CHAPTER 6:
JUNIPER
Ben was hanging out at my house for the third time this week. Instead of sending over one of his siblings with food in the evenings, he’d been sending himself over now. I’d never had a guy friend who was ‘only a friend’ and nothing more, but I did now and I kind of loved it. We could talk about literally anything—except the fact that I wasn’t Lilly.
“How’s the job hunt going?” he wanted to know, lounging on the living room’s big-ass couch. I sat down on the adjacent loveseat, curling my legs under my body. We’d finished eating dinner a minute ago, and I was waiting to see if I’d be able to keep this meal down or have to dash off to the bathroom to throw it up momentarily.
“Terrible. I’m screwed if I don’t find something soon.” Ben knew about my financial issues. But since he still thought I was Lilly, he also thought I had the safety-net of my parents to fall back on. I had no safety-net—only my credit cards in my purse. But if I used them I’d risk Quinton finding me. So I had to figure out something else, and soon.
“I walked to Chancy’s Claw, like you said, and they weren’t hiring.”
Chancy’s Claw was a restaurant less than a half mile down the beach. It wasn’t fancy at all. I mean, they even had plastic lawn chairs as furniture. Ben had figured a place like that would surely bend a few rules and let me work ‘off the books’ for a couple months. But the girl I’d spoken with today hadn’t been helpful at all.
“Ellie and Noah closed up their miniature golf business for the winter or I’d ask them,” he said. “You did speak to Rhett when you went in there today, right?”
“Rhett wasn’t there. I spoke to some girl.”
“That’s your problem.” He suddenly stood up from the couch. “Are you going to hurl this time?”
I chuckled. “No. I think I’m okay.”
My morning sickness was fickle and unpredictable. Sometimes I was fine. Sometimes I’d hurl. I couldn’t seem to figure out the pattern.
“I have an hour before I have to call and check in with my parole officer. Let’s go to Chancy’s.”
“Are they magically going to be hiring if you go in there with me?” I questioned.
“Maybe. Everyone knows me.” He was persistent and eager, standing there waiting on me to move from my spot on the couch. His eyes had a way of lighting up when he got excited, like a child's, and he was suddenly super excited to go see this Rhett person. “C'mon, Lilly, it can't hurt to go one more time.”
Groaning, I stood up. I kind of hated when he called me Lilly, but it’s not like I could correct him on it. I glanced down at my outfit. I still only had the clothes I’d worn the day I left home, which meant I’d been forced to do laundry daily. Maybe it would be easier to find a job if I had something other to wear than a sweatshirt.
“What did you mean when you said everyone knows me?” I asked him as we left my house and headed out into the dark.
He pretended like he hadn’t heard me, hurrying ahead of me to his driveway to unlock and open the car door for me. He kept doing that, opening doors and whatnot, now that he knew I was pregnant. Which was super gentlemanly of him, but I wasn’t sure I liked it. I could manage on my own. “Fine, don’t answer me,” I told him sarcastically.
His eyes locked on mine as he stood there for a moment. For as honest as he was with me, it still felt like he had a billion and one secrets right under the surface. Like they were haunting him, and festering, and the happy-go-lucky Ben he often showed the world wasn’t the real Ben at all. My chest grew warm as I realized this and as he looked at me, like he too realized what I’d realized. This oozing rush wasn’t something that I’d felt with him before. “I was popular in high school,” he answered, his voice so serious it almost stung. “Let’s leave it at that.”
The warm feeling was still there, in my chest, squeezing a little too tightly.
Which was totally confusing. I’d only ever felt a platonic friendship-thing with Ben. As he got in the car, started the engine, and drove us down the street, I scolded myself. Technically I was still engaged to Quinton. I was carrying his child after all. Ben had been nothing but a good friend to me. The last thing on Earth I needed was to start feeling something for him I shouldn’t. I wasn’t even sure where this one, miniscule rush of heat had come from anyway.
“Probably just hormones,” I said to myself.
“What?” Ben asked. “What’s just hormones?”
Shit. I’d accidentally said that out loud. “Nothing.”
“Are you going to throw up?”
“No.”
We’d already reached the gravel parking lot that belonged to Chancy’s Claw, the Jeep’s tires crunching on the rocks and sand as we pulled into a spot. The lights to the restaurant were on, but otherwise the place seemed practically deserted. I took a deep breath, inhaling the salty air, and then hopped out of the car.
I followed Ben inside the building.
“So, um, how do you know this Rhett person that works here? Are you friends?”
Ben wasn’t paying attention to me. Typically, when we were together it felt like I had his undivided attention. But, this time, his eyes were on something—or someone—else. A couple across the room, sitting at the bar. They appeared young, about his same age. A pretty girl with straight, boring white blonde hair. And a guy, light black skin, short hair, thin and athletic—rather handsome. Ben obviously knew these people. If I had to guess, I'd say they were probably people he’d gone to high school with.
The change in Ben was immediate. He went from comfortable to uncomfortable in a split second. His body grew tense, a scowl to his face, and a fidgetiness in his hands that I’d never seen before. He’d told me before he was afraid of running into people he knew. I guess it was happening now.
“Who are they?” I whispered.
The couple was so deep in conversation, clearly in love, that they hadn’t noticed Ben. If he wanted, we could easily turn around and leave.
“Sonya and Logan. My ex-girlfriend and my ex-best friend. Logan is also my sister Georgina’s ex-boyfriend. The four of us grew up together,” he quickly and quietly explained. “And perfect…to round out the awkwardness…Rhett’s here too.”
I had to assume Rhett was the bartender. Because there wasn’t another soul in the whole restaurant.
“Wait. I thought Rhett was your friend?”
“I never said that—only that I knew him.” He sighed, running both his hands through his dark hair vigorously.
Ben wasn’t making a move to leave the restaurant, so I guessed that meant I was going to have to take this situation into my own hands. Which sucked on many levels. But mostly because I hated talking with strangers. The sheer agony of feigning confidence felt like a knife to the gut. But it could be done. If push came to shove, I could go from wallflower to social butterfly. Just ask Quinton—I constantly had to attend social functions with him and he always expected me to behave a certain way. I could be outgoing when I needed to be.
So even though I hated what I was about to do, despising the fakeness of it all, I did what I needed to do. Because friends help friends. And Ben was my friend. About the only one I had in the world right now.
Off came the sweatshirt.
Thank God, I wasn’t showing yet.
I tossed the sweatshirt in a nearby booth. I’d get it later. Underneath I had on a black tank-top. It wasn’t much, but it revealed a lot more skin than the sweatshirt had. Plus black was my color.
Down came the hair.
My hair had natural wave to it. And I had a ton of it. Between the red color, the fullness, the length, and the wave—it really was my best feature. I finger-combed it to the side, fluffing it out, thankful I’d taken a shower only a few hours ago.
I dug in my purse for my crimson lip gloss, found it, and quickly applied a coat.
There.
It was the best I could do in thirty seconds flat.
“What are you doing?” Ben whispered, his attention had shifted to me.
“Helping you out,” I muttered. “Now smile.”
“What?”
“Smile, dammit,” I told him out of the corner of my mouth. I’d already put on the best, brightest, non-fake smile I could muster. I took hold of his hand, lacing my fingers with his. This was the first time we’d ever touched, and suddenly I was extremely aware of that. I closed the boundary between us further—my other hand holding on tight to his bicep, my side leaning in against his side, my eyes on his eyes.
Okay…two seconds ago, I’d only meant for all of this to be a show. Maybe pretend to be his girlfriend in front of his old girlfriend for a couple minutes—my attempt at lessening the blow of seeing her happy and in love with his old friend. I don’t know. Do something to help Ben out because he was in some serious misery. But it felt overwhelmingly good touching him. Like ‘why-hadn’t-I-touched-him-sooner, my-body’s-tingling, my-heart’s-racing, I-can’t-feel-my-fucking-toes’—that sort of overwhelming feeling.
So much for my whole social butterfly attempt.
For a small moment, I completely forgot where I was, and there was Ben. Only Ben existed.
Rhett, the bartender, woke me up from my mini-trance. He must have spotted us from across the room and suddenly called out, “Ben Turner, back from the dead, how you doing, man?”
Ben cleared his throat and broke our eye contact. “Hi, Rhett,” he answered.
“Come have a seat at the bar.”
Okay then, I guess we were doing this.
We walked together across the restaurant. I was suddenly super unsure, he was visibly less anxious, but our hands were still firmly locked together. The couple had noticed us now—both sets of eyes watching, waiting, and clearly uncertain how to behave.
Rhett was super friendly, all smiles and big hellos. For a non-friend of Ben's, he sure was acting like a real friend.
I sat down at a barstool. There were several safe ‘bumper’ stools between me and her. Enough distant for Ben to sit down beside me, between us, if he wanted.
Ben did not sit. He remained standing. He'd since dropped my hand, and instead his touch lingered on my back. It was a public display of affection, meant for everyone else but me.
Mr. Stressed, Anxious, Ball of Nerves had gotten his shit together and turned into Mr. Smooth Criminal. Charismatic and confident, with a blatant edginess.
Rhett stood at the counter, waiting on us to order something.
“Jameson—Castmates if you have it, please, neat,” Ben told the man.
I turned around in my seat to stare at Ben, so completely shocked by his drink order.
“What do you want, babe?” he asked me.
Babe? My eyes narrowed at him.
His eyes narrowed back as if to say play along.
I understood the game we were playing. What I didn't understand was how a twenty-one-year-old had a taste for Jameson.
I turned back around.
“Water, please,” I said to Rhett. Even if I wasn't pregnant, my mom was still an alcoholic. I drank only on special occasions. Plus, I couldn’t afford anything else.
Rhett moved quickly to pour my water and then Ben's whiskey. The moment Ben’s drink was in his hand, he said with a happy tone, almost to himself but still loud enough for his former friends to hear, “I can't believe you guys ended up together. So freaking unbelievable. Here’s to you two.” He said it as if he were genuinely glad for them. Maybe he was? I almost believed it. His tone was awfully convincing.
He raised his glass and then took a big sip. The guy and the girl followed his lead, each doing the same. I sat there with my water, not moving. His toast was pure bullshit. Was I the only one who could see that?
“Your ‘death’ brought us together,” joked the girl. “So, I’ll drink to that.”
Her voice was laced with bitter resentment.
“No kidding,” Ben said, his tone still light. “Then I guess one good thing came from my death.”
This wasn’t the first reference I’d heard about Ben’s death. On the first night we’d met, he’d said something about not being a ghost. I had no clue what it all meant. Although, now wasn’t exactly the time to ask, either. Now was the time to sit still, look pretty, and pretend I knew what everyone was talking about.
“I’m just glad you’re alive,” Logan said. “And back home where you belong.”
He stood up, the peg-legs of his barstool scraping across the floorboards, and he moved to give Ben a big hug. It wasn’t an ‘ass-out, half-arm’ guy hug either. He engulfed Ben, squeezed him tight, and held on for several long seconds. When he pulled away, I couldn’t help but notice tears in the other guy’s eyes.
Logan cleared his throat, and then nodded in my direction.
“Who’s your girl?”
Ben blew out a breath. It didn’t show on his face the way it had shown on the other guy’s face. But I think Ben was feeling a little emotional too. “Lilly Davenport,” Ben said, introducing me. “Lilly—this is Logan Tyler and Sonya Fletcher.”
“Sonya Fletcher,” Rhett suddenly said with disgust. Nobody had been paying any attention to him. I hadn’t even realized the guy was still standing there behind the bar, watching us all. But he was, and he had one serious scowl on his face. Rhett seemed like the type of person who always wore his whole entire heart on his sleeve and always said exactly what was on his mind, outgoing and open. And for some reason, he knew the name Sonya Fletcher and seemed already predisposed to hate her.
“Do you have a problem with Sonya?” Logan asked him.
“Nope,” Rhett answered when he clearly did. He grabbed a bar towel and started wiping out a glass that already looked clean. “No problem.”
Sonya groaned, dramatically rolling her eyes and standing up. “We’re finished eating. Can we just get the check so we can go?” she said to Rhett, suddenly very impatient.
Logan, following her lead, already had his wallet in his hand. He took out a few bills and dropped them on the bar top, saying nothing to Rhett, not even giving him a chance to get their check. Then Logan said one more thing to Ben, “Sorry I wasn’t there for your sister when it mattered most. I should have been with her the day of your funeral instead of being angry. Not even as her boyfriend—but as her friend. I feel like I failed you that day. I failed when she did what she did.”
What had his sister done?
“No, it was me who—” Ben started to respond to Logan.
But Sonya quickly cut in before he could finish. “Funny thing about people not being there when it matters most. You know what that’s like, better than anyone, right Ben?”
Her words were coded. I didn’t have a clue what she meant. But Ben sure did. And I could tell that they cut him like a knife, breaking open old wounds. Because his face went sheet white. He became sullen, so much so that he didn’t respond or even say goodbye as Logan and Sonya left.
Even once they were gone, several seconds passed where he didn’t even move. I was too afraid to say anything.
What had happened to Sonya that Ben hadn’t been there for?
Was it another reference to his so called ‘death’ or something else entirely? Something much worse?
Rhett broke the silence in the room. “That Sonya is a bitch. She was a bitch to Sydney in high school.” He looked at me and introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Rhett.” He extended his hand and I shook it. “Sydney is my girlfriend,” he clarified, offering up an explanation, whether I wanted one or not. “She went to high school with Ben and those other two that were just in here. Sonya Fletcher was one of those ‘mean girls’ in high school. You know the type—popular, fake, annoying. My girl was the shy, quiet type. And Sonya tormented her in high school. Anyway, Ben was nice to her in high school though.”
“I don’t want to dig up anything else from the past,” Ben said to him, his tone stone-cold. “Not tonight.”
Sheesh. His words were so serious that I felt an eerie chill run up my back. It hurt something inside me to see him in so much pain.
I changed the subject as fast as I could. We’d come here for a reason. And, with his parole check-in looming, we were running out time.
“Rhett,” I said to the bartender. “I came in earlier today and spoke with a girl. I think her name was Luce. She said you weren’t hiring, but I’m pretty desperate for a job. Could we speak privately for a moment?” The friendliness Rhett exuded made him easy to talk to.
“Sure,” he agreed. His eyes settled on Ben for a moment. “Is that okay with you?”
I certainly did not need Ben’s permission. “Ben and I aren’t dating,” I clarified. Even if we were, I wouldn’t need his permission. I’d already had enough of that with Quinton. “We’re friends,” I told Rhett. “That was just a show for Sonya.”
Frankly, I was sick of all the lies I was already trying to keep up with because I was pretending to be this Lilly person. I didn’t want to bury myself under more of them. Which was exactly why I’d asked to speak with Rhett privately.
“I think he was asking if I’d be okay alone out here, Lilly,” Ben said. He leaned over the bar top and grabbed the bottle of Jameson right off the shelf. “Don’t worry, I’m good. I’ll be fine by myself. You two go talk.”
“I’m charging you for that,” Rhett grunted. “Okay. Follow me, Lilly.”
He walked around the bar and led the way. I followed him—nervous but determined—into the restaurant’s kitchen. It was clean and shiny—kind of surprising considering the place had plastic lawn chairs. There was one cook working, to which Rhett said a quick hello. Then he led me deeper through the kitchen until we reached a door in the back. He opened it, exposing an office. The space was tight with only a desk between two chairs. I had to shimmy behind the door to fit, while he sat in the chair on the opposite end of the room.
Suddenly, it felt like I was on a job interview.
Maybe I was.
For small second, I was in limbo with two possible paths looming in front of me. On one hand—I could lie some more and continue my charade of being Lilly Davenport. On the other hand—I could be one-hundred percent honest with Rhett and hope for the best. His history with Ben was cloudy. That much was obvious. But so far I’d gotten a really good vibe from Rhett. Something inside me trusted him already.
I could tell him the truth and not fear repercussion. At least, that was my belief.
“My name isn’t Lilly Davenport,” I said first. “Ben thinks I’m Lilly. I have no idea why. Maybe I look like her or maybe it’s simply because I’ve been staying in the Davenport’s house and he just assumed. I don’t know. I’m too afraid to tell him the truth. We’ve got a good friendship thing going on and I really don’t want to spoil it. You said he was a nice guy to your girlfriend in high school and he really is a nice guy.”
“Okay then?” Rhett questioned. “You’re telling me this because…”
“Because I need a job.” I squeezed my hands in and out of fists in my lap as I quickly explained, trying to keep my confidence up. “I need help. I’m pregnant—Ben knows that about me,” I explained. “My fiancé who got me pregnant was…um, is…well, he’s abusive, mean, controlling, and probably certifiably insane. It wasn’t a good relationship, and I shouldn’t have stayed in it for as long as I did. I ran away, and I came to the Outer Banks. Anyway, I’m running out of money fast. And I need a job that can pay me ‘off the books’—if you know what I mean.”
“Shit,” he groaned, plopping his head down on the desk. “Ben is like a magnet for disaster. And why do people take one look at me and think they can trust me with all their fucking secrets? They can’t!” He mumbled this into the wood of the desk.
“I’m not a disaster.” I was completely appalled by his comment… well, almost. Was I a disaster? Maybe a little. “Well, normally I’m not. And I’m trusting you because for some reason Ben thought you might be helpful.”
“Because Chancy’s Claw just screams off the books! We’re a respectable business. We do everything on the books. Don’t let the plastic chairs fool you. They’re part of the beach motif.” He sat up straight, lifting his head from the desk. “I might have an idea though. What’s your real name?”
“Juniper. Juniper Hugs.”
“Hugs? Seriously.” He almost smiled for second.
“Yes, seriously.”
“Okay, Hugs...” He trailed off and this time a full-blown smile lit up his face. “Wow, nicknames like that just don’t fall into your lap often,” he said to himself. “Can you play a musical instrument, Hugs?”
“What?” What kind of question was that?
“Anything. Tambourine. Maracas. The piano.”
“I’ve never even touched a piano in my whole life. So…no.”
Again, he groaned, dropping his head on the desk once more. “You’re killing me here, Hugs.”
“I can sing,” I offered.
His head popped up immediately. “Perfect! You’re in the band.”
“What band?”
“My band.” He stood up from his desk and started walking for the door. “The guys are going to kill me, but they’ll get over it. We aren’t great anyway. Maybe you’ll bring new life to our group.”
“Wait, wait, wait! I don’t sing in public! Or even in the shower!”
I might be a semi-decent singer, but that didn’t mean I could get up on a stage or do anything in front of other people!
“It’s all off the books,” Rhett informed me. “We do a couple performances at different bars, this one included, a few times a month. We split the pay equally. If it works out, and you actually are a good singer, you’d be looking at a few hundred dollars each show. So, unless you want to go line up at the nearest Home Depot or start tutoring high school kids in math or start a dog-walking business, you should take this offer. We practice every Wednesday and Thursday night at our drummer’s place. We do gigs whenever they come along, usually on Friday or Saturday nights. What do you say, Hugs? You can sing and be pregnant at the same time.”
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
I didn’t have a choice.
I had to say yes.