5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Like the US Postal Service's motto, neither rain, nor fog, nor snow stops me from surfing. Well, not that last one because we don't get that kind of weather in coastal Southern California. But the sun is already up and I am still in bed, meaning I'm not surfing and for no good reason—a first for me.

Over a week has passed since Rocco stomped back into my life and I've gotten on my board every day except this morning.

The best way to describe what's happening right now is I'm sleep-wallowing. I got up earlier to let Tugger out and give him breakfast, but now he's back in his place on the other side of the bed, thrilled to bits that we're still snuggled up. Don't get me wrong, he loves running on the beach and playtime, but this is his favorite.

My brother hasn't returned any of my calls and that's either because he's also sleeping-wallowing—after all, Delilah did him dirty by hooking up with MO—or Joey is doing what Joey does best: avoiding adult responsibilities.

Knowing someone like Joey makes a person feel better about their life. No matter how deep your pity pit, it's never as bad as his.

However, that brings me to the reason I'm still in bed instead of out there charging the waves. Rocco's return to town is like a mirror, reflecting all the blah in my life. It's not that he turned out so amazing and I'm jealous. More like I'd told myself that he wouldn't find me here exactly where he left me, doing the same thing I've always been doing—except the getting into trouble part. Those days are long behind me.

I was going to leave Palisade Shores and do something with my life.

But this is home and I'm still not sure what I want to do when I grow up. Though, compared to my brother, I am grown up, running the business and all, homeownership, and the general adulting that people with functional lives do instead of being petty thieves and criminal masterminds.

Ike used to always say, There's a reason the windshield is bigger than the rearview mirror. The idea is not to spend too much time looking back. But if we don't, we can't see where we started from or how far we've come—or learn from the hard lessons that threatened to leave us behind. Considering that's the creed Ike lived by, it was fitting that as soon as Joey and I were able to ride on the back of his motorcycle, he sold the family car.

For me, keeping my eye on the rearview while moving forward has helped me course correct the general direction my family was headed, which was the wrong one.

Joey is a minor exception.

According to Tootsie, my persistent singlehood is a major exception.

This brings me back to Rocco.

But I don't want to think about him, so I'll text my brother at what he'd call a painfully early hour. Maybe if I wake him from his slumber, he'll be knocked out of his stupor.

Me: Bruhhhh. Why don't you wake your big lazy loser butt up and do something with your life like get a job, a clue, or a new girlfriend. Actually, start there. Delilah made friends with the town stray and it looks like she's getting cozy instead of taking care of Tugger.

Don't judge. This is the way the Fisks communicate. Well, not in front of Tootsie. But Joey shouldn't have told me his girlfriend would let his dog out every morning while I was at work. I'm not entirely clear on why Tugger is in my care in the first place other than that Joey asked me to look after the dog for the weekend while he went to Canada. That was about a month ago. I told him running home during my morning break at Pinky's wasn't sustainable, so that's how Delilah got involved. She couldn't keep him at her place because she's allergic...or MO is.

I reviewed the security camera footage from the shop, which conveniently captures the bungalow. In the last seven days, Delilah had only been by three times, never actually letting Tugger out for a potty break.

The first time, she just seemed to talk to him through the door. It was hard to tell on the grainy recording. The second time, she tossed a half-eaten beef jerky stick through the window. Most recently, she opened the window halfway, only enough for Tugger to poke his head through and whine...or bark.

Each time, she pulled up in the Move Over mobile.

I give Tugger some belly rubs, feeling terrible that he had to wait for my lunch break to go outside.

My phone beeps with a text, but instead of the label I have for my brother ( DipStick if you must know), it's a message from Rocco who I thought I'd deleted from my phone years ago.

And by thought, I mean that I'd swiped down through years and years of text threads to see if ours was still intact—he was the first person I'd ever messaged when I came late to the cell phone game. Sure enough, it was still there.

Yes, fine, I scrolled down memory lane, recalling the late-night motorcycle rides on PCH—Pacific Coast Highway—when we were the only ones on the road. Swimming in pools on the properties at Sand Dollar Strand during the owners' offseason, and sleeping on the roof at the shop when going home wasn't an option. We'd gaze at the stars, I'd make wishes, hoping no one would find me, and he promised to always protect me.

Then he left, taking my best friend and lifeline with him.

Rocco Raccoon: Good morning to you too. Such a ray of sunshine on this fine day. So, you think I'm lazy and should get a job, a clue, and a girlfriend? I take issue with the first three. As for relationships, I'm on leave.

And I'm suddenly too hot and kick off the sheets, disturbing Tugger who hops off the bed with an annoyed grunt.

Me: That message was meant for Joey, obviously.

Rocco Raccoon: Then how did it end up on my phone?

That's a good question. I could lie and say someone took my phone, went through all my contacts, and randomly messaged people. By the way, that's how he earned the Rocco Raccoon nickname—I caught a teenage delinquent breaking into the school one night, hoping to update the absences on his record. Well, I caught him because I was there for the same reason.

When we met as teens, him already with tattoos and a facial piercing and the kind of smile that spelled trouble, I was convinced he was my soul mate. Suffice it to say, I was young and dumb.

Or I could claim that my phone got hacked. Or...but no convincing defense comes. Just the truth. Mostly. It was an accident. I thought my text thread was opened to the one with Joey.

Me: Really, truly. Joey hadn't returned any of my calls about the girlfriend/dog situation, and I was awake, so I figured he should be too. Thought I'd tapped to his name.

Rocco Raccoon: Classic Katy.

What does that mean? I have a reputation for being prickly and confrontational (this has been a lifelong criticism from teachers, former employers, and friends), or is Rocco on my team? No. Definitely not that.

Me: For the record, I hate texting because there is no nuance. I refuse to use emojis because it's a slippery slope. I like talking on the phone even less, but if I have a point to make, that's a better way to do it. Joey has been radio silent, not answering any of my calls.

Rocco Raccoon: Maybe he ran over his phone, dropped it in a body of water, or lost it.

All have happened. But not this—Rocco and me texting—not in years. And when we did, it was to say everything we couldn't to each other in person. Risky, considering our high school social status when anyone could plainly see the way we'd connected and conspired.

Rocco Raccoon: Sorry to hear that Joey is a lazy loser, but it seems you've made a good life for yourself here. Still surfing every day.

Me: Not today.

Rocco Raccoon: You're still keeping the motorcycle skills strong.

Me: It's a necessity.

Rocco Raccoon: It looks like you have a lovely little home.

The options were to dig down deeper into my personal pity pit or smash the thing to smithereens. I chose to build myself a little life in a little house with a little garden. But because Rocco and I are naturally combative toward each other, I'm reluctant to share that softer side. Shields up. Weapons on standby.

Rocco Raccoon: You also get to wear that hot pink T-shirt with your name in sparkles.

Me: It's pale pink.

Rocco Raccoon: It's hot, Katy.

The meaning behind those words breaches my armor. My cheeks blaze. Rocco can't be colorblind because I think the military has rules about that. But he couldn't mean...could he?

While spending countless hours in my dad's shop with Rocco, we slowly slid into each other's lives as fixtures. Then, when hormones went wild, we'd sneak around, smooching even though I knew better because he had an unspoken "rule" that I'd observed and heeded.

Rocco flirted and hooked up with a girl. They'd date once but no more than three times. Then he moved on. I wanted to be the exception. I wanted to be wanted for once.

I hoped maybe our secret arrangement was just that, but the rule didn't apply because we were never public. Our relationship remained hidden.

True to form, he ditched me three weeks before graduation. Never saw him again and only heard rumors that he'd joined the military. Good riddance. My phone beeps, startling me from my thoughts as he picks up on comparing the outcomes of our lives. The honesty and vulnerability soften something inside me.

Rocco Raccoon: As for me, I'm not sure what's next now that I retired from the service. I won't be causing trouble in Palisade Shores like in the old days, that's for sure.

Me: Something is different about you...

Rocco Raccoon: That I'm more devastatingly handsome?

Me: Not with the beard.

Rocco Raccoon: You don't think so?

Me: More like that cocky smile I knew so well is replaced by no smile. Nothing. Absent an expression. If I had to name it, I'd say unamused, but that doesn't quite capture it either.

The little dots in the message thread blink, indicating he's writing. I think. They continue to pulse until my phone screen goes dark. He must be penning an essay.

The patter of my heart follows the blink, blink, blink rhythm even now that the conversation is over. He said he won't be causing trouble in town like in the old days. That's a relief, but I was part of that. Does he mean he plans to stay away from me? Do I want him to?

I think about my grandmother's birthday and the idea that I had. But I ruled him out as my fake date. Anyone but him.

Then my phone beeps. Rocco sends a photo of his freshly shaved face, smiling and with his arm around Tugger.

Rocco Raccoon: I have something you want.

My stomach flutters in a strange way and stirs something inside. But then I piece together the situation. I saw Rocco yesterday evening, and he had a beard. Did he just shave it? I call for Tugger but don't hear the clicking of his paws on the floor.

Does Rocco have my dog again?

Does he want me?

Do I want him?