June 10. It was nearly eight-thirty at night when Pacey arrived in Freeport, Grand Bahama. He walked through the clean, bright airport, and out the arrivals doors to meet the car waiting for him. A dark Bahamian man standing next to a taxicab was holding up a sign with his name on it.
"Ya Pacey Witter?" the man asked in accented English.
He smiled and pointed at the sign in the guy's hands. "That's me."
Two rows of pearl-white teeth shone back at him as a broad grin manifested itself on the driver's face, and he held out his hand to shake. "Den you da one I'm here for."
After shaking hands, the driver took his duffel bag from him and put it in the trunk while he got into the back seat. The driver got behind the wheel and pulled away from the curb, speeding off into the street.
"Dis ya first time to da island?" the driver asked him, smiling in the rearview mirror.
"Uh, yeah," he replied, watching the road as it winded close to the beach. Pacey rolled down his window, taking in the gentle sound of the surf and breathing in the fresh, heavy salt air.
"I grew up on dis island," the man said. "Bin here all my life. My name's Aaron, by da way."
"Nice to meet ya, Aaron." Pacey looked up at the man, trying to decide how old he was. Judging by the pale curls that were scattered throughout his thick black hair, he guessed early forties.
"You's gon' be workin' for Mr. Moore?"
"Yeah."
"Wa you does do?"
"Um… I'll be cooking."
The man's eyes widened with surprise. "Cookin'? At he own hotel?"
"Uh, no. On his yacht—Tabitha's Secret."
"Ahh, so dat's why I'm bringin' you to da marina. You's a good cook?"
He chuckled. "Um… I don't know. I guess I'm not that bad."
Aaron laughed heartily. "Not dat bad? Mr. Moore wouldn't be interested if you wasn't any good, especially someone who looks as young as you."
"Do you know Mr. Moore?"
"Sure. I've met him plenny of times. Mr. Moore bin comin' here for years. He don't come down here dat often, but he's a good man. I got cousins who work at he own hotel. Dey say he's a good boss."
Pacey nodded and smiled as he glanced out the window at the passing coconut and banana trees. "Well, that's good to hear."
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his black Nokia cell phone and it took him a minute to get it working. He found Joey listed in his contacts, and with his heart in his throat and his stomach twisting so fiercely he thought he might be sick, attempted to call her.
It didn't work.
"American cell phone?" Aaron said.
"Yeah."
"Dat not gon' work down here."
"Great," he muttered, and shoved the cell phone back in his pocket.
It wasn't long before they turned off the main road, having reached a sign for the Grand Bahama Yacht Club. Once the taxi came to a stop in the parking area, Pacey got out and tipped the driver as he was handed his duffel bag.
"Thanks for the ride, Aaron," he said, holding out his hand to shake.
"Good luck to ya."
Walking along the docks, it didn't take long to spot the vessel belonging to James Moore. Tabitha's Secret was quite simply the biggest yacht Pacey had ever seen—and he had seen some big ones in his lifetime on the Cape. Her superstructure rose up as tall as a mansion on three stacked decks, the dappled reflection of the water shimmering along the huge seventy-foot length of her glittering white hull. He also knew there was an under-lower deck that housed the kitchen and other technical rooms and crew cabins. A crew of six operated the yacht, and there were also additional personal staff on board to tend to the Moore family.
Beside the yacht, Mr. Moore was there on the dock to meet him. He beamed an excited smile. "Pacey! You made it."
"I made it," he said, and they shook hands.
"Aaron got you here all right?"
Pacey smiled. "Uh, yeah. No problem."
James nodded, pleased. "He's the best driver in the Bahamas. Knows the islands like the back of his hand. And how was your flight?"
"Oh, it was good. I'd never been on a plane before, and it was a neat experience. I, uh, I kinda liked it."
"If I play my cards right, by the time I'm through with you, you'll have flown a hundred times."
A little confused, not knowing exactly what he meant by that, Pacey followed him aboard the massive yacht. He was once again given the grand tour.
"How was your graduation ceremony?"
He swallowed, hesitating. "Um, it was… good. Joey gave a great speech. She's class salutatorian."
"Good for her. That's an amazing accomplishment."
James led him up to the bridge on the top deck to meet the yacht's captain: Julius Jenkins. Then Captain Jenkins showed him around the bridge. The wood was freshly varnished and the instruments sparkled. Pacey was then taken to the sun deck at the rear of the vessel, where there was comfortable leather seating built into three sides of the boat. Towels and bottles of sunscreen lay abandoned on a couple beach chairs.
"This is where we spend a lot of our leisure time once the sun goes down," Mr. Moore told him as they walked into a room with mahogany paneled walls and a marble top bar.
The walls had various types of artwork, a mounted flatscreen television, and a sliding glass door to the outside sun deck. James's wife was sitting at the bar while a bartender made a drink for her. "Welcome aboard, Pacey," she said with a friendly smile.
"Thanks, Mrs. Moore."
"Ugh, that's my mother-in-law," she scoffed. "Please call me Amanda."
He nodded and let out a nervous, breathless laugh. "Okay. I will."
Just then the sliding glass door opened, and in walked two young women wearing tank tops and black yoga pants. The younger of the two, Jessica Moore, had her blond hair twisted into a messy knot. Her cousin, Melanie Thompson, who was the same shade of light blond, had her long hair drawn back into a low ponytail, and a stretchy headband ensured no wisps escaped. Neither wore makeup, but they had flawless complexions.
They smiled at the sight of him. "Hi, Pacey," the girls said. "Good to see you again," added Melanie.
"Good to see you too, thanks. How are you?"
"I'm good. Just trying to make the most of my summer before I go back to law school."
"Suffolk University, right?"
"Yeah, good memory," she laughed. "Uncle James says you'll also be in Boston this fall."
He nodded, smiling. "Yeah. Me and my girlfriend will be moving there at the end of the summer. She'll be going to Worthington."
"Worthington, that's right," she replied. "I think I remember someone telling me that when we stayed at their bed and breakfast a few weeks ago."
"So, how is she?" Jessica asked.
"Uh, Joey?" His stomach twisted. He honestly didn't know. He supposed he'd soon find out if he could get the cell phone working. "Well… well, she was doing pretty great when I left her this afternoon."
After a few more pleasantries and small talk, Mr. Moore sat him down at a table and had him sign his employment papers. Then he and his daughter led him downstairs. "Melanie's very beautiful, don't you think?" Jessica said.
Pacey cleared his throat. "Um, yeah, she is. She reminds me of my sister, actually," he chuckled.
"Really?" she replied, her brows raised in surprise.
"Yeah. I mean, if her hair was a darker shade of blond and she was about two inches taller, she'd be the spitting image of my older sister, Amy."
"Melanie's birthday is coming up in a few weeks. We'll be throwing her a party on board. We expect to be docked in St. Thomas by then."
He smiled politely. "I'm sure she'll enjoy that."
The galley below deck resembled a luxury apartment complete with dining table built into the wall, and leather sofa and armchairs arranged in front of a larger flatscreen television. The private family cabins were also on this deck, but he didn't get to see those. Pacey was taken to the lower deck and once again shown the state-of-the-art kitchen, where he was reintroduced to the chef he would be working closely with, Mao Jingchen. The man gave him a friendly smile and shook his hand.
Upon leaving the kitchen, he was led to a small cabin that would serve as his sleeping compartment. A comfortable-looking twin bed was attached against one wall and had a built-in bedside stand. There were a few bottles of water and a digital alarm clock on the stand. On the other side of the room was an armchair, foot stool, a built-in dresser, and a mirror on the wall. The room's cozy appeal was lit up by the recessed lighting in the ceiling above. An inner door opened to reveal a bare-boned bathroom with a shower stall, toilet, and sink, all crammed together in a very small space.
"We hope you'll be comfortable down here," James said.
"Thanks," Pacey replied as he set his duffel bag down on the bed. "This'll be great." He again pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. "Um, I don't suppose you know how I would be able to make a call on my phone? I tried on the drive from the airport, but it didn't work."
"You'll need a Bahamian SIM card," Mr. Moore answered. "You can get them in town."
He sighed, his mouth curving into a deep frown. "Okay, thanks. I guess I'll do that first thing tomorrow."
Then they left and he was alone. A heavy silence filled the room. Pacey dropped down on the bed. He missed Joey—so fucking much his heart ached with it. She was the other half of him, and he felt like pieces of himself were missing. He longed to hear her voice, see her face.
He wanted to spend his summer doing things with her. He wanted to talk over the morning newspaper, hold hands in a movie theater, swim in the creek, compete over a round of mini golf, rent a sailboat and spend the day out on the ocean, walk along the beach on a moonlit night.
He wanted her fingers in his hair, on the back of his neck, tugging on his earlobe. He wanted her hands rubbing his back, caressing his shoulders, his face. He wanted to hold her and kiss her and whisper to her. He wanted to nuzzle her neck and brush her nose. He wanted to sink his fingers into her hair, bury his nose in it. He'd give anything to smell her sweet vanilla scent right now.
He wanted her kisses on his face, his forehead, his chin, his ears, his throat. He needed her lips on his, her arms around him.
He wanted to fill his hands, his mouth, with her breasts, lay his head on her chest and feel her heartbeat against his cheek. He wanted to suckle her to climax, taste the orgasms he'd given her, and thrust into her soft, welcoming body until he reached that nirvana he craved and emptied himself while crying out her name. He wanted to fall asleep in her arms, and wake up with her warmth beside him.
He was addicted to her being in his life. Joey had given him gifts he hadn't fully realized he was lacking: purpose, belief, and the joy of being comfortable and content to just be himself. He wanted her kisses, her caresses, her sweetness, her sarcasm, her laughter, her tears… their arguments and the making up after. He wanted it all. He wanted it all for the rest of his life.
These next two months were going to be incredibly lonely.
His eyes burned with tears.
Then there was a knock on his door. Wiping his eyes, he got up and opened it. To his surprise, Chef Mao was standing there holding a bottle of beer and a plate covered with a white cloth napkin. "I thought you might be hungry," the man said.
At the idea of food, Pacey's stomach growled, and a slight pang of hunger shot through his exhausted system. "Um, yeah. I could eat. Thanks."
He stepped aside and let Mao in the room. He watched the chef set the plate down on the bedside stand along with the beer. "James tells me that you are from New England—a Cape Cod boy. I remember you and I met briefly when the boat was docked in Capeside a few weeks ago."
"Yeah, I am, and yes, we did."
Mao lifted the cloth, presenting his meal. "Lobster rolls, stuffed quahogs, and some cinnamon sugar doughboys, and an ice-cold Beach Blonde Ale from the New England Brewing Company."
Pacey started to laugh. "Feels like home. Thank you."
"You are welcome."
"But, um, I'm not old enough to drink."
"You are old enough in the Bahamas," the man replied with a grin.
"Oh, well, in that case…" He chuckled as Mao took out a bottle opener from his pocket.
The chef then stood there, making no movement to leave the cabin. A slight awkwardness rose up in the silence. "Um, would you like to sit down?" Pacey offered, gesturing to the armchair.
Mao's face lit up with a bright smile. "Yes. I will stay and watch you eat."
Laughing again, he sat down on the bed. "Um, okay."
"A chef always likes to see people enjoy his food."
Although feeling slightly strange with the man watching him with keen interest, Pacey lifted the lobster roll from the plate and took a big bite. His eyes fluttered closed and he groaned.
"You like?" Mao asked excitedly.
"I don't know if it's because I'm starved, but this is one of the best things I've ever eaten," he said, holding his hand over his mouth while he still chewed.
The chef's smile broadened.
While Pacey ate the rest of the delicious lobster roll, Mao told him his history of growing up in San Francisco's Chinatown, graduating from high school in the 1970's, going to culinary school in New York, and eventually becoming employed by Mr. Moore.
"Have you thought about going to culinary school?"
He took a healthy drink of the ice-cold beer. "I've thought about it."
Mao nodded, smiling. "I know James would like you to go to school."
"Yeah, I know he does. We've talked about it."
"You should give culinary school a shot. You would learn so much, and it is the fastest way to get an executive chef position in a great restaurant, if that is what you want."
Saying nothing, Pacey nodded politely. He reached for a stuffed quahog, the big shell filled with clams, bread crumbs, a bunch of spices, and hot sauce. "This is so good," he said, digging in.
"I was going to make you a chowda and a grinda, but I did not have time."
Pacey laughed at his attempt at a New England accent. "Fuggeddaboudit. Dees sangwidges and stuffies are a reglar paty."
Mao furrowed his brows. "I do not know what you just said. Did you ever have an accent? Because you do not have one now."
"No," he replied in his natural voice. "My parents would've slapped it out of me if I had."
"Figuratively speaking, of course." The man laughed.
Swallowing, Pacey averted his gaze while he reached again for the beer bottle. "Right. Figuratively."
The chef then began to talk about his family, his parents and younger siblings, and their lives back in San Francisco. Pacey could see that Mao had a great laugh and a big heart. "Yes, my father was a good man, a wonderful father," he said. "He has been gone many years now. I miss him very much. What is your father like?"
"My dad?" He sighed. Where to start? "Well, John Witter is a Vietnam vet. When he came home from the war, he started working as a deputy. His father, my grandfather, was the county sheriff at the time. My father eventually took the spot when my grandfather retired. He's been sheriff for over twenty years now.
"My dad… has the capacity to loom large. It's in part his height, but more his rigidness. He stands for things, represents a certain way in America. To defy him is to defy America, and he's quick to deal with disobedience. People love him or fear him, but no matter what, they acknowledge him. He's a powerful man who rules Cape Cod efficiently. He knows all the doctors and ministers and judges and lawyers; of course, he knows the mayor and the county board, and the prominent homeowners. He knows all of them and they all know him and they trust him. He keeps the peace everywhere…"
Except his own home, and from his own aggressions. Pacey reached for the beer and took another swig.
"He is a good father to you?" Mao asked, but his tone was so hesitant that Pacey thought he might be getting an idea of what their relationship was like.
"He's been married for over thirty years and has five children, all of whom are disappointments in their own unique way, but none more than me. It wasn't always… pleasant at home with my dad. He didn't drink every night, more like every third night or so. I'll correct that. He drank beer every night, but every few nights he'd get the whiskey out and then things would really get interesting."
"Why do you think he drinks?"
He expelled a heavy breath. "That's a good question."
"Fathers are complicated men."
"Yeah," Pacey breathed. "I suppose so."
Once he finished eating, he thanked Mao, and the chef wished him a good night and told him he would see him in the morning. Silence again filled the room.
"Why do you think he drinks?"
The question circled his mind. His dad drank probably to feel himself be the man he knew everybody thought he was and to get rid of the doubts that must cut at him. When he was drunk, his father became even mightier and more heroic and more unyielding. His righteousness in all things became a force of nature. His doubts vanished and his happy confidence soared. He'd retell the story of the day and how he had solved all the problems and told off the many people who had to be put in their place.
But then he'd look at his family and see nothing worthy of this greatness. They were nothing compared to him. He'd point out the flaws in his children and sometimes—more often as he got older—disciplined his youngest with a belt or his fists or any object he could lay his hands on.
That boy was a huge disappointment. That boy was such a nothing, a nobody. A great man like John Witter should have a great son, but no, he only had poor closeted Doug and his even more pathetic younger brother. He instructed his youngest on his insignificance, as if Pacey were incapable of understanding it himself, but he understood it very well.
"He has no talent," Pacey remembered overhearing his dad scream at his mom one night. "He has no talent. He's not smart enough for college. He needs to find a trade, but he's too lazy for a trade! He's nothing, and he'll never be anything, and I'll beat the fear of God into him if it's the last thing I do."
Pacey tried not to think about his father anymore, but he could no more forbid his mind from doing that than he could forbid it from ordering his lungs to breathe. A great heaviness came over him, and he could feel a spell of brooding setting in, where his father would be the only thing on his mind and would have the ability to dominate everything else.
After getting into the cramped shower stall and washing off, he slipped on a pair of pajama bottoms and a tank top. While he was removing his clothes from his duffel bag and placing them in one of the dresser drawers, there was another knock on his door.
Curious, he walked over to answer it. When he opened the door, his eyes widened with surprise. Melanie Thompson was standing there smiling at him, still dressed in her black yoga pants and had put on a gray hoodie. "Hi, Pacey," she said.
"Uh…" He glanced over his shoulder at the clock, seeing that it was after ten-thirty, and then gazed back at her warily, unsure and suspicious as to why she was here. "Hi."
"I know this might seem weird that I'm showing up like this," she laughed nervously. "Anyway, my cousin Jessica said you were having trouble with your cell phone?"
He blinked. "Oh. Yeah. I wanted to call home, but it's not working. James said I'd need a SIM card… whatever that is."
She laughed breathlessly. "Do you want to use my phone?" she asked as she pulled out a silver cell phone from her pocket.
His heart started pounding. "Really? You don't mind?"
"No," she said with a smile and shrugged. "I imagine your family is anxious to know you arrived safely. And I can guarantee the phone will work 'cause I call my friends back home in Boston all the time."
"Wow, thank you," he said as he took it from her.
"It won't work down here, though." She peered into his compartment. "You'll need to use it outside on one of the upper decks."
"Okay, great."
Melanie smiled. "Just bring it by my room when you're done."
He scratched his head. "Uh, I don't know which room is yours."
"You know where the living area is? With the big TV? Go down the back hallway, and my cabin is the first one on the left."
After retrieving one of the international calling cards from his bag, Pacey made his way up three flights of stairs until he reached the sun deck. He sat down on one of the leather seats. First, he made the obligatory call to Gretchen to let her know he had arrived safely, and asked her to pass the information on to their siblings.
He gazed up at the starlit sky, thinking it had never looked so bright or beautiful, and smiled, in spite of the fact that he felt uneasy. Here he sat a thousand miles from home, staring up at the same sky he always did, overcome by a strong sense of déjà vu; he'd often found himself sitting and staring up at the starlit nights both on the deck of the True Love and back home in Capeside.
As he dialed Joey's number, his hands turned clammy and butterflies invaded his stomach. Shaking inside, barely able to breathe, he waited for her to answer.
"Potter B&B."
It was Joey, and hearing her voice was so soothing. His heart sank, and he felt his eyes begin to well up. He started to daydream, nearly forgetting she was on the telephone until she snapped him out of it with her voice.
"Hello?"
"Jo? It's me." He was choked up.
"Pacey?"
"I miss you," he whispered. The sound of her voice speaking his name tightened his throat. Without intending to, he said, "I need you…"
It was after eight o'clock when Joey said goodbye to Jack and Andie, Jen choosing to stay behind a while longer. The two friends sat outside in the Adirondack chairs, talking about the graduation speeches, and reminiscing over their years spent at Capeside High, while gazing out at the creek as the sky darkened.
"So, what are we gonna do this summer?" Jen said. "We could take a weekend trip somewhere."
"I think I'm currently planning on working a lot. Just… working."
"What, waitressing at the Leery's restaurant?"
Joey nodded. "That, and possibly find a second job. Maybe a third. I've got to pay for Worthington somehow. I'll need to bust my ass and save up what I can."
"That's no fun. You won't have much of a summer. You should enjoy this time before you suffocate yourself with the anxiety of higher education."
"I don't deserve to enjoy it."
Sighing, Jen shook her head. "Joey, what happened isn't your fault."
"Yes, it is." She glanced up at the sky, the stars beginning to blink on as the hood of darkness moved over them from the east, and took a steadying breath. "Have you ever had one of those days you wish you could live all over again?"
"Too many to count. A lot of them include Abby Morgan." Jen looked over at her. "Is today a day you want to live all over again?"
"I think so. But I want more than a day. I want to live the last week all over again. I want to live the past three years over again. Maybe my whole life."
Her friend was quiet a moment. "What would you have done differently?"
Tears pricked her eyes. "Everything."
The quiet stretched out to a minute, two. "I think if Pacey was gonna call, he would've called by now. Of course, maybe he just can't figure out how to work the cell phone."
Jen laughed. "He desperately needs our help to transition to the world of technology."
"I don't get it. I mean, he plays video games, but he's so resistive to the idea of the Internet. It freaks him out."
"Maybe we should all chip in and get him a laptop for Christmas. We'll stage it like an intervention."
Laughing, Joey shook her head as she gazed at the cordless phone on the table between them. It hadn't rung for hours. "I should go put this back on the charger before it dies."
"You wanna drive me home?" Jen asked, moving to stand up from the chair.
"Sure," she replied with a smile.
Joey drove them around to the other side of the creek, turning onto Bay Bridge Road. When they pulled into the driveway, Jen unbuckled her seat belt.
"What do you think are the chances that Dawson is waiting for me in my bedroom?"
Her eyes went wide. "Would your grandmother let him in the house?"
"Grams? Oh, sure. She might've even plied him with freshly-baked cookies to get him to spill the beans and tell her his whole sordid tale of woe."
"Then one could only hope she'd talk some sense into him."
"Well, if anyone could, it's Grams," Jen said.
"What are you gonna do if Dawson really is in your room waiting for you? I'm sure he needs someone to help him lick his wounds."
She chewed her lip, thinking it over. "Maybe I'll throw him out."
Joey shot her a pointed look. "No, you wouldn't."
"Okay, maybe I wouldn't. Maybe I'd just ask him to explain himself and then tell him all the reasons why he's wrong. And then maybe I won't have to throw him out because he'll storm out and won't want to talk to me for the rest of the summer."
"Jen, honestly, out of all of us, you're probably the only person it's impossible for Dawson to stay mad at for very long. I think you're the one he truly cares about the most."
She scoffed in disbelief. "Oh, ho ho, no. No, that's you—the soulmate."
Joey pursed her lips, fighting a smile and shaking her head. "Nope. We've got it all wrong. We've had it so wrong for so long. He idealized the… idea of me and what I could be, of the way he wanted his life to play out, the happy ending he wanted. It's fiction, Jen. But not you. You're not fiction.
"I'm the fantasy, you're the reality. Okay? You're real, and I think Dawson knows that. When you first moved here, I think you were a little too real for him, and he obviously didn't know how to handle it. That's not the case anymore. When he's finally ready to accept that he can't actually live his life in a fantasy, then he'll see the truth as plainly as I see it now."
"Hmm."
"And besides, Jen, I'm gonna tell you what I told Jack and Andie: just because I can't be friends with him anymore, I don't want that to affect your friendship with him. It's completely different."
"Joey, he behaved terribly. We were wrong for letting his behavior towards you and Pacey slide last year, and look what happened. He didn't learn from it. Maybe a little distance will teach Dawson a lesson in how he should treat people, especially his lifelong friends. I'll do it precisely because I do love him and care about him. He needs a reality check."
"And that's where you come in. See?"
Laughing, she rolled her eyes and reached for the handle.
Joey watched her open the truck door. "Thanks, Jen… for… just for being there with me today."
She smiled as she closed the door, before leaning over the open window. "Anytime. I love you, Jo."
"I love you, too. You know I'd gladly reciprocate, right?"
"What?"
"Being the shoulder to cry on."
Jen licked her lips and chuckled. "I imagine I'll need one of those a lot in college."
"I'm sure we all will."
"Life, huh?" she laughed, backing away from the door.
When Joey was satisfied that her friend was safely inside her house, she threw the truck in reverse and backed out of the driveway. She was soon back in her bedroom. She undressed and slipped on one of Pacey's old T-shirts. Lying on her bed, the minutes turned into an hour.
Her friends had been a nice distraction, but now that she was alone, all the possibilities of heartbreak loomed threateningly in front of her. What if something happened to Pacey? What if there was an accident? What if the yacht caught on fire? What if there was a hurricane? What if he drowned? What if he found himself at the wrong place at the wrong time and something tragic occurred? What if she never saw him again?
She'd never survive a loss so great.
"You probably won't miss me for long. I'm sure you'll have a great summer with Dawson. I know he's planning on it."
"Say you're mine. Please. Even if it's a lie. Just tell me that."
Even if it's a lie.
Her anger blazed. She could murder Dawson. Wrap her hands around his neck and squeeze the life out of him.
See ya, Joey.
If for some reason, Pacey never made it back, then maybe she would.
Every time she heard the distant sound of a car passing on the road outside their house, an unrealistic yet persistent hope rose in Joey's chest. She listened carefully, and wished one of the cars would stop, that Pacey would jump out of it and appear at her bedroom window.
She pictured the reunion. She could see him climbing through the window. She could see herself jumping into his arms. She could see him carrying her to bed. The fantasy caused Joey to smile and cry at the same time. If only the world was so easy. If only it was all wish fulfillment…
Her eyes finally closed and she drifted into a restless half sleep, floating in and out of consciousness. She dreamed of his touch, his kiss, his handsome face, and then suddenly woke clutching her pillow as though she could shake it hard and produce the man she loved.
Then she heard the telephone ring, and she knew what had woken her. She ran out of her room and into the kitchen, grabbing the cordless phone off its base, praying that it was Pacey calling. She didn't recognize the number on the caller ID.
"Potter B&B," she answered, her heart pounding. All she heard was silence on the other end. "Hello?"
"Jo? It's me."
She could hear the emotion choking him. "Pacey?"
"I miss you," he whispered. Although she couldn't see his face, she could hear the tears in his voice. "I need you…"
Her entire body filled with relief. "I need you, too." She started walking back to her bedroom as hot tears pricked her eyes. "And I miss you."
"Are you angry with me, Joey?"
She closed her bedroom door. "No, Pacey. I'm not angry."
"I'm sorry I just left."
"I understand."
Silence stretched out between them. "How was your flight?" she asked.
"Oh, it went smoothly. No problems."
"That's good. Are you on the yacht right now?"
"I am. It's going okay so far. I've got my own little room in the lower deck." He cleared his throat. "Your speech today was incredible, Jo. I was very proud, and very touched."
She smiled as she got back on the bed. "Thanks."
"How was the rest of graduation?"
She took a deep breath, not knowing what to say. She wanted to tell him all that had happened, but she would have preferred to tell him in person. That way she could see his face, read his eyes, and he could read hers. She didn't want him to spend the summer worrying about whatever was happening back home. But she didn't want him to spend the summer thinking Dawson had been right about anything when he'd been so very wrong.
"Jo? You're not answering me. How was graduation?"
"Not that great," she said, choking on emotion, tears quickly filling her eyes. Then she started to cry. "I'm sorry," she wept. "I didn't want you to have to listen to me crying. You've had to do that enough this week."
"You have nothing to be sorry for."
"Yes, I do."
"Baby, tell me. What happened?"
"I messed up, Pacey. I messed up so bad."
"How could you have messed up?"
She wiped the tears from her face, although wasn't sure why; more would only follow. "You were right. You were right about Dawson."
He heaved a sigh into the phone. "Did he… say something to you at graduation? Did he try something?"
"Yes."
"Wow. And before I'd even left the state, too. Guy's got balls, I'll give him that."
"It was awful, Pacey. He thought that with you leaving, it meant I was on that road that leads back to him."
"I'm sorry, Jo."
"No, I'm the one who's sorry. I should've listened to you. I don't understand how I was so blind to what was going on with Dawson. I mean, I'm not stupid. Something very powerful had to account for that level of obtuseness."
Pacey smacked his lips. "Historical context. You have a long history of seeing Dawson in a certain way. Maybe you should consider your history together and evaluate his behavior from a different perspective. Maybe you'll start to see that it wasn't always the altruistic, benign interest of a loyal friend. Instead, you might want to reconsider his actions in the context of a sniveling weasel attempting to manipulate your emotions for his own gain."
She sniffled, wiping the tears from her cheeks, and took a deep steadying breath. That history began to wash over her. Spin the Bottle. The Spring Formal freshman year. Pacey kissing her sophomore year. The beauty contest. Dawson reading her diary, laughing at her art, coercing her to wear a wire to entrap her dad. That girl Eve. Pretending he didn't know about her and Pacey while making pointed comments about the love triangle in The Last Picture Show. The accusations and the ultimatum. The regatta race. That day on his dock last year. That night in the diner after the ski trip, and the attempt to guilt-trip her into keeping the childish pacts they'd made.
The money.
"He would tell me that I belonged with him, that he's at his best when we're together, that no one else would ever care about me the way he does."
"That's complete bullshit, and you know it."
"I swear we were both at our worst when we were together. But he'd tell me that no matter what happened, fate would always bring us back together. And he kept right on telling me that. He told me that today."
"Jo… fate, soulmates, destiny—it's a control tactic. He used it to keep you dependent on him, on your relationship with him. The whole notion of fate takes away your free will. It's a way of saying you don't have a choice. You always have a choice, Joey."
Tears filled her eyes again. "Well, I choose you, Pacey. I told you before. I will choose you, over and over."
He let out a shaky breath. "I choose you, too, Jo."
"Every day, I'll keep choosing you. And that's why… I gave the money back to Dawson."
"You did? But… what about Worthington?"
"I'm still gonna go. I'll work and I'll pay what I can and… if push comes to shove, I don't think taking out a student loan for my freshman year will be too terrible. I can declare myself financially independent next year and get more financial aid."
"Jo… I'll help you. I'll have a good job. You know I can save money like a champ and—"
"No, Pacey." She shook her head, wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes. "I won't let you. I can do this myself. I want—I need—to do this on my own."
He sighed deeply. "Joey," he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "You've grown into a strong, amazing woman. You know that, don't you?"
She blushed, biting her thumb, and then lay down on the bed. "I have, have I?"
"Yes, you have, and… you know I'm not good enough for ya."
"Stop it."
"Sweetheart, it's true."
"No, it's not, Pace. Stop it. I mean it. That hurts my feelings. Don't say that because it's not true."
"It is true. I know I'm not good enough for you, Jo. But the thing is… no one is good enough. And since that's the case, then I want you to be with me."
Her heart full, she smiled at his words. "I love you so much, Pacey."
"I love you, too. So much."
"You've always loved me, huh?" She grinned, and reached for the yearbook that lay on the mattress beside her.
He laughed breathlessly. "Did you get my letter?"
"You mean the one you wrote in my yearbook? Yes, I did. I loved it. Thank you."
"I meant every word. There may have been times I didn't like you very much, but I always loved you."
"Ditto."
He scoffed. "Yeah, right. You couldn't stand me, Potter."
Her eyes became wet with tears. "You're wrong. Do you remember last year, the night Dawson found out about us?"
"Unfortunately."
"Do you remember when I found you later on the dock next to the True Love?"
"Vividly. It was one of the most painful moments of my life."
"Mine too. Do you remember I asked you that question: if you ever had a day you wanted to live over again?"
He cleared his throat. "Yeah. Was today one of those days?"
She opened the yearbook to his letter. "Yes, but I want to go back further than that. That's not the day I want to relive."
"What day do you have in mind?"
"A lot of days, honestly, but… Dawson's fourteenth birthday."
Pacey laughed into the phone. "Spin the Bottle? Yeah, I'd like to relive that day, too."
"I want to go back, knowing what I know now. I want to go back and make you kiss me. I want to pull you behind the gym bleachers. I want to claim you and tell all those other girls to get lost. It could've been me and you, all those years. Everything would've been different… better."
"You're right about that."
"I would've lost my virginity way before the senior trip."
He started laughing. Then he took a deep breath, and sighed. "There wouldn't have been my fiasco with Ms. Jacobs. You would've been the only one. How I wish that were true, Jo. We're stuck with bad timing."
Her lips curved into a sad smile. "But if we did change the past, think of the things we would've missed. You might not have this great friendship with Andie if you hadn't gone through what you did. You never would've rebuilt the True Love. We never would've gone to Key West. I wouldn't trade our summer together for anything, Pace."
"I wouldn't either, Jo."
"But then again, there wouldn't have been… the mess with Dawson. Hell, maybe my dad wouldn't even be in prison right now, and he'd be home with me. How could I have been so wrong about Dawson for so long?" She sighed. "I was right about one thing, though."
"Yeah? What's that?"
"It was never about me. Dawson just didn't want you to have me. It was about you, all along. He's always been jealous of you. Jealous and resentful and insecure. Remember his sixteenth birthday party, and the horrible things he said to you? I tried to tell myself that it was just the alcohol talking and that he didn't really mean what he said—"
"He meant every word, Jo."
She frowned. Maybe in time she'd mourn the loss of her friendship with Dawson, but right now all she felt was anger. She now had to go back and look at their history through eyes that were no longer blind. "I know that now. He's the one who doesn't deserve us, Pace. You were the best friend Dawson ever had, the best friend he could've ever hoped for, and it's his loss. He should've appreciated you. I doubt he'll ever find another friend even half as loyal and loving and generous as you."
"You're making me blush."
She giggled and glanced down at her open yearbook. "Do you want to hear something else that might make you blush?"
"Uh…" He cleared his throat. "Sure," he said, lowering his voice.
"Are you alone?"
He was quiet a moment. "Uh, yeah. There's no one else out on the deck. It's just me and the stars. You know, last year right before I was gonna leave for the summer, Dougie told me that every time I looked up at the stars, I'd see your face. He was right."
"Well, at least you can see my face somewhere," she quipped.
He laughed. "Anyway, the thing that will make me blush?"
Playing with the hem of Pacey's old T-shirt, Joey chewed her lip. "It's something I've never told another soul. This is privileged information. It's also proof that my feelings for you kept right on growing despite my persistent denial."
"I'm intrigued."
"Well… my very first sex dream was about you."
Silence. "Really."
"Yes, really. Freshman year. I was fifteen."
"Do you remember the dream?"
"Vividly."
"I want details, Potter," he said excitedly, and she laughed. "Well… on second thought, maybe not too detailed. It's quite a walk from up on the sun deck down to my compartment, and I don't want to be popping a tent the whole way."
She kept laughing. Then she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Okay, well… I was in bed, and a man was kissing my breasts. He was just a dark, faceless figure at first. Then he took a breast in his hand and started to flick his tongue back and forth over my nipple—"
"Mm-hmm. Yeah, you like that."
She blushed furiously and bit down on her lip. "Are you gonna let me finish, Pacey?"
"Sorry, Jo. Carry on."
"Anyway… this dark, mysterious male figure then raised his face to look at me and it was you. Your blue eyes were staring right at me and then you grinned and lowered your brown curly head to suck my nipple into your mouth. And it felt so real, and I was so happy. Then I immediately had an orgasm in my sleep, and woke up gasping, coughing and choking."
"Oh. My. God."
"And then the next morning when I saw you in school, I wanted to die from mortification, convinced you'd somehow read my mind and know what you had done to me in my sleep. So, I made sure I was especially mean to you that day."
"Oh, my God. This is amazing. This just made my whole day, Potter—my whole week."
She chuckled, and then sighed at the memory. "I always wanted you, Pacey. I was just scared."
"Well, you have me now."
"And I'm never letting you go."
"Good." He paused. "It's going on midnight, Jo. I should say goodnight. I had to borrow this phone."
"Yours doesn't work?"
"Not down here. I'll figure it out, though."
Sighing, she pursed her lips. "Okay. Look, Pace, I just want to say how sorry I am for not being there for you as much as I should have this week. I should've gone with you to court, I should've—"
"Jo. Jo. Stop right there. You didn't do anything wrong. There wasn't anything anyone could've done to help me, and you did the most. I was a mess. My head was a mess. But… you know what? I'm gonna be all right. And you're a big reason why."
Relief coursed through her. "I love you, Pacey."
"I love you, too. I can't wait to see your face, and not just in the stars, but… you know, for real."
She filled with warmth, and smiled. "I'll be waiting for you on the dock in Boston."
"I'll be there to meet you," he assured her.
After they said goodnight, Joey tossed the phone to her bedside stand and turned out the light. She stared up at the ceiling, dreaming of seeing him again on the Boston docks, longing for it. The scene of their reunion slowly appeared before her. She daydreamed about his blue eyes and how many emotions he could convey with just one look.
Talking to him and hearing his voice had been wonderful, but the phone was a barrier, not to mention the distance. She hungered for the press of his lips against her ear, for the sound of his voice which rolled over her like rough velvet, and alone could make her body come alive.
That wasn't all she hungered for. The longing to get him naked in bed was so strong she wondered how in the world she'd last two months without dying from the frustration. Lying on her bed, her blood now heating around her body, Joey slipped her hand between her thighs and rocked quietly back and forth against her slippery fingers, visions of Pacey in her head.
Then it was her hand no longer. Not her own doing, but that of the man she loved who would touch her and take her away with a building bliss, take her off the bed, off the roof, off the earth, and bring her…
…blessed release.