Dirty Summer 1

After eight years, he concluded none of those faraway seaside places—Charleston, the Great Lakes, Maine, or Hawaii—was as beautiful as the shores where he’d grown up. Tired of distant waters, Reid retired his rescue gear and returned to Harkers Island. The close-knit community who’d watch him break all those records in the pool welcomed him home with open arms.

He chuckled as he remembered those first few days back home when it seemed like every little old lady stopped by his house to say hello, dropped off a plate of cookies, and told him about her daughter or granddaughter. They went on and on about how brave Reid was and how time away from the island agreed with him. Growing up in a small town, he was used to his mother’s matchmaking efforts.

Reid shook his head. No time for memory lane, man. He was already late to meet Justyn. They had a quick fishing trip planned. It was beautiful out on the water today, and they needed to discuss some new business ideas while waiting for the flounder to bite. He tossed his sandpaper aside and climbed down from the boat.

This one might be a basic skiff, but Reid and Justyn had ideas for making bigger waves in the custom boat-building world. Reid headed toward his Jeep to meet his cousin at the marina.

Four

Justyn

Justyn had been called a brooder, and at times much worse. He liked his beer, an occasional dip, and every now and then, the company of a girl. At twenty-six, he valued his time and space more than the warmth of someone sharing his pillow.

He carried his 6’2” frame with confident strides across the sandy parking lot, and threw the six-pack of beer in a cooler. Beads of perspiration started a slow trickle down his forehead, and he knew if he didn’t get on the water soon, the fish would be running from the sun just like he was. Dammit. This Fourth of July was hotter than hell.

He guided the truck under the water oaks, keeping the shoreline in sight. The road seemed to follow the curvature of the small coastline where years of ebbing and tiding had crept up on the weathered pavement of the Harkers Island road. If you asked him, Justyn couldn’t tell you a spot on the island where you couldn’t see the water. As far as he was concerned, if it did exist, it certainly wasn’t worth mentioning.

He had gone to college three hours away. His parents beamed with pride because of his full baseball scholarship, but knew they would miss his help in the boat shop. Commercial fishing was a year-round business, and so was boat building. His father counted on Justyn to put in hours with repairs, boat winterization, and filling new construction orders no matter what time of year it was.

As soon as the last pitch was tossed for the ACC tournament game, Justyn dutifully packed his bat and glove and returned home to help his dad with Strait Brothers Boats and Storage. There was never a question about traveling across Europe, backpacking out West, or even surfing with the guys. His place was on the island.

Justyn always did the right thing, and for those four years during college, that meant spending summers painting, sanding, and launching newly christened boats into the creek. He didn’t remember what he discussed in philosophy class or who was waiting for Godot. What he knew was that he couldn’t stand to be off the island.

He slowed the truck to turn onto the grassy path leading to his boat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her. He figured she was only a ding-batter, what he and the other islanders called the many tourists who tried to be local for the summer. Justyn had taken notice of her a few days ago when he saw her loading groceries in the back of a car at Easterd’s. He wasn’t sure if it was the legs, the blond hair, or that attitude of hers he wanted to break that made her stick out in his mind. Whatever it was, he knew he would run into her again. The island was too small not to see her. He had met her type before. She was the kind of girl who thought she was too good for the island, only cruised with champagne in her hand, and nothing was ever good enough. But she might just be the sexiest thing he had ever seen.

In the meantime, Reid was probably revving the boat impatiently and already a few beers ahead. They had a full day of fishing ahead of them.

Reid sat on the bow with a goofy grin and a beer in hand. “Let’s go, man. Where in the hell have you been? I’ve been sitting out here thinkin’ you weren’t going to show.”

“You know I’m not goin’ to bail on you.” Justyn smiled and popped the top of his first beer. “I had a lot of shit to get done today. I’m ready now.”

Justyn loaded the cooler, a box of tackle, and a bag of sandwiches he had picked up from the Seaside Café into the toolbox at the stern of the boat.

She still didn’t have a name. He knew it was bad luck not to name his boat, but he wasn’t superstitious. For now, she was nameless but a strong, sturdy craft that had weathered many tides and wild nights out in the sound. Justyn trusted her. He had handpicked every limb of her frame and driven every nail into her seams. His father tried to help, but Justyn refused the free pair of hands and stubbornly labored away on his dream.

“Can you believe it’s already the Fourth? Man, this summer is flying by.” Justyn positioned himself behind the steering wheel.

“Yeah, we better steer clear of the cape today. It’ll be full of ding-batters, dit-dotters, and those damn ski boats, scaring off the fish.”

Reid loosened the sailor’s knots and tossed the ropes up on the dock. With one hard shove, they started drifting in the creek, and Justyn cranked the engine. The creek was alive with jumping mullets, diving pelicans, and the always-aggravating mosquito. Justyn steered her under the bridge and headed east.

Five

Blair

Blair leaned slightly over the bridge and watched the stern of a nameless boat drive into the overpowering glare of the afternoon sun.

“Damn, this island is hot,” Blair whined. She shielded her eyes from the reflection and tried to focus on the two fading figures laughing and sipping from koozies.

For a minut

e, Blair wondered what the island guys were like. Did they know anything beyond this island? She had seen them riding around with their dogs and congregating in the Easterd’s parking lot. They all seemed a little foreign to her. T-shirts, cutoff shorts, deck shoes, the occasional cigarette, and, of course, country music seemed to complete the island-guy package. They always made Blair a little nervous the way they all knew each other. She felt out of place just walking into the store. Sometimes she felt their eyes on her and picked up on the crass comments that filtered through the parking lot. Her opinion of them wasn’t high. She couldn’t get over the island drawl. It was an accent like none other.

Sweat trickled down her neck, and Blair piled her hair on her head, hoping a breeze would find her. She had wandered a little farther than she planned. Her mission was to jog to the store and pick up some ice for the cooler, but once she reached Easterd’s, she kept running. Maybe she was trying to outrun the heat or just outrun this feeling that she was going crazy. Maggie assured her that the island would be a place for summer fun, but Blair couldn’t shake the feeling that she was trapped on this small piece of land, surrounded by a bunch of ignorant rednecks, and as far away from civilization as she could get.

Despite her growing boredom and disappointment with her summer plans, Blair wasn’t about to admit that her decision was a mistake. Her mother had tried to talk her out of the house-sitting gig for the months leading up to college graduation. The chairwoman of the Junior League of Charlotte, president of the Art Society, and coordinator of the Historic Homes Christmas Tours did not approve of her daughter spending a summer of leisure on the remote island.

Charlene Emory knew there were far better ways for her daughter to invest her time. Luckily, Blair’s father had a soft spot where his daughter was concerned, and coaxed his wife into supporting Blair’s last summer hoorah before the big move to Dallas.