Deep Blue Eternity Read online

  She laughed, unexpectedly. “What the hell is an oxygen thief?”

  I looked sideways to see her raised eyebrows then went back to watching the road ahead. “Some parasite who breathes valuable oxygen on this earth, oxygen that could be better used by someone of more worth. An animal has more worth,” I added.

  “You say that like animals are less than people. In my experience, animals are usually worth more.” She turned her head toward the trees and vegetation lining the road that cut across the interior of the island.

  It was really cold in the shade, especially with the air whipping by us. The normally smooth skin on her pale bare legs was covered in raised goose bumps, the skin getting mottled. But I wasn’t looking.

  “Did it occur to you the reason I wanted to speak to Tyler was because he’s a dealer?” she asked quietly.

  I swallowed. “You want to start getting high now in addition to all the other shit you’ve got going on?”

  “The other shit I’ve got going on?” she repeated. “You mean like the fact that I need prescriptions to deal with my shit. And those prescriptions are running out? Did you ever wonder what the hell I’m going to do when they run out?”

  “Of course I did. Do. You wake me up almost every night.”

  Her sharp inhale made me feel bad for throwing it out there so casually. “Well, if Tyler deals then he can probably get access to what I need.”

  I stopped the cart, dumbfounded. “The street value of that shit you’re taking must be astro-fucking-nomical. How the hell would you even pay him?”

  She folded her arms back across her body, her jaw tight, back rigid.

  I waited, fury and panic coiled inside me so tight I could barely breathe. Please, God, no.

  She looked away.

  My breath left me in a rush, my chest caving in. “You mean you’d fuck him,” I rasped, barely able to find my voice. Anguish and regret and too many emotions I couldn’t process were squeezing my body so tight I thought my head would explode. A vein throbbed in my temple. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to roar, cry, vomit, or let it happen all at the same time.

  “I just do what I have to.” But her voice was small.

  My stomach heaved and bile crawled up my throat. “You just…” I couldn’t even articulate it. Swallowing the acrid taste, I grabbed onto the one emotion that could help me steer through this. Anger. Jesus Christ.

  “I don’t have to sleep with them. There’s other stuff I could do. I get to be in control of it.”

  Said like the young, naïve little girl she was. Was she fucking kidding me? And them? She’d done this before? And by other stuff…

  Hell, no. “You’d put someone’s filthy cock in your mouth, and you think that gives you control?” I asked, injecting as much disgust into my voice as possible. “Well, that just makes you fucking stupid.”

  She flinched. “It’s the guys who are stupid. So fucking easy.”

  I don’t know how, because I remembered nothing about the rest of the drive except the ice in my veins, but finally we pulled up in front of the cottage. The last thing I wanted to do was be in there with her. It would be like putting a pressurized canister in a hot oven. I wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled.

  “If Abby weren’t already dead,” I ground out, knowing my next words were the cruelest thing I could come up with, “meeting the person you’ve become would kill her.”

  Launching myself out of the cart, I went to the side of the house, wanting to hit the shit out of something. I paced, my hands in my hair, my insides raging. There were too many things to process. Vaguely, the sound of the front door told me Olivia had gone inside.

  Oh God, Abby.

  Abby, I’m so sorry.

  We already had a shit ton of wood for the fireplace, and winter would be fading soon, but I headed for the ax. Heaving it out of the stump where I’d buried it, I set it aside and groaning, hefted a huge log off the adjacent pile into position. I should have stayed afterward, Abby.

  I grabbed the wooden shaft and adjusted my grip under its weight. Swinging the ax up and letting my arms loosen, I let go on the downward swing with a grunt, my teeth clenched, basking in the satisfying sharp crack and splitting of the wood. I should have stayed and made sure Liv was okay. I’m sorry. I hauled the heavy ax up again.

  God, Abby. I’m so sorry.

  Thwack. A new log.

  I should have stayed there and made sure.

  Made sure she was safe.

  Thwack.

  I shouldn’t have even made you go back.

  More wood. Thwack.

  I hauled my thick heavy shirt and undershirt off as sweat formed. The wind was ice on my damp skin.

  Another log. Crack.

  I’m sorry, Abby.

  God, I’m so sorry.

  The wood blurred in front of me, the icy feeling from the wind on my body now stinging my eyes too, and I realized I was crying. Wiping my arm across my face, I blinked and tossed the ax down. My chest heaved. God, I couldn’t stop it: the anguish came up in a tidal surge. I grimaced and choked with the force of it, trying to hold back the sob. It came through with a broken howl, and the relief of letting it go weakened my knees. I sank to the grass, wrapping my arms around my middle.

  I grieved for Abby, and I grieved for Olivia. I sobbed, and I drowned in the crashing tsunami of guilt until all my breath was gone. My body was left with racking spasms and shuddering breaths. And there was nothing left inside me but the one question that burned constantly. The question I buried over and over, never asking, never dealing with… until Olivia came here and forced me to face my cowardice. There was nothing left to bury it with. I would have to ask her.

  Had Mike Williams, Abby’s uncle, raped Olivia like he had Abby?

  I’M NOT SURE how long I sat on the grass in the biting wind, the wood chopping forgotten, but when I opened my eyes, Olivia was in front of me.

  She’d pulled on jeans and wrapped herself up in a large grey sweater and was knee to knee with me on the grass. She held out my stinking shirt.

  The questions were swimming in her pale blue eyes, but I didn’t see what I’d expected. Knowing that she’d witnessed my epic meltdown, I’d expected to see pity or even uncomfortable embarrassment along with her curiosity.

  “You’ll get sick,” she said, her voice strangely hoarse. “Put this back on.”

  I nodded and took it, shrugging the fabric over my head.

  She looked over to the trash can at the side of the house. “Are you an alcoholic?”

  My chest released and I laughed in a short burst. It felt odd after the class five emotional rapids I’d just run. She wasn’t going to ask me what the last twenty minutes were about, but she’d ask me if I was an alcoholic?

  “No. I keep those there to remind me it’s not an option.”

  “So you were one?”

  “No. Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic, even when you’re sober. I tried, trust me. But it didn’t stick. It would though if I tried hard enough. I never want to get that far.”

  “Why?”

  “Because after trying for a long time to forget the things I wanted to forget, I suddenly got scared I’d never be able to remember.”

  Her brows pinched together as she contemplated my words. “I wish… I wish I could forget everything,” she murmured. “I wish it every day. The only thing I want to remember is Abby, but when I do, it comes with everything else.”

  Everything else.

  The words screamed in my head.

  Her eyes cast about and landed on the swing that hung from the oak branch. The wind picked up and slapped her escaped hair like evil black whips across her cheekbones. God, she was beautiful. Or would be one day.

  My question, the question, burned like acid in my throat, and I swallowed it, forcing it back down into my guilt.

  “You were drinking today,” she stated.

  “Yeah, I was.”

  “It’s the anniversary today. Of her death.”
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br />   I schooled my features and nodded simply.

  “It’s also my birthday.” Shit. What a memory to have of a birthday. I’d ruined those for her too.

  She looked back at me, one eyebrow cocked. “You basically called me a whore on my birthday.”

  Because you basically told me you were. “Happy birthday. Eighteen?”

  “Yeah. And it’s not being a whore if you’re dating them.”

  “That’s debatable. And you seem smarter than that.”

  She sighed. “Look. I don’t expect you to understand. In fact it would be better if you kept your judgy opinions to yourself, but in the interest of facts, I don’t ‘date’ anyone I’m not attracted to.”

  “Judgy?” I snorted. “I never thought I would be one to judge, but you’re right. I feel weirdly protective of you because you’re Abby’s little sister.”

  Olivia blinked, then looked away.

  “You find Tyler Graham attractive?” I asked.

  “He has the bad boy thing going on.” She shrugged. “I’m sure I’m not the first girl to find that hot.”

  I barked out a humorless laugh. “You have that right.” I saw her flinch and cushioned the blow. “At least you’re self aware enough to know it.”

  “Why are you such a dick?”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Yeah. You act like you give a shit, or think you give a shit because of Abby or whatever, but honestly? You don’t know the first thing about me or where I’ve been and what my life has been like. The shit that’s happened.”

  “I know you ran away. From what, I don’t know.” I prayed I didn’t know. “I do know I’d like to help you. I don’t have an idea how, but I will if I can.” The sincerity in my voice surprised even me. I didn’t know where the offer came from, but I meant every word of it. “I do give a shit.” If there were some way I could make amends for letting Olivia—Livvy—become like this, I’d do it.

  She snorted and looked away from me.

  “I mean it, Olivia. I know you don’t know me and have even less reason to trust me—”

  “So you see me as something broken that needs to be fixed. Maybe you think I’ll bring you closer to Abby. I won’t. You’re bored out here all alone on your island, and you need a project.” She got up, her eyes going cold and hard. “Excuse me, but I don’t feel like being one.”

  “You’re right. I do need a project.” I climbed to my feet too, bringing the ax up with me and burying it back in the stump. “I need a project, not to bring Abby back, or fix you, but because I need to try and fix me.”

  A FEW DAYS after arriving on the island, the day after Tom returned the first time, I had gone by the golf club to see about a job. I’d been eating Tom’s food and had no way to repay him.

  I couldn’t believe I’d thought I would be able to survive here on my own. Even with the small general store, most people took a ferry across to Hilton Head Island or Savannah to buy stuff. I’m not sure how I’d blocked that old memory.

  The golf club had been a bust. Especially since it was off-season. I thought about the two other island restaurants and had tried the one that had the general store attached, with no luck. I didn’t even bother with the other, knowing already what the answer was. I’d have more luck in a few months, closer to summer, as tourism picked up.

  Tom had said early on it was no big deal, and I could eat what I wanted. He looked at me like I was crazy when I’d mentioned it. “You think I’d starve you? You eat like a bird anyway. It’s no big deal.” I’d thanked him. But I hated feeling more and more like a guest in the house that was supposed to be mine. And at times I felt like a charity case. Or worse—like he was my parent.

  So almost two weeks after I arrived, I’d decided to give it one last shot and headed over to the last option for a job on the island, the restaurant I hadn’t tried. Mama’s. And that’s where I’d found Tom.

  And where we’d had the golf cart ride from hell.

  After we’d arrived back to the cottage from our mini showdown in front of Marjoe, and he’d effectively made me feel like less than shit, I’d gone inside, heaving out angry breaths, my teeth clenched.

  He made me feel like such a stupid little girl. He had no idea what it was like for me. None. I wanted to yell at him and slap him, but more than anything, I wanted him not to disapprove of me, and I couldn’t understand why. I’d never cared what anyone thought of me before. In fact, I’d gone out of my way to inspire less than comfortable thoughts in people. It was the way I operated. It was the way I’d survived the last few years in high school.

  I realized with a start that I’d begun feeling comforted by his presence. We were building some form of quiet friendship. And the thought that he was disgusted with me caused shame to burn through my gut. But with that came anger. How dare he make me feel this way? Who was he to pass judgment on me? And pulling out what Abby would think had been such a low blow.

  I was pacing back and forth, coming up with the words I would hurl at him to get even when I’d caught sight of him through the small kitchen window and stopped dead.

  Tom was ripping his shirt off over his head. He flung it angrily, his bare chest heaving. Jesus, he was ripped. Picking the ax back up, ribs arching, he swung it over his head, bringing it down with such force that every muscle and sinew bulged and flexed with the power of it.

  I sucked in air, realizing I’d been holding my breath. Emotion rolled off him, the air electrified. Wind I couldn’t feel tossed his hair. It was raw and almost painful to watch. He was part wild animal and part insanely beautiful human.

  His body was a blur of motion, and he seemed oblivious to the icy air. A strong working body. A man’s body, not a boy’s. So much man. No muscle unused.

  I’d been living with this huge, larger than life, virile male for almost two weeks.

  Old fears skittered down my spine.

  And then his chest wasn’t just heaving with breath, his whole body was shuddering and curling in on itself. His knees folded, hitting the ground so hard, I winced. His arms wrapped around his middle as if he was trying to hold his body together. It was at once both shockingly strange and also familiar. I knew the kind of feeling that made one’s body do that.

  Pain.

  The kind of pain that threatened to tear your soul in two.

  Instantly, I was uncomfortable, like I’d seen something I shouldn’t have. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think, and yet I wanted to know everything all at once. My eyes wanted to drop, and at the same time I couldn’t tear them off him.

  I finally turned away, telling myself to take deep breaths. The clock to my right ticked loudly as I stood gripping the countertop, contemplating what to do.

  Looking down and seeing my chilled flesh, I mechanically went to my room and changed into jeans. Wrapping my dark grey oversized cardigan around me, I headed outside with the idea that if nothing else, I could encourage him to get warm. It was too cold to be outside bare-chested.

  He was oblivious to me as I knelt in front of him and picked up his fishy-smelling shirt from the ground, pulling the sleeves right side out. Eventually he looked up, his eyes clearing. Beautiful and bleak caramel-colored eyes with flecks of emerald, swimming in bloodshot pink.

  I desperately wanted to ask him about Abby. How did people love that intensely, in a way that never died, even after six years? Because surely that was what his meltdown was about. I couldn’t imagine loving someone like that—if it was even possible and not some fantasy conjured up by authors, poets, and screenwriters, each word building on and perpetuating the lie.

  And did he know about Whit? That she’d been with another guy when she died? Were she and Tom having a long distance relationship, or was it one-sided on his part. The idea that he was in the grip of some unrequited and long-lost love should make him seem pathetic and deluded.

  But nothing about Tom was pathetic. The very opposite. His quiet strength had somehow managed to creep under my guard over the last two weeks.
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  And I didn’t want to be a silly child he had to look after.

  I HEADED BACK to Mama’s first thing the next morning. Marjoe was hard to win around. “I can’t afford any additional help off season,” she’d explained gruffly as I trailed her outside so she could have a smoke.

  “Please, Marjoe.”

  “But this’ll give me a chance to sort out the storeroom and my office. Been putting it off forever.”

  Finally she agreed to give me two lunchtime shifts but no serving of alcohol under any circumstances.

  “Yes!” I pumped my fist in the air.

  She humphed and took a long drag on a slim cigarette, her lips pleating around the end. “’Sides, I’d do just about anything for that boy.”

  “Thank you, Marjoe.” I surprised us both by giving her a brief hug. Clearing my throat, I stepped away. “So which days do you want me?”

  “Let’s do weekdays, say Tuesday and Wednesday, and I’ll move you toward the weekend as you learn the ropes and as it gets busier closer to summer. You gonna be here that long, right?”

  I hadn’t thought very far ahead, but I couldn’t foresee leaving. To go where? I nodded.

  The next day was Wednesday, so I had my first day of work.

  Everyone was really friendly, and after Marjoe introduced me as a “family friend” of Tommy’s, no one even asked too much about me. There was another waitress called Bethany, who was very sweet but wore way too much perfume, and a huge, tall, dark-skinned man aptly named Big Jake who was the main cook. He had a deep rumbling voice, and a little girl’s laugh so incongruous and infectious it made everyone smile. And he laughed about everything. There were two other younger guys who helped him, prepped, bussed tables, and basically did whatever needed to be done. One, who never said a word, was apparently his son, Jake Junior, or JJ, and the other, his nephew, Ray.

  “You be ol’ Miz Williams’ gran’babe?” Big Jake asked me on my second day.

  Surprised he’d put it together, I nodded.

  “She dun’ lef’ you any her struc’shuns for buckruhbittle?”

  “Uh…” What? I looked around helplessly.