Page 70 of The Love Shack

“I don’t mind.” Relaxed and smiling, she said, “I’m enjoying this enough that even a melted shake will be good.”

Yeah, he felt the same—because he was here with her. He started to get out the sandwiches, but hesitated. He set the bag aside, glanced at her, then turned toward her and leaned back on one elbow. “My mother was a train wreck.”

Berkley shifted to face him, saying nothing.

“A drunk. An addict. Sometimes worse.” Scooping sand into his hand, he considered his words. As he let it pour through his fingers, he added, “Both of my parents worked with a gang and different dealers. Nothing huge—mostly because they weren’t trustworthy. They’d do little jobs. Hide the product. Deliver it. It became this huge fight between us because I wouldn’t do the same.”

Berkley’s lips parted, then firmed. “They actually wanted you to—”

“First time they asked, I was fifteen.”

“I can’t imagine,” she whispered.

No, most people couldn’t, thank God. “When I refused, they accused me of not helping out.” They hadn’t given him money for lunch, and had refused to let him pack anything. Pressure tactics. “There were times...” Christ, he hated talking about this, only because it made him feel like that person he was back then. Still a boy on the threshold of being a man. Determined to be better than the examples he had. Desperately wishing he had a mom and a dad, instead of adversaries.

“I always felt like I was up against the world.”

Berkley stretched out next to him in much the same position. On her,in a dress, it was a sight to see.

She kept her voice soft when she said, “I’d had no idea. From the outside looking in, you seemed to have it together, like you were above it all.”

He touched her warm cheek, breathed in the fresh, sweet scent of her. “I worked wherever I could, but I couldn’t save my money at home. Mom or Dad would have found it. They trashed my room regularly looking for money. I couldn’t get a bank account without one of them signing on, not until I was eighteen, so I used to put the money in cans I got out of the garbage, and I’d bury it down by the river.”

“Resourceful.”

He half smiled. “A cop busted me once. He was a big guy, probably in his midfifties, out of shape and wheezing with every step. He thought I was doing something shady and was barking so many questions at me, I started feeling guilty, like I was burying a body or something.”

Humor teased her lips. “Is that what he thought?”

“Not sure. When I showed him my pay stub, proving the cash was mine, he sat down on this fallen tree and started asking me questions. Where I worked, why I didn’t get paid with a check, stuff like that.” Lawson rubbed his ear. He’d never shared any of this before. Not with anyone. “I wasn’t trying to rat out my parents, but I also didn’t want to get arrested.”

“I hope that didn’t happen.”

“No. He was a cool guy. Gave me a card and told me if things got too rough, to give him a call. He swore there were places that could help, but you know how that goes.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t.”

Lawson gave a gruff laugh. Thank God she didn’t know. Somehow, even while wasting away, her mother had managed to shield her. “Half the kids in our neighborhood were homeless, fostered or mistreated. The system is great when it works, but a lot of the time it doesn’t.”

Berkley surprised him with a hug. She simply put her arms around him, paying no attention to her dress, and squeezed him hard.

He started to tell her he was fine, but instead, he lowered to his back and returned the embrace.

On the beach, he reminded himself.Definitely not alone.Even now, he could hear distant voices. Still, it felt special, because he knew it wasn’t a show of pity, but understanding, the same that he’d given to her.

Trailing his fingers through her hair, he finished the story. “The cop suggested I find a better place to hide my money, because the river could swell with a hard rain, and my cans could float away. I hadn’t considered that. I had six months more before I turned eighteen and could get my own bank account, so I thanked him for the advice. After he left, I collected my cans—I had twelve of them—and put all the money in one.”

Berkley pressed back to see his face. “What if you’d gotten mugged?”

The setting sun created a shadowy halo around her, half hiding her expression. “Probably would have if I’d headed home. Instead, I went into the woods, found an old rotted tree stump and hid the money in there. The next day I bought a lockbox. Every so often, I found a new hiding place.” He was always careful that no one had followed him. “The day I turned eighteen, I had it out with my folks.”

Cautiously sitting up, her gaze studying his face, Berkley asked, “What does that mean?”

Damn. He’d enjoyed holding her, but he supposed being horizontal on a public beach in the town they lived in probably wasn’t a great idea. “I told them no more pressure to drag me into their messes.” He, too, sat up. “I wanted to finish school, so I said I’d pay them rent, but if they kept trying to involve me in their schemes, I’d leave.” He shook his head. “I knew they were both too far gone to get clean and hold down honest jobs. My mom looked twenty years older than she was. Sickly, like she’d just come off a bender. Honestly, I’d given up on them years before that. I’d tell myself that it didn’t matter, but it was a lie. It always mattered, too much.” He took a breath and stated, “I just didn’t let it stop me.”

This time her smile was small and tinged with sadness. “You amaze me.”

He huffed a laugh. “I have no idea why.”

---