The Outskirts (The Outskirts Duet #1)

“Yes. I’ve never done a lot of things before,” I answered, looking around in complete and utter wonderment at the water surrounding us. “I’ve never lived on my own in a real house. I’ve never seen a movie in an actual movie theater. I’ve never made dinner for anyone besides my parents unless you count helping other women of the church make pies to sell at the farmers market. I’ve never been to a library and just sat down and read a book of my choice. No warnings or bans or approval needed. Maybe I’ll do it and sit there and read a seedy romance or…or Harry Potter! I’ve always wanted to read that one. Maybe I’ll even work at a library someday. That way I can read all day long.”

The trees surrounding us were growing thicker until we were under a canopy of foliage with just hints of the sun’s rays peeking through making every gap appear like a shining star. “Until I came here, I’d never even traveled outside of the state. There are so many other things I don’t really even know yet,” I admitted. “But I’m going to find out…and I’m going to do them all.”

“Is Critter’s your first job?” Finn asked.

“It is,” I answered cheerfully.

“Was I your first kiss?”

My heart had been pounding wildly, but when he asked that question it stilled completely. I pretended to be very interested in a pair of tall grey birds drying their wings on the shore while trying to remember how to breathe. “You were.”

I heard Finn make a noise that sounded like a hiss followed by a groan but I couldn’t bring myself to look at his face.

The birds from the shore took that moment to dive under the water and thankfully it was a sharp enough ice pick to create a hole in the tension that had formed between us.

Finn was quiet for a moment. “This conservative family of yours, it sounds more like a cult, keeping you sheltered from the modern world.”

“It was and it wasn’t,” I answered as a snake slithered in an S form in front of the boat. I watched it swim all the way to the other side of the waterway before disappearing into the reeds. “We didn’t live on a compound or anything. We actually lived in one of those cookie cutter developments where all the houses looked the same, but lots of different kinds of people lived there. Not just members of the church. However, women were rarely allowed out in public without a male family member to escort us. I was only allowed out alone for simple errands, like the grocery store or bank. We did have a television in the basement, but it only got a few channels. I would sneak down and watch reruns of a show called M.A.S.H. in the middle of the night on mute.”

“M.A.S.H.,” Finn said. “Good choice.”

I blushed.

“For the most part, growing up how I did, was very boring. But as I got older and my father… let’s just say I preferred the boring to the alternative,” I said, not wanting to dredge up a past that I wanted to keep buried deep in the swamp waters of my brain. “I’m here now,” I added. “That’s all that matters.”

“Yes, you are,” Finn said and I couldn’t tell if he meant it in a good way or a bad way.

I laughed nervously. “Do you want to hear the crazy part? I never even thought about leaving. I know that sounds stupid, but it was never an option. I couldn’t leave my mom and I knew she’d never leave my dad, so it didn’t occur to me that I should leave until after she died. After she’d suggested it to me in a letter.”

“Where is your dad now?”

I shook my head. A frog croaked loudly nearby. “I’m not entirely sure. The church travels during the summer. They do this big tent tour, traveling to spread the word to little towns all over the southeast. He was planning on going with them this time around as assistant reverend. He could be anywhere.”

Finn steered us between heavy brush so thick I thought we’d hit it for sure but we didn’t, skating right through with precision accuracy like he’d done it a million times before and knew the location of every stump and tree in the swamp.

“So, I took the camper and truck that my mom left for me,” I continued, “and set out to find a real life of my own. Where no one could tell me what I can do and who I should or shouldn’t be friends with.”

An eternity of silence stretched out between us.

BASIN CANAL was spray painted in block lettering on a sign on the shore with an arrow pointing the direction we were going.

I glanced back at Finn whose eyes were sparkling under the sunlight. He was looking at me but it was more. Like he was finally seeing me. All of me. “Have you found it yet?” he asked.

“Found what?”

“A real life of your own. What you came here to find.”

My erratic heart was all over the place. My hands started to sweat. “Too soon to tell,” I finally answered.

We slowly puttered and at one point I had to duck under a curtain of moss as we passed underneath. The other side of the curtain looked completely different. The waterway in the center was only wide enough for two boats to pass one another at the same time. Steam rose off the water creating a mist all around the boat.

It was beautiful.

“This isn’t anything like I thought a swamp would be. It smells like rain and…” I inhaled deeply. “Like…fresh cut grass.”

“That’s probably because every movie ever that takes place in a swamp is a horror movie,” Finn commented. Almost immediately he realized his error and continued without apologizing or making me feel small.

“Out here the water moves around a lot better than up by the house,” Finn explained. “Up there all the dead plant and animal matter sinks deep in the muck. That’s why you smell that sulpher rotten-egg smell. It’s usually worse after a rain storm, but it’s all a part of nature. A part of setting things to right and keeping everything moving.”

We passed under another curtain of moss. Finn sat down behind me, lowering the handle of the motor. He had to part his legs in order to fit his large frame on the bench, a knee on either side of me, his jean clad thighs brushed up against me with his movements.

“I love all the Spanish moss,” I said, looking around. There was barely a branch that wasn’t covered completely in it.

“It’s actually not moss. It’s not Spanish either.” Finn leaned forward so his chin was hovering above my shoulder. The base of my spine tingled with awareness. He pointed to a tree so covered in moss you couldn’t see a trace of the bark.

I swallowed hard. “It’s not?”

Finn leaned back and I exhaled. “It’s actually more related to a pineapple than moss.”

“Then why do they call it Spanish moss if it’s not Spanish and it’s not a moss?” I asked.

“Probably because southern logic is a little bit different than most,” he said, his eyes dipping to my thighs where my shorts had ridden up on my legs.

I turned back around so he wouldn’t see my heated cheeks. “I’m learning that.”

Finn turned the boat to the right to avoid a huge tree stump that looked like a knee sticking up from the middle of the waterway. “The moss reminded the French who came here a couple of hundred years back of the Spanish Conquistadors with their long beards, so they started calling it Spanish Beard, which somehow over time turned to Spanish Moss.”

“You know a lot about the swamp.”

“I should. I grew up here. Plus, history was the only class in high school that didn’t bore me to tears, so I picked up a thing or two.”