Wanderlove Part 4

"I know how much it costs. Both Annika and Dakota attended this school, which, by the way, is in the nation's top ten percent for high performance. That's saying a lot for this state."

"This is ridiculous, Grams. I would be just as happy attending a public school. Which costs nothing."

Miriam groaned. I could sense she was becoming a little aggravated with me at this point. "I know you don't understand, Lola. But this is for my happiness, okay? To me, it doesn't seem like a waste of money because I know a good education pays off in the long run. So will you just let me sign the check?"

Grinding my teeth, I debated whether or not I should save my arguments. For some reason, this whole school thing was extremely important to Miriam. I could tell she wouldn't let it go easily. And I doubted I could talk her out of it. I could, however, simply provide her with a point blank "no." But I'm pretty sure that would just p.i.s.s her off.

"Fine," I sighed, caving.

She grinned and called for the dean.

He walked into the office moments later. As soon as he saw the smile lighting up my grandmother's face and the frown I adamantly wore, he perked right up.

The dean handed us a stack of papers to fill out, and then asked me for proof of identification and transcripts in order to add copies to my student record. Before my grandmother could voice any of the concerns that were clearly written across her features, I pulled a forged social security card and birth certificate from my bag and placed it on the desk. I then added a fake transcript to the stack. "Here you are," I told him, attempting to smile. The illegal doc.u.ments were some of the few items I had remembered to grab before I ran away. Miriam raised a skeptical brow, but decided not to say anything.

Later, when we were back in the car, she got it all out. "And just where did you get all those papers from, little girl?"

"Christo knows a man."

"You do realize that's a felony, don't you?"

I shrugged. "I'm a minor. Besides, if I had to get the real papers, I wouldn't be able to enroll by the fall semester. Applying for residency can take weeks. And citizens.h.i.+p takes even longer."

She considered this. "Well then, I suppose the papers you've got will do for now."

I hid my smile, thinking it was ironic that she had a huge problem with me not going to school, but it was completely okay that I lied in order to get in.

As we drove back home, I decided to ask Miriam about volunteer opportunities in the neighborhood. I'd been thinking about it and I figured that with the amount of crimes I've committed, I should probably find a way to repay for them. It would keep me busy, anyway. Being busy meant no time to think about Christo, something I desperately needed.

"I think there is a Habitat for Humanity office that's not far from here."

Miriam was quiet for a few moments. Then, out of the blue, she mentioned, "You know, Lo, you're not a bad person."

She patted my hand gingerly. It was a nice gesture, but it made me feel uncomfortable. She didn't know half of the things I'd done. And I definitely wasn't about to enlighten her with my sordid history. I may have become a thief because of my father, but mostly, I'd chosen to steal for my own selfish reasons. I was no better than he was. The only difference between us was that I was now beginning to feel repentant.

"Nonetheless, I think it's a good idea," Miriam added a few moments later. "The volunteer thing. If it relieves some of the guilt you're carrying, I am all for it."

Me too, I thought. Let's hope it helps. Because I don't want to feel this awful anymore.

FIVE.

The beach was surprisingly beautiful in its entirety. For the most, part it laid flat against the sh.o.r.e; the water was a dazzling color of turquoise, which darkened to a midnight blue as it deepened.

Nearing the water, I could see a school of stingrays swimming against a small wave. Miriam told me this was the season for them. They kept to the sh.o.r.e mostly. She told me I needn't worry if I decided to swim. Apparently, sting rays rarely bothered humans. Although she did mention to make sure I shuffled my feet whenever I stepped into the water. She called it "the sting ray shuffle." I'm pretty sure she named it that herself.

The serene atmosphere of the beach made my work bearable, enjoyable even, which was surprising. There was something internally satisfying about a day of physical labor. Maybe it was because I knew I would feel so relieved when I finished.

I was, however, a little disturbed to find out how much trash people left scattered along the sh.o.r.e. I watched (extremely annoyed) as a family of five picnicked on the beach and then left behind their wrappers and containers- a blatant disrespect for the marine life. Either that or they saw me coming and figured I was their own personal "clean-up crew."

The volunteers were made to watch a preliminary slide-show before being a.s.signed work. During the presentation, they talked about how thousands of marine animals die each year either because they eat trash, mistaking it for food, or because they become inescapably entangled in it and suffocated to death. I also remember hearing that marine habitats are continually being destroyed because of trash and bacterial contamination from sewage. I wanted to march over to the garbage-leaving family and shout these facts at them.

Even sadder was when the video displayed the effects of the oil spill. The slide showed a pitiful image of a deceased dolphin, decomposing on the rocks at Queen Bess Island, not too far from here. The dolphin was filled with oil. It was the saddest part of the film. I actually had to turn my head away from the television. I noticed a few of the other volunteers had also become a little emotional. Some were even teary-eyed. Those images continued to preoccupy my thoughts throughout the day.

Upon realizing that only a few pictures of dying animals could affect me, haunting my every thought, I heard the insecure voice inside my head say, Great, you're becoming some sort of tree-hugging do-gooder. Christo would disown you for sure.

I tried to think of some way I was benefiting myself for his sake. I smiled as I thought of how my pale skin would gain a healthy tan while I worked in the warmth of the sun every day. It would actually be a great benefit to me to have a little color in my cheeks. Miriam even remarked on how washed-out I've been looking lately.

There, Chris. Now you can see I'm not completely selfless. There's something in it for me.

Ugh, I should never have thought of Christo. Thinking of him always managed to bring a wave of guilt cras.h.i.+ng down over me. To make things worse, there were a few cl.u.s.ters of people enjoying the beach in my nearby proximity. There was no way I was going to let someone see me get all weepy. I'd had my fill of unexpected emerges of heart-breaking emotions for today.

I tried to block thoughts of Christo out of my mind. With all my might, I attempted to simply focus on my work. Somehow the physical pains of labor eased the awful discomfort I felt every time I thought of my father. Even if only a little.

As I concentrated on cleaning up the debris around me, I noticed the most peculiar thing. There was a line of soda cans spread along the sand, about five feet before the water met the sh.o.r.e. They were in a perfect little line, like a row of ducks.

Shaking my head, I began to pick each one up from the sand, curious to know what lunatic had decided to artfully leave their trash behind. I followed the trail of trash, wondering where it would lead to. It became tiring, the bending down, grabbing a can, bending down again, grabbing another can. I looked out into the distance. The trail seemed to stretch on for miles. It wasn't long before the whole process became an extremely aggravating ch.o.r.e.

After what seemed to be an hour, though was more than likely only twenty or so minutes pa.s.sing by, I finally was led to the pier near Miriam's house.

The trail of soda cans simply came to an end.

I spun around, looking for the culprit. No one was in sight. It was the weirdest, most useless endeavor I'd ever ensued in my life. Surely there must have been some reason the cans were spread out in a trail? Like a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, except maybe a pot of aluminum instead? But no, there was nothing there. No explanation for the culprit's insanity.

I searched the horizon. My vision wasn't crystal-clear without my gla.s.ses and I hadn't thought to bring them with me. But as far as I could see. . .just more nothingness. Nothing but a huge array of expensive yachts floating alongside the pier like water-bred mansions.

The sound of a distant hammering came from one the yachts. I listened closely, trying to scout out the sound. Eventually, I noticed a boat that stuck out like a sore thumb from the rest. A "fixer upper" would be the appropriate term for the pathetic looking pile of faded wood.

I thought I saw someone onboard, but I wasn't sure. I moved closer so I could see more clearly. I was bizarrely drawn to the c.r.a.ppy boat. Dimly, I noticed the name Sea Lily etched into its side panel.

Pretty name, I mused There was a man on board, a younger man. He looked like he was maybe a few years older than me. He held a hammer in his hands. From the way he was bent over, it looked like he was laying some flooring down on the interior. He turned slightly and his features came more clearly into view.

I think my heart stopped.

He had to be the most beautiful guy I'd ever seen. . .and for some inexplicable reason, he was the most intriguing guy I'd ever encountered. I couldn't tear my eyes away. I simply stared at him, gawking like a fool.

It didn't make sense, my captivation of him. It was almost like I'd never seen a handsome guy before. My family had its fair share of beautiful people. I would like to think I wasn't the least bit vain; however, I did recognize the fact that my family seemed to breed with exceedingly good genes. My father and most of my cousins encompa.s.sed an almost unreal celebrity type of gorgeousness about them.

But the guy I was staring at had something else about him entirely. It was almost an ethereal beauty, a presence that just captured my complete attention. I was hard pressed to say that maybe I was a little envious of him. That thought forced me to realize I was a just a tiny bit vain. . .

There was nothing so vastly different about him compared to all the men I'd ever encountered. He was slightly taller than average, I'd say about six-foot-two or so. He had dark brown hair and a bronzed complexion, probably due from the endless Florida suns.h.i.+ne. I couldn't tell what color his eyes were from where I was standing, though if I had to guess, I'd say they were a darker hue.

Curiously, there was nothing incredibly remarkable about him. Well, aside from the obvious perfection of his acquired muscle ma.s.s. He reminded me of the Grecian sculptures I visited while I was in Athens last summer. In truth, the man was perfect in every way possible. . .but I couldn't even begin to fathom why he outshone every other handsome man I'd ever come across. There was just something about him.

I had to move closer, so I could make sure my eyes were not deceiving me. My feet walked along the pier of their own accord, my eyes staying locked upon the young man. As I grew nearer, I realized he could sense my presence. I thought I saw him look up at me, but he quickly looked away. Weird. . .

When I reached his boat, he didn't stop working. I was clearly in his line of vision, but he continued to hammer at the flooring directly beneath him.

"Um, excuse me?" I called to him loudly, wondering what on earth I was going to say.

He eventually stopped hammering, straightening his body to his full height. He was altogether too breathtaking this close up.

He wore no shoes, some khaki shorts and a faded U.S. Navy t-s.h.i.+rt. I found myself wondering if he'd actually been in the Navy. He looked like the type, I supposed.

The man finally tossed the hammer down on the table beside him, squinting up at me through the sunlight. Gray, I noticed his eyes were a dark shade of gray.

His delayed reaction to my presence caused me to believe I was some kind of unwanted interruption. And now that I had his attention, my mind lost its course of action. I wanted to kick myself.

"Yes?" The deep baritone of his voice sent chills down my spine. I couldn't comprehend why he was affecting me to this extent.

Say something, my mind screamed. I looked away, back towards the golf cart, and noticed my trash bag. I finally remembered why I walked over to this part of the beach in the first place. Ask him about the cans!

"Um, I was wondering if I could ask you a question, if you have a moment?"

He merely nodded, imploring me to continue speaking. I still sensed I was interrupting him in some huge way.

My nervousness caused me to speak a little quickly. "Well, you see, I volunteer for Habitat for Humanity and I was helping to clean up this area of the beach today. Anyway, I came across this line of soda cans. It was the weirdest thing. There were a bazillion of them and they eventually led me to this pier. . ." I took a breath to calm my anxiety and waited for his confusion to take root. Thankfully, he just waited for me to finish speaking. "Well, I was wondering if, since you've been out here working on your boat and all, if you happened to catch sight of the person who is leaving all these cans behind?"

His face was without expression. He was proving to be exactly like the Grecian sculptures- carved out of stone.

Finally, he said, "Sorry. Didn't see anyone."

I waited for him to say more, feeling like an idiot. No other words escaped his perfect lips.

"Oh. . .really? n.o.body at all?"

It bothered me more than a little that he didn't seem as freaked out about these cans as I was. He could have at least provided me with some small portrayal of the bewilderment that I had felt at following a mile long trail of soda cans.

"Nope, no one."

His abruptness did not put me at ease. He even picked his hammer back up.

"Oh. Okay, well, thanks anyway."

"No problem," he replied, then turned his back to me.

While walking away, I became incredulous. I knew I shouldn't be surprised by his rudeness. The man was truly gorgeous. It was no wonder he acted like he did. Perhaps it bothered me so much because I was used to guys trying to pursue me, being extra sweet to please me and going out of their way to help me. Luca used to tell me in a very annoyed voice, "They fall all over themselves trying to win your favor."

I scratched my head in contemplation, wondering what went wrong. . .I guess I was a little sweaty today. Not to mention the guy on the boat had to be at least five or six years older than me. But still. . .it bothered me. In quick, heated strides, I s.n.a.t.c.hed up my bag of cans and walked back in the direction of the golf cart. At least Christo taught me to be more humble, I thought to myself resentfully.

After I thought about it and my temper had cooled somewhat, I became annoyed with myself for relating my confrontation with the beautiful man to my own looks and appeal. I needed to realize that I simply came into contact with someone who was just plain rude. There was nothing else to it. And if I didn't stop over a.n.a.lyzing everything, I was bound to pick up some bad traits of my own.

I smiled, feeling better. I would just forget the rude guy and finish what was left to clean up along the beach. There was no reason I should let something so insignificant affect me to this extent. I had more important tasks at hand. Like cleaning up the rest of this beach. . .

By the time my work was done, I was exhausted. But it was a good kind of exhaustion. The kind where one feels accomplished.

It wasn't until I had made it back to the house, showered and sat down to eat lunch before I figured out who the man on the boat was. I nearly choked on my turkey sandwich, remembering the arms that had been wrapped around me during the night of the storm were the same arms of the man on the boat today. It had almost slipped my mind, seeing the remnants of a tattoo sticking out from beneath the sleeve of his t-s.h.i.+rt. Some sort of tribal design. He was the angel!

Well, I suppose I could let the angel theory go now that I could see he was perfectly alive and human. There was just something about him. Something I wished I could put my finger on. . .

Nonchalantly, I strolled into the living room where Miriam was lying on the couch watching her soap opera. She had applied a cream mask applied to her face, the exact color of seaweed.

"You look like an alien," I remarked.

She arched a brow. "Lo, you really need work on your bluntness."

I smiled. I started to ask her about the angel/boat guy, but she put her finger up as if to tell me to hold on. Apparently, her soap opera was at some dramatic climax she didn't want me to interrupt. She was sitting on the edge of her seat in antic.i.p.ation. I drummed my fingers along the arm of the couch, waiting for the commercials. I couldn't help but feel irritated. I hated soap operas.

Finally, the commercials started and Miriam once again remembered I was alive and in the same room with her.

"Grams, I need to ask you a question about your neighbors who rescued me the night I came to Florida."

"What is it?" I couldn't be sure, but it looked like she stiffened, as if she were uncomfortable with me asking about her neighbors.

I decided to be direct with her. "Does one of them own a boat down by the pier?"

"Yes, I believe so. Gabe just bought an older speedboat he was planning to fix up, but I don't think he's got it running yet. Why?"

Gabe, like Gabriel. I almost laughed at the irony.

"I recognized him today when I was doing my volunteer work. He was there doing some handiwork on it. Hey, do you know--"

"Do you think that really works?" she asked, changing the subject and throwing me off. She pointed to the television at a commercial for some medical solution that supposedly makes your eyelashes grow.

"I don't know, Grams. Hey, he's kind of strange, isn't he?"

"Who?" she asked, caught up in the commercial. Or, at least she appeared caught up in the commercial. For some insane reason, I felt like she was purposely dodging my questions. Super annoying of her.

"Gabe, your neighbor, who helped rescue me."

"He's sort of quiet, I suppose. Why?"

I shook my head, remembering the scene on the beach. "He just struck me as odd. Not the very friendly type, you know?"

"You spoke to him?"

"Yeah, it's a long story. There were all these soda cans and I was only asking him if he knew--"

"That's nice dear. Tell me about it later?"

I couldn't believe her. Miriam had completely cut me off. Twice! One glance back at the television and I could see why. Her soap was back on. This conversation simply wasn't working. Giving up, I decided to go finish my lunch.

"Sure," I mumbled.