right, let me get goin’.” Eventually, this
call would circle back to Emmy and his whereabouts. He had to cut her short. It was
better for her sake if she didn’t know where he was, just in case Allan did call and
try to pester it out of her.
“Love you, darlin’. Call me if you need to.”
“You too. I’ll call later in the week.” He usually tried to check in with her at least
once a week. Those check-ins are what had prompted this call. He wanted to talk to
her before Allan tried to reach her first.
“I’ll tell your father you said hello.” The words hung in the air.
“Ok, Mama, bye.” Evan left his phone on the table. His father wouldn’t return the
sentiment. They hadn’t spoken on the phone unless it was because the proud Texan accidentally
answered when Evan called.
Joe Carlson hadn’t quite gotten over the fact that his son turned down an opportunity
to play professional football for a chance to chase imaginary bad guys and gorgeous
women in pictures. It wasn’t that Evan didn’t love football, but at best he would
be a second string quarterback, more likely a tight end on a low budget team. It was
the concussions that scared him more than anything. He had had three: one in high
school and two in college. And he knew the ones coming from the pros would leave a
much deeper impact.
At first, a local department store asked if he would model for them, next it was a
national chain store, until somehow he wound up with an agent pitching him for small
parts in action films.
He fell into acting as easily as he could read an oncoming blitz. He never knew he
needed that creative outlet until he held the first script in his hands. There was
something exhilarating about creating life in the words on a page. He took his roles
seriously and approached each performance with intense focus.
He didn’t tell his father right away that he wasn’t entering the draft. He told his
mother. They both knew she could soften the blow. The way she handled a crisis was
impressive.
Evan wedged himself in the shower. He meant to ask Shug yesterday why the water turned
off so quickly. He didn’t think the entire shower had lasted ten minutes. He made
a mental note to stop by the office later today.
Sufficiently soaped and rinsed, he wrapped a towel around his waist. It was after
one, and he wanted to head back into the village. As much as he enjoyed the junk food
binge yesterday, he needed to make another store run and stock Silver Belle with some
proper groceries.
He dove headfirst into a white T-shirt and pulled a pair of khaki shorts to his hip
before fastening them. The new flip-flops felt funny between his toes, but when in
Rome, he thought.
He grabbed the keys to his Jeep and slid his sunglasses on. The blaring sun hit him
right between the eyes. Ibuprofen would be first on today’s list. He cranked the Jeep
and turned toward the village.
I T DIDN’T bother her that on her one day off it was raining. Haven pulled her wrap a little
tighter against her chest and repositioned a pillow behind her back. The ocean looked
flat. The raindrops beat steadily against its waves, creating the illusion that it
was calm. Haven knew it was anything but calm.
She could sit here all day rocking in the hammock with her guitar and notebook of
songs. She was tucked against the side of the house, protected from the wind while
the thunderstorm raged on around her.
The way you felt against my lips
The way you—
She changed the key and tried the notes again.
The way you held that kiss
It didn’t seem right. It didn’t feel right. Her stomach turned. Just like kissing
Travis, this song was wrong. She scratched through the words until they were illegible.
You want to clip my wings
Keep me in your cage
But that’s not who I am
And that’s not who I’ll be
Her fingers fell into a rhythm on the guitar as the words tumbled from
call would circle back to Emmy and his whereabouts. He had to cut her short. It was
better for her sake if she didn’t know where he was, just in case Allan did call and
try to pester it out of her.
“Love you, darlin’. Call me if you need to.”
“You too. I’ll call later in the week.” He usually tried to check in with her at least
once a week. Those check-ins are what had prompted this call. He wanted to talk to
her before Allan tried to reach her first.
“I’ll tell your father you said hello.” The words hung in the air.
“Ok, Mama, bye.” Evan left his phone on the table. His father wouldn’t return the
sentiment. They hadn’t spoken on the phone unless it was because the proud Texan accidentally
answered when Evan called.
Joe Carlson hadn’t quite gotten over the fact that his son turned down an opportunity
to play professional football for a chance to chase imaginary bad guys and gorgeous
women in pictures. It wasn’t that Evan didn’t love football, but at best he would
be a second string quarterback, more likely a tight end on a low budget team. It was
the concussions that scared him more than anything. He had had three: one in high
school and two in college. And he knew the ones coming from the pros would leave a
much deeper impact.
At first, a local department store asked if he would model for them, next it was a
national chain store, until somehow he wound up with an agent pitching him for small
parts in action films.
He fell into acting as easily as he could read an oncoming blitz. He never knew he
needed that creative outlet until he held the first script in his hands. There was
something exhilarating about creating life in the words on a page. He took his roles
seriously and approached each performance with intense focus.
He didn’t tell his father right away that he wasn’t entering the draft. He told his
mother. They both knew she could soften the blow. The way she handled a crisis was
impressive.
Evan wedged himself in the shower. He meant to ask Shug yesterday why the water turned
off so quickly. He didn’t think the entire shower had lasted ten minutes. He made
a mental note to stop by the office later today.
Sufficiently soaped and rinsed, he wrapped a towel around his waist. It was after
one, and he wanted to head back into the village. As much as he enjoyed the junk food
binge yesterday, he needed to make another store run and stock Silver Belle with some
proper groceries.
He dove headfirst into a white T-shirt and pulled a pair of khaki shorts to his hip
before fastening them. The new flip-flops felt funny between his toes, but when in
Rome, he thought.
He grabbed the keys to his Jeep and slid his sunglasses on. The blaring sun hit him
right between the eyes. Ibuprofen would be first on today’s list. He cranked the Jeep
and turned toward the village.
I T DIDN’T bother her that on her one day off it was raining. Haven pulled her wrap a little
tighter against her chest and repositioned a pillow behind her back. The ocean looked
flat. The raindrops beat steadily against its waves, creating the illusion that it
was calm. Haven knew it was anything but calm.
She could sit here all day rocking in the hammock with her guitar and notebook of
songs. She was tucked against the side of the house, protected from the wind while
the thunderstorm raged on around her.
The way you felt against my lips
The way you—
She changed the key and tried the notes again.
The way you held that kiss
It didn’t seem right. It didn’t feel right. Her stomach turned. Just like kissing
Travis, this song was wrong. She scratched through the words until they were illegible.
You want to clip my wings
Keep me in your cage
But that’s not who I am
And that’s not who I’ll be
Her fingers fell into a rhythm on the guitar as the words tumbled from