Dirty Game:A Secret Baby Sports Romance(2)

I smiled at the old timers huddled in the corner near the magazine rack.  They tipped their hats and refocused their attention on the smooth  pieces of wood they were whittling. Their rocking chairs gently rolled  on curly-cued pieces of new wood shavings.                       
       
           



       

I hauled the ice to the counter and paid. The clerk handed me the ice  receipt, but before I could make my way out of the door, I bumped into a  woman rushing through it. Bright nail polish flashed on her toes, on  display in her fluorescent flip-flops. Her earrings, obviously shells,  matched a print on her T-shirt. Her arm jangled with bracelets reaching  almost up to her elbow. The woman let out a shrill cry that could be  heard from the other side of the street.

"Sierra Emory! Little Sierra Emory."

I nodded meekly and smiled. Who in the hell was this woman?

"Well, shoot! I've been meaning to come down and say hi. I was so sorry  to hear about your aunt. But tickled you're going to be moving in."

"Oh I-I'm not … "

She cut me off.

"That house is gorgeous. Prettiest one on the island. I've always said that. Always."

"Thank you." I nodded, but wasn't sure what I was agreeing to. I had  already decided that as soon as I sorted through Aunt Lindy's things, I  was selling the house. I couldn't hold on to it and live in another  state.

"Why don't you join my husband and me tonight for some island-style cookin'?"

"Oh no, no. I couldn't impose on you like that."

I wasn't sure which was the more embarrassing route-to admit I didn't  know who she was, or the fact that it was the Fourth of July and I had  absolutely zero plans.

"You need to go ahead and learn this right now. I do not accept a no.  Your aunt knew that. So just plan on being at our house at seven  o'clock. It is the Fourth, and we know how to do it up right. Henry got  some clams today and we've got a plan for them. You'll love it."

I knew how to pick my battles, and it looked like I had already lost this one.

"Sure, ok. Thank you for inviting me."

"Oh, I'm so excited. I'll see you tonight."

"Oh, wait. I don't know where you live," I blurted out. Maybe she would get the hint I had no idea who she was.

"Honey, just drive toward Shell Point, and when you hear the music,  you'll know you're close to Shirley Lane. Henry named the street after  me." She flashed a big smile, and turned to avoid bumping into a  fisherman loaded down with a bag of bait and a fishing pole.

I watched as the woman climbed into a car and drove away. I gripped the bag of ice I had just purchased and faced the heat.

At least I had her name. And something to do tonight that didn't involve  going through old magazines and packing up clothes for Good Will.





3





Sierra





I sifted through my suitcase in search of two articles of clothing that  would complement each other, and make the best impression on the island  locals. I tossed a turquoise T-shirt on the floor.

I hadn't thought about red, white, and blue. I had no idea what to wear  to a clam dinner. Probably just some shorts and a top. But nothing  looked right. Why was the closest mall two hours away?

I was surprised I cared so much. Surprised that it mattered to me what  these people thought. People I had ignored and pretended didn't exist  for years.

But here I was faced with looking them in the eye tonight. They knew I  had missed my aunt's funeral. They knew I was locked up in this big  house cleaning out closets and tearing through drawers.

They knew I was from here. That I used to be a little girl with long  pigtails that ran barefoot across the shores of the sound. But I wasn't  that little girl any longer.

I had driven over that bridge when I was eighteen, never wanting to look back. I didn't want the island to define me.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror one last time and turned off the  light, realizing that no matter how hard I'd tried, the island had left  an imprint on me I could never escape.



A few minutes later I turned my car onto Shirley Lane.

I wasn't completely sure it was the right place. The front porch light wasn't on.

I scanned the front yard that Shirley described earlier at the store. I  huffed. No one around here liked to give addresses or phone numbers. I  was going to have to ring the bell and find out where Shirley lived.

Before I had even stepped one toe in the driveway, I heard a raucous  sing-along drowning out the lyrics of the music. I followed the sounds,  walking around the side of the house to discover a yard lit by tiki  torches. It was crowded with barefoot people. There was a huge open  flame pit dominated by a three-foot tall steaming pot.

Oh God. Half the island was here. I debated whether to join the crowd or  retreat to the car. This isn't what I thought Shirley meant by dinner. I  wasn't ready for this.

Shirley emerged from behind the singing masses.                       
       
           



       

"Oh, Sierra. Finally. We've been waiting for you." The hostess trapped  me in a bear hug. "I want to re-introduce you properly to the island.  Come on. Come on."

"I-uh." She tugged on me and I had no choice but to follow.

"Henry! Come over here. Leave that fire to the boys. I want you to meet  the Sierra Emory I was telling you about. Lindy's niece."

A tall, white-haired man with weathered skin and kind eyes handed off a  long stick he was using to stoke the fire and walked toward us.

"Shirls, who do we have here?"

"Hi." I extended my hand. "Thanks for having me tonight."

I handed Shirley a gallon of ice cream. It was the only thing I could think of to bring at the last minute.

Shirley's armful of bracelets shook as she took the treat. "Aww, you  shouldn't have. That is so sweet. Henry, isn't this sweet?" She handed  the ice cream to her husband. "I couldn't believe it when I ran into you  today. You want something to drink?"

"Sounds good." I nodded. Alcohol might be the only way to survived this.

"The tide's coming in and we don't have much beach here, so we had to  move the coolers to the boats to make room for the fire pit. We'll just  walk down there and get you something." Shirley extended an arm and  waved in the direction of the steaming pot.

After leading me across a grassy lawn and making introductions to the  corn hole players, Shirley guided me down a path to the narrow sandy  beach.

Shirley squealed and stopped the tour in front of a solid-built woman,  who looked to be about forty. Her sunglasses were perched on top of her  head, and she had a beer in one hand.

"Jojo, you remember Sierra Emory don't you?"

"Nice to see you again. How's it going at Lindy's?" Jojo asked.

Jojo had worked at the post office when I was growing up. My aunt would  stop by every afternoon and they talked. I never paid attention. For the  first time I wished I had. I had absolutely nothing to say to this  woman.

"It's good." I smiled. "Busy."

Shirley tugged on me. "Everyone's glad you're here."

"Yes, it is nice to have a little social activity for once this summer."

Jojo laughed. "Now that you know Shirley Lane, your social life will  never be dull again." She took a sip of beer. "Shirley, don't you think  there are a few more people we could introduce her to?"

I thought I caught a conspiratorial wink exchanged between the island women.

"Yep. Yep. I'm headed to get her some drinks right now." She turned  toward me, leading me away from Jojo and to the boats pulled ashore.

Three skiffs dotted the ebbing beach beyond the fire pit. The sterns  were lapped by incoming waves, and the bows were pulled high onto the  shore.

"Sierra, I'm right behind you. I forgot to tell Henry where to stash the  ice cream. Help yourself to whatever you'd like." She pointed to the  boat lineup. "I'll be right back." Turning on her heels, she scampered  off to find Henry.

Why were all of the drinks on the boat? This was ridiculous. I continued  the search for drinks. I wondered if there was anything other than  beer. Just one drink and I was out of here.

"Blake, catch!" A deep voice called out from the farthest boat just as I  was knocked to the ground by a figure running backward. All I could  make out were outstretched arms and an airborne can of Bud Light.

"Score!" the receiver yelled, holding his beer can in the air and flashing a smile after his twenty-yard reception.

"Hey! Not so fast with your victory dance, quarterback." I fumed from the sand.

An islander spun around, casting a shadow across my face.

"Let me help you up. I'm really sorry." He extended a hand.

Brushing the sand from my legs and assessing the damage, I pulled myself up.

"Sorry?" Who in the hell knocks a girl down like that?