never Tamra, he realized.
Even with her girlfriends, she never laughs. She should laugh more.

Then he shook his head.
Who the hell am I to give advice?

He'd just finished his plate and was ready to go back for a light helping of seconds—including something for a certain one-eyed cat—when Abner and his hard hat slid into the orange vinyl seat across from him.

Abner greeted him by throwing a familiar-looking yellow envelope down on the table between them, clearly grouchy as hell. “You going to this damn wedding shower?”

Jeremy wiped his napkin across his mouth before answering. “Don't know,” he said. “Don't really want to, so probably not.”

“I don't want to, either,” Abner groused, “but I have to.”

Jeremy raised his eyebrows. Abner didn't strike him as a man who did much against his will.

“We're providin' the food,” Abner explained. “Plus Polly says it's only decent. Suppose she's right. But I don't like parties.”

“Me neither,” Jeremy agreed.

They sat in silence a moment and Jeremy took a sip of his soda.

He'd sort of thought they were done talking, so it surprised him when Abner spoke back up, motioning vaguely across the room. “Why aren't you sittin' with them gals?”

Jeremy thought the bigger question was why Abner would assume he
would
sit with “them gals.” But he just said, “Uh . . . guess I prefer keeping to myself.”

Across from him, Abner gave a solemn nod. “Me, too. Maybe that's why I like you.” They sat in silence another moment until Abner mused aloud, “Not always good, though, keepin' to yourself. Maybe you oughta go. To the party.”

Jeremy wasn't sure if it was actual advice or if Abner just wanted his company there. Safety in numbers and all that. All the quiet outcasts sitting at the same table looking miserable together rather than separately.

Finally he replied. “It's nice to be invited, but . . . not sure I fit in around here very well. At least not yet.”

Abner gave another small nod. “Me neither.”

“How long have you been in Coral Cove?” Jeremy asked.

“Since 1972.”

Now it was Jeremy who nodded. That was a hell of a long time not to fit in.

“If you want to fit in,” Abner said, “you need to show 'em you're not so different from them.”

Again, it was difficult to summon an answer because A) Jeremy hadn't indicated that he
cared
about fitting in, and he wasn't sure he did, and B) Abner didn't exactly seem like the guy to be doling out guidance on the subject. The good thing about talking with Abner, though, was that you didn't have to answer if you didn't feel like it and it still felt totally comfortable. So Jeremy just gave the man another nod and left it at that.

Then he went to refill his plate, and Abner departed the booth as well.

After eating a little more, Jeremy wrapped a few strips of breaded cod in a couple of napkins, then slid them into the front pocket of his jeans, left Polly a good tip, and walked to the counter to pay his bill.

“Be right with ya, hon!” she yelled from a table where she was refilling drinks, and as he stood waiting, he could hear the conversation from Tamra's booth.

“She likes Fletcher!” Christy was saying.

And Tamra and Cami both said, “Really?” almost in unison.

As they chattered on, he realized they were talking about Bethany.

“Only,” Christy went on, “she's not really into his look. You know, the whole long hair and beard thing. She thinks he looks . . .”

“Like 1970 exploded all over him?” Tamra asked.

“Exactly,” Christy said. “But she's all into his personality and she thinks he might be cute under the beard.”

“Hmm,” Tamra offered, “I never thought about that before—or what he would even look like without it.”

“Do you think he'd ever change things up?” Cami asked.

“Unlikely,” Tamra answered. “I mean, he's so . . . Fletcher. He's not a guy who changes to suit other people, you know?”

“And he'd probably be all like, ‘How will Kim recognize me when she comes home?'” Cami said, imitating Fletcher. Jeremy had only met the guy once, the day the whole town had worked on the municipal parking lot, but he thought Cami did a pretty fair take on him.

“Well, if you ask me,” Christy said, “a change would do him good. In more ways than one. And being open to getting to know Bethany would do him good, too.”

“Amen to that,” Tamra said.

Then Christy added, “And just between us,
I
wouldn't mind if Fletcher tidied up his look, too. Like, for the wedding. He's the best man, after all. And I love Fletcher, but . . .”

“1970.” Tamra and Cami again spoke in unison.

And Jeremy thought Tamra sounded more hopeful as she said, “It really is past time for him to join us in the twenty-first century. I have no idea if he'd even consider it, but sometimes he listens to me, so . . . I'll see what I can do.”

Oh boy. Jeremy already sympathized with poor Fletcher. He didn't think he had much in common with the dude, but what guy wanted to have to change to suit a woman? Or maybe
more
than one woman in this case.

Just then, Polly came dashing up behind the cash register, and as Jeremy paid, she said in a low, secretive voice, “Do you have you-know-what for you-know-who?” Then she gave him the biggest “secret wink” he'd ever seen in his life.

He patted his front pocket easily and said, “We're good.”

When he walked out the door a minute later, he immediately found a gray cat at his feet and, again, nearly tripped over him. He stopped, looked down. “Not cool, dude,” he said. “Not cool.”

“Meow,” the cat said.

And then it started to rain a little. And Jeremy said, “Shit. I suppose now you're gonna wanna eat your dinner in my room. Like you're freaking royalty or something.”

“Meow,” the cat replied as they made their way across the lot.

He'd already nearly forgotten the conversation he'd just overheard, and the one he'd had with Abner, as well. But as he glanced up and caught sight of his own reflection again—this time in the plate glass window that fronted his room—he kept thinking about changes.

He'd already made a lot of them.

But maybe there were still more to make.

“The boy is a new creature.”

Frances Hodgson Burnett,
The Secret Garden

T
HE NEXT
day Tamra sat with Fletcher on his porch facing the ocean. They discussed some of the pottery Tamra was ready to put in the kiln later tonight, as well as how nightly attendance at the Sunset Celebration was waning with fall. For both of them, the change of seasons meant using much of what they'd earned during summer to pay the bills during winter.

It was a quiet afternoon like most on Sea Shell Lane, and their conversation a typical one. Tamra was trying to ease into some of the things she
really
wanted to discuss with Fletcher today, near to bursting inside.

So finally she blurted out, “Bethany likes you. As in . . .
like
like. Like she's attracted to you.”

At this, Fletcher lowered his glass of iced tea to the table between them and just looked at her. She couldn't read his silence, so she went on.

“I know we agreed not to push each other, but I think you should be open to this, Fletch. She seems
nice and she seems . . . like you, in ways. Like she . . . appreciates the same sort of weird stuff you do.”

“My hat,” he murmured.

“Huh?”

“She liked my top hat. The one I collect tips in. In ten years, no one has ever complimented that hat before her.”

Tamra smiled because she could see how much meaning that one little thing had held for him, and that he knew she was right. “See?”

“Still, there's a lot to consider.”

“Not really,” she argued.

He just gave her a look. It clearly screamed,
Kim!

And the look she gave him in return said,
Forget Kim. Finally. Now.

Fletcher let out a sigh and asked her, “You want to know the truth?”

“Sure.”

“I'm thinking about it. Considering it. I'm . . . drawn to this girl. She seems . . . potentially amazing. And . . .”

Tamra leaned toward him across the table when he trailed off. “And?”

An even bigger sigh left him. “I never thought I'd say this, Tam, but . . .” He stopped, swallowed visibly. “What if everyone is right? What if you're all right, all this time, and Kim isn't ever coming back? I hate thinking that—it feels like a huge betrayal to everything I've held faith in these past four years. But . . . what if I'm wrong about it and I let an opportunity to know someone incredible pass me by?”

For Tamra, it was as if a huge light had just clicked magically on in Fletcher's brain. And it shone directly
on her heart. “Yes!” she said. “What you just said! It's so, so true, Fletch! It's one thing to have faith, but another to let opportunities pass you by. You have to be open to this! And I'm so happy to hear you say you are!”

But Fletcher held up both his hands. “Hold on just a minute, Speedy Gonzales. I said I was considering it, that's all. So don't go putting any carts before any horses. Just . . . give me some space on this and I'll see where my heart leads me, okay?”

Knowing Fletcher well, Tamra understood it was time to just be agreeable. “Okay,” she said. “Okay.” But inside, her soul filled with more excitement and hope for Fletcher than ever before.

“So what's new in
your
life?” he asked, eyebrows lifting.

And Tamra panicked as visions of making out with Jeremy in her backyard flashed through her head. “Nothing,” she replied too harshly. “What do you think you know?”

Fletcher's eyes went wide. “What are you talking about? It was just an honest question, to change the subject. But what aren't you telling me?”

Oh shit. Now she was pretty sure
her
eyes were wide, too. They were in a Mexican standoff of wide eyes.

Until Fletcher said, “Tam, don't bother lying. What's happened that I don't know about? Spill.” And when she just sat there, he threatened her. “If you don't, I won't consider getting to know Bethany better. I'll just keep right on sitting around waiting for Kim. How's that?”

“
That
is a threat I'm not going to take any chances
on you carrying out.” She hadn't planned to share this with him, but she wasn't a good liar. And he was her best friend, so . . . “Okay,” she began. “It's possible that . . . I kissed Jeremy.”

“What?” Talk about wide eyes—Fletcher's now looked on the verge of popping out of his head.

“Or, well, actually,
he
kissed
me
. In my backyard.” She rushed ahead, just ready to put this out on the table now that she'd started. “He was helping me get a big bush into the garden. And he just kissed me. And I guess I kissed him back. And . . .”

“How was it?” Fletcher asked. “The kiss?”

She was tempted to lie. Because the truth—
this
truth—made her feel so vulnerable somehow. But again, this was Fletcher, so she was honest. “It practically curled my toes.”

Now a big smile unfurled beneath his mustache. “And then what happened?”

“Well, I eventually pushed him away, made him leave, and have been avoiding him ever since.”

She could feel her friend's disappointment. “Because?” he asked pointedly.

She met his gaze again. “Same reason as before. He's such an unknown quantity. Everyone here might be embracing him, but that doesn't mean he's a good guy or a bad one—it just means people here are nice. And most of what I know about him is bad. He returned home from war mentally messed up. He got arrested a few weeks ago for attacking some guy. He doesn't take an interest in personal grooming. The list goes on.”

It surprised her when Fletcher didn't immediately argue with her, but stayed quiet a long while. And
it surprised her even more when he eventually said, “You know, you make some decent points. We
don't
know much about him. But we do know some good things, too. We know Christy vouches for him. And we know he seems to be pulling himself together. And we know he shows up for work each day and does a good job. So . . . I think you should be brave. Give him a shot. Be open to exploring this.”

But already Tamra was shaking her head. “I keep trying. But I also keep coming back to the reasons not to. And that's where I am right now. And I have to follow my heart, right?”

At this, however, Fletcher just shrugged. “Your heart doesn't always know what's good for it, Tamra.”

“Neither does yours,” she countered reflexively.

And they seemed to find themselves in another staring contest—until Fletcher said, “It seems we are destined to advise each other on romance, my friend.”

“That it does,” she agreed.

“And so . . . I have a proposition for you.”

Hmm. She hadn't seen that coming. “What is it?” she asked cautiously.

Even as he spoke, he looked as nervous as she felt. “I'll make you a deal. I'll be open to the Bethany thing if you'll be open to the Jeremy thing.”

Huh. That was a hell of a proposition. The thing she most wanted
him
to do required
her
doing something scary as hell. And she supposed the thing he most wanted
her
to do in turn required something scary for him, too. It was perfect. Perfectly horrible. Horrible because Tamra couldn't bear for Fletcher not to take this chance, and if she could do anything at all to help him to move on from Kim . . . she had to.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Fletcher blinked. “Really?”

“Really,” she said. “That's how much I want this for you.”

He nodded. “And that's how much
I
want this for
you
.”

He held out his hand and she took it, held it.

“And we both really, seriously do this,” he said. “We're both honestly in it.”

She nodded. Even if the very notion terrified her.

But now she changed the subject. “And another thing. You need a haircut.”

His jaw dropped. “A what?”

And she sighed. “Spoken like a man who needs a haircut.” She rolled her eyes. “I was sort of elected to tell you. Or I volunteered. But either way, you need one.”

He continued sitting there looking at her as if he didn't speak English and had no idea what she was saying.

So she went on. “For Christy and Jack's wedding. And really for the party, too.”

He was back to blinking now. And he sounded completely perplexed as he said, “Wh-why? I mean, this is who I am.” He motioned toward his head.

“And we love you for who you are,” Tamra explained as sweetly as she could, wincing slightly as she added, “but . . . you're a little out of style, Fletcher. Even more than I am. And since you're in the wedding . . .”

Fletcher let out one more big sigh, taking in the request.

So Tamra rushed to reassure him. “Change can be good, right? And that's what we're really talking about
here, isn't it? Being brave enough to make healthy changes.”

He sounded a little defeated when he replied. “I'm not sure what my hair has to do with being healthy, but . . . tell you what.” Another blink. Another sigh. “I'll make you one more deal.”

Oh boy. She braced herself. “Let's hear it.”

“You wear something to the shower besides a long skirt.”

Tamra gasped. “What's wrong my skirts?”

“You're hiding in them,” he said without missing a beat.

Which made her gasp again. “Then—then . . . you're hiding, too! Under your beard.”

Fletcher tilted his head. “Maybe we all hide a little, have our little bits of protection. But . . . do they really protect us from anything?”

Ah—typical, philosophical Fletcher, back on the scene. But it was a good question, and they both stayed quiet for a minute, pondering it. Until Tamra finally said, “Okay, deal. I'll shop for a cuter, more stylish dress like the other girls are wearing to the party and you get a haircut and a shave.”

His back went rigid. “I have to shave, too?”

“Yes.”

“But . . .”

She didn't let him get any further with an argument. “You want me in some sleek, short dress, you shave. That's my final offer—take it or leave it.”

He looked a little frustrated. And staring contest number three commenced for a long minute until he replied, “For you—and for Christy—I'll take it.” He held up one finger. “But you'd better appreciate this!”

“It's for your own good,” she insisted. And then admitted something she wouldn't have even five minutes ago. “Maybe . . . maybe we're both in ruts. Maybe we both need to be a little more . . . daring, willing to take chances.”

“You're making me take a bigger chance,” Fletcher said. “Just so you know.”

She tilted her head, made a doubtful face. “If I were to . . . let something happen with Jeremy, that would be the most daring thing I could do.”

“Same with me if I were to get involved with Bethany. Just in a different way.”

“Fair enough,” she had to agree.

At this, Fletcher wordlessly got up and walked in the house, returning a moment later with two cans of beer. He lowered them to the same table where their iced teas sat, abandoned, clearly having decided they needed something with a little more
oomph
right now. He popped the top on both, then picked them up and passed one to her.

He held his up in a toast. “Here's to taking chances.”

She took a deep breath and tapped her can to his.

“P
ERFECT
day for a party,” Reece said to Tamra when she got out of her car at the Happy Crab on Saturday morning, ready to help set up for the shower. Indeed the sun was shining bright, and though it would be dark by party time this evening, pleasant temps and light breezes were predicted.

“How are things looking?” she asked as they walked together through the breezeway that led to the back.

“Wait 'til you see. The tables were delivered a little while ago.”

Just then, they exited into the open area behind the Crab—and wow! Round tables covered in white linen dotted the space, and strings of white lights draped from lamppost to lamppost and palm tree to palm tree. With the boats and dock nearby, it suddenly felt almost like a miniature yacht club.

Tamra hadn't been sure this was the best setting for a party—despite the Happy Crab's retro charm, she hadn't thought it romantic enough. But it had been Bethany's brainchild—because Christy and Jack had fallen in love while staying at the Happy Crab. Now the open area edged by the dock and bay had become more romantic than Tamra could have imagined.

“This looks amazing!” she said, stunned.

Cami and Bethany exited the motel office then carrying centerpieces—jars filled with flowers, each decorated with a piece of the repurposed jewelry Christy made her living creating.

Near the pool, Polly stood setting up long tables where the seafood buffet would be. “I can't believe you people want to eat fish at this shower,” she called to them all. “Don't you ever get tired of fish? Lord knows I do.”

“Quit complaining, Polly,” Reece called back to her with his usual good-natured smile. “You need the business.”

“Maybe so, but I'd still think you people coulda found a more romantic food than fish.”

“From what I hear,” Bethany said, “they fell in love at the Hungry Fisherman just as much as they did
here.” She pointed to the motel. “So that makes it perfect.”

Just then, Fletcher arrived, and Tamra made note of two things: He still had the same ponytail and beard he had the last time she'd seen him, and his eyes fell instantly on Bethany. Well, the second one was good anyway.

When Fletcher spotted Tamra, she reached up and gave her own hair a little tug, as a reminder. He replied by reaching down to give one leg of his shorts a small pull. As if he expected her to wear something new
now
, while setting up. So she made a face at him.