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13
I havea quick rinse in a steaming hot shower, scrubbing off the salt and the sand.
In my bedroom I pull on a pair of cotton shorts and a Save the Turtles tank top and put my wet hair in a bun on top of my head. I look at myself in the mirror. No makeup, no cute dress, no styled hair. It’s just me, looking like I do when I’m lounging at home or going to bed.
What does it matter? It’s not as if I’m trying to impress Declan.
Five minutes has passed since I left him in the kitchen. I step around my queen bed and open my closet door. I shove aside a dozen dresses and pull out a large cardboard box. I kneel next to it and open the flaps.
A little cloud of dust floats up and hangs in the air for a moment. There’s a peculiar feeling itching over my skin. I rinsed all the salt water off, so the itch must be because this is the first time I’ve opened this box since Theo and I broke up three years ago. He left the island shortly after we broke up and I never had the heart to throw his things away.
There are his reggae vinyl records, his snorkel and fins, his toothbrush, his favorite brand of sunscreen, a Rubik’s cube he swore he’d finish someday, and a few pairs of shorts and T-shirts. All the clothing is folded neatly and everything else is stacked in a precise row.
Looking at it makes me uncomfortable. I remember the exact day I put all this away. It was a month after Theo left, and I still thought that he might come back. I never opened it again, but now I see, that lonely hope was still there, hidden, but waiting.
I shake my head at myself and wipe my hand over my face. Putting the maudlin aside.
I grab the T-shirt and pair of shorts on top of the pile and kick the box back into the back of the closet.
Then there’s a loud bang. I jump.
“What the…?”
Bang.
There it is again. And again. It’s a rhythmic thud and banging noise. It sounds like a…hammer?
I put the clothes under my arm and hurry down the hall.
When I come out in the living room, sure enough, there’s Declan with a hammer. His back’s to me. He has my toolkit at his feet and my hammer in his hand. He pulls the hammer back and thwacks the molding around my grandpa’s built-in bookshelves.
“What are you doing?” I say.
He swings around quickly. There’s a look of surprise on his face, although I’m not sure why he’s surprised since he’s whacking my wall with a hammer and making enough noise to wake the whole hilltop.
I point at the hammer in his hand. “Why do you have my hammer?”
He looks down at the hammer like he’s actually surprised that he’s holding it. Then he looks back up at me and there’s such a guilty expression on his face that I almost start to laugh.
“The molding was loose. It was tilted a centimeter to the right,” he says stiffly, as if this is a perfect explanation as to why he pulled out my toolbox and started hammering away.
“So, you thought it best to what? Find my toolbox in the hall closet and start hammering nails?” I lift my eyebrows.
He blinks at me slowly and I’m not sure that he heard what I said. Mainly because he’s staring at my Save the Turtles tank top and cotton shorts. He has a funny look on his face.
That’s when I realize that maybe not trying to impress Declan was the wrong move. Because my tank top is loose and sometimes flashes the edges and tops of my breasts, and my cotton shorts are so worn as to be almost see-through.
Right.
I clear my throat and Declan shakes his head and quickly looks back at my face. I’ve never seen him so uncomfortable.
He carefully sets the hammer on the nearest open space in the bookshelf.
“Careful of the turtle,” I say quickly.
The glass turtle that Michael got me is right next to the head of the hammer. Declan’s eyes flicker back to mine, his mouth forms an almost smile and he nods at me.
“I thought your grandpa would want his shelves to be straight. I apologize for the presumption,” he says.
It’s my turn to feel uncomfortable. That’s actually…really nice.
For lack of anything better to say, I tell him, “Thank you.”
Then I hold out the clothing in front of me. They’re sort of like a shield so that I don’t have to feel this basket-full of confusion I get handed whenever I’m around Declan.
“You can grab a quick shower and change into these. They should fit.” I thrust the shorts and T-shirt at him.
He takes them and when he does his hand brushes over mine. My eyes widen. What the heck? I try to swallow but my throat is too dry.
“Your boyfriend’s?” he asks.
“Ex,” I say. “Three years, ex.”
His expression doesn’t change, so I’m not sure why I felt the need to clarify.
The silence is thick and the newly painted coral walls seem too bold and bright.
Declan makes the first move. He steps around me, toward the hall.
“Thank you,” he says. I stare at the newly fixed molding and listen to his footsteps walk across my squeaky, old, wood-planked floor.
He pauses. “Isla?”
I don’t turn around. “Yes?” I hold my breath. My eyes widen and I try to keep my shoulders relaxed and my hands unclenched.
“The tea is ready.”
I blow out my breath and close my eyes. “Okay. Thanks.”
Jeez. Jeez.
What is wrong with me?
