Someone Else's Ocean(8)

“No, I mean with Ian.”

Jasmine cursed before she growled into the phone, I could hear her frantically typing in the background. “Every place else is booked. We are going to have to put them at Margulis Mansion.”

“No, you can’t! That’s a twenty-two-million-dollar rental with nine rooms!”

“We’re going to have to make up the difference. At least for the night. I’ll call and see if anyone has something we can swap.”

“Crap,” I said, staring at the back of Ian’s suit. “I needed this commission.”

Jasmine sighed. “You and me both.”

“This sucks!” I may have said it a little loud, but Ian didn’t move. Not an inch. He was searching for answers. I knew that feeling. I’d done the same thing.

“Well, hell, why not a hotel room?”

“And risk a shit review? We’re trying to build the business. These are newlyweds. Can’t do it.” Jasmine sounded pissed which was rare, but I understood it. We were going to lose a ton of commission.

“There is nothing else?”

“Nothing,” she sighed over the line, defeated.

“Okay, text me the address. As soon as they get here, I’ll divert traffic.”

“K. Call me when you get home. Fucking ship day.”

“That was yesterday, Jasmine.”

“If you can use it, so can I.”





AFTER WAVING TO THE TAXI driver like a bird trying to take flight, I threw the two newly discarded suitcases back into the taxi while I spoke rapidly to a confused bride and groom. After escorting them to their oversized mansion for two, where they repeatedly looked around with a “No shit? This is ours? No way!” I made my way back across the island to check Mrs. Osborne’s water—at her insistence—and scoured the porch for any poop before I turned two more rentals. When my workday was done, I pulled up to my house and pressed my forehead to the wheel. I had an ass full of sand, thanks to my new and unexpected neighbor.

A chuckle escaped me as I trotted down the alley to my porch where my serenity waited and paused when I saw Ian. He was still standing in the exact place I left him hours earlier. From what his mother had told me last summer, he’d been married and had a daughter. They lived in Dallas and were doing great. The Kemps had emigrated from South Africa and moved to the States. Ian had told me as much when we were kids. Smiling, I recalled the first time we met. It was just feet away from the water he was transfixed on.

Treading on the surface, I looked at my newly designated playmate. My mother saw fit to entertain our new summer neighbors with strict instructions that we get better acquainted. “You talk funny.” I stared at the brown-haired boy with bright eyes and a chipped front tooth.

“I lived in South Africa until last week,” he defended.

“Where did you move?”

“Texas. Dallas. A dreadful place surrounded by dirt. No weekend safaris. I hate it. Now—”

My giggle cut him off. “You’re so… proper.”

“Do you want my help or not?”

I jumped the wave that rolled through us to keep from getting another mouthful of water. My feet barely touched the sand and we were neck deep. The water was warm, and I could feel the sunburn on my back and arms even with the floaties my mother made me wear.

“I think I have it,” I said, lowering my mask and biting the mouthpiece.

“You don’t have it,” he challenged.

“You don’t have it,” I repeated in the worst imitation of a South African accent ever.

“Fine then. You’re on your own now.”

“Fine then,” I mocked with widening eyes through my mask. Ian laughed before he gripped my shoulders. “Don’t worry if it trickles in a little. Let the pressure of the water keep the mask to your face, even when you think it’s safe not to breathe, breathe anyway.”

The truth was I’d been out there for the better part of an hour panicking before he swam in, barking orders. I’d watched Jaws the night before with my father’s permission. It was the one time I regretted talking him into letting me get my way. I didn’t want to go anywhere near the water. No matter how many times I told myself it was just a movie, I heard the du-nuh every few seconds.

“Okay,” I said with false courage. “I’ve got it.”

He shook his head as if he knew I would choke. “All right, give it a go.”

“You sound like The Crocodile Hunter.”

“He is Australian.” He rolled his eyes. “And you sound ignorant. Now stop stalling.”

“Don’t be rude, crocky pants,” I piped.

Ian shrugged, pushing his dark hair off his forehead. “You’re scared.”

“I’m not scared of anything.”

“Well then go on, miss.”

“I’m six years old. I’m not a miss.”

“You sure don’t have tits enough to be called a miss.”

His eyes sparkled with his laugh.

“Pervert alert!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

Ian cringed. “I was just joking.”

“My father says any time a boy says a word about privates in front of me to tell.”

“I’m not a pervert. And I’m too old to be babysitting you.”