“Cape Town.”
“No shit. Me too. Moved there last year. I’m in advertising, I own my own business. We shoot a whole ton of commercials in Cape Town. Fell in love with the place. So instead of living in Charlotte and visiting down there nine months out of twelve, now I live there and go home three months out of twelve.”
“That’s awesome.” I’m super impressed by this. Someone just willing to move countries like that. “No offense, but there’s got to be a faster way than via Amsterdam, right?”
He proceeds to discuss the merits of various airlines and cities. He loves Amsterdam, so loves to stop there and leave the airport to have lunch in the city and visit the Van Gogh museum.
That sounds like a blast, so I totally wrangle an invitation to join him.
And about midway across the Atlantic, I have the next three months of my life in Cape Town planned out, not forgetting lunch the next day. And I’m so glad I didn’t let a boy change my mind, even if my heart is still aching in my chest.
Hopefully, Joseph will still be where I left him when I get back.
Besides, I really do want to know what he said to Bethany Winters that day.
THE SMALL PLANE jolts, and I bang my head on the window where I was watching the Lowcountry marshes come into view. Wincing, I pull away and rub my brow.
Returning to Butler Cove after a whole year feels nerve-wracking. I’m changed inside by my time away. And I know my deliberate and prolonged absence means other things may have changed too.
I’m nervous about that.
Joseph and I have only stayed in touch sporadically with a few random texts. I was glad he hadn’t sent a bunch of ‘I’m sorry’s. I knew he was. I was too. And the regret was somehow more powerful for its silence. He sent a birthday text right after I left, and then every major holiday since then. And the minor ones. President’s Day for example. I smile and roll my eyes at the memory.
I was out on Allen and Dave’s boat enjoying a rare day off in South Africa’s midsummer. Their boat rivaled the one we’d spent the day on with Jack Eversea when we went over to Daufuskie to ride horses. I was sunbathing on the top deck, and my WhatsApp dinged with an incoming message.
Jay Bird: Today on President’s Day, it’s winter and it’s depressing as all hell. So to really wallow, I decided to think of the ways I was disappointed by you. You already know my best image of you. But here’s the most disappointing one: You remember the day you jumped off the top of the boat into the Calibogue Sound? I was really hoping you’d lose your bikini top that day. I was extremely disappointed you didn’t flash me. I mean, you couldn’t have even flashed one? Just one boob?
I grinned, brought my phone up and snapped a cleavage shot, not a nipple to be seen in my bikini top. I was still wearing my pink cowgirl boot necklace, so I hoped that made up for it.
“Why do I always catch you taking pictures of your boobs?” Allen’s head emerged up to the top deck at exactly the wrong moment. “Are you sure you don’t want to give the poor guy just a whiff of nipple this time?”
“No. Trust me. That would be even meaner.”
“I disagree. I dare you.”
I looked down to my balconette type bikini top. It wouldn’t work if it had been a triangle one. Too obvious. But I could maybe scoot one of these cups down ever so slightly. It was pretty low cut anyway. I’d have to put my face in the picture though, to make it really look accidental, otherwise he’d know what I was up to.
“Okay,” I told Allen and handed him my phone. “Let’s do this.”
I put my sunglasses on so I didn’t squint but let my hair down into a wild untamed mess, especially in the wind. Then I put my back to the magnificent view of Table Mountain behind us and tugged down one side of by bikini top.
“Okay, that’s enough,” said Allen. “Don’t make me squeamish.”
I burst out laughing, and he took the shot.
Jay Bird: That’s just mean. You just took my breath away. And who the fuck took that picture?
I had a split second of temptation to make him jealous, but I couldn’t do it.
Jazzy Bear: He’s gay, twice my age and my second best friend in the whole world.
A SMILE TUGS my mouth at the memory. The plane jolts again. Ugh. I hate small planes.