CHAPTER THREE
Ben
“Hey, hey, you in there?” I heard a raspy voice through the fog of sleep. “Do you hear me?”
I shifted my feet from the dash of the Jeep and rubbed the back of my neck. There was a crick running from the base of my skull to my fingertips. My entire right arm was numb. I couldn’t remember the last time I had slept in a car. Maybe this would be the last—it should be.
“Mornin’, sir. What’s the problem?” Damn it. I had meant to cover up the accent. Maybe it wasn’t too late. I reached for my sunglasses.
“The problem is that you spent the night in my campground without registering or paying.” A man wearing a plaid shirt and a white mustache hovered outside the window. There was a pack of cigarettes peeking from his shirt pocket.
I adjusted my hat. “Oh, sorry about that. I can set— I mean, I will take care of the bill right now.” The words didn’t sound one bit Texan. I smiled and reached for the door handle. Where was my voice coach when I needed to boast?
The man stepped back to allow the Jeep door to swing open. “I don’t usually wake up to find people sleeping in their cars. Little unusual around here.”
I flipped through the bills in my wallet. “Again, I’m sorry. It was late and all the hotels on the island were closed. This place seemed like a saving grace at the last minute. So thank you.”
The man walked around to the back of the Jeep and eyed the license plate. “Georgia, huh?”
I froze. The cover story hadn’t come to me yet. Was I supposed to be traveling for the summer on my own? Was a friend on the way to meet me? The only thing I knew was that I wasn’t ready to be Ben Baldwin yet.
“No, sir. It’s a rental.” I handed the man a one-hundred dollar bill.
He cocked his head to the side. “Son, it’s ten dollars a night to park and camp.”
“Oh.” I looked toward the trail covered in scrubby water oaks that led back to the main island road.
There were plenty of inns and motels on the island. Probably had great little breakfast specials and ladies who told island legends and handed out seashells, but those same places had people. People who might recognize me and sell me out to the highest bidder.
“You know, I was hoping I could stay a few nights. I’m in no hurry,” I explained as the plan formed.
“Did you bring a tent? Anything?” The man eyed the Jeep’s backseat.
I laughed. “No, I didn’t think of that.”
“Hmm. Well, we do have some campers for rent. They’re the old-style aluminum pull-behinds, but I have them set up real nice and they’ve even been featured in a few camper magazines, if you’re interested. They call them retro-chic or some kind of nonsense.” The man shook his head and tossed his hands in the air.
Magazines were the last thing I was interested in, but I liked the sound of a camper. The feeling had returned to my hand, but another night in the Jeep wasn’t going to work. A throbbing shoulder here and an achy knee there reminded me I had taken too many hits on the football field.
“Sold. I’ll take one.” I nodded.
The man squinted, this time tilting his head to the other side. “Does anyone ever tell you, you look familiar?”
I kicked my boot along the sandy parking space, careful not to look up. “I must have one of those faces or a twin.” I chuckled, hoping the man would stop trying to place my famous face.
“Yep, one of those faces. All right. Come on. Let me show you the Silver Sand Dollar.” He walked away in the direction of the beach.
“Silver Sand Dollar?”
“My wife named all the spaces and the campers. She did all the decorating too. So, if it’s too much on the feminine side, you can blame her.”
“I’m sure it will be fine.” I followed him along the narrow path to a horseshoe shaped assortment of Airstream campers. There were five total. I hoped the Sand Dollar was the one at the end, farthest from the others and the rest of the campground. It undoubtedly had the best view of the beach too.
The man limped past the first camper named “Shark’s Den.” I read the name of each trailer until we arrived at the final one in the group.
Hot damn. I took in the twenty-two-foot silver structure. I couldn’t think of anything more fucking perfect.
“Here she is.” The owner pulled on the handle. “Now, just crank down on this twice and the door opens right up.” He ascended two steps into the camper.
I glanced around at the red-checked décor. At least it wasn’t pink or peach. Peach would have been far worse. Instead, this kind of looked like a picnic table.
There was a bed at the far end, separated by a bi-fold door. In the center was a bathroom with a standup shower, sink, and toilet; the kitchenette took up the majority of the center space; and the end closest to the path was filled with a U-shaped bench and round table. The panel of windows looked out on the waves rolling along the shore.
“What ya think?” The man had moved closer to the door. It seemed he was in a hurry to end the tour.
“I think it will work.”
“Good. You mind stopping by the office after you settle in and fill out your reservation card?”
My chest tightened.
“Reservation paperwork?” I knew as soon as I wrote my name down, this venture into anonymity was over. I’d be found out in two seconds.
“Nothing major. Length of stay, email address so we can send you our updates. That’s my wife’s idea. She started a monthly newsletter. People seem to like it.”
I relaxed. “Certainly. I can do that, and I’ll go ahead and pay up for the month.” Maybe if I paid enough up-front cash, they would leave me alone. My host seemed nice enough, but he had already spent more time studying me than I was comfortable with.
“The whole month? All right. Well, Flora will help you.”
“Flora?”
“That’s the wife. You can call her Flo for shorth.” He laughed. “I’m Carl, by the way. See you around.” He tapped on the doorframe before exiting.
***
I tucked the corner of the towel along my hipbone. The Silver Sand Dollar had everything I needed and nothing I didn’t. It was pure heaven. It didn’t matter that I barely fit into the standup shower or that after seven minutes the water ran like a drippy faucet. I had run until I had finally found something I didn’t think existed anymore. Freedom.
I ran a hand through my wet hair and slid into the booth overlooking the ocean.
The campground visitors had already started setting up on the beach. A few umbrellas dotted the horizon along with a few surf fishermen, and a pack of surfers headed to the shore to catch a wave.
My head jerked and I hit my elbow when I heard my phone ring. I looked at the name flashing across the screen. Rebecca. I exhaled. I wasn’t ready to talk to her. There wasn’t anything to talk about. Even if the stories weren’t true, even if the press had somehow twisted everything around against her, I couldn’t convince myself anymore that the pictures weren’t real. She was in Hawaii with someone else. Someone else held her hand, laughed next to her on a paddleboard, and fed her tropical fruit. There were too many pictures and too many of Rebecca’s smiles for me to pretend anymore. There was some kind of truth in that trash.
I exhaled when the ringing stopped. I reached for the phone, ready to delete her number, just as the ringing started again. Dammit. This time it was Rick. I had to answer it.
“Hey, buddy. What’s happening?” I dug deep into the Texas drawl.
“Buddy? What the fuck, Ben? Where in the hell are you? I have been looking all over the damn city of Atlanta for you. Where did you go after your charity event?”
“Rick. Rick. Rick. I’m fine.” I stood in front of the window and stretched. The lukewarm shower had barely touched the tightness in my neck.
“There’s nothing fine about you being missing.”
“I’m not missing. I’m on the phone with you. Man, it’s ok.” I opened a few of the kitchen cabinets, hoping Flo had stocked it with some snacks. A cold beer sounded spot on right now. There might not be another way to get through this phone call.
“How am I supposed to know we didn’t have another Rebecca Campbell situation?” Rick stopped mid-sentence. “That’s not what I meant. Hell, I meant—that something happened to you or—”
I shook my head. “I know what you meant. You don’t have to explain. I haven’t been kidnapped. I’m perfectly safe.”
“Fuck, man. You must be taking this hard. I can call her agent and find out what the deal is with the guy in Hawaii. It’s just the press. She wouldn’t run out on you like that.” Rick’s tone had softened. “Just tell me where you are. I can help.”
I paused my search for beer. There was no way I was telling anyone where I was, not even my agent, who usually had my every waking move scheduled on his calendar.
“Rick, you know I really appreciate that, man, but you need to let Rebecca and me take care of whatever is going on. Ok? I can handle it.” I slammed the last cupboard, not finding a single saltine cracker. My stomach grumbled. I hadn’t eaten anything since the bag of peaches last night. I smiled, remembering there was still another bag in my Jeep.
“Got it. I get it. You need your time. Understandable.” Rick sighed into the phone. “Here’s what we’ll do. You take a few days. I’ll handle the appearances on your schedule and tell them you have the flu or something. I’ll let everyone know you need a few days to get your strength back—yada, yada. I’ll take care of it. Just tell me what day you’ll be back.”
A group of boys emerged from the dunes in the distance. They had on pirate hats, and two reached for invisible swords. I watched, fascinated as the scene unfolded in front of me. Clearly, someone was going down for stealing the treasure.
“Ben? Day. What day are you coming back?” Rick had lost his sympathetic patience.
His sharp tone shook me from the pirate scene. I pulled the phone from my ear and looked at the screen. Ten minutes. I had already been on this call for ten minutes when I could be doing something much more enjoyable. Like playing pirate.
“I might not, Rick.”
“What the fuck? Are you fucking with me right now?” the agent fumed. “She’s just a girl, man. She’s not worth all of this.”
I sighed. I would never be able to explain any of this to Rick. Not everything revolved around Rebecca; it never did. And she had figured that out.
“You’re just going to have to take care of this for me for a while. I’m taking some time off. Which also means, don’t shop around for any new films for me. I’m on permanent hiatus.” I didn’t know the words would feel so good. “I’ll be in touch, Rick, and thanks for taking care of everything for me.” I pressed end and tossed the phone on the table before I caught another earful. I didn’t need it.
I had been a spy, a World War II hero, an ambitious politician, a fighter pilot, the romantic catch, but now nothing sounded better than playing pirate. I was going to take my life back, no matter the cost. And that was going to start with a cold beer and some food.