Nightswimming

By Mia Soto

When Lucy Lynn gets an idea in her head it’s really hard to stop it from rolling. Since patience and forethought aren't high on her list of personality qualities she can’t really be blamed for what happens next. She’s not really apologizing though. Because sometimes it takes some crazy to make everything, right.
It’s easy to be cynical in the world today. Marcie Mae gave up long ago. Will never even cared to try. What ‘s to be done when you mix a spunk filled nine year old and an old fashion love story? Well, love of course. It old fashion girl meets boy, fish out of water, baby drama, can’t buy me love, can’t help falling in love. The rest is just fun in the telling...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mia Soto
• Release date: Aug 4, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310656750

Mia Soto

Professional everything but finally coming back to what I love. Look for more all over the genre map and let me know your thoughts!

Book preview

NIGHT SWIMMING

Songs I Like: Volume I

by

Mia Soto

Text copyright © 2014 Mia Soto

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

To my Yankee. With Love.

Chapter 1

Laura Lucy Lynn Linear!

The screen door leading to the deep wrap around porch slammed loudly but not loudly enough to drown out the call. A girl about nine scampered frantically down the porch stairs. The chestnut mane fell well down her back glittering in deep hues of reds and browns lit up from the bright rays of the Virginia summer sun. Green cat eyes too big for the little girl face they sat in widened when she realized she was caught.

Lucy Lynn, you stop right there!

Aww, man, the little girl muttered stamping around to face the woman standing at the top of the stairs. The woman was bright faced from chasing the girl through the old country house but it didn’t change the fact that she was a sight to behold. She was wearing daisy dukes and a razorback-t that fit like it should. If Lucy Lynn was wondering what she was going to look like in about fifteen years, this was it. The woman’s hair was done like she was dressing for an important evening and her makeup was equally set. But she was angry, spitting angry.

Where you think you’re goin’?

I said I’d be right back. Lucy Lynn put her gangly arms on her narrow hips. She was dressed in mid thigh shorts and a ratty t-shirt that said ‘I’m the boss and don’t forget it.’ Her Converse sneakers were worn and dirty.

We gotta go. Get back in here. The woman was fanning her flushed face with her hands. My makeup is goin’ run chasin’ you like that! Now get in here.

Honestly, Marcie Mae. Can you get off my back for God sake?

Lucy Lynn stop your blasphemy and show some respect.

The girl hung her head shamed. Yes, m’am.

Marcie Mae’s face softened. Where you gotta go?

Just som’in I gotta do. Lucy Lynn looked up then her brow furrowed. You wearn’ that bra we got at the mall?

Marcie Mae flushed. Honestly Lucy Lynn, you gotta learn to edit yourself.

It looks good. The little girl shrugged. You’re som’in to behold you’re so beautiful. And she was, Marcie Mae. She was a modern day Botticelli with her mane of chestnut locks and green cat eyes. Her body was lush and feminine. It had the curves naturally that most Victoria Secret models had to go out and buy.

Don’ try butter’n me up. We gotta leave in an hour.

I know. I’ll be back. I promise. She looked so earnest.

Marcie Mae cocked a hip and considered the request. You got twenty minutes. She held up her hands as Lucy Lynn’s face lit up. If I find you before you find me, you’re goin’ regret it. Lucy Lynn nodded vigorously. Alright then.

The girl had turned before the words had ended calling out over her shoulders, I love you Marcie Mae!

Marcie Mae shook her head as she walked back into the house. Yeah, I love you too baby girl.

*****

She climbed the stairs and pushed up the wooden door. He wasn’t there yet. Jack! She’d told him not to be late. She closed the door back down and opened a file with a neatly printed title: Operation Lose the Loser. It was full of papers. It had addresses. It had names. It had family trees. It even had a few pictures, albeit grainy ones, run in the society and business section of certain papers. She heard scraping and then the wooden door jerked against its lock.

Lucy Lynn, open up. Jack called.

You gotta use the knock.

Time ticked until she heard him sigh. I don’ remember it.

Well then I guess you can’ come in.

Lucy Lynn!

Alright, just this once. She flipped the lock and the wood pushed up a second later. A young boy crawled up into the tree house and settled the door back over its frame. He was flushed when he looked up and the red of his face illuminated his blue eyes. You run here? She asked.

Yeah. Daddy had me doin’ some’n and I lost track of time. His drawl was as real as all the others. His darkly blond hair was floppy but not long and he had the gangly body of an early teenager. So what’s goin’ on?

We gotta think of some’n soon. The weddin’s next Saturday. Why don’t we go back to the first idea?

Sneakin’ on the Greyhound? He asked and she nodded. They’ll catch you before you can bat an eye. No it’s gotta be some’n better. I told you I was goin’ think on it.

But we’re runnin’ outta time. She’s goin’ do this ‘cause that’s what she is – too good for this world. But she won’ do it if I ain’t here bein’ a burden. Lucy Lynn flipped through the papers as she spoke.

You know you goin’ break her heart leavin’.

Lucy Lynn looked up seriously and swallowed back the truth of that hurt. Yeah, but she’ll see it’s best soon ‘nough. She held up a clipping from a paper a few years before. See I even look like him. She looked at it again and shook off the notion that she looked nothing like him, or her mother for that fact. It was one of her great hesitations. She and Jack had been earnestly looking for a better photograph, one that showed even the slightest resemblance.

Jack tilted her face up to his with a finger and smiled gently. The moment lingered and morphed into something not totally comfortable for either of them. Jack dropped his hand and cleared his throat.

Were you goin’ to kiss me Jack? She teased coyly.

No! He huffed. I don’ kiss little girls.

I ain’t little. Indignation was written all over her face.

You’re nine and I’m thirteen. I think that might even be agains’ the law.

Why? I been kissed before. She nodded as if he should have known as much.

By who? He was fully disbelieving.

Bobby.

Bobby? How’d you get him to do that? He’s afraid of his own shadow.

She looked down at the file pretending to reread some of the papers and muttered, he was sleepin’.

Jack laughed. Well then it don’ count.

Why not?

’Cause he couldn’ kiss you back. She looked beaten. I’ll tell you what. You get to be fifteen and you still ain’t been kissed. Come find me and I’ll do it. She lit up. He warned with a protective growl, And don’ go tryin’ to get yourself kissed. After everythin’ I put up with I get that prize.

I ain’t goin’ get kissed. She huffed.

His eyes took in that face just on the edge of blossoming into unattainable beauty. He quickly shook off whatever was floating in the forefront of his thoughts.Lucy Lynn you’re exactly the kissable kind.

Whateva’, she muttered and then tossed a cheap drug store mask that looked like a chicken at him. Here put this on. I read ‘bout some voodoo thing that might help us. It said we need real chickens but I don’ have none of them so we gonna pretend like we’re chickens.

His look was disbelieving astonishment. I ain’t puttin’ this on.

Then go.

He looked at the mask again then finally pulled it over his head. Honestly Lucy Lynn, I neva’ met a bigga’ drama queen.

*****

At four thirty exactly he stood from the carved glass desk and went into his bathroom. He kicked off his bespoke Lobb shoes, stripped his tailored shirt and vest, and brushed his teeth. Then he washed his face with a light herbal soap using a smoothing face cream after, both of which he had flown in from Beijing. With one of the soft cotton terry cloth rags bought yearly in Paris, he cleaned up lightly in the deep porcelain sink. His deodorant was purchased from Bergorfs and like all of his toiletries it was replaced monthly regardless of whether it was finished. He combed his dark, clean cut hair in the conservative manner he liked and dropped lubricating drops into his blue eyes. Grabbing a clean shirt from the line of immaculate tailored shirts that hung in his custom closet, he tucked it in, retied his silk tie and buttoned up his vest before returning to his desk to continue his work in front of the three massive flatscreen monitors. His intent was only to finish off a few correspondence and wrap up.

A few hours later the soothing sound of a woman’s voice came over his speakerphone. Mr. Bisso? Shall I have the car brought around?

Will looked into the multi-timezone clock screen that was incorporated into the face of his glass desk. It was six thirty. So much for stopping by his parent’s on the way to his evening. He’d call from the car. At seven. Call Ms Hardin and let her know I’m running late. The Asian markets were opening in a few hours and he needed to do some things before he left. Tomorrow was going to be instrumental in solidifying the urban myth of William Reynolds Bisso IV in Wall Street, no - financial markets worldwide, folklore.

A half hour later he slipped into the sleek BMW custom ordered