“Oh gosh, Levi, I’m so sorry. Really, I didn’t mean to make such a dreadful joke. Are you okay?” As she sputters apologies, her obvious discomfort gains my sympathy. “Can I do anything for you?”
“No, thanks,” he replies. “I’m fine.”
He digs his heel into the sand without looking at either of us.
“I’m so sorry, and so embarrassed,” she mumbles.
Eager to rescue her from her distress, I jump in.
“Hi, I’m Lindsey Hilliard. I moved into this house over the weekend.” I tip my head toward my little blue cottage.
“Oh, so you two are new neighbors?” Her tone lacks enthusiasm for my arrival. “I’m Elena. I live a few doors up. Where are you coming from? Are you married?”
Why must I dodge recurring marriage questions today?
“I’m from New York. I came alone.”
Levi studies my face while I speak with Elena. I shift in my chair, feeling overheated.
“If you have questions about the area, let me know,” Elena offers. “I’m happy to introduce you to the neighborhood. I’ve lived here for years. Lucky for me, I won the house in the divorce.” Her inauthentic smile reveals lingering pain, but she recovers and addresses Levi, whom she obviously covets. “I’m truly sorry for your loss, Levi.” She faces me. “Nice meeting you, Lindsey.” Her hand flits a little wave before she struts toward her house with a somewhat exaggerated feminine gait.
Levi rises, thankfully distracted and no longer interested in our prior discussion.
“Well, I’ve got some work to do.” His previously pleasant mood fades as he bends to pick up his surfboard. “Enjoy the afternoon.”
“I’m sorry, too . . . about your dad.” I bite my lip.
He pauses and examines my face. He looks like he might say something important, but then reconsiders. “Thanks, Lindsey.” Without fanfare, he trots up the steps to his house.
My magazine remains glued to my legs while I consider what I’ve discovered about him. I’m completely intrigued at how he went from being a poor, uneducated bartender to a wealthy homeowner. Although we’ve had only two brief encounters today, he’s less sarcastic and dismissive than I remember, though still obviously closed off.
Regardless, a smile breaks open. He said I looked familiar, which means I made a lasting impression in Florida. Maybe this is my second chance to prove I’m not the spoiled little rich girl he thought I was back then. Maybe, if I’m willing to put in some effort and risk another rejection, we can even become friends. I could use a friend out here.
I resolve to pluck the more courageous Lindsey from yesteryear and drop her in the present.
CHAPTER FIVE
Levi
Since the day my mama left, I’ve never lowered my guard or shared personal business with anyone. So I can only assume my piss-poor sleep this week led to my telling those women about Pop’s death.
Both gawked at me with their doe eyes, offering condolences. Well, I don’t want or need their pity. Regret taunts me while I spray off my board and lean it against the outer wall of the house.
I rinse the sand from my feet before going inside to peel off the wetsuit and wash away the salt water. As I enter the shower, Lindsey’s face pops into my mind. I can’t shake the feeling we’ve met before. She’d be tempting if she weren’t my neighbor. Just as well, since she makes me feel a bit unsteady. Soap and hot water ease the tightness from my skin and help me shed my edgy feelings.
While I’m dressing, I see the box containing Pop’s things again. I curl my fingers around the phony Rolex before inspecting it up close. It’s a superb fake, but the weight’s wrong.
How many hands did he shake while wearing it? Closing my eyes, I imagine him in the early stages of a con. He’d oh so subtly pull back his shirtsleeve, checking the time while revealing the “expensive” watch to perpetuate the myth of his own success. I know what he did is wrong, yet I smile at my daydream—at my memories of him playing the big shot.
Removing the Sinn U1 from my own wrist, I strap on his watch in its stead. Its iciness reminds me of the morgue. My nose tingles at that particular image, but I don’t shy away from it this time. In my own home, I can experience my feelings without consequence, unlike that first year after Mama left, when I’d ended up in brawls, defending myself against schoolyard taunts about my family. Didn’t take too long to learn to mask my emotions, and that habit sure pays off at the poker tables.
I flip open his wallet and withdraw the business card—Harper & Associates. Considering how little Pop kept, someone at that firm must be significant. I dial the number and wait for the receptionist to connect me with Mr. Harper. After a minute, an old Southern gentleman speaks.