Four. Into the Ocean

FOUR

Into the Ocean

Joe

Forty-five minutes, a new set of tagless, seamless, zipperless clothes, and a cherry-frosted Pop-Tart later, I walk Lucy into her special preschool. My girl's not much for dramatic farewells, so she runs in ahead of me and plops down in front of her favorite toy: a spinning globe.

I pass Lucy's backpack and lunch over the counter to her teacher, an endlessly patient woman in her early fifties who wears a modified gardening belt filled with communication tools and goodies to help her attend to her small classroom full of autistic kids. She takes one look at me, still in my running clothes, and her silver eyebrows rise with good-humored curiosity. I grimace.

"I got cocky," I tell her, and she releases a tinkling laugh that carries out over her students.

"It happens to the best of us, Mr. Cole. We'll see you this afternoon."

After a quick shower and change of clothes, I scramble four eggs and gulp down a second cup of microwaved coffee that is somehow both scalding and lukewarm before I head out the door and hop on my ATV. I usually walk to and from the resort, but I'm already behind. I was supposed to meet my dad down by the villas at nine thirty and it's close to ten. When I roar up, he's sitting on the tailgate of his and my mom's golf cart, scrolling through his phone and sipping from a cardboard cup of coffee from the lodge.

"Sorry I'm late."

He waves me off. "Figured when we saw Anders sprinting out the door without you that something happened with Luce."

"Last-minute spill and wardrobe change."

My dad nods as if to say, Like I said .

"You know you have help if you ask. Your mother doesn't want to push, but we're next door. You don't have to do everything on your own."

I bite back a grunt and repeat my usual response. "Kiley did."

My dad shakes his head and smiles sadly at me. "Those were different circumstances. You were overseas. And she didn't, anyway. She dropped Anders off every morning when she was working. It takes a village, Josiah," he finishes quietly, using my full name.

I don't argue. We've had this conversation many times. They think I'm being proud, and I am. But this feels like the least I can do after abandoning Kiley with two small kids. If I'd been around more, maybe the idea of a child with sensory disabilities wouldn't have been so daunting for her. Maybe she'd still be here, dividing and conquering.

It feels like cheating somehow to accept help from my parents more than I already do, village or no.

"So what are we looking at here, Dad?" I ask, changing the subject.

He fills me in on his consultation with the contractor who's doing the bathroom renovations on villas one, two, and three this winter. Every winter, we try to tackle one update or another. Last year was new docks for the cabins. The year before that was air-conditioning for the entire resort, minus the trailer park we absorbed into our fold decades before. People have been coming to Cole's Landing Resort for decades with their families, and so we try to embrace the nostalgia and not get too swept up in modernizing the cabins and villas, but some fixes just make life easier. I've been working on convincing my parents to have Wi-Fi installed in the units. They are reluctant, of course, because they feel like being up north and away from it all should include a break from the internet and social media. And that is something our guests have appreciated in the past. But social media is here to stay, and as someone with an autistic preschooler, I see the benefits of a tablet and some age-appropriate learning cartoons.

Just saying.

"Did you see the Laughlin girl is back, fixing up old Foster's shop?"

"Maren," I remind him, figuring he wouldn't remember her by her nickname.

"Didn't you boys call her Jig?"

I stand corrected. Sharp as a tack, my dad. "Yeah, we did. And yeah, the kids and I ran into her and Liam arguing near the point last night. He followed her up here and I booked him in number five. Maren said she got here a few days ago and has been staying at Fost's while she cleans it up."

My dad's nose wrinkles, making his thick, white mustache scrunch up. "I don't know about that," he says, echoing my exact thoughts. "I remember her always running after you big kids and heading out on Fost's boat every morning and night to catch musky. She was cute. Did pageants, right? And had a YouTube channel?"

Like I said, sharp as a tack. "She did, but that was fifteen years ago. I'd caution you on saying anything to her about it now. She's a grown woman with a mind of her own."

"She's stubborn," he says, and I don't miss the implication that it's something we have in common.

"Very," I say back, implying I know .

"Your mother will want to have her over for dinner."

"Good luck with that," I tell him. "Anders already invited her to our place tonight with Liam and she turned us down. If she can turn Anders and Lucy down…"

"Anders did?"

"He tried."

"Guess I'll have to send you to ask her, then."

I shift my feet, meeting his gaze. "Dad, lose the fucking twinkle."

"What?" my dad asks, his mustache twitching. "She's not as cute as she used to be?"

"Considering she's my best friend's little sister and like five years younger than us, I didn't exactly think she was cute. Annoying, maybe."

"But now she's a grown woman with a mind of her own. You said so yourself. So is she cute now?"

Actually, she's beautiful , I think. Long, wavy auburn hair, choppy bangs over hazel eyes, trim figure with gorgeous curves. Freckles and a summer tan.

And I'm scrubbing her from my brain again.

The truth is, Maren'd always been naturally pretty, even when she was annoying and too young for anyone to notice. Liam was constantly complaining about her YouTube channel and how popular it was, particularly with men. After all, it was basically a hot girl fishing, with the added bonus that she knew what she was talking about. She didn't need someone else to bait her hook or remove the fish from her line. She had endorsements because she knew her shit when it came to lures and hardware.

Not that I watched. Well, not that often anyway. It's just that she filmed her show up here at the resort the summers she was in college, and at the time, I was on the other side of the world, sleeping in the sand and dodging IEDs. I liked the reminder of home and what I was fighting for.

But I would die before telling Liam or anyone else that. It wasn't weird. I didn't jack off to it or anything. Maren wasn't being sexy. She was this girl who looked like she grew up next door to you. She was everyone's little sister. Practically.

I work really hard at not letting myself think about the fact that she is at least thirty-three now and that Liam will be leaving in two days. Or the fact that I haven't had sex in over three years because dating as a single parent with full custody of your two kids while living next door to your parents is hard.

"And… I lost you," my dad says with an amused grin. "I'll take that as a confirmation."

"Confirmation of what?"

My dad's grin grows into a full-blown smile. "That yes, Maren Laughlin grew up cute. Never mind," he says, rounding his golf cart and sliding in behind the wheel. "Invite her to our place for dinner. This coming Saturday. Your mom will be beside herself with excitement."

"She'll say no," I warn him.

"I don't think she will," he says with another fucking eye twinkle. "But if you can't get her to say yes, I'll do it myself."

Jesus. That's the last thing I need. My dad accosting the poor woman and guilting her into showing. Not to mention he would probably try to put in a good word for me and make things even more awkward than they already are after I overheard her and Liam fighting last night.

I used to be smooth, years ago, but now I think I might be broken. Like I peaked too soon? That would figure.

"I'll ask her."

"Today."

I huff out an exasperated breath. "I have shit to do. It's getting colder every day and I still need to winterize."

"It's September, kid. You have plenty of time. Take the ATV and report back by this afternoon so your mom can figure out what she wants to make and plan a trip to town."

With that, he takes off and I'm left standing there, staring after him.

I pull up to Fost's—or rather Maren's now, I guess—bait shop literal minutes later. In fact, it was so close to the resort, I'd looked into purchasing it after Fost died. We have a modest bait counter at the lodge that is available to guests, but I was open to expanding. I'd heard ownership had transferred hands when he'd died, but I'd never followed up on the lead to find out who it'd gone to.

I hear Rogers barking the second I cut the engine, and before I can knock, the front door of the bait shop opens and Maren stands in the doorway, arms crossed and a suspicious expression on her face.

"I come in peace," I offer, hands raised in front of me. I try for charming, but I'm rusty and it's pretty clear by her stony expression that I don't pull it off.

"The locks work fine, Joe, and you can see Rogers is plenty enough warning for unwanted guests."

I want to laugh at her tone and the defensive set of her slim shoulders, but I swallow the urge. "Right. Not here about that, but I'm glad to hear it."

"Well, my brother ran to town for a work call, but he should be back in an hour or so. Want me to have him stop by?"

"Not here about Liam, either, though he could have made his call from the lodge. There's Wi-Fi there."

Maren's eyebrows scrunch together cutely. Sexily? Both , I decide. "Then what?"

"My parents want to have you over for dinner. Saturday night."

"Your parents?" she asks, dubious.

"I swear."

"Are they also making lasagna and garlic bread?"

"If you want to make a request, I'm sure it can be arranged."

"Nah," she says with a grin, leaning against the doorjamb. "How'd they know I was even here?"

"Small resort," I hedge. "So I can tell them you'll come?"

She sighs, but it's relaxed. "I suppose I can manage to suffer through a delicious home-cooked meal and your parents' cozy company for a whole night."

"Along with two kids and their exhausted dad?"

Maren pretends to hesitate. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, now you're throwing two cute kids into the mix?"

I try not to feel proud that she thinks my kids are cute, but hell, they are pretty cute. "I know, it's a lot. That said, I'm warning you now, my dad had a twinkle in his eyes."

She smiles and I feel it like a sunny punch to my gut. "Oh no. Not a twinkle."

Without thinking, I take another step toward her. "Full-on twinkle and probably a knowing look. He's a meddler."

"I shall do my best to endure. Though I'll remind you, I recently broke up with my boyfriend by throwing up on his shoes after he had the nerve to propose. I'm not exactly what any parent wants for their son."

I wince and let out a low whistle between my teeth. "You're a fucking heartbreaker, Jig."

She lifts a too-casual shoulder and drops it lightly. "He's probably already over it, honestly."

If he's over it after half a week, he never deserved her. "Well, shit."

"Yeah," she agrees. "So yes to the dinner, yes to the company, and I can survive the twinkling as long as he doesn't fall in love with me."

I take the easy brush-off for what it is. She's up here and she wants space. I've been there. In fact, I'm still there. Deeply there.

"I don't think that will be an issue, but I'll pass it along."

"Thanks, Joe. I need to get back inside. I poured some paint just before you pulled up and I don't want it to turn tacky before I get it on the walls."

For half a beat, I consider offering my assistance. I don't mind painting, and I find I don't really want to leave. Despite the conversation, or maybe because of it. She's not looking for anything right now and I can't look for anything right now. It's kind of perfect.

Instead, I say, "See you Saturday, Jig. Bring your dog," and, with a salute, I start the ATV and roll away.