Page 47 of Off Plan
“Save it. It’s already all over the papers.” Young Rafe folded his arms across his chest.
Big Rafe frowned. “Is it? Damn. Wasn’t supposed to go up until Saturday. Catch more readers that way!”
“Are you kidding me? You invited my ex-brother-in-law to play a show here and you think the outrage is that they published the article about it a day early? You know, a heads-up would’ve been nice.”
“Agreed,” Beale said, adopting his brother’s cross-armed pose. “For all of us.”
“You boys.” Big Rafe sighed the sigh of a man who was perpetually misunderstood. “You know, this island is like our family—”
“Fucking ridiculous?” I supplied.
“Incredibly beautiful!” Gloria countered.
“Incrediblydysfunctional,” Young Rafe bit out.
“In desperate need of an intervention,” Beale said sadly.
“It’s ourhome,” Big Rafe continued, ignoring all of us. “It’s ourrefuge. But it’s not a prison. It’s not a tomb to bury yourself in. You’ve gotta use it as afoundationand build yourself something better.”
“That was lovely,” I said, wiping a fake tear from my eye. “Somebody put that on a Hallmark card.” I let my voice go hard. “Explain to me how hauling Mason Bloom’s suitcase to his clinic is afoundationfor any damn thing.”
Young Rafe stood up, his face stony with anger. “And bringing Jayd here is supposed to, what? Help mebuild something betterby reminding me Aimee was so fucking miserable on this island, she fled?” He laughed with zero humor, turned his chair back around and pushed it into the table with a clatter. “You take care, Gloria,” he said, glaring at his father. Then he stormed out the front door.
“Rafe, wait!” Beale said. He shot his father an impatient glare. “This family’s not gonna be able tobuildanything if you destroy it before we have a chance.” He stalked out after his brother.
“Well,” Gloria said cheerfully. “That went better than the last couple of times you were all together!”
Big Rafe rolled his eyes at her, then turned to me. “You need to skedaddle with that suitcase. Day’s only getting hotter.”
I stood from the table and clenched my hands into fists. “You know, I’ve been working for you for five years in March, Rafe. I captain your boat. I fix your cars. I run your errands.”
Rafe’s eyes met mine. “I know it.”
“Don’t you think I should get a say in what happens on Whispering Key? In the decisions that affectmylife? Don’t you think the others should?”
Rafe’s chin went up. “I think you haveeveryright to say what happens in your life, Fenn. I keep waiting for you to speak up.” He shook his head sadly. Then he sucked in a breath and slapped his palm on the table. “Alrighty! Moving on! What’s first on the mayor’s docket today, Gloria?”
“Are you kidding me?” I seethed. “We’re not done talking! I don’t know what that shit even means!”
Rafe acted like I hadn’t spoken. Gloria, at least, gave me a sympathetic look, but then she turned her attention to Rafe, too. “You’re meeting with Leonard Wilkins at eleven about permits for his food truck. He’s already out back waiting.”
“Lenny Wilkins?” I demanded. “Since when does he have a food truck?”
“Since eleven o’clock this morning,” Rafe answered smugly. “He asked and he shall receive.Somepeople believe in the future of this island, Fenn.Somepeople have dreams. What else, Gloria?”
“Shannon Tate returned your call about holding an exclusive show, but—”
“Shannon Tate? From the gallery? What kind of show?”
“Fenn,” Rafe chided. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
For a second, I thought about telling him in graphic detail where he could shove Mason’s fucking suitcase. I could almost hear myself saying the words. But in the end, I swallowed them down like poison, stalked out to the hall, and grabbed the bag.
The thing was heavy as fuck—of course it was. Why would this ever beeasy?—and as I dragged it across the motel parking lot and shoved it in my trunk, I couldn’t help but wonder: Did Rafewantme to leave Whispering Key? Sometimes, I almost deluded myself into thinking I was part of something here; that being a half-assed Goodman was better than nothing. Other days, like today, it was crystal clear he wanted me gone, and I was ready to take him up on his invitation. There were a billion other shitty jobs out there, a million shitty motel rooms to live in.
The drive to town took five minutes—five minutes that got me even more pissed, because itwashot as the devil’s asshole out here and my radio had apparently decided to protest the working conditions since it wouldn’t tune in to a station—but for the first and only time in the five years I’d lived on Whispering Key, there wasn’t a parking spot in front of the rec center or even across the street. I had to park an entire block down Godfrey Pass and haul the fucking suitcase, which had somehow lost awheelalong the way, down the sidewalk to the white stucco building where block letters spelled out WHISPERING KEY RECREATION CENTER above the door.
Inside, the building smelled musty, like it hadn’t been used in forever, but it was blessedly cool compared to the outside. The ground floor was covered in checkerboard linoleum, and a glass-covered signboard displayed a congratulatory list of the island’s recent high school graduates.