Page 26 of Enemies to Lobsters
“I’m working.” There’s shuffling on his end. “Why are you calling so late? Everything okay over there, Diana?”
I’m relieved that he doesn't sound like he’s nursing a grudge. And hewouldbe stacking wood—or whatever he’s doing—in the middle of the night. It probably belongs to his widowed neighbor. She’ll pay him in cookies, and he’ll donate the cookies to a soup kitchen. But wait. “How did you know it’s me?”
There’s a heavy thud on his end. “I know your voice.”
I don’t know why that information makes me smile. “Oh.”
“And the 212 number kinda gave you away,” he says with a grunt.
Oh, yeah. That.
“So…” he trails off, his voice strained.
“What are you doing out so late?” I smack my hand on my forehead. Then I rest it on my computer to remind myself of the one constant in my life—my hot boyfriend, Mac.
“Why? Do you miss me?” Ike’s voice is gravelly and strained.
“Ugh.” I can’t remember why I called this man. Oh, yeah. Humble pie. “I called to apologize for how I spoke to you earlier, but you know what? You’re fine.” I toss in my bed, punching my pillow to make it softer. “And the tide is up, but you’re a big boy. You can figure out how to get back to the island.”
“You’re worried about me.” His voice sounds so smug. “What a good wife.”
Then thunder cracks, so loud and close that I gasp. A second burst of simultaneous thunder and lightning crashes, and my heart is pounding.
“You okay?”
It takes me a second to find my voice. “Yeah?”
“You sure?”
Not in the least. “Yeah. I’m good.”
This time he sounds serious. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, Di.”
The jig is up. He knows I’m nervous, though I’m trying my level best to play it cool here. I’ve lived alone for a long time. I don’t get scared in the dark, and I navigate New York City by myself on a daily basis. But I’ve never ridden out a storm in a dilapidated house, yards away from the ocean. So my voice cracks a little when I say, “Don’t worry about it.”
Instead of letting my awkwardness slide like he did earlier, he chuckles in my ear. “That’s our deal. I live with you. I’m coming back.”
Chapter 13
Ike
Getting back onto the island last night was like something out of a sitcom, or World War II. I borrowed a little dinghy from my buddy Alan who owed me a favor, tossed it in the back of my truck, and by the time I dragged it up the shore and out of the water I felt like I had landed on Omaha Beach. I was drenched, beaten down, and panting after the trek across the dark, choppy ocean. I took on water. I had a close call with a lightning strike. It wasn’t my finest hour. That’s what I get for running away from Diana.
Now the sun is up. She’s holed up in her room, and I need to shower in a serious way. Yesterday she was up and out of the house before I woke up. Showering was a non-issue. Today, my options are to wake her up, or go to work smelling like I washed ashore with the seaweed during a storm—which I did. I check my watch again. I need to get moving.
I climb the stairs, hoping the creaking and cracking of the wood warns her that I’m coming up. The door at the top of the landing is open wide, which surprises me. That’s going to make this even more awkward. I reach the top step and try not to look into Diana’s room.
Let the record show that I tried.
But the tableau before me is impossible to ignore. Diana is curled sideways on her bed, wearing a surprising pair of pink shorts and a rumpled t-shirt. Her dark hair is tangled around her face, and her arm is draped across her computer like she’s hugging the thing.
The woman is spooning her laptop.
No one can know what I’m about to do.
I slide my phone out of my back pocket and take a picture. I grin at the screen and the innocent image of Diana York with her computer, which is about to become her contact photo. I’ve never seen her so relaxed. Peaceful. I almost like this softened version of her. It reminds me of our phone call during the storm last night. I can’t believe she called to apologize, but it’s even harder to believe that she was worried about me.
I shake my head. There’s no way. The most likely scenario was that she was scared by the storm, or annoyed that I seemed to be reneging on my agreement to live with her. The corners of her mouth turn up slightly in her sleep like she’s enjoying her dreams. Then she stirs, tightening her spoon around her laptop, and it finally occurs to me that I’m watching her like a total creep. I sneak across her bedroom and into the bathroom, closing the creaky door as quietly as possible.
