Message in a Bottle

Chapter Six
I tossed and turned in my bed as the moonlight shone through the skylight above my bed. It was a couple hours past midnight and I was sure I only got less than three hours of sleep. The thought of Carter coming to the lighthouse the next day… er, later on today kept me awake.
“This is torture!” I grumbled, jumping out of bed. I grabbed my blanket from my bed, my grandmother’s bottle, and Carter’s note.
I walked up the spiral staircase with ease and excitement. Even though I ran down the beach to the lighthouse from my home I was no where near exhausted. The adrenaline was pulsing through my veins. When I got to the top I set my things down and began pacing around the lighthouse. I tried to calm myself by standing in one place or looking out to the ocean but I was just too antsy so I continued walking. I eventually got tired and cold and sat down against the huge light that spun around. I cuddled with my blanket, engulfing myself in it’s warm with my grandmother’s bottle in my lap. I tucked Carter’s note in my pocket. Then I finally drifted to sleep.

I woke up to the sound of children’s laughter on the beach. I yawned and stretched. Why was there a pillow under my head? Then I saw a note hanging beside me.

Good morning, honey. I made you some tea.
-Mom

I smiled at her effort to change her image from ‘party-mom to loving mother’.
I must look like a vagrant to the people in the lighthouse as they walked passed me and stared. I sat up and brushed my fingers through my newly cut blonde hair. Emily forced me to get layers and side-bangs but there was no way I was letting her give me a French manicure. Instead she put a clear coating on.
Then I remembered what I was here for. I looked around the lighthouse for Carter but unfortunately I had no idea what he looked like which got me really antsy. The only people up here was a family with two children but none of them could possibly be Carter. There was also a seagull poking it’s beak at the light. That couldn’t be Carter either…. I sighed. He would arrive soon enough, I told myself.
I kept my blanket wrapped around me and sipped at the chamomile tea inside the thermos as I looked out at the beach.
My mom eventually came up with breakfast for me in a Styrofoam box.
“How’d you know I was up here?” I asked as I took a bite of my blueberry pancake.
She shrugged her shoulders. “Mother’s intuition,” she laughed.
“Or because I was always up here whenever you found my bed empty in the morning.”
“That, too.”
“Thanks for the breakfast, tea, and pillow by the way.”
“No problem…. So if you don’t mind me asking, what’re you doing up here?”
“It’s a long story,” I laughed.
Then someone walked through the doorway into the top of the lighthouse and what was in his hands made my heart race as fast as a cheetah and my breathing come abnormally. It was a purple bottle. My purple bottle with my message inside.
“Morgan, what’s wrong?” My mom asked.
“It’s him…,” I whispered in astonishment.
“It’s who?” She turned around to look at the boy who walked over to the railing and looked out to the ocean.
His side profile was as gorgeous as the front view. He was tall. Probably around six feet. His body was lean but muscular in his midnight blue sweatshirt and khaki shorts with tan moccasins. His eyes were a beautiful grey-ish blue that sparkled in the sun and were framed with dark lashes. His hair was a glossy dark brown and waved to the side perfectly. His skin was an almond color and he had pink cheeks and by the looks of it he had dimples which meant that when he smiled it would make a heart flutter. And best of all, he wasn’t an old man at all. Or a creeper. He looked completely gentle. The kind of guy that would never hurt a fly.
“Who’s the boy?” She asked.
“Carter Richards of Boston,” I murmured and smiled.
“You know him? He’s cute.”
“Ew, mom. Anyways, how do I look? Is my hair fine? How about my clothes? Oh no…. I’m still wearing my sweats.”
“You look fine, Morgan,” she laughed. “I’ve never seen you this caught up in your appearance since before your grandmother passed away.”
Mom helped me up from the floor and I dusted myself off. I looked down at my outfit. My grey sweatpants and school sweatshirt with my black house-shoes.
“You look fine, Morgan. Really.”
I brushed my hair through my fingers a couple more times.
“Wait, you have an eye-booger,” she said, picking it out like she used to when I was a little girl.
“Thanks, mom.”
“See you later. Good luck.” It was weird how she seemed to understand what was happening without me even having to tell her. That was a mother’s intuition and something I haven’t seen a lot of in a long time.
I retrieved Carter’s note from my pocket and walked over to him, trying to look… calm. But how could I look calm with the way he looked? The rising sun illuminating his face and enhancing his jaw bone made me boil.
Then he looked over at me for a millisecond, away, then back in awe. He turned to face me full on and I smiled. The corners of his lips slowly turned up and my heart flew away. I was so right. His eyes sparkled and his dimples were more pronounced.
“Morgan Clarke of Cape Hatteras?” He asked in his mellifluous voice that topped everything off.
I nodded my head. “Carter Richards of Boston?”
He nodded his head. “It’s good to finally meet you.”
He then leaned in for a hug bug I didn’t understand what he was doing so I stuck out my hand for a handshake. He stared at my hand and I stared at him outstretched arms. Then I dropped my hand and he dropped his arms.
“I guess this is the awkward part,” I mumbled, rocking on my heels.
He laughed. “Shake then hug?”
I smiled, sticking out my hand. He took it with a firm grasp and we shook. Then he pulled me into his arms and gave me a big bear hug. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for you,” he murmured.
“So, Carter Richards of Boston…. Would you like to tell me about yourself?” I asked as we walked along the beach.
“How about we jump to a first name basis?” he said with a smile that never seemed to leave his face.
“Agreed. The full name and location is a mouthful.”
“Well, Morgan, I was born in Houston and was raised in Boston. I’m all-American but I love sushi. I was born on July thirteen nineteen-ninety-two which makes me eighteen this July. I’m also a senior at The Newman School. I like to play tennis, I can speak fluent French, what I do in my spare time is read, play the guitar or piano, I’m big on philanthropy-a couple years ago in the Katrina hurricane I went over to New Orleans to help out and a couple months ago I went over to Haiti with my family and I’ve hosted two charity events so far, both successful, when I grow up I want to be the president of the USA and change the world but if that doesn’t work out I’m going to be a surgeon. I’m pretty down-to-earth and uhm… my middle name is Lucas! How about yourself?”
“Well, I lived in Cape Hatteras all my life. I love the beach and the water and it’s tranquility. I’m a fourth Irish and the rest is American. My favorite food is Italian….” I thought about what else to say. “And I was born on February twenty-second nineteen-ninety-two which makes me eighteen. I’m a senior at Cape Hatteras High School and I don’t play any sports. My middle name is Victoria and I used to play the violin but that was before my father left us when we discovered my brother, Benjamin had cancer.”
“I’m sorry….”
“And I don’t like it when people tell me they’re sorry,” I laughed. “That’s all I really ever heard my whole life but I don’t need other’s pity.”
“Then I take that back…?”
I smiled. “It’s fine. You couldn’t have known.”
“So what else?”
“I’m still undecided on what I want to be when I get older and I think I’m going to wait a year before going off to college. Mmm… that’s pretty much it. You’ll learn more about me when we hang out more…. That is if you want to,” I quickly added.
“Well, we’ll see what happens after today,” he said and smiled. “But you are going to change into some real clothes… are you?”
“Oh yeah, of course,” I said and laughed. “I just fell asleep in the lighthouse last night. That’s all. I don’t walk around town in my pajama’s. That’d be silly,” I said nervously.
He chuckled.
I went back to my house while he sat on a log at the beach, waiting for me. Once I got inside I squealed excitedly.
“What’re you so jubilant about?” Ben asked.
“You see that guy out there?” I asked, pointing inconspicuously through the curtains.
“Yeah.”
“Well, he’s from Boston. He came to Cape Hatteras to be with me,” I said and squealed again.
“He makes you happy?”
“I’m squealing aren’t I? I don’t know what it is about him, Ben but I don’t have to know him for weeks or months of a year to feel this way about him. It’s kind of… surreal.”
“How did you two meet exactly?”
“It’s a long story,” I laughed.
“I’m just glad that you’re happy. I haven’t seen your face light up like it is right now in a while.”
“I know, it’s gross but I can’t deny that I don’t enjoy it.”
“Well, don’t keep him waiting!”
I ran up the stairs up to my room and dug around in my closet and drawers for something to wear. I wanted to look pretty and feminine but I had no pretty or feminine clothes. I mean, I had a dress or two but I wasn’t going to wear a stupid dress. It kind of stressed me out with the lack of color and option in my wardrobe.
I ran over to the window to see if Carter was still at the beach. He was sitting there patiently but I knew that in his mind he was wondering what was taking me so long.
I eventually went with my khaki Capri’s, a plain white dress shirt, and my white flip flops. I looked in the mirror and made a face at how my outfit turned out. I looked like I was about to go play tennis or gold or something with flip flops. I smoothed out my hair and pinned back my bangs because they were getting annoying. I took a deep breath and smiled at myself.
“This is the moment you’ve been waiting for, Morgan. Don’t mess it up,” I told myself in the mirror.
I took another deep breath as I stood at the white picket fence behind my house and kept my eyes on Carter. Then I began walking forward again toward him, wearing this sentimental smile on my face that I couldn’t seem to remove.
He twisted around and smiled at me and once again his smile took my breath away.
“Sorry I took so long,” I grinned.
“It’s fine. And how come you get to say sorry and I don’t?”
“It’s the context you put it in.” I sat down beside him.
“So what do you want to do?”
“Anything. I don’t really mind.”
“You’re the tour guide, silly. I’ve only been to Cape Hatteras once. I don’t know any place around here.”
“Well the only thing around here is beach.”
“Then beach it is!”
It was funny how things weren’t the slightest bit awkward between the both of us. I know we met just an hour ago but it seems like we’ve known each other for much longer. When he looked into my eyes and I looked into his… something just clicked.
I ran back inside and took the quilt no one used in the closet and a two soda’s.
“Can I ask you something?” I asked.
“Shoot,” he said, grabbing handfuls of the fine white sand and letting it run through his fingers.
“When did you get my first message? Why’d it take so long for me to get a response?”
He smiled. “I actually found it at the backyard of my home in Nahant, a little area off the coast of Boston. I was a child then, only seven years old.”
“I was eight years old when I tossed my first bottle into the sea. The golden one.”
“It was summertime and I always played outside with my neighbor and childhood friend, Nathan Franklin.”
“It was summer when I tossed the bottle.”
“Will you let me finish?” He asked, laughing.
“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just so… fascinating!”
“I agree,” he chuckled. “But I want to finish my story so if you wouldn’t mind….”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry,” I said, embarrassed a little.
“So I was playing outside with my friend Nathan at the beach like we always did and what we usually did as a hobby was collect cool things like shells, rocks, that sort of stuff. Then Nathan found something stuck in the sand. He was the one that found your message first. He opened the bottle and read it and at first I was jealous of him for finding such a magnificent item with a message inside that just… captivated my heart. Then he combusted in laughter, tossing the bottle and note in our bucket like it was nothing but to me… it was everything.
“So I took the message and bottle back to my house to keep and for some reason I couldn’t get it out of my mind. I thought about it while I was at school, while I was hanging out with Nathan, and even while I was asleep I’d dream about it, dream about meeting Morgan Clarke of Cape Hatteras, the girl with the bubbly handwriting who was searching desperately for her prince charming.
“Years went by and I never made any action to respond to you, thinking that it would be a stupid idea because for all I know, you might’ve lived halfway across the world or this might’ve been a joke or the message was a hundred years old! So I never got my hopes up and I never wrote back. Years went by and finally I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to write to you. I had to know you even though the only thing I had from Morgan Clarke of Cape Hatteras was her little note in pink marker and bubbly letters with a little picture of a prince and princess at the top. So I wrote a little message, put it in a bottle and set it adrift.”
“Then it came right to Cape Hatteras and here we are….”
“Who knew it would work, huh?” He asked and laughed.
“So where’re you staying?” I asked. “Or are you just going to be here for today?”
“My family, grandparents, and I are actually staying at the Cape Hatteras Bed and Breakfast. They let me take the car here while they went to walk around town.”
“How long are you staying?”
“Why? Are you hoping to hang out again soon with me or something?” He asked, grinning.
“Cocky much,” I said, turning my head away from him.
He chuckled. “Just kidding. I’m actually staying here for a week then we’re going back to Farmville for one more week then after that we’re going back to Boston.”
“Just two weeks?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s plenty of time to get to know more about each other.”
I smiled at him as butterflies flew around in my stomach.