Page 60 of Crocodile Tears
Deacon
The rain lashed against the car windows as the driver pulled up to Petey’s boat shed.
“Are you sure you want me to leave you here, sir?” the driver asked, looking at me skeptically through the rearview mirror. “I can take you to a hotel or something for the night if?—”
“We can stay in the boathouse. It’s fine,” Dove assured. I gaped from the rusted tin shed back to her confused expression. “What? He has a cot and some sleeping bags. The twins and I used to sleep over here all the time as teens. And then we’ll be ready to catch the boat in the morning.”
And here I was thinking the monkey house was bad . . .
I shook my head. A sudden springtime thunderstorm had blown in on the drive up from New York. Dove and I hadn’t managed to get out of my bed for another eight blissful hours, and so by the time we’d made it to the shoreline, it had alreadybeen nightfall, and with the storm, there would be no passage across to Prickle Island until the morning.
Still, Dove had insisted that we get there at first light to help out at the zoo. There was that dogged loyalty to her family again. It was one of the many,manythings I loved about her. She and I both knew the importance of family, and for a brief second I wondered what kind of one the two of us could make together. My squeeze of her hand was my only acknowledgment.
When Dove went to open the door, I tugged her back into the car. “Are you sure about this?” I shouted to be heard over the galing winds. “You want to stay in aboathouseduring ahurricane?”
“It’s a mild thunderstorm,” she countered as a loud roll of thunder made the whole SUV tremble. “If you want to go stay in a fancy hotel, you can, but I’m going to stay here so I can get back to the island at dawn.”
Defeated, I scrubbed a hand down my face, knowing every second with her was going to be an adventure.
“Alright,” I relented. “I guess we’re staying here tonight.”
She smiled at me as lightning flashed overhead. The driver went to get out, and Dove called, “We’ve got it, Mike. You don’t want to drive back all wet.” She gave him a pat on the shoulder before opening her door again to the torrent of rain. “Have a safe drive home.”
“Thank you, Ms. Lachlan,” Mike replied.
When had Dove learned his name? The car service switched drivers all the time, and at some point I’d just stopped asking. It was one of those jarring moments for me, as if I suddenly realized what my life had become. So many people wanted a piece of me that I’d started treating everyone like they did. I didn’t want to be that way anymore. Like a sharp jolt of awareness, it took Dove being in my life to finally wake me up.
“Thanks, Mike,” I said as I raced to the trunk of the car to grab our bags.
Dove was already attempting to carry both, and I swiftly scooped them out of her grip as we dashed to the front door, huddled together under the tiny overhang to avoid the rain.
“Please tell me you have a key,” I pleaded as Mike pulled away, leaving us plunged into darkness. I pulled out my phone and used the flashlight to illuminate the door.
Dove lifted on her toes, fingers feeling across the lip of the door. She adorably stuck her tongue out in concentration as she felt her way along the ledge. “Got it,” she declared, holding out the key in victory.
“Very safe.”
“Who’s going to break into a dilapidated old boathouse?” she asked incredulously. “What are they going to steal, Petey’s rusty tools and expired tins of food?”
“You’re really not selling me on this place.”
“Apologies, it’s not the Ritz,” she jeered, opening the door.
We stumbled inside, and she found a few candles in a drawer, lighting them until the shadows disappeared, revealing the boat shed. It was something straight out ofHoarders. There were boxes of tools and knickknacks stacked to one side, a cot, a balled-up inflatable mattress, and some blankets to the other. Old built-in cabinets were pulling on rusty nails, hanging from the wall. And a beat-up armchair sat in the corner next to the smallest TV I’d ever seen.
As I surveyed the space, I murmured, “You know, this reminds me a lot of my first apartment in New York. Except cleaner and probably with fewer pests.”
Dove chuckled. “See? Just like home.” She wrung out her dripping wet hair. “We should probably get changed into some warmer clothes.”
I bridged the distance, pulling her into a slow, lingering kiss. “I have a better way to heat each other up.”
She laughed. “First we need to eat,” she rebuffed, holding aloft the plastic bag of Chinese food that we’d made Mike pull over to acquire. Steam swirled from the containers in the chilly room. “No one wants to eat cold fried rice.”
“Agreed. And I doubt there’s a microwave in here.”
“Nope,” she replied as I rubbed my hands together. “There are a couple fleece jackets hanging on the hook over there.” She pointed to the coatrack in the corner stuffed with all sorts of rain jackets and winter coats.
We sat in Petey’s giant fleece jackets and ate takeout on the creaking floor, surrounded by the light of a dozen candle nubs. The sound of waves lashing against the shore roared outside, the occasional sea spray misting the fogged windows. It was like Dove and I were in another world.
