Trace Evidence: A Virals Short Story Collection Read online

  “It’s about where I work,” Kit began, navigating the Mini through a maze of scrub grass. “You remember me talking about that, right?”

  “You’re a marine biologist. A professor.” I knew that much. Not that he apparently lived inside a remote sand cave, or in a tent on some deserted beach, but it was something.

  “For LIRI,” he confirmed. “The Loggerhead Island Research Institute. I specialize in the sea turtles and dolphins that live and breed off the South Carolina coast. I study them. Treat them when they’re injured. Generally make a nuisance of myself.”

  I nodded. Kit and I weren’t close enough yet for me to tell him how cool I thought that was—and how much I wanted to do something similar—but it was true. Kit discussing his work during our phone calls had been the first thing that warmed me to him. Had helped me begin to truly consider the idea of a South Carolina life for myself.

  “So this is Loggerhead Island?” I asked, eyeing the surrounding wilderness.

  “No,” Kit said quickly as we emerged from the high grasses into a field of low, scruffy sand dunes. “Loggerhead’s a thirty-minute boat trip from here.”

  My shoulders slumped in dismay. “We need a boat to get home?”

  “No, no!” Kit shook his head, rushing to explain. Then he pursed his lips. “Well, yes, actually. At times. But not the way you’re thinking.” He spun a finger in air. “This is Morris Island, where I live. I work at the institute, which is on Loggerhead Island, farther off the coast. My job is the whole reason I stay out here. It’s easier to get to the lab and back.”

  I scanned the horizon anxiously. Hadn’t spotted a man-made structure since we’d crossed the bridge. Panic bubbled up inside me. I gave my father a sharp look. “You have a house, right, Kit? With walls? A roof? Running water? I don’t mind living in the sticks, but I’m not camping—”

  He waved a hand to cut me off. “Yes, a house. And no, not alone. Look.”

  He pointed ahead to where a lonely building poked from the dunes. For a hot second I thought it was some kind of mansion, standing there all by itself—at this point, nothing felt off the table—but as we drew near, I realized it was a tidy housing complex.

  There was nothing else around it.

  “That’s it?” Trying to keep my voice steady.

  This is the dictionary definition of “the middle of nowhere.”

  “Ten units,” Kit said cheerfully, pulling into a lot behind the building and pressing his garage door opener. The second door from the right began to rise. “Forty neighbors total. I’m Numero Dos. We are, I mean.”

  “Is there . . .” I craned my neck left and right, searching for any other sign of civilization. “Is there anything else?”

  “Not on Morris.” Kit maintained his peppy tone, but I could tell he was monitoring my reactions closely. “The rest of this island is protected as a nature preserve. No construction allowed. The state owns both Morris and Loggerhead, and built these townhouses for key staff working out at LIRI. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be anything here at all.”

  “Nothing else.” My spirits sank into my shoes. “Just this.”

  “And the best beach in Charleston,” Kit retorted, still forcing cheer into his voice. “Morris Island is absolutely gorgeous, Tory. It’d be a travesty to spoil it with tourists and condos. We have the nicest front yard in America, you’ll see.”

  “Yeah. Sounds . . . great.”

  Dear God, can I get out of this?

  Kit sensed my obvious reluctance. “Hold on, I have an idea.” Instead of pulling into the garage, he spun the Mini around and parked behind the building. “Let’s take a look before we go inside, what do you say?”

  I shrugged. “Look at what?”

  “At why I choose to live here.” Kit opened his door and stepped outside. Without other options, I followed suit, trailing him reluctantly around the corner of the building.

  Then my breath caught.

  Wow.

  Before me, a rectangle of vibrant green grass stretched to a short slope, which tumbled down to a gorgeous white-sand beach below. There, gentle waves lapped against the pilings of a sturdy wooden dock that marched out into the ocean. A handful of small boats were tied up along its length. Beyond the pier, blue-green water stretched as far as the eye could see, rivaled only by the towering majesty of the cloud-dotted sky.

  It was . . . spectacular.

  The sun reflected radiantly off the water. Slow, lazy breakers rolled in like an advancing army. Seabirds flew in long formations, cawing and swooping, coasting on thermals before dive-bombing the waves in search of their next meals.

  I felt something blossom inside me. A seed of contentment, opening. Taking root.

  This was a place I could love. Where I could live.

  Kit was watching me take it all in. “Like I said, living on the boundary has its perks.”

  I was about to agree when a door creaked open behind us. Then a buttery Southern voice practically squealed, “Is that her? Oh my goodness, let me see! Let me see!”

  I spun to see an elegant blonde woman hurrying down the steps of Unit 2. She wore a snug yellow sundress and impractical heels. Blue eyes. Cherry-red lipstick. The woman was tall and thin, and undeniably beautiful. Yet I had a sudden impulse to turn and run.

  Kit shot me a sheepish glance. “Okay, so I didn’t get to tell you about my girlfriend yet. Her name is Whitney, and she was determined—”

  The woman stopped as if poleaxed, her face cratering into a comical pout. “You didn’t tell her about me?”

  “There wasn’t a good opportunity,” Kit said, darting forward to snag her hand, trying to watch us both at once. “Tory’s flight was early—”

  “On time,” I noted.

  “—not late, as expected. So we got kinda rushed, and I didn’t—”

  “Tell your daughter about the woman you love?” Whitney interrupted shrilly, eyes snapping shut as she placed a hand against her chest. With a start, I realized she was near tears.

  Who is this drama queen?

  Kit started to protest, but Whitney’s hand rose to cut him off as she gathered herself. Then, eyelids fluttering, she practically leaped forward, wrapping me in a bone-crushing hug. My eyes bugged as this complete stranger attempted to squeeze the life out of me.

  “You poor, dear child!” Fingernails stroked the back of my head, and I couldn’t suppress a shiver. Whitney pulled her head back to regard me. “Are you cold, darling? Sick? Kit, bring this girl inside before she catches her death!”

  It was at least seventy degrees outside.

  “We were just—” Kit began, but Whitney was already shepherding me toward the entrance to the townhouse, leaving him to hurry after us.

  We climbed six steps to the door, then three more inside, entering a narrow living room with a giant recessed window overlooking the ocean. In the other direction was a dining area, then a small kitchen and keeping room in the rear. A staircase to my left led up to a third floor. On the opposite side, another set of steps led down to the lowest level.

  “The layout is kind of funky,” Kit explained from behind me. “Four floors, pretty much straight up. This whole block was built on the ruins of an old Civil War fort, so they had to follow the original foundation. But it’s pretty spacious for two people. And there’s a fabulous roof deck on the top level.”

  My eyes darted to the makeup-drenched woman with an arm still draped around my shoulders. “You don’t live here?”

  Her face flushed, then she tittered like a child. “Oh no, dear. Your father and I aren’t engaged or anything like that.” She released me, demurely hand-smoothing her sundress. “I live downtown, in the city proper.”

  Phew.

  I wasn’t sure about this goofy new dad of mine, but I’d made a snap decision about his ditzy girlfriend. That we weren’t going to be roomies was the b
est news of the day.

  “Your bedroom is upstairs.” Kit nodded up the steps. “I’m giving you the one in front. It’s bigger, and overlooks the ocean. Plus it’s got the master bath.”

  My mouth opened, but he spoke right over me. “I insist. Honestly, I couldn’t care less about bathroom size, and the closet in the second bedroom is really tight. You’re a teenage girl,” he explained to me needlessly. “You need way more space than me.”

  “Kit, I can’t take your bedroom.”

  “You can and will.” He made a chopping motion with one hand. “I’ve already moved my stuff anyway, and don’t want to have to do it again.”

  I was touched. Kit Howard might be woefully unprepared to be a dad, but he seemed to have a good heart. It’s a start. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

  “It’s what we want,” Whitney chimed in, flashing a set of perfect white teeth. For some reason, I imagined smashing a pie into her face. She’d probably faint at the mess.

  “Would you like a tour?” Whitney offered brightly. “Or something to eat? You must be famished, with nothing but airplane food to eat.”

  The day had caught up to me. My head wasn’t quite spinning, but close. I needed a break. A quick time-out to get my bearings. “Maybe just a few minutes in my room. Alone,” I clarified, just in case she thought to join me.

  “Of course!” Kit said quickly. “I’ll get your bags.”

  “You poor dear,” Whitney repeated with a sigh. “Yes. Rest is just the ticket.”

  “Thanks.” I was halfway up the stairs before I remembered I’d never set foot inside this house before. “Which room is mine?”

  “One flight up, sweetheart.” Whitney wore an overly solicitous expression, as if I were an endangered species entrusted to her care. “End of the hall. Look for the bay window overlooking the sea.”

  It suddenly occurred to me that by evicting Kit, I’d banished Whitney to the guest room as well. Some manners were in order, no matter how much she made my skin crawl. “Thank you, Whitney. You’ve made this all a lot easier.”

  Her hands rose to cover her mouth as she nodded tightly. I feared I’d overdone it.

  What a bizarre woman.

  Taking the steps two at a time, I fled, in search of sanctuary.

  The bedroom was small but well-appointed.

  Bed. Dresser. Desk. Twin bookcases, aligned side-by-side. Everything in dark mahogany, the pieces matching and clearly brand-new. Kit must’ve crushed a Pottery Barn catalog.

  No complaints, though. It all looked nice. A boy’s effort at building a girl’s room, yes, but he got an A for effort. Then I spotted a lilac duvet and lacy tangerine throw pillows, and knew Whitney’s hand had been present as well.

  I stuck my head into the closet. Not huge, but plenty big enough for the contents of my two suitcases. I wasn’t a clotheshorse or anything, plus Mom and I never had the funds to bloat our wardrobes.

  The bathroom, however, was a pleasant surprise. Two sinks, a stand-alone shower, and, yes, a soaking tub. I debated jumping into it right then, but held off. I didn’t know what Kit and Whitney had planned, and the last thing this day needed was a bathroom-walk-in disaster.

  There was a daybed beneath the bay window. I hopped onto it and gazed out at the smooth, glasslike ocean below. Kit had it right—the landscape was amazing. Soothing. I’d never had a view like that in Massachusetts. As I watched, a pod of dolphins breached the surface, firing seawater high into the air. I said a silent thank-you for Kit’s generosity.

  Spotting an outlet, I plugged in my phone to charge. Then I leaned back against the wall, staring down at the deep blue sea.

  So. Here I am.

  The morning had been strange, no question. I thought about Kit and decided there was potential there. While essentially clueless, he didn’t seem overbearing, or thickheaded, or mean. In fact, he seemed relieved at the idea of treating each other as equals. I could work with that.

  Whitney, though.

  She was going to be a problem.

  Unbidden, comparisons to my mother paraded through my head. Mom had always been able to read my moods instinctively. Defused tension with ease. She’d had a gift for dialing down my type-A personality and getting me to relax. Basically the exact opposite of the bombastic blonde bombshell lurking downstairs.

  Even when Mom skipped me up a grade level—something I’d complained bitterly about upon reaching high school; who wants to be youngest by a full year?—she’d been able to calmly explain her reasoning in a way I’d accepted.

  But Whitney? She’d gotten everything wrong within seconds. It was almost impressive.

  How often was she going to be there? Did she run Kit as completely as it seemed?

  I saw my face in the windowpane. The curdled twist to my lips.

  “Blargh,” I whispered. My reflection nodded back grimly in response.

  With a sigh, I rose and walked to the bathroom. Splashed cold water on my face. A glance at my iPhone told me it was only 10:15. Day One of my new life was dragging like a dredge.

  What now? Do I hide up here? Take a nap?

  Can it last four years?

  I wished I had my suitcases. More specifically, the books crammed inside. I could read up here in safety, then maybe take a nap. But going down to ask for them might result in more unwanted bear hugs. Better not risk it.

  My eyes drifted back to the window. The empty beach.

  How far does it go?

  A knock on the door made me jump.

  “Tory?” Kit called, his voice slightly breathless.

  “Yes?” Praying there wasn’t a painful getting-to-know-you activity in the offing.

  “I have your things.” I heard him grunt, then the sound of shifting feet. “I don’t want to disturb you, but these bags are pretty heavy. Not sure what you packed . . .” There was a thump as one of my suitcases hit the floor. “I can leave them out here for now, but I don’t want you to have to lug them in there yourself.”

  Decision made.

  I opened the door wide. “No problem. Come in.”

  Kit lurched forward and dropped both cases at the foot of the bed. Then he flexed his fingers, red-faced and sweaty. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Three flights of stairs. Should’ve made two trips.”

  I stifled a laugh. He was trying so hard.

  “It’s fine,” I assured him. “Thanks for bringing my stuff up. I was actually thinking about going for a run on the beach, if that’s okay?”

  “What? Yes! Great!” Kit tripped over his own words in encouragement. “That’s a wonderful idea. Morris Island is about four miles all the way around. Stick to the beach until you hit Cummings Point to the north, cut straight across the sandhills to Schooner Creek, then work your way back. You’ll see Charleston Harbor, Fort Sumter, lots of stuff.”

  Cummings Point. Schooner Creek. Fort Sumter. The names meant nothing to me, but I nodded politely. “Will I get lost?”

  Kit chuckled. “Doubtful. There’s nothing else on the island. If you lose your bearings, just head south and look for the Morris Island Lighthouse. You can see our place from there.”

  “Lighthouse. Got it.”

  Kit smiled, lingering in the doorway, clearly pleased to have been useful.

  “Thank you,” I said, waiting patiently.

  “You’re very welcome.” Still not moving.

  Finally, “Could I have a minute alone? To change clothes?”

  Kit jumped as if slapped. “Yes! Of course! So sorry.” He banged into the doorframe in haste to escape, then growled curses while retreating down the hallway.

  I closed the door behind him.

  This time, I couldn’t help but bark a laugh.

  Apparently my father was one of the Three Stooges.

  I dug out my running gear and changed quickly. I’d always enjoyed the activ
ity, though not usually in November. Never liked freezing my butt off.

  Not here, though. Score one for the Lowcountry.

  I pulled my long red hair into a ponytail. Checked myself in a mirror. I’m not vain, but I don’t like looking shabby, either. You never know who you might run into.

  Green eyes stared back at me, unconsciously tallying my freckles with distaste. I was self-aware enough to know I wasn’t bad-looking, but we all have things we’d change. My spots were a longstanding pet peeve.

  I look like Mom, though. I don’t want that to change.

  Blindsided. Every time.

  My lips trembled. I was racked by a sudden wave of sorrow. Angrily, I fought it back. Slammed a lid on the emotional cauldron still seething inside me, just below the surface.

  Not. Today.

  I stared at the floor until my breathing slowed and the pain retreated to its regular place in the corner of my mind. Finally, secure that my eyes were dry—and that my clothing covered all the necessary places—I nodded to my reflection like we were soldiers embarking on a dangerous mission. Which seemed about right.

  Kit and Whitney were huddled in the living room, pretending to be doing other things. Both popped to their feet as I hit the bottom step.

  “Have a good run,” Kit said cheerfully. “Nice day for it.”

  “Are you sure you want to travel the island alone?” Whitney’s eyes were tight with worry. “I could go with you, though I don’t like to run. Or Kit could follow you on his bicycle.”

  Both prospects horrified me.

  “I’ll be okay.” As politely as possible. “I run all the time, don’t worry. And there’s no one else out here anyway, right?”

  Whitney nodded, but her pinched expression didn’t change. “If you see a coyote, turn and run home as fast as you can. Yell out and we’ll come quickly.”

  I nodded, though I was pretty sure she’d given me terrible wildlife advice. Then I slipped out the door and down the steps.

  Outside, bracing salt air enveloped me like a glove. Sunlight bounced off the surface of the ocean, making my eyes water. Was it always so calm here? Up on the Cape, the sea tossed and turned like an insomniac, smashing anything within its grip. These placid waves made zero sense to me.