Page 43 of On the Run
I wanted to clear the air, but I really couldn’t. Shouldn’t. In ten years, I’d never shared my secret with a soul. Doing so would be like directly handing someone the power to destroy my career, and that was not me being quirkily overdramatic. I had responsibilities. I knew better.
Or maybe I didn’t, because just then, Beale’s tune reached a crescendo, and I realized with a stomach-twisting lurch that he was humming “My Heart Will Go On”fromTitaniclike an off-key Celine, probably without even realizing it, and it was so sickeningly sweet I started chirping like a fucking canary.
“I write an advice column,” I blurted, apropos of nothing.
Beale’s humming cut off, and I could feel the weight of his stare, even though I closed my eyes and turned my face back to the sky.
“Like Aunt Hagatha? That kind of advice column?”
“Yes. Yes, very much exactly like that.”
“No way! Really?”
“Would I lie about that, precious?” I demanded hotly. “Ask yourself. Is that the kind of sexy, impressive career someone invents?” My face burned from something besides the sun, and I sat up quickly. “Good Lord, is there no shade whatsoever on this island? I’ll beseared. I can feel my organs literally boiling inside my body.”
“You could always get in the water,” Beale said reasonably. “It’s cooler, at least. Or you could hike back into the trees. Just be careful where you step.”
“My choices are drowning or being savaged by some manner of forest beast?” I sniffed and lay back down. “A Hobson’s choice if ever there was one.” I pulled the hat down more firmly.
Beale ignored my whining. “So when you say you write a column very much like Hagatha…”
I swallowed, body tense, and waited for him to ask me outright, not sure whether I could make myself confirm it in so many words. But Beale looked at me for a long moment, hesitated, scraped his bottom teeth over his top lip, and deftly changed tack, focusing back on the boat.
He knew I was Hagatha, and I knew he knew it, but he also knew I didn’t want him to acknowledge it, so he didn’t. He just… accepted it.
I didn’t understand why the people of Whispering Key didn’t build shrines to the wonder of Beale Goodman, I truly didn’t.
“There was this letter maybe two years back in Hagatha’s column from a person called Stranded in Paducah,” Beale began.
“Oh?” I’d answered over two thousand letters over the years. I didn’t remember most of them.
“I remember it so well because my mom had died almost exactly a year before.”
My head swiveled toward him instinctively.
“Cancer,” he added shortly. “And I was feeling low and kinda looking for a sign from the Universe that things would be okay.”
Ah, damn. I wasnobody’ssign from the mother-freakin’ Universe.
Beale cleared his throat and rubbed at his wrist again, which I was starting to think was a nervous tic of his.
“Anyway, Stranded said he wasn’t smart enough for college and not capable of learning the stuff he needed to know to get a job he wanted…”
A thrill ran up my spine. I did remember this. Shit.
“I remember thinking I’d’ve told Stranded to go into business with his family, since that’s what I’d done in his shoes, and I was happy enough, more or less.” Beale bent his knees up and wrapped his forearms loosely around them, totally folded in on himself and perfectly comfortable that way. “But Hagatha’s answer was way better.” His eyes were a steady blue, as infinite as the ocean. “She talked about learning difficulties and work-arounds, and how tons of successful people had the same issues, like Richard Branson and Tommy…” He wiggled his fingers. “Whatever his name is. Some clothing guy.”
“Hilfiger,” I supplied, though it came out all raspy. “I changed my mind. Can I have my water bottle, please?”
“Yeah.” Beale stared at me hard for half a minute before he twisted, dug my bottle out of the cooler behind him, and tossed it over the boat to me.
It missed my outstretched hand by inches, and I squeaked just a little—in a very buff and outdoorsy sort of way, obviously—but Beale didn’t seem to care.
“Hagatha said not to let your difficulties define you,” Beale continued softly. “She said, ‘It won’t be easy, Stranded, but the only wrong choice would be thinking you don’t deserve better.’”
“Ah. Well that’s… I mean… it’s not bad advice, is it?” I uncapped the water bottle and sipped gratefully. “As advice goes?”
“I cried.” Beale’s lips pulled up in a ghost of a smile. “First time I’d cried since my mom died. Don’t think I’ve cried since, really?” He paused with his head cocked to one side like he was pondering it, but he gave up with a shrug. “The answer was just so no-bullshit, you know? Not fake sympathy, just real, genuine empathy, and I felt that connection to the soles of my boots. I knew that was why the Universe had sent me there that day.Thatwas the connection I’d been meant to establish. And it’s okay if you don’t believe in any of the energy stuff, but I did—do—and that helped me. A lot.” He shrugged. “Just throwing that out, in case you needed to hear it.”
