Chapter 10
Merry stood beside the gravestone bearing her mother’s name. She stared at the letters and numbers etched into the smoky granite and battled the dueling emotions of sadness and anger. Holly stood beside her, buoyed by Ben’s strong arms. The couple was grieving the loss of their second child, a spark of unknown potential stolen from them by way of a miscarriage the doctors couldn’t explain. Yet despite her personal loss, there had been no question in Holly’s mind about coming here today to lay flowers on their mother’s grave.
Merry would have taken advantage of any opportunity not to come.
Holly slid her arm around Merry, and the sisters leaned into each other. “We did everything we could for her, Mer. You know we did. She made her own choices in the end.”
Merry squashed tears and nodded. Holly was right. They had done all they could, from the frustration of playing nursemaid, to the pain of tough love, to emotional interventions. Every effort had ended the same way, with their mother weeping and making promises she wasn’t strong enough to keep. Bouts in rehab had allowed the girls to see for a few weeks or months how things might be, if only. But recovery was short lived, old patterns proving impossible for their mother to break. Her addictions killed her in the end.
The wind kicked up, cold and brisk, stealing tendrils of hair from the clip Merry had used to pin a bun. She tucked the loose strands behind her ears and shoved her hands in the pockets of her black pea coat, thinking about the other night on the beach with Nick. She’d been wearing cutoffs and a tee shirt then, and Nick’s lightweight jacket—a far cry from the boots, jeans, and thick sweater beneath her wool coat now. The Gulf breeze, warm and balmy, had played with her hair, and Nick had kissed her for the first time. Now they were lovers, and he waited with Chula for her return. Merry’s heart skipped a beat. Something bloomed inside her, something she thought would never find her, in spite of her sunny-side-up mantra and insistence that silver linings were everywhere. It was hope. She felt hope. And for the first time in forever she believed she knew what that gift meant.
Merry leaned forward and rested her hands on the headstone. Brown and yellow leaves skittered across her boots and swirled around her mother’s grave. She bowed her head and whispered words of love and forgiveness, releasing the anger she’d held in her heart for so long. She had the chance now for a new beginning, and she refused to ruin it by accepting for even a moment those things best left to fly away in the wind.
“Thanks, Mom,” she whispered.
She hadn’t wanted to come here today, hadn’t wanted to stare down the past. But she had, and instead of pain had discovered the forgiveness inside her. She shrugged the heaviness of past burdens from her shoulders.
Ready and excited for a new beginning, she smiled. She had found her silver lining after all.
***
“Nick Brubaker, the sports guy?” Holly squealed and grabbed Merry’s arm. “C’mere. Let’s do an internet search on him. I can’t remember exactly what he looks like, just that he’s really hot.”
Merry exchanged an eye roll with Ben, a bearded ginger giant wearing a ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron. He kept himself planted at the kitchen stove putting the finishing touches on his famous chili.
“I don’t need to,” Merry said, laughing. “I already know how hot he is.” But she followed Holly down the hall to the spare bedroom used as a home office.
Holly plopped herself in the chair and tapped the keyboard, grinning up at Merry who stood beside her.
“It’s an ESPN clip,” Holly said, and a moment later Nick’s face appeared on the screen and his voice came through the speakers as he recounted the first half of some forgotten football game. Holly fanned herself. “He’s gorgeous, Mer.” She leaned forward on a close up. “Are his eyes brown?”
“They’re hazel, and they change color. Sometimes they’re green and gold.” They’re gold when he first wakes up, she thought, and after he kisses me.
“Great kisser?” Holly asked, as if she’d read Merry’s mind, and when Merry smiled, Holly grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes. Are you going to sleep with him?”
“That’s none of your business,” Merry said, and did her best to keep her expression neutral, but Holly gasped and jumped from the chair.
“You dirty girl! You’ve already done the deed.” She caught Merry by the shoulders and whispered, “How great was it?”
Merry laughed. “Pretty great. Okay, amazing. He’s amazing. He’s smart and kind. He let me come to the villa he’s staying in at the Casa Blanca even though I had Chula with me—she’s the stray dog I told you about. Didn’t pressure me for sex.”
“Apparently, he didn’t have to.”
“Not the first night. The second night it . . . felt right. He went with me when I took Chula to the assisted living facility to reunite with her previous owner. He was beyond sweet with Ruth, the old woman we were there to see. And Holly, he’s read my books. And not only read them. He understands why I write them, what they mean to me. He gets it, somehow.” Merry sighed, but couldn’t contain her smile. “I’m trying not to expect too much in the long run, but I can’t help it. I should be scared to death over this, and I’m not. I mean, I haven’t even known the guy a week yet, and I’m already over the moon for him. Being with him is—I don’t know how to explain it. It feels like we’ve known each other forever.”
“That’s how it was for me and Ben, remember? The day we met I called and told you I’d found the man I was going to marry. Five years later we’re still going strong. I’m thrilled for you, Mer. It’s about time you stepped out of faerie land and joined the real world. Tom was a lying asshole, but he’s not every man. It sounds like you found one of the good guys,” Holly said, and drew Merry into a hug.
“Chili’s on!” Ben’s voice called from the kitchen.
“So did you,” Merry said. “Let’s eat!”
***
Nick almost ignored Phoebe’s call, but knew it was pointless. She was nothing if not persistent and would ring back until he answered, even if it took her all night.
“Hey, Phoebe. What’s up?”
“Well, look at you, answering on the first call for a change.” He ignored her gibe and she kept on going. “This is your reminder call that you have a book signing in the morning. Everything is ready for you. All you have to do is show up. Did you forget?”
“Actually, I did,” Nick admitted. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Text me the details again, will you?”
“Of course. Full Scurvy costume, okay? I’ve told them you’ll do a reading and answer questions, too.”
“Thanks for being so generous with my time,” Nick said.
“Oh, stop trying to sound annoyed. You love playing the part, and you know it. Speaking of which, why hasn’t Scurvy responded yet to Merry Sunjoy’s tweet and her blog comment, hm? You really have to, you know.” Phoebe’s voice prodded Nick through the phone. “And you never got on Facebook like I suggested. One or two funny posts about her little books, that’s all you need to get the ball rolling there.”
“First off, they aren’t ‘little books.’ They’re popular children’s stories, and they’re damn good. My niece loves them. Second, I don’t care what her agent told you, Merry’s not into this ridiculous social media battle.” Nick opened the door for Chula and followed her swaying tail onto the patio. “And forget Facebook. It’s bad enough that I’m being a total dick on her blog and over Twitter. I won’t ruin Facebook for her, too.”
Phoebe’s sigh was so heavy Nick winced and pulled the phone away from his ear.
“Listen up, Romeo,” Phoebe said. “It’s clear that you’re smitten. But these comments on social media between you two are picking up a real following. Did you know there are now hashtag groups for Team Rickets and Team Sunjoy? Someone is selling tee shirts on Etsy, for heaven’s sake! This is selling books, Nick, raising visibility for both of you. And I was saving this little tidbit, but”—Phoebe gave a theatrical pause before blurting—“A certain late night talk show host is interested in having the two of you on together! That’s huge! I’m in talks with one of the producers.”
Nick flopped into a patio chair and sprawled his legs out in front of him. He turned on the speaker function and set the phone on the table so he could lift Chula onto his lap. He suffered her enthusiastic licks to his chin until she gave up and settled into a ball with her head resting on his knee.
“Nick? Did you hear me?”
“Yeah, yeah. I heard you.”
Phoebe was always in talks with somebody, which was one of the reasons Nick valued her as an agent. But he’d learned the hard way that nothing happened until it happened.
“Okay, look,” he said. “I’ll post one more comment on her blog and send one more tweet, but that’s it. After that, I’m done. I don’t care how many books it’s selling or how many late night talk show producers come calling.”
“She’s really gotten under your skin, eh, lover boy?” Phoebe’s amused chuckle made Nick smile. He scratched Chula behind her ears and ignored Phoebe’s teasing.
“Seriously, Nick, I hope this thing with Merry Sunjoy isn’t a flash in the pan. You deserve to have a life beyond Scurvy Rickets, though I do adore him and his scalawag bunch of pirates. So!” She huffed out another massive sigh. “You said you’ll send one more tweet and leave another blog comment. If they’re really your last, make ‘em count. How’s the book coming?”
“Slow to start, but picking up. I’m not only here to write, you know. I’m here to relax, too.”
“Relax after you’ve finished the first draft,” she said. “Ta-ta, handsome. I’ll be watching for Scurvy’s messages. Phoebe out!”
Nick remained where he was, staring at the pool and the Gulf waters to the west, until Chula’s weight began to numb his legs. He couldn’t procrastinate forever. He had to start thinking like Scurvy Rickets and reply to Merry. No point dragging it out.
He set Chula down, grabbed his phone, and headed inside to the wet bar for a little pre-Scurvy fortification. He downed a shot of Jameson and poured a dollop into a tumbler which he carried with him to the sofa. Chula jumped up and settled down beside him, watching his every move. He opened his laptop and brought up his Twitter account, staring at Merry’s last tweet.
Merry Sunjoy @MerrySunjoy 4 days @ScurvyRickets #PukefacedPirates rock but ur a bully. Barnacles to ur rosy red #Beanbottom, matey, cuz it's always sunny at #BookBlissBlog.
“What do I say to that, Chula? Any ideas?” Nick looked at the little dog. She returned his stare and thumped her tail. “That’s not helping,” he said. “Maybe we’ll skip Twitter for now. Let’s leave a blog comment first.”
He took Chula’s lack of response to be encouragement and clicked over to Merry Sunjoy’s Book-Bliss Blog for Parents Who Read to Their Kids.
Christ, he thought, what a mouthful, and smiled when he thought of Merry, wishing he’d been around to watch her come up with that lengthy blog title. He imagined her look of concentration as she tucked her soft hair behind her ears and jotted down the possibilities in a little notebook that probably had Tinkerbell on the cover, and that delicious dimple exposing itself every time she curved her gorgeous mouth.
“Well, that’s not helping either,” he murmured to Chula, shifting to a more comfortable position. Focus, idiot.
She had written:
Your work is both entertaining and significant, Mr. Rickets. It is you who are proving yourself to be neither. This is a civilized blog, not a sandbox for bullies. Play nice or walk the plank, sir.
Nick grinned. “God, she’s cute,” he said aloud, and looked at Chula who twitched her tail in agreement. Now, what the hell was he going to say that would make Scurvy’s fans happy but wouldn’t upset Merry Sunjoy?
He took a swig of his whiskey and considered his response, his mind wandering when he remembered spending the night on this very couch with the owner of that ridiculous blog. She had kissed him until his eyes crossed, and he knew he would’ve gotten lucky if it hadn’t been for the dog.
“You ruined everything, you mangy mutt,” he told Chula. She rolled onto her back and wagged her tail. He gave her a belly rub and sipped his Jameson, fully aware that he was procrastinating. “It doesn’t matter. I got lucky the next night.”
And the next morning, twice.
If the gods were feeling generous, he’d get lucky with Merry indefinitely—and not only in terms of sex, either, which was, surprisingly, not his end goal.
So what was his end goal?
Forever popped into his head and made it ache. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
He lifted the glass of whiskey to his lips, but an image of his father swam into his mind, and he set the tumbler on the coffee table without drinking and pushed it away.
Now, where was he? Merry Sunjoy and sex. Right.
Wrong. End goals. That was it.
“End goals.” He looked at Chula. “That’s the thing, Chula. End goals. Very important.”
He smiled and settled his fingers on the keyboard.
***
“That jackass Rickets!” Merry said the next morning and tossed her cell phone onto the kitchen table. She crossed her arms over her chest in a huff.
“Who?” Ben paused his spoon midway from the bowl of cereal to his mouth.
“Scurvy Rickets,” Holly answered. “He’s the guy—”
“Oh, right.” Ben chuckled. “The pirate guy. He’s funny as hell.”
“You can leave for work now,” Merry told him with a glare.
“It’s my day off,” Ben said, munching his Cheerios.
“What happened, Mer?” Holly slid a mug of coffee in front of Merry, grabbed one for herself, and sat at the table between her husband and sister.
“The idiot is delusional. You won’t believe what he’s said now.” Merry grabbed her phone and punched at the screen. “Okay, so do you remember in my blog comments where he insulted my books, called them ‘happy-happy joy-joy syrup’ and dissed me over the Newsome Award?”
“Right,” Holly said. “And then you called him a bully and told him to walk the plank.”
“Yes. He responded. Listen to this. Hold on, let me find it.” Merry scrolled on her phone. “Here we go. He wrote: Argh! ‘Tis a fine wench you are, Ms. Sunjoy, to be so complimentary of my work and then to suggest ‘playing nice’ or ‘walking the plank’. May I be so bold as to suggest we find a quiet corner to do both? I’ll be pleased to tutor you in the proper use and handling of a pirate’s plank. *wink wink* Your humble servant and plank-ster, Scurvy Rickets.”
Ben burst out laughing. Holly bit her lip and then covered her mouth with her hand, though her shoulders shook and her eyes watered.
“How can you laugh?” Merry demanded. “We both write books for kids. Kids! His plank reference is—is—inappropriate. And the jackass called me a wench!”
“He didn’t really say anything wrong,” Ben said.
“I’m not so naïve that I don’t know what he meant, and neither are you,” Merry said, frowning.
“The thing is, he didn’t technically say anything out of line. Not technically. An argument could be made that it isn’t his fault our minds automatically jumped to the conclusion that what he means by plank is his—”
Merry held up her hand. “Stop. I’ll gag.”
“Must be a pretty big ‘plank,’” Ben said, and broke out laughing again. He wiped tears from his eyes. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Dirty mind.” He carried his cereal bowl to the sink, chuckling the whole way.
“Did he write anything else?” Holly asked, trying not laugh.
“He tweeted,” Merry said. She sighed and tapped her phone again. “So in my last tweet to him I said—”
“I remember,” Ben said, dropping back into the chair. His cheeks were still ruddy from laughter, but it was clear to Merry that he was trying to work himself back into her good graces. “You called him a bully and cursed his ass with barnacles. His rosy red ass. Then you said the BBB is always sunny.”
“Correct,” Merry said. “Well, except that I didn’t use the word ‘ass.’”
“And he said . . .” Holly lifted her brows, bit her lip, and waited for Merry to read the tweet.
“He said: @MerrySunjoy u charmed the barnacles off my #Beanbottom. Seriously think I'm in love. #BookBlissBlog #FoundlingFaeries amazing & so are u.” Merry set the phone on the table and frowned. “Jerk.”
“What?” Ben leaned forward and made a face. “Why is he a jerk for that?”
“I agree with Ben. Why?” Holly said. “That was actually sweet.”
“I don’t believe you two. Whose side are you on?” Merry said. “Don’t you get it? He says something nice like that so he can use it to ridicule me later.”
“Well, I kind of get why you didn’t like the blog comment, even though it was funny, and you don’t know that he meant plank to mean—” Holly snapped off her words at the glower that came from Merry. “Okay, he probably did mean his—”
“Stop! We’re talking about Scurvy Rickets here. I don’t want to think about that man’s plank at all, ever, in any way.”
Holly grinned. “Okay, okay. But that tweet really is cute. It sounds like he’s offering an olive branch.”
“Or asking you out on a date,” Ben said, laughing. “Either way, I think Holly’s right. He’s trying to make peace.”
“Well he’s going to have to try harder than that,” Merry said.
***
Nick’s phone beeped, waking him from a sound sleep. Bleary eyed, he fumbled for his cell. A new tweet by Merry Sunjoy. Uh-oh.
Merry Sunjoy @MerrySunjoy 1 sec @ScurvyRickets Go pound sand.
Nick stared at his phone a full three seconds before the laughter began in his chest and worked its way out of his mouth. Apparently, the lady had had quite enough of his shenanigans, though why she had taken exception to his final tweet, he didn’t know. He clicked to her blog and scrolled down the line of comments until he found her reply to the message he had left last night. He reread it and cringed. He’d intended his little play on words to be cute and funny—and really, unless a person’s mind was in the gutter, he’d thought his comment was innocuous enough—but looking at it now, in the clear light of day, he realized he’d crossed the line with the plank remark.
He steeled himself for Merry’s response and scrolled down to it.
Mr. Rickets: First, this blog is G-rated. Keep that in mind. Second, there is no corner on Earth big enough for the both of us. Third, do not call me a wench again, ever. Fourth, do not wink at me again, virtually or otherwise. Fifth, I always play nice. Sixth, what you do with your plank is your own business, but keep that nasty thing to yourself. Most sincerely, Merry Sunjoy
Nick chuckled and considered his response. He began tapping the letters until he remembered that he had intended those messages last night to be his last. He backspaced and began again.
Ms. Sunjoy: One through six, well-stated and duly noted. Thank you for always playing nice even when I cross the line. Please accept my appreciation for weeks of delightful wordplay. Sorry if I came across as a bully, but I am a pirate, after all. Wishing you bountiful silver linings, sweet lady. Respectfully, Scurvy Rickets.
Nick stared at his response and sighed. The pirate in him rolled his eyes, groaned, and urged him to revise the message with something that had a little bite to it.
He supposed he’d end up with some disappointed Team Rickets members, but there was no help for it. He had to end this social media nonsense, and he was convinced that giving Merry the clear win was the way to do it. Even taking out of the equation the fact that he wanted to continue a relationship with her, knowing his comments and digs had honestly bothered her was enough to convince the gentleman in him to end the silly banter and let her take the win.
He’d be lying if he didn’t admit that he hated to lose, hated to go out with what amounted to a whimper. But Merry hadn’t started this back-and-forth idiocy, he had. He owed it to her to step back now.
His inner pirate bashed him for being pussy whipped, for letting down Team Rickets, for taking the easy way out.
Nick hesitated, battling with himself.
He posted the comment on Merry’s blog, then clicked over to Twitter where he responded to her go pound sand tweet. He pictured her face when she read his response, because there was no doubt she would put two and two together. He prayed she’d understand that, given his contract restrictions, he was telling her the truth about his alter ego the only way he knew how.
And he hoped it would be enough.