SADIE BANKS
THE OUTFIT I WAS WEARING might very well have been worth more than the small beach shack Harvey had left me in his will.
It felt strange to be wearing something so expensive, and I couldn’t help but stare at my reflection in the water-stained glass.
The fifty-something-year-old suit standing behind me was staring, too. I didn’t blame him. If I were him, I’d be looking, too.
Even I had to admit I looked hot.
The little black dress was Chanel. The stockings, French silk. The fuck-me pumps, Louboutin. And all three made my legs look like stilts.
Severance looked good on me.
The tags were still attached, but well hidden. I’d sell the outfit on Poshmark tomorrow, but for tonight, it was mine.
I deserved it.
Once I closed my umbrella, the suit opened the door for me. I tossed him an appreciative smile, but I never glanced back.
Tonight I wanted unpolished, rugged, and wild, which he was not. It had been way too long since I’d had any kind of physical connection with anyone, and I just needed something to remind me I was alive.
Way overdressed for a place like this, I didn’t care. Scanning the crowd, I wove my way through the closely set tables toward the bar. Moon Shadows was packed, and once I finally sat on a stool, I grabbed for the cocktail menu.
As was usual, I would limit myself to one drink, so I wanted it to be a good one. I crossed my legs as I glanced at my choices. When I shifted, I could feel the hem of my dress ride up a little. I knew my stockings, held up by a garter belt of wispy lace, could be seen.
Hey, they were also part of the severance, so I figured why not.
Deciding what I wanted, I waved the bartender over. He was older, tall, and thin. So grizzled from the sun, I surmised he must have lived on Moon Island for most of his life.
“You’re not from around here.” It wasn’t a question.
I knew better than to tell him he was wrong. Telling him I’d spent the first seventeen years of my unhappy life on this small island would only bring more questions and inevitably drudge up the unwelcome stare my infamous father’s name always brought. Instead of answering with full disclosure, I molded my answer to be somewhat truthful. “I’m here on business.”
“Well, business lady, what can I get you?” he asked.
Oh, so many things.
A job.
Money.
A life.
Something to live for.
“A margarita,” I told him.
When he brought me the salt-rimmed, enormous margarita glass with a perfect piece of lime floating on top of flakes of ice, it almost looked too good to sip.
“Do you want to start a tab?” he asked.
Just one, I reminded myself.
I shook my head and reached into my purse for my wallet.
“It’s on me.” I swung my gaze to the right and found the suit who opened the door for me earlier, and he was leaning on the bar with a twenty in his hand.
“I appreciate it,” I said, “but I always pay my own way.”
“That’s unfortunate. Maybe tonight you could make an exception.”
“I don’t think so.”
He set the money down on the bar and ignored me. “Just one drink. You’re alone and I’m alone, so why not—”
“Are you hitting on my date?”
The suit and I turned, and both of our jaws dropped. I knew we each had different reasons. His was probably surprise. Mine was absolute shock.
That blond hair. The diamond stud earring. Those piercing blue eyes. And the way he towered over me even though I was seated on a high stool. I knew this man, or I had known him as a boy, anyway.
He set his hard stare on the suit and waited.
“No,” the suit responded, and casually backed away.
Still in a state of shock, my gaze darted up.
Simon McCoy.
The town rebel. The airline mechanic’s son with the sticky fingers. A friend when I’d needed a friend the most. It had been twelve years since I’d seen him. Twelve years since I’d made that call. Twelve years since everything in this town changed—because of me.
Did he know?
He gave me a smile, and I knew he didn’t because if he did he wouldn’t be smiling—he’d be frowning.
I lifted my drink and tried to play it cool. “Well, if it isn’t the thief,” I said, and took my first sip.
He allowed his gaze to roam over me. “And if it isn’t the good girl,” he quipped back, setting down his tall glass of dark beer.
I smiled, and it was the first time I’d smiled a real smile in a very long time. No one had called me that in a very long time.
Like long lost friends, we embraced, and then he took a seat beside me. “What have you been up to?” I asked. “Still stealing for a living?”
It was bold, but that was the candid kind of relationship we’d shared as kids and later as teenagers. During both stages of our lives, we’d been forced to spend a lot of time together, and our relationship had resembled one more like brother and sister.
My father had been the head pilot for Moongate, and his father had maintained the planes. Along with Harvey Winchester, the three of them owned the small, private airline that shuttled commuters between Savannah and Miami.
Simon and I were often stranded at the hangar to wait for our fathers to finish their shifts. During those endless hours when Harvey wasn’t around to bring us to his house, Simon tried to teach me how to pickpocket and I attempted to convince him to be a good boy. Neither one of us was ever very successful.
In the end, I ran away and worked night and day just to eat and have a place to sleep, and he ended up in jail.
Simon laughed. “Believe it or not, I’ve gotten my act together. I even got my pilot’s license. What about you? Still wearing white cotton panties?”
I raised a brow and glanced down.
Both his brows popped. “Guess not,” he answered for me with a sly grin when he saw the lace of my garter belt.
There was a ping of remorse that rippled through me for the innocence I had once possessed and then been forced to lose. The thought had me taking another sip of my drink. It tasted good. Really good.
“What are you doing back in town?” I asked. “I heard you moved out of the country.”
Casually, he leaned against the bar. “I did, but I had to return to the old red, white, and blue to prepare to start Moongate operations back up.”
I smiled again, holding back an ironic laugh. “You’re kidding me, right?” The small, private airline had been shut down ever since the owner and both of our fathers went to prison.
Because of me.
Because of the call I’d made.
With utter seriousness, he shook his head. “It’s no joke.”
“Really?” I said. “I thought I read somewhere it was being looked at by some tycoon from the Caribbean, but he passed?”
He pointed to himself. “She did,” he clarified, “until I convinced her the airline was a great investment. We start renovations on the hangar November first, and I hope to be in the air by the first of the year. What about you? What brings you back to Moon Island?”
“Nothing good. I’m not sure if you heard, but Harvey died, and I’m here to settle his estate.” I said it so candidly it surprised me.
Simon rapped his knuckles on the bar. “No, I hadn’t heard. Shit, I’m sorry to hear it. He was a really great guy.”
“He was,” I concurred.
“What happened?” Simon asked.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “His boat went missing during a storm last month. It was found a couple of days later just miles from the lighthouse.”
Simon’s eyes glossed over. Like the news hit him hard. He, like me, had taken refuge with Harvey many nights when we were younger.
“My father was with him,” I added, but didn’t tell him he’d been drunk. Drunk after he promised to stay sober. I’d never forgive him for that. “And both of their bodies washed up on shore a week later.”
To that, Simon said nothing. Then again, his father had died not long ago of a heart attack, and I was certain Harvey and my father’s deaths did nothing but dredge up the memory.
This time when I took a sip of my drink, I gulped it.
Harvey, my father, and Simon’s father had all grown up together on Moon Island. They had all joined the Navy and learned to fly together. And they all had been deployed during Desert Storm. Simon and I were both less than a year old at the time. When the three men came home from the war, they were determined to leave the bad behind and work together doing so. It was . . . almost possible, but not quite.
Perhaps it was a pact that never should have been made. Then again, I didn’t know enough about any of them to say for certain. Didn’t want to. What I did know was that the three of them were all dead now and looking into the past wouldn’t change anything.
Talking to Simon, though, had my mind whirling back in time to six months ago. To the day which put me on this collision course with my past that I couldn’t seem to avoid no matter how much I wanted to.
I was sitting at my desk when the phone rang. “Hotlanta Love Connections,” I answered.
“Sadie, it’s Harvey. I need to talk to you.”
His voice was unexpected. “Harvey?” I asked.
“Yes, it’s me. I’m in Atlanta. Can I meet you at your apartment?”
Fear struck me. I turned in my chair to face the window and away from everyone in the office. Harvey and I had made contact, but I never told him where I was. I didn’t tell anyone from my past that I’d moved so close to Moon Island. I kept everything about myself, about my life, private. Online, I was SB, not Sadie Banks. I was anonymous. “How do you know where I live?” I asked.
“Your father told me.”
That fear in my gut turned to terror and I couldn’t control my emotions. “He’s out? He knows where I live?”
“Yes, and it’s okay, Sadie. He doesn’t blame you. In fact, he wants to talk to you. To make amends.”
“No!” I screamed. “I won’t be a step in another failed attempt at recovery.”
“Sadie, is everything all right?” It was my cubicle mate. I turned back around. She looked concerned. I had been too loud.
“Hold on a minute,” I told Harvey, and then I waived a hand at my co-worker. “Yes, everything’s fine.”
“Are you certain?”
I nodded.
She left it at that.
I shifted my gaze away from hers and lowered my voice. “I don’t want to see him,” I whispered.
“I think you should.”
“Harvey,” I pressed.
“Let’s meet and talk about this, Sadie.”
“No.”
“Please, you need to do this. For yourself.”
Maybe I did.
I sighed. “I’ll try to leave work a little early but my new boss is on the warpath. There’s a key under the mat outside my apartment door if you want to let yourself in.”
“Okay, Sadie, I’ll see you soon. And everything is going to be okay.”
Nothing was going to be okay.
Then again, nothing had ever been okay.
Had it?
Simon leaned in closer. “You okay? You’re shaking.”
Okay. I hated that word. I blinked away that day and realized my hand was trembling as it held the empty glass. I steadied it and nodded. “Yes, I’m fine.”
I wasn’t.
“I think you need another drink.” He gestured to the bartender and asked for a second round.
“I can’t,” I told him.
He ignored me, continuing to signal the bartender.
I said nothing more. I couldn’t stop thinking about that call. Couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that after that day, I’d let my father back in my life. And couldn’t help but wonder about the second urgent call Harvey had made to me just a month ago. The one I tried so hard to forget.
The call came at the worst time. “Hotlanta Love Connections,” I answered.
“Sadie, it’s Harvey. I need to talk to you. Can you drive out here?”
Needing privacy, I turned in my chair to face the window. “What’s the matter?” I asked.
“I can’t tell you over the phone. Come to the beach as soon as you can.”
The urgency in his voice told me this was serious. “I’ll have to check with my boss. She has me on a tight deadline.”
“Tonight then, if you have to. I’ll be here. Just come.”
“I will.”
I hung up, and when I gathered the courage, I went to Elise’s office where, for some reason, I found myself telling her about my life.
Five hours later I was driving over the bridge to Moon Island, and then shortly after, I arrived at an empty beach shack. Harvey was nowhere in sight.
I had no idea where he’d gone.
Just that he wasn’t where he’d told me he’d be.
The bartender set the margarita down in front of me, and I realized I was allowing the past to swallow me up. I knew better. I pushed the drink forward and looked over at Simon. “I told you—I can’t.”
He grinned at me and pushed the drink back in my direction. “Stop being such a good girl. You look like you need this.”
I did, so against my better judgment, I took it.
While I slowly sipped my second drink, Simon drank three more beers. Had he turned into an alcoholic like his father—like I feared I would? I hoped not. Although he had to be bordering on inebriation, the conversation was surprisingly easy. We talked about the things we did together as teenagers during the summers—wandering away from the Moongate hangar to Savannah’s main terminal, hitting the food court, sneaking into the movie rooms in the private lounges.
Nothing about how he ended up where he had or what I’d done that had changed both of our lives.
Then again, he didn’t know what I’d done.
When the stories seemed to run out, Simon leaned closer to murmur in my ear. “I can’t believe we ran into each other after all these years. It must be a sign.”
There wasn’t an ounce of proposition in his voice, but of course, I knew there wouldn’t be. But still, there was something about his tone that I couldn’t shake.
The person he had once been, perhaps?
The smell of alcohol on his breath?
The situation I was in?
I wasn’t sure.
When he slurred his words a little more and then almost knocked heads with me, I knew it was time to go. I hated to get up and leave him sitting there, but I couldn’t deal with drunk. Not even for Simon. And I was pretty certain if he were sober, he’d understand.
When the conversation paused again, I stood up. “I should be going.”
He stumbled to his feet and grabbed my hand. “Already? Stay. It’s been way too long.”
I shook my head. “I can’t. I need to get to bed. I have a lot to do tomorrow.”
“Where are you staying?”
“At Harvey’s.”
He grinned. “I should have known.”
For some reason, I felt guilty. Like it should have been his, too.
“What about you? Where are you staying?” I asked. I knew his father, like my father, must have lost his house when Moongate shutdown.
“I’m staying at that small motel just east of the Moongate terminal. Do you think you could drop me off? If you take the shoreline and then the road near the river, it won’t take you that far out of your way.”
He was right. It wasn’t that far out of my way. The terminal was located at the very west end of Moon Island and the very east side of Savannah.
I wanted to say no.
I didn’t.
He needed my help.
And then there was that feeling of guilt nudging me.
Step 2: Come to believe that a Power greater than ourselves can restore us to sanity.
And so I said yes.
Moon Island was remote. The sleepy tourist town had one main road going in and out. Everyone knew everyone, and the secrets they kept were never shared. Tourists were outsiders, and they either stayed along the south end of the river or on the north end of the beach. The main road was halfway between each, which meant everything on Moon Island was on the way to wherever it was you were going, especially Savannah.
The main artery was jam-packed with cars, but once I turned onto the hidden narrow lane that followed the shoreline, the road was practically deserted.
Harvey’s 1968 Cadillac handled the slick curves like a dream. I was surprised it was in such good condition.
Simon was tapping the screen of his phone while I drove through the rain. I couldn’t see if he was playing a game or texting someone. I didn’t really care.
Liking the quiet of the night, I listened to the sounds of the water hitting the windshield and inhaled the faint smell of the sea.
It was what I loved most about this place.
What I’d missed the most.
As I drove, a light fog began to thicken the air. I flicked on the defrost button and then cranked the lever to lower the window a crack, breathing in even more of the moist, cool, fall air.
The blackness of the night seemed harsher out there. When I passed the glowing sign for the small private airport hangar, I found myself gripping the wheel tighter. No time to remember what had happened the last time I was there, I concentrated on driving. The rain was hitting the windshield harder now, and the old, worn wipers couldn’t clear it fast enough.
I was just about a mile from the abandoned terminal when I slowed. I swore I saw a light flicker in the distance and wondered if it was the lighthouse I was seeing through the fog. If it was, I was closer to the terminal than I thought.
Simon pointed ahead as if he’d noticed the oddity as well.
I turned my head for a split second in his direction. “Is it the lighthouse?”
The object grew closer way too fast to be the lighthouse.
In the very next second, I felt the weight of something hit my car. At the same time I heard that sickening thump, I saw another flash, but this time it looked like a reflector, not an actual flicker of light from off in the distance.
In a worried rush, I slammed on the brakes and jerked the car to the left. It swerved and skidded against the wet pavement. I stopped so hard that the momentum propelled my body forward. As the front of the vehicle dropped down, it started to fishtail, and then finally came to a screeching stop on the other side of the road.
My upper body slammed hard against the giant steering wheel, and I felt a sudden jab of pain in my ribs just as my forehead smashed the dash. This old Cadillac didn’t come with airbags, or super safe seat belts for that matter.
“Oh, my God,” I screamed through the pain. “I hit something.”
Simon had braced an arm on the dash and didn’t appear to be any worse for the wear. He glanced over at me. “Are you okay?”
I took a shallow breath and although dazed, started to pat for the door handle. “Did you hear me? I hit something!”
Nodding, he quickly grabbed my arm to stop me from opening my door. “Let me go first,” he said. “It was probably a deer, and you don’t need to see that shit.”
I shot my gaze out the back windshield and saw something red and shiny bathed in the glow of the taillights. “It wasn’t a deer,” I said, my voice shaking and my body trembling. “It looks like a wagon or a bike.”
He nodded in agreement. “Stay here.”
I stared.
Stunned.
Breathless.
Worried.
Frozen in terror.
As if I were viewing a slow-motion movie, I watched as Simon rushed out into the rain. What was undoubtedly only seconds felt like hours until he reached the spot where my eyes were trained. The entire time, I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed with fear.
When I saw him drop to the ground and kneel over something, my heart leaped into my throat.
What was he looking at?
Somehow, I pushed past the pain and forced myself to get out of the car. That too seemed to take forever, but this time it was because my body wouldn’t cooperate—my injuries were more severe than I’d originally thought.
Holding my ribs, which I knew were either bruised or cracked, I reached him just as he lifted the lifeless form of a young boy into his arms.
I dropped to my knees. “Oh, my God,” I screamed. “I hit a child. I hit a child. I hit a child.”
Simon started running toward the car. “Get up and get behind the wheel,” he shouted over his shoulder.
Racked with sobs, I dragged myself to my feet. I ran the best as I could after Simon, but he was already at the car before I caught up. “What are you doing? We have to call 911. He needs to go to a hospital.”
All six-foot-four inches of Simon was lowering the child into the back seat. “No,” he yelled over his shoulder. “We can’t. You’ve been drinking, and so have I.”
I tried to pull him back. “I had two drinks,” I whaled.
He jerked his head around. “Stop crying, Sadie, and pull yourself together. You know very well, two is two too many around here. If you call the police, we will both go to jail.”
Halted by the truth in his words, I glanced around. It felt like the world was spinning and I wasn’t. Like this wasn’t really happening. Like I was standing on the outside looking in.
My eyes darted everywhere.
In the car.
At the place the boy had been found.
The space in-between.
It was odd. There was no blood. I couldn’t see any blood. Had the rain already washed it away? I felt like I was in shock. “Is he dead?” I cried out.
“Get in the fucking car and drive,” Simon ordered.
I stammered.
Stuttered.
Stood in the pouring rain.
Helpless.
Hurt.
Desolate.
I’d hit a little boy.
“Get. In. The. Car. Sadie.” He punctuated. “We don’t have much time.”
I heard the latter part, and I did as he said.
In the driver’s seat, I ignored the screaming from my ribs and the blood dripping down my face and cranked the wheel toward the right lane. I hugged the shoulder of the road and drove as fast as I could.
In the rearview mirror, I watched as Simon breathed into the child’s mouth. Even though I wasn’t the one administering CPR, I still counted off the breaths.
One.
Two.
This couldn’t be happening.
“Is he alive?” I cried out again.
“Yes, he’s alive.” His own breaths came in ragged bursts.
I pulled my phone from my purse, and when the screen lit up the car, Simon stopped what he was doing and grabbed it from me.
“Let me call 911,” I cried with tears streaming down my face.
“No! You can’t. You’ll go to jail, and I’ll lose everything I’ve worked for.”
“I hit that boy!”
“And we will make sure he’s taken care of, but we are not calling 911.”
He wasn’t wrong about what would happen. I’d seen it happen to my father. The police would test our blood, find alcohol in our bloodstream, and I would be convicted of driving under the influence. In this case, maybe even manslaughter. Simon would be an accomplice, and both of our lives would be ruined.
It was a split-second decision to keep driving. “Where are we going?” I asked.
“To the Moongate 24-Hour Clinic. We’ll leave him just outside the door. I’ll make a call, and they’ll find him right away. It will all be fine.”
It wouldn’t be fine.
I’d run over a child.
How could that ever be fine?
“Are you sure he’s alive?” I asked.
This time when Simon answered, his voice was much softer. “Yes, Sadie, I’m sure.”
My chest was heaving and tears poured down my cheeks. I couldn’t see anything out the front windshield, but I drove from memory.
From the years I’d lived here.
Back toward the town I despised.
Into the darkness I remembered all too well.