New Chapter Day!!! (One Day Late)

Hey Everyone!! Sorry I spaced and forgot to post new chapters yesterday! Maybe that's because here is where I really want to rework the book. It get's a wee bit cheesy. You can see for yourself. Love ya honey I love ya!

Dockside

By Janice McCrostie



Chapter 15

Things seemed to be falling into place, but still Maeve’s head was a mess. Obviously Keaten cared for her, but was she willing to trust it?

The dashboard light bounced off his face and she couldn’t help but notice that he looked pleased with himself, which was weird considering she’d spent the remainder of the evening avoiding him with Ella.

She leaned away towards the fresh air coming in from her window and took a deep breath, hoping it would clean out her thoughts. The idea of being with Keaten made her heart burn and her head fill with pictures of Christmases and birthdays together. These were ideas that she didn’t need hanging around, but the breeze didn’t help.

They pulled up in front of the house and she hopped out of the car before he even had time to put it in park. It was only her manners that stopped her at the foot of the stairs. She turned to thank him and realized he was still sitting in the truck. Maeve walked around to the window and stood there for a second. Keaten didn’t move so she tapped on the window. Without looking at her he rolled the window down.

“Thank you for inviting me,” she said. He still didn’t move. “Would you like me to send Jackson out?”

The door popped open and she had to step back quickly to keep from getting hit. Without saying a word he walked up the porch stairs and into the house. Maeve stood there shocked, what the hell happened to the cocky bastard she’d been driving home with?

Keaten came back out of the house with a sleeping Jackson in his arms. He pulled open the passenger side door one handed and gently placed his son inside.

He walked slowly around the truck and stopped right in front of her.

“Spend the day with us tomorrow?” he asked.

“I…” He’d taken her by complete surprise. “Ok.”

Grabbing her by the shoulders he pulled her close and kissed her gently on the forehead. Without another word he turned and climbed inside the truck.

“11 o’clock.” He said through the open window, and the McGuire family was gone.

“11 o’clock.” Maeve mumbled to herself, than meandered back into the house not understanding what had just occurred.

Clare could hear her sister crying but didn’t go down. Compounding both their misery filled heads in one room would prove to be too much. Plus, Clare knew that Maeve didn’t want the company.

She pulled the covers tighter up around her and thought about the revelation she had earlier that night. Jasper had not only wormed his way into her bed, he’d somehow found his way into her heart and career. Today he had not only dropped the parent bomb, but he had also asked her to be the photographer for his book. Which, to Clare, meant something kind of intense. He had proven that he truly appreciates her photography, that to him her art was something to be shared.  Jasper wanted her work to be a part of his. That was something she couldn’t quite get her head around.

Clare’s phone began to sing and she rolled to check who it was. As she grabbed at her night stand she realized it was kind of surprising it was ringing at all, they must have better service at the house then they thought.

Jasper’s name glowed at her through the dark but her fingers didn’t move to answer it. She needed more time in her own world so she silenced the call and tucked it under her pillow.

He didn’t know what he was getting himself into. Clare played the confidence role well but it was a delicate display she’d created over the years. Being the black sheep meant that she had to be resolved in it. She didn’t put up with crap from other people, but mostly that was because she was to busy beating herself up to let other people have a shot. So if Jasper Clay was really who he was portraying himself to be, he had better be prepared to tear down some high walls.

The phone beeped from under her head letting her know he’d left a voicemail. She slid it out and dialed, wondering what he could have had to say.

“Hi.” He waited, almost as if he was expecting her to reply. “I just wanted to hear your voice; I guess I’ll have to settle for your voicemail. Isn’t that ridiculous? You’ve got me hooked Clare.” He paused again, took in a deep breath. “I’ll have to find a way to lose my parents tomorrow. Goodnight.”

She hit the number 9 to save the message, then number 2 to listen again. That night Clare fell asleep with Jasper’s voice in her head.

When Maeve woke up the next morning she was relieved that her sister wasn’t awake yet. She made the first pot of coffee and found her way out to the porch, wondering what the day ahead would hold.

Keaten was beginning to confuse her more then any other man she’d ever met. Years ago she was able to read him like a book, but now she could barely tell what was going on inside him. Maybe it was because it didn’t connect with the way she functioned. How can he be so certain after all these years that things were meant to be. Could she even be certain to trust the way he was acting?

Maeve realized that she had to put aside her issues, Keaten would never know what was going on in her head. The things that she thought and the feelings she felt were her problem to deal with, right now she had to concentrate on making it through this day.

She got up from her comfort zone and headed back in for another cup of coffee. Clare was in the kitchen blowing on her cup of joe, looking about as good as Maeve felt.

Which is the first thing that she said to her.

“Gee thanks.” Clare sipped.

“Last night was a trip huh?”

A nod was the only response. Somehow the two Mac Ardle sisters had both been stopped dead in their tracks by men. Maeve eyed her sister, wanted to talk about it but not knowing how Clare would react.

She knew everything about Maeve’s past love life, but they had never really spoken on the topic of Clare’s.  She was working out her own issues with the Doc, and Maeve wasn’t entirely sure that Clare wanted to let her into that. What the hell, she thought, might as well take a shot.

“What have we gotten ourselves into?”

Clare looked up from her mug, instantly knowing what her sister was asking. “I don’t know,” she took another slug of coffee, “but I’m in over my head.”

“Does it feel right?”

“I don’t know what ‘right’ is supposed to feel like.” Clare said instinctively, nearly knocking herself over with her own answer.

“Then go for it anyway.” A half smile peaked at Maeve’s cheeks.

“Et tu?”

“Who the hell knows.” She took in a breath “but it feels an awful lot like it did last time and we all know how that played out. I have to get ready. I’m spending the day with the McGuire boys. Wish me luck!” And she was out of the room.

“Good luck.”

Work had gone extremely slow all day. Clare didn’t know if it was because she couldn’t wait to hear from her sister or Jasper. But it seemed as if every toilet took longer to clean and every bed forever to make. She also had three extra rooms to clean because her “colleague” had called out, the ever lovable Sandy.

When she finished her last room, Clare was ready for a shower and a phone call. Her hair was full of disinfectant spray and she was certain she reeked of pledge. She went to her car without looking back and began racing down Route 2 towards home.

It was resolved upon within the first five minutes of the car ride that the first thing she would do was call her sister and the second would be to wait for Jasper to call. And when he did call she was going to give him a piece of her mind.

Don’t call and leave sultry messages about secret rendezvous unless you intend on carrying them out. Where the hell was he?

A quick look in her rearview window answered the question. The Range Rover was behind her, following a little too closely if she had anything to say about it.

Clare took the turn onto her street and Jasper followed.

“Glorious,” Clare said out loud. “He chooses to come find me when I looked like an inmate who just spent three weeks in solitary.”

She pulled into her driveway and the dirt flew up around her Saturn, for a minute she thought maybe he didn’t follow. But shortly after the dust cleared she saw him fall in behind her and parked close to her bumper.

She climbed out of her car and was prepared to share a few choice words with him, but he was already out of his car, at her side. Jasper kissed her before she could get a word out about his reckless driving or rude disregard for her awaiting his call. When he pulled away he left her breathless.

“You smell like Pine Sol.”

“Always the charmer.” She turned from him and walked towards the house. He followed, just as she knew he would.

“Let’s get a shower shall we?” he said, and did something Clare had never imagined would occur in her life; he literally swept her off her feet. “Keys.”

Speechlessly she slipped them into his hand and gapped at what he was doing. He set her down once they were in the bathroom and starting pealing off her layers.

“Water?” Clare asked.

“Oh, right.” He turned on the shower in one swift movement and was back unbuttoning her jeans. 

“Did you have a good day with your parents?” It’s not what she meant to say, but Jasper had her completely off balance.

“You really want to talk about my parents right now?” He ran a finger across her collar bone and down her arm.

“No,” both of her hands moved up to grip the top of his shirt. “No, I want you to get your clothes off.”

She trailed her fingers down to the bottom of his polo and pulled it up. He stopped her by grabbing her wrists and lowered his mouth to hers.

The rest of the shower was kind of a blur to Clare, his kisses always seemed to do that to her.

When Clare was officially free of the disinfectant smell, the two fell into her bed and lay together. It didn’t seem like long enough to her, and that’s probably because it wasn’t.

“I have to go.”

“But I smell all fresh now. You think I’d do all that for myself?”

He began to laugh as he left the room to get his clothing out of the bathroom. Clare pulled herself up and wrapped her arms around her knees.

“There’s only so many galleries my father can handle before he needs saving.” Jasper leaned across the bed and kissed her forehead. “I was hoping you could get a jump start on photographs for my books.”

“Jasper I need to review your research to know what I’m looking for.”

“No, I’ve seen your work, it’s what I need.” There was an edge in his voice. “I’ll find you.”

He was down the stairs before she responded, “I know you will.”

The day went by quickly, much to Maeve’s surprise, if the car ride to the dock had any indication. After the morning cordialities the three had sat silently along the bench seat of the truck. When they parked Maeve turned to help Jackson out but he had opted for his father’s side of the truck. Then Keaten had to force him to help Maeve climb into the boat, which lasted a whopping two seconds before he dropped her hand. At that point she had resigned herself to a day of wishing that Jackson would warm to her.

But once they were on the boat things got better, mostly because the motor drowned out the option for conversation. Maeve sat on a cooler, grateful for the cool breeze on her skin, and lost herself in all the ways this catastrophe could end. Really there were only two options, at the end of this day Jackson would either like her or hate her more. Realizing that made things lighten up a bit, she would just be herself and let the path take its course.

Just as this happened she heard Jasper let out a cry from the bow of the boat. She stood up quickly and had to right herself before she fell. Apparently Maeve hadn’t found her sea legs yet.

“Keaten!” she yelled to make sure he had heard his son.

“He’s fine,” he hollered over his shoulder.

When Jackson popped into view he was holding a bleeding hand.

“Dad!” he cried out, even though he was not crying.

“Maeve will have to help you buddy.”

He protested standing midway between the two, his back to Maeve. But Keaten didn’t recognize his wines of disapproval, so Jackson slowly turned to face her.

She was just as surprised as Jackson at his father’s blatant disregard for what he wanted. Surely he could stop the boat for a second to tend to a bleeding child?

The odd couple stared at one another for a minute, both hoping that the other would make the first move.

Maeve took a step towards him. “What happened?”

“I was cleaning a buoy and the razor caught me.”

“Oh.” She reached down into the cooler and grabbed a bottle of water. “Is there a first aid kit anywhere?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I think dad keeps one up front.”

The cold water made him jump a bit, but realizing his company Jackson caught himself quickly.

“Does it hurt?”

“No!” automatically defensive.

“Well I just know that if I cut myself like that I wouldn’t be as brave as you are now.”

Maeve noticed the permanent cloud lift slightly, “Yeah?”

“Absolutely, I’m a total wuss.” The use of the word made the corners of Jackson’s mouth turn up. “You must be really tough, is all I mean.”

“Yeah.”

As she worked on cleaning up his finger Maeve noticed the notes of his voice changing, his looks growing slightly less angry. He even laughed at her joke about the interrupting cow.

When they reached the island it seemed as though there were not enough things that Jackson could show her. This is where we’ll build the fire to cook the lobsters, over there is where Grace fell and it wasn’t funny, this part of the beach is best for testing the cold water and of course where to go if you had to pee. The “little girl’s room” was on the opposite end of the site from the “little boy’s room” of course.

The day carried on just like that, with Jackson warming to her a bit at a time.

Maeve pretended to need help as they climbed back onto the dock and Jackson grabbed her arm.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, I can’t wait for next time, I mean…” he caught himself. Jackson gave Maeve a slightly tortured look then he ran off up the dock hollering at a friend.

“I think he likes you,” Keaten said as he joined her on the dock.

“I like him.” Maeve began to collect her things and turned back to face him. “Thanks for taking me out today. It was great.”

“It’s not over yet.” She nearly dropped her bag. She’d gotten too comfortable with how the day had gone, comfortable with the fact that it was now over, but apparently not.

Jackson ran back down the ramp and came up next to Maeve huffing and puffing.

“Hey sport, how about Maeve comes over for dinner tonight.”

“I guess.” The honeymoon was over.

Chapter 16

Maeve watched Jackson sleeping on the couch, he seemed so peaceful. She wondered how an eight year old deals with being abandoned. She had done ok with it, but she had been in her twenties, both times. He was hurt and he wasn’t over it like Keaten thought. Maeve could tell he wasn’t ready to let anyone else in by the way he watched her, like he was waiting for her to poof disappear.  She realized that Jackson was right to be cautious; there were still some things that needed to be figured out. Some questions that she needed answered before she could fully invest in this.

“Keaten, what happen that summer?”

He looked up from the coffee he was carrying into the room. She knew he’d been expecting this question for a while, maybe years. His face was completely calm, and he began speaking as if it were a lecture he had written long ago.

“I wasn’t prepared to see you that summer; I wasn’t supposed to be home. When I walked out the door onto the porch, I was leaving my parents. I knew you were coming and I knew I couldn’t face seeing you knowing that I was getting married in a month. But your parents’ van pulled up and I saw you and...”

“Where was Rachel?” her voice was bitterer then she had intended.

“Inland, visiting friends in Augusta.”

“How pregnant was she?”

“About 6 months.” He breathed out heavily, obviously a little annoyed.

“I interrupted, sorry.” Even though her brain told her stop, her heart made her words cold.

He studied her, trying to figure it all out. Her eyes were genuine but her she sat stiffly on the chair, as if she may have to make a sudden escape.

“Maeve, I’m going to put Jackson in bed, and then we can finish this conversation.”

He scooped Jackson off the couch and his head snuggled onto his father shoulder. It was automatic, it had been happening just like this for years. At three he would beg to stay up late with dad and proceed to fall asleep on the couch half way through Wheel of Fortune.

She stood and began looking at the photos displayed around the room. There was one of Keaten, grinning holding a newborn boy in his arm, another shot of a five year old Jackson flanked by his grandparents. A collage of photos displaying a young Keaten next to Jackson, the two smiling faces barely distinguishable.

The final picture she found was recent, the father and son combination. Jackson’s arms were wrapped around his father’s shoulders and he was looking down at his dad, grinning. Keaten’s smile was broad across his face, he was laughing at something behind the camera. Both subjects were wearing torn up shirts, their faces sweaty and worn in from a day out on the boat. It was a real photograph that displayed exactly who these two were. They were a family, they were a unit.

When Keaten came clunking down the stairs Maeve looked at him and softened. It was a long time ago and there was no reason to rehash it.

“You know what, Keaten,” she took a few steps toward the foot of the stairs, “there’s no reason to go into all this, sorry, I was just being silly.”

“You don’t always need to apologize Maeve. How’s the coffee.”

“It’s good. And I know I don’t always need to apologize but when I’m wrong I…”

“You’re not wrong.”

“Ok. Then I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t care anymore Keaten. We were young, I thought it was more then it was. You made some stupid mistakes. We can’t change it; we obviously both moved passed it, so.”

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?” She placed her coffee mug down on the table and curled up on the corner of the couch.

“Nothing.” He sat down next to her, conscious of the distance. He wasn’t at the complete opposite end of the couch, but he still left a foot between them.

“Do you care if I ask you something kind of personal?”

“Now you’re worried about personal?”

“Well it’s not really your personal, it’s about Jackson.” This was a subject he may be defensive about, so she waited for the upturned nod that meant approval. “Is he doing ok? I mean with all the change.”

“He manages. I mean, he’s all right, he’s tough.”

“Yeah, I know.”

They stared at each other for a minute. She could tell that it hurt him, knowing that his son had been torn back and forth. He could see that she felt it too; the ache of knowing someone, who doesn’t really understand it, was in emotional pain. A scraped knee or a cut from a barnacle could be fixed, Neosporin applied and a band-aid stuck on. But right now Jackson was feeling abandoned by the person he thought wasn’t supposed to leave and that made Maeve’s heart break.

“I should go.” She stood to cross to the door, but Keaten took her hand.

“Stay.”

Looking down at him she didn’t want anything else but to crawl up on the couch with him and do just that.

“Stay?”

“Stay.” And then, like he had read her mind, he pulled her down next to him, laying her legs across his lap. She curved into him, but crossed her arms between them.

Keaten pushed the hair out of her face and left both hands cupping her cheeks.

“Hi.” A huge smile broke across his face.

“Hello.” Maeve barked out a laugh, it was the only reaction she could muster.

“I missed you.” His confession took her by surprise. “I did call you, but whenever you answered the phone I always hung up.”

“Why did you hang up?”

“I don’t know.”

“You should have said something.”

“I know.” He pulled her mouth closer to his; there was barely room for a breath between them. “It’s been a long time.”

“So what are you waiting for?” As soon as the worlds left her lips Maeve couldn’t believe she said them.

But Keaten didn’t notice. He kissed her softly, dragging them out, gentle and long. It was too much; Maeve buried her fingers in his hair and pressed him to her. It was just as good as it had been all those years ago, but now they were all grown up. His lips trailed down her neck, settled there for a moment. Somehow he remembered that she’d liked that best, the feeling of his breath and kisses on her throat. She let out a sound, not really knowing what it was, maybe a groan? It proved too much for him and he was back kissing her mouth.

He shifted expertly and laid her down across the couch, leaning his body over hers. Maeve arched towards him, wanting to feel his weight on top of her. She didn’t realize how badly she’d missed this; she hadn’t been intimate with anyone since Sam. That was nearly 2 years ago.

She moved her hands from his face to wrap around his back. Wanting to feel his skin, she began pulling up at his shirt until she found it just above his belt. She pulled his waist towards her, digging her fingertips into the curve of his back. It was Keaten’s turn to groan.

Maeve pulled back and looked up into his eyes. Keaten was looking at her in a way that Sam never had. With wanting and lust, but with care and, dare she think it, love? The thought excited her and scared her and made her want his pants off.

She grabbed his face and kissed him desperately. He answered in turn, kissing her mouth, her cheek, her neck in swift movements. It seemed that there was never a moment when his lips were not touching her.

He began pulling at her shirt, wanting, just as she had, to feel her skin beneath his finger tips. He found it at the curve of her hips, just as she had pressing her body against his. But it wasn’t like other times with other men. He wasn’t urging her to have sex with him; he was begging her to be close to him.

Suddenly she was back to the night in his house all those years ago, when he’d been her first. Now Maeve knew that he had been the only to ever complete her. But things were different now, she didn’t need him to complete her, but she wanted him to. Maeve had made a promise to herself, was she about to break it?

Keaten felt the change, she was still touching and holding, but he could tell that her mind wasn’t there anymore.

“Maeve, are you tired?”

The tenderness of his voice was what surprised her, he was genuinely asking.

“Yes,” she looked up at him, “a little bit I think.”

Climbing off of her he held his hand out. “Then let’s go to bed.”

There was no weight in his words; he meant just what he said. Somehow Keaten knew that now wasn’t the right time for him to take that piece of her again. But he was still begging her to stay close to him tonight.

Maeve took his hand and followed him up the stairs, through the short hallway and into his room. He threw an old pair of sweats and a t-shirt at her then sat down with on the best with his back to her and began pealing off his clothes. Maeve changed out of her sweater and was pulling off her jeans when she realized he was done but still hadn’t turned back.

She pulled up the sweatpants and muttered a muffled, “Ok.”

They climbed into his bed and Keaten automatically curved his body to fit hers, wrapping his arms around her.

“You’re a good big spoon.”

They giggled like two kids at a sleepover not wanting to wake up mom and dad. They lay like that for a while, Maeve drifting in and out of consciousness.

“Maeve?” Keaten asked.

She answered with a muffled hum.

“Goodnight.”

And Maeve slipped off into oblivion.

Keaten McGuire was another first, that night she slept the whole night in the arms of a man, instead of her usual pushing them away in her sleep.

Clare lay in bed waiting for her sister’s return. At approximately midnight she came to the realization that Maeve was not coming home tonight. Should make for a good story, she thought.

She rolled towards her night stand and grasped for her phone. Despite the time Clare urged it to ring, she didn’t much care for being alone. Even though on any other night Maeve would be secluded down in her room, writing, and Clare would be up in her room listening to music, the solitude got to her.

All the doors were locked, twice, and there was no danger. It was just the idea that no one was around that got to her. It made the night longer and sadder somehow.

It was nearing 3 am when Clare gave up trying to sleep. She climbed out of bed and pulled on her slippers. Sneaking a look outside she saw that the moon was bright enough that she might be able to get some night pictures.

Outside Clare found lots of interesting shots but none took her mind off of how her summer had taken a completely different path then she had predicted. She had noticed it earlier that night when developing some of her pictures. Clare couldn’t quite put her finger on it but there was something different in them these last few months. The changes were ones that only a trained eye would notice, an eye that had been looking at her photos for years.

It was as if a light had gone on and now her pictures had more life to them. A professor had once told Clare that her pictures were beautiful but they lacked a voice. She always found the right angle, the right lighting, the right specimen for her art. But lately there’s been more to it, something that even the photographer could not put her finger on.

She looked around the field outside the house trying to find something that caught her attention. Maeve’s garden was beginning to take root, but there still wasn’t anything that really drew her in. The house itself sat, quietly alone. Clare was sure that someone would find it intriguing, but right now the comparison to herself just made it depressing.

In an overdramatic effort to make a scene Clare fell to her knees and let out a sigh. That’s when she saw it, her picture. She stood and walked towards the dying apple tree at the corner of the property. There she laid down in the grass and focused her camera up. The moon shown through the twisted tree branches, dancing among the clouds.

Clare began shooting, grateful that the light from the moon was bright enough. She fell asleep in the grass that night, after taking hundreds of pictures of the sky.