Page 7 of Made For You

I get up and grab my glass of wine. “Have a great night, Beatrice’s dad.” I tilt my head to the side. “Enjoy your pie.”

I turn around and walk away, not giving him a chance to ruin the night. I step into the cabin going down the two steps. My phone is ringing from the top of the table, so I step up the two steps, sit on the couch, and see it’s Franny calling, FaceTiming me. I smile big, pressing connect. The little circle goes around and around as it connects us. “Well, well, well,” Franny says, putting her face to the phone. “There she is, Captain.”

I laugh at her, getting up and walking over to the counter to grab the bottle of white wine I opened when I sat down to eat my dinner of apple pie. “I’m not a captain yet,” I remind her, replenishing my glass. “I think I need something like ten years’ experience or something like that.”

“Show me the boat,” Franny urges, clapping her hands. “Let me see everything.”

“With pleasure,” I reply, grabbing the phone in one hand and my wine in the other. “So this”—I turn it around and walk back to the door—“is bedroom number one.” I open the door and step down. “I just redid the bed.” I tell her of the new cover and throw pillows I bought. I show her the whole boat and then finally sit in the middle of my bed. “And look at this.” I lie down on the bed and show her the window that I can see the stars out of. “Isn’t it pretty?”

“Wilson.” I hear her whisper-shout and he comes into the room. “Can we buy a boat?”

“Oh, here we go,” he says, coming to look in the phone. “How are you doing? Are you seasick yet?”

“Not even a bit. You need to buy a boat,” I state to him. “And kick the guy next to me out. He’s such a grumpy little shit.” I look at them and Franny’s eyes go big as she listens to me bitch about the guy next to me. “The only good thing about him is…”

“Is his dick?” Franny fills in for me and Wilson just gives her a side look. “What? I don’t know if she picked him up and made him happy. Who knows, she might turn that frown upside down?” She laughs. “Look at how I turned you. You barely smiled before and now you beam with sunshine.” She shrugs. “You’re welcome.” She turns to look back at me. “Please continue.”

“It is not his dick,” I inform both of them. “He has the sweetest dog.” I put my hand on my chest. “I don’t even know his fucking name,” I tell her, taking another drink of wine and neither of them interrupt me. “I introduced myself and what did he say?” I ask them and they both look at me. “He nodded!” I say, frustrated. “Who doesn’t give the other person a name?”

“Maybe he’s wanted by the mob,” Wilson suggests and Franny just looks over at him.

“You need to stop hanging around with the men in my family,” she huffs.

“Maybe he’s on the run because he killed his family and drove across country with his wife’s head on top of his—” He opens his mouth and she puts her hand over it.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Franny asks. “You really need to lay off those crime podcasts.”

“You are both literally insane,” I inform them. “He doesn’t look like a killer. Nor does he look like he’s running away from the mob.”

“How the hell would you know?” they both say at the same time.

“I don’t know, but I’m assuming if he is one of those things, would he be on a boat?” I look from Franny too Wilson.

“Of course he would,” Wilson snaps out as he slaps the table. “No one is going to find you.” He smirks at me. “Have you told your father yet?”

“No,” I retort, “there is no need to tell him anything.” I point my finger to the screen. “I swear to God, if either of you tell him even one word.” I glare. “I will cut you.”

“And you wonder why he’s not talking to you.” Franny laughs. “Seriously though, Vi, are you really staying on that boat?”

“Yes,” I tell them both. “Why wouldn’t I stay on my boat?”

“Well, for one, you have a serial killer who is wanted by the mob living next to you,” Wilson says. “And—and”—his voice starts to rise a bit—“if your father finds that out…poof.” He puts his hands to his head and pretends his head explodes.

“My father is not going to find out anything,” I assure him. “Because, well, one, he’s not a serial killer but maybe he’s wanted by the mob.” I put my hand on my lips. “Or maybe Snow White has lost one of her men and he lives next door to me.” I look at Franny, who tries to roll her lips to stop from laughing. “Did I tell you he got pissed off that I bought him an apple pie?” Franny gasps. “I know!” I shriek. “Who doesn’t love apple pie?”

“I’m more of a blueberry kind of guy myself,” Wilson says.

I glare at him. “No one asked you,” I hiss between clenched teeth. “Now I’m going to take a nice hot shower and then…”

“You are going to lock the doors, and do you have a stick?” Wilson asks me and I just look at him, confused. “You put it behind the bottom of the sliding door. It makes it impossible to slide open.” He folds his arms over his chest as if he just told me the biggest secret. “What?” he asks me, and Franny laughs. “You know that trick.”

“We learned that when we were five.” I hold up my hand. “It was part of the summer fun program we took about being safe.” Wilson laughs now. “Anyway, I’ll be fine.”

“Do you even have an alarm?” Franny asks me and I shake my head.

“No, but you can’t get in here unless you have a key for the gate,” I reassure her, “so it’s safe.”

“Yeah, and no one can climb a gate,” Wilson says, rolling his eyes.

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