Come A Little Closer Page 2

The one thing I remembered most about Moon Island was not the hot guys. It was the beautiful scent of the salty air that helped distill the stagnant smell of alcohol. It was the kindness of a man and not the insults of another. It was leaving.

  And I wasn’t going to Moon Island this weekend for sandy toes or salty kisses. That was crap, too. I was going to settle the estate of the only person who ever cared about me enough to try to fix what was broken. And he wasn’t even my real uncle. He was my father’s friend and the one who had changed my life by introducing me to Al-Anon.

  Step 1: We admit we are powerless over alcohol—that our lives have become unmanageable.

  Alcohol.

  It was a word that would haunt me forever.

  I stared and stared and stared at my screen, trying to push back the terrible memories that threatened to bring tears to my eyes.

  My finger hovered over the delete button, and even after I pressed it, I knew it was too late to undo what had been done. There was no taking anything back once it hit cyberspace.

  Under normal circumstances, I would have questioned my new assistant on where she’d found such a hunk and how she’d managed to snap such a provocative pose under such short notice.

  These past few weeks hadn’t been normal, though, and somehow in the chaos of my life, I’d let a very significant part of my job slip. And by doing so, I’d put my journalistic integrity on the line.

  No one was to blame but myself.

  My stare fell to the floor before shifting to the stacks of boxes lining the walls. They were all neatly labeled with no destination in mind. Drifters, like me.

  When my gaze landed on the one labeled ‘Theodore Banks 1 of 2’, I quickly shifted my eyes away from it and toward the bright, sunny day. I had yet to open that box and doubted I ever would. There would be nothing good inside it. Nothing I needed to see. And nothing I wanted to know. Yet for some reason, I hadn’t thrown it away. It was all that remained of my father, a man who had flown F-14 Tomcats in Desert Storm and had once been thought of as a military hero, but who had turned into the town villain.

  As for box 2, I had no idea where it had ended up. I didn’t really care, either. Box 1 was all that had been delivered.

  Out of habit, I turned my wrist over and stared at the image of a rainbow inked right over my pulse point. It was a reminder of the brighter side. The symbol of hope. Balance. Good luck. Of a better future. It all felt so ironic now.

  Hope.

  I wanted to have it.

  Wanted to be on the other side, but no matter how hard I tried, I could never get there.

  Chloe stood and walked over to me. I blinked away my solemn thoughts and looked up at her. She had tears in her eyes when she whispered, “I’m so sorry. Please don’t tell Elise it was me. I know what I said, but I really need this job.”

  Her voice shook.

  She was afraid.

  Fear.

  I knew it well.

  But she didn’t.

  Not really.

  And that was a good thing.

  With no other choice, I leaned back in my chair and attempted to ease her mind. “She’s not going to fire you,” I murmured under my breath.

  I knew this. Elise had hired Chloe to turn her into what she wanted. Me, on the other hand, could never be what she wanted. Me, on the other hand, my fate was unknown. I was writing a column about love and my heart wasn’t in it. Elise knew this. I knew this. But it was a start for me, and at the time I accepted the job, I didn’t realize I probably should really understand the concept better than I did.

  Maybe know what love was.

  The voice on the phone grew even louder. I held the receiver away from my ear, and yet I could still hear every piercing word my boss had to say.

  As she spoke, I glanced around my modest, seventh-floor apartment. I’d lived here for just over a year. It was longer than I’d lived anywhere in a long time, and I still had yet to unpack.

  Maybe subconsciously I knew all along I wouldn’t be staying.

  “Sadie, are you listening to me?” my boss barked through the line.

  Elise Petra wasn’t someone you didn’t listen to.

  She demanded attention.

  “Yes, Elise, I can hear every word you’re saying.”

  “Sadie, are you still there?”

  Crap.

  I hadn’t unmuted the phone.

  Quickly, I did so, and then I replied, “Yes, Elise, I’m still here.”

  “Good, then open your door.”

  I practically fell off my chair.

  Wait!

  What?

  She was here?

  In the short period of time since she’d taken over the company, she had never even asked me where I lived, let alone set foot in my apartment.

  My Saturday couldn’t get much worse.

  Just as my own heart started to pound out of my chest, there was a loud banging on my door. Poor Chloe turned a million shades of white.

  “You should probably hide in the bedroom,” I told her. “It’s best if Elise doesn’t know you’re here.”

  Chloe didn’t think twice as her gladiator sandals clacked against my hardwood floor.

  I didn’t blame her.

  I wished I could hide, too.

  Once she’d closed herself on the other side, I hurried to the front door. Smoothing my hands down my shorts, I took a deep breath, sucked in my stomach out of habit, although I didn’t need to, and then pulled the knob.

  The perfect blonde bob with the perfectly made-up face and perfectly coordinated outfit stared back at me.

  “Elise,” I managed. “What are you doing here?”

  She pushed past me with so many shopping bags in her hands that they must have weighed more than she did. I couldn’t believe it when her high heels barely made a noise on my living room floor. Not only was she beautiful, but she floated as she walked. Crazy.

  Then again, even the floors dared not cross this forty-something-year-old vixen. She was a force to be reckoned with. A cross between Miranda in the Devil Wears Prada and Carrie Bradshaw from Sex in the City, she was always stylish, always on the ball, and always right.

  Elise whirled around, and even through the dark lenses of her Prada sunglasses, I could see the irritation in her eyes. With a threatening calmness, she said, “Sadie, I came by to tell you in person I think it’s time we parted ways.”

  I closed my eyes.

  As soon as I saw that photo site, I knew this moment would come. If I wanted to be honest, I knew this moment was coming for a long time. And yet my stomach still sank at the realization that it was actually happening.

  This was it.

  After all of my hard work, my passion for writing was being yanked out from under me.

  I was going to be jobless, broke, homeless. I felt like I was going backwards with my life, not forward.

  “Elise,” I said, my voice hoarse. “You know I didn’t do this.”

  “You might not have selected the photo, but you posted it.”

  “And you’re firing me over something as trivial as that?” I needed to be certain.

  She set her bags on the sofa. “Don’t look at it that way, Sadie.”

  “How should I look at it?”

  “Like I’m setting you free.”

  I laughed. “Setting me free? Is that a joke?”

  She shook her head. “Sadie, I’m not heartless, and I’m not blind. You have a lot going on in your life right now. You need to get away from all the attention. You need time to heal. You’re a broken woman, and it’s going to take more than a long weekend off to fix yourself.”

  I shook my head no.

  She didn’t know anything about me. She only knew what she’d read in the papers. So what if the articles painted a bleak picture of my life? At Hotlanta, I was not Sadie Banks. I was SB. And I was not the same seventeen-year-old runaway who turned a town upside down.

  I should have never told her the truth.

  Determined, I lifte
d my chin and sucked in the shuddering, teary breath that threatened to break me. “What I need, Elise, is my job.”

  “Listen to me, Sadie, you might think I don’t know you, but I do. And I know this job isn’t right for you. You’re a smart, determined woman with a big heart. You should be reporting world events, telling the country what to believe in, helping people—not writing about where to find love. You have a strong voice, and it should be heard. Once you pull yourself together, I’ll help you find a job that’s right for you.” The tenderness in her voice made me want to cry even more.

  I pushed it away though and straightened my steel spine. “This column is a start for me, Elise, and it gives me exposure.”

  She shook her head. “Gave you exposure, Sadie.”

  “It still can. Don’t do this. I can do better. I will do better. Just say I can keep my job,” I pleaded.

  There was no yes. Elise simply picked up her purse and walked toward the door. “You have a lot of passion, Sadie. Get yourself together and use it for something more than love advice.”

  Tears fell from my eyes. I couldn’t hold them back, but I quickly wiped them away. That’s when I noticed her packages were still on my sofa. “Elise, your bags,” I shouted as the door was closing.

  “Keep them,” she called back just as it clicked shut.

  Were they supposed to be my severance, because if so, I didn’t want them. Before I could rush them out to her, I heard the bedroom door creak open. “I’m so sorry,” Chloe said.

  I just looked at her, and then I mumbled, “What am I going to do?” to myself more than to her.

  “If I can ever do anything, don’t hesitate to call me.”

  I nodded. “I appreciate it.”

  She pulled me in for a hug.

  Surrounded by dozens of packed boxes and designer bags, I couldn’t help but think maybe Elise was right. It was time for me to get my life in order and then do what I wanted to do.

  Whatever that was.

  Wherever that was.

  But this time there was no need to hide.

  I wasn’t running.

  Then again, there was no one left to run from.

  No one except myself.

  I always was my own worst enemy.

  SADIE BANKS

  THE OUTFIT I WAS WEARING might very well have been worth more than the small beach shack Harvey had left me in his will.

  It felt strange to be wearing something so expensive, and I couldn’t help but stare at my reflection in the water-stained glass.

  The fifty-something-year-old suit standing behind me was staring, too. I didn’t blame him. If I were him, I’d be looking, too.

  Even I had to admit I looked hot.

  The little black dress was Chanel. The stockings, French silk. The fuck-me pumps, Louboutin. And all three made my legs look like stilts.

  Severance looked good on me.

  The tags were still attached, but well hidden. I’d sell the outfit on Poshmark tomorrow, but for tonight, it was mine.

  I deserved it.

  Once I closed my umbrella, the suit opened the door for me. I tossed him an appreciative smile, but I never glanced back.

  Tonight I wanted unpolished, rugged, and wild, which he was not. It had been way too long since I’d had any kind of physical connection with anyone, and I just needed something to remind me I was alive.

  Way overdressed for a place like this, I didn’t care. Scanning the crowd, I wove my way through the closely set tables toward the bar. Moon Shadows was packed, and once I finally sat on a stool, I grabbed for the cocktail menu.

  As was usual, I would limit myself to one drink, so I wanted it to be a good one. I crossed my legs as I glanced at my choices. When I shifted, I could feel the hem of my dress ride up a little. I knew my stockings, held up by a garter belt of wispy lace, could be seen.

  Hey, they were also part of the severance, so I figured why not.

  Deciding what I wanted, I waved the bartender over. He was older, tall, and thin. So grizzled from the sun, I surmised he must have lived on Moon Island for most of his life.

  “You’re not from around here.” It wasn’t a question.

  I knew better than to tell him he was wrong. Telling him I’d spent the first seventeen years of my unhappy life on this small island would only bring more questions and inevitably drudge up the unwelcome stare my infamous father’s name always brought. Instead of answering with full disclosure, I molded my answer to be somewhat truthful. “I’m here on business.”

  “Well, business lady, what can I get you?” he asked.

  Oh, so many things.

  A job.

  Money.

  A life.

  Something to live for.

  “A margarita,” I told him.

  When he brought me the salt-rimmed, enormous margarita glass with a perfect piece of lime floating on top of flakes of ice, it almost looked too good to sip.

  “Do you want to start a tab?” he asked.

  Just one, I reminded myself.

  I shook my head and reached into my purse for my wallet.

  “It’s on me.” I swung my gaze to the right and found the suit who opened the door for me earlier, and he was leaning on the bar with a twenty in his hand.

  “I appreciate it,” I said, “but I always pay my own way.”

  “That’s unfortunate. Maybe tonight you could make an exception.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He set the money down on the bar and ignored me. “Just one drink. You’re alone and I’m alone, so why not—”

  “Are you hitting on my date?”

  The suit and I turned, and both of our jaws dropped. I knew we each had different reasons. His was probably surprise. Mine was absolute shock.

  That blond hair. The diamond stud earring. Those piercing blue eyes. And the way he towered over me even though I was seated on a high stool. I knew this man, or I had known him as a boy, anyway.

  He set his hard stare on the suit and waited.

  “No,” the suit responded, and casually backed away.

  Still in a state of shock, my gaze darted up.

  Simon McCoy.

  The town rebel. The airline mechanic’s son with the sticky fingers. A friend when I’d needed a friend the most. It had been twelve years since I’d seen him. Twelve years since I’d made that call. Twelve years since everything in this town changed—because of me.

  Did he know?

  He gave me a smile, and I knew he didn’t because if he did he wouldn’t be smiling—he’d be frowning.

  I lifted my drink and tried to play it cool. “Well, if it isn’t the thief,” I said, and took my first sip.

  He allowed his gaze to roam over me. “And if it isn’t the good girl,” he quipped back, setting down his tall glass of dark beer.

  I smiled, and it was the first time I’d smiled a real smile in a very long time. No one had called me that in a very long time.

  Like long lost friends, we embraced, and then he took a seat beside me. “What have you been up to?” I asked. “Still stealing for a living?”

  It was bold, but that was the candid kind of relationship we’d shared as kids and later as teenagers. During both stages of our lives, we’d been forced to spend a lot of time together, and our relationship had resembled one more like brother and sister.

  My father had been the head pilot for Moongate, and his father had maintained the planes. Along with Harvey Winchester, the three of them owned the small, private airline that shuttled commuters between Savannah and Miami.

  Simon and I were often stranded at the hangar to wait for our fathers to finish their shifts. During those endless hours when Harvey wasn’t around to bring us to his house, Simon tried to teach me how to pickpocket and I attempted to convince him to be a good boy. Neither one of us was ever very successful.

  In the end, I ran away and worked night and day just to eat and have a place to sleep, and he ended up in jail.

  Simon laughed.
“Believe it or not, I’ve gotten my act together. I even got my pilot’s license. What about you? Still wearing white cotton panties?”

  I raised a brow and glanced down.

  Both his brows popped. “Guess not,” he answered for me with a sly grin when he saw the lace of my garter belt.

  There was a ping of remorse that rippled through me for the innocence I had once possessed and then been forced to lose. The thought had me taking another sip of my drink. It tasted good. Really good.

  “What are you doing back in town?” I asked. “I heard you moved out of the country.”

  Casually, he leaned against the bar. “I did, but I had to return to the old red, white, and blue to prepare to start Moongate operations back up.”

  I smiled again, holding back an ironic laugh. “You’re kidding me, right?” The small, private airline had been shut down ever since the owner and both of our fathers went to prison.

  Because of me.

  Because of the call I’d made.

  With utter seriousness, he shook his head. “It’s no joke.”

  “Really?” I said. “I thought I read somewhere it was being looked at by some tycoon from the Caribbean, but he passed?”

  He pointed to himself. “She did,” he clarified, “until I convinced her the airline was a great investment. We start renovations on the hangar November first, and I hope to be in the air by the first of the year. What about you? What brings you back to Moon Island?”

  “Nothing good. I’m not sure if you heard, but Harvey died, and I’m here to settle his estate.” I said it so candidly it surprised me.

  Simon rapped his knuckles on the bar. “No, I hadn’t heard. Shit, I’m sorry to hear it. He was a really great guy.”

  “He was,” I concurred.

  “What happened?” Simon asked.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “His boat went missing during a storm last month. It was found a couple of days later just miles from the lighthouse.”

  Simon’s eyes glossed over. Like the news hit him hard. He, like me, had taken refuge with Harvey many nights when we were younger.

  “My father was with him,” I added, but didn’t tell him he’d been drunk. Drunk after he promised to stay sober. I’d never forgive him for that. “And both of their bodies washed up on shore a week later.”