Page 53 of Off Plan
“Hmm. I’m imagining you coming out of the womb with matching luggage full of shoes. Leading all the other high-fashion kindergarteners in your perfectly ironed clothing and fineItalianleather.”
“Did you forget the part where I slid off a building?” I demanded.
“No! I just sort of assumed you were wearing those exact shoes while you did it.” He nodded at the shoes I’d left on the edge of the blanket.
“Idefinitelywasn’t.” I shrugged. “I grew up in Upstate New York. We lived with my grandmother—my brother, two sisters, and me. I’m the baby.”
“Of course you are.”
“My grandmother wasn’t… She was…” I cleared my throat and toyed with the collar of my polo shirt, trying to do the thing I usually did where I emphasized the cuteness of this story. The no-big-deal humor of it. “She was an odd duck. She legally changed her name to Moonflower Bloom and had a ’68 VW bus she parked in the front yard. Total hippie. She grew marijuana in our vegetable garden and believed kids shouldn’t have rules. And these, like, travelers who were friends of friends would stop by all the time and stay the night, or even for a couple months, and sometimes us kids would camp outside or sleep on the floor while they stayed in our rooms. It was kinda wild. You wouldn’t know it to look at me, right?” I grinned and ran a hand through my hair, which had stopped responding to product the moment I touched down in Florida and had since gone feral.
Fenn didn’t laugh. “Having strange people in your space all the time sounds like literal torture. And borderline scary, for a kid. Did you enjoy it?”
I shrugged and felt my grin fall. No one asked that. Ever. It was a cute story. Did he not see how cute it was?
“No. I didn’t. When I was young, I thought it was all normal. I thought it was a game to hide your stash whenever anyone in authority stopped by. I thought it was common for brothers to spend their paper route money to buy bread. I was eleven or twelve the first time I realized it wasnot. That we werethatfamily in town. That people looked at us and pitied us.”
“Ahhh. So the loafers were a form of rebellion.”
I snorted. “No. I triedrebellionas a form of rebellion. I painted graffiti on bridges and stole cigarettes from the corner store.” I tipped back my beer and drank the remainder in one long swallow. “I just didn’t care very much about anything.”
“And then?” Fenn prompted.
I scrubbed at my hair. “Then I slid off the building and ended up at the hospital, where this doctor—Andrew Capon is his name. We keep in touch online still, from time to time—set my elbow. He talked to me like… like I was on his level. Like I could do more.”
I cleared my throat and popped the top off my sixth beer myself, lost in memories. Fenn said nothing, he just watched me steadily.
“Hedaredme to do something better with my life. He helped me get into college and then medical school. My brother helped pay for it, along with a shit ton of loans.” I shrugged. “And then I met a nice girl from a rich family who had a fondness for Italian leather,lostthe girl when she got a better offer from another guy, and realized that somewhere along the way I’d tied my dreams with hers. Which made it kind of a double-bitch when she was gone. So I went looking for a dream that wasmine, you know?”
Fenn nodded.
“I thought a fancy resort on a private island and a chance to get my med school loans paid off would be a good start. A way to impress my friends and relatives, earn their respect.” I moved my hand in an arc that included the beach, the island, the whole shitshow I’d committed myself to. “Clearly, mission accomplished,” I laughed.
Fenn didnot. “That’s… a much cooler story than I gave you credit for,” he said, almost reluctantly.
I looked up at the darkening sky and smiled helplessly. “Thanks, I guess? Glad my childhood trauma endears me to you?”
Fenn poked me in the ribs. “I’m just saying, that wasn’t easy.”
I shifted my head to see him better. The wind was toying with his hair, and he was looking everywherebesidesme,and I was suddenly a hundred percent certain with zero proof to back it up that Fenn had not said that as a throwaway comment. He meant it, and the idea made my stomach go hot.
“Jesus. Okay. Truth or dare?” I demanded.
Fenn sighed. “I feel like a dare would probably require me to move from this blanket—”
He shot me a look, and I nodded. “It would involve letting me drive your car.”
“God.” He shuddered. “So truth, then.”
I grinned mischievously. “What’s your favorite thing about Whispering Key?”
Fenn looked horrified. “Shit, I dunno. Nothing?”
“Truth, remember,” I said, doing my best impression of his deep voice. “Onething. The beach? The fresh air? The scenery? Running a tour boat? Meeting me? Please, do be honest.”
He shook his head. “Beach is fine. Boat is fine. You’remeh. And there were plenty of fresh air and pretty views in the High Country. Ah… Western North Carolina. That’s where I grew up,” he offered when I gave him a puzzled frown. “Where my mom and stepfather still live.” He chewed on his lip for a minute. “I dunno,” he repeated at length. “I guess my favorite thing is… my family.” He rolled his eyes, like his own sentimentality disgusted him. “Kinda sad, since they’re destroying my brain cells on a daily basis just from interacting with them, but beggars can’t be choosers.”
“They’re not your only family, though, right? If your mom and stepdad are still around?”