Killer Summer

by Lynda Curnyn

  God, I was glad to see him. Especially after the night I’d had. He had a stabilizing effect on me.

  “Hey,” I said, both relieved and embarrassed to be caught standing staring up at his window—yet again.

  Still, he smiled anyway. “You stalking me now?”

  “Yeah, that’s it.” I smiled. “So where’re you going at this hour?”

  “In search of Moose Tracks.”

  “I hate to break it to you, Myles, but there isn’t a moose on the island. Deer maybe.”

  He shook his head. “No, silly,” he said, grabbing the brim of my baseball cap and giving my head a playful shake. “The ice cream. You know, peanut butter cups and fudge in vanilla ice cream. Moose Tracks. You’ve never had it?“

  “Can’t say that I have,” I replied, wondering who had turned him on to this new flavor. When we were together, it was Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” I said, “but it’s almost midnight, Myles. The market is closed.”

  “They sell it at The Inn,” he said. “Walk with me?”

  I fell into step beside him, starting in immediately on the topic that weighed on my mind. “So I almost lost another housemate tonight to Mother Ocean.”

  “What?” Myles looked at me.

  “Well, not exactly a housemate. This guy, Les—a friend of Nick’s. He went out for a little walk on the beach by himself. Then a swim. Or who knows what? The next thing you know, he’s swallowing a lungful.”

  “There seems to be a lot of that going around.”

  “Yeah, well, you’ll never guess who came to Les’s rescue.”

  “Who?”

  “Tom Landon, of all people.”

  “Really?”

  “You should have seen him, Myles. It kinda reminded me of that night—the night I found Maggie. The way Tom just snapped to attention. Like he was some kind of rescue robot. He knew exactly what to do. And he wasted no time doing it. Diving into that ocean—” I shivered, the memory coming back of watching Tom getting smaller and smaller against those dark waves. “Pulling Les out. Applying CPR. I could have filmed the whole thing and turned it into an instructional video.”

  “Wow. Who knew he had it in him?”

  “Yeah.” Then I laughed, but the sound was without humor. “Too bad he didn’t get a chance to try that technique out on his wife.”

  I felt Myles looking at me. “I see someone has revised her opinion of Tom Landon.”

  I sighed. “Not exactly. I mean, yeah, he was a hero tonight, but there was something…I don’t know. Something strange about it. Almost bloodless. It was as if, paradoxically, Tom was able to jump into that water because he didn’t have any regard for human life.

  His own at least. Getting Les out of that water was simply something that had to be done. Like cleaning the grill before the barbecue.“ I blew out a breath. ”Yeah, that made a lot of sense. I don’t know. Maybe I am blowing this out of proportion. I don’t even make sense to myself anymore.“

  “No, I understand,” Myles said. “I’ve often felt like that.”

  “You have?” I asked, turning to look at his solemn profile, noticing his clenched jaw.

  “About my dad,” he said finally, his voice quieter, his eyes on the cracked concrete in front of us. “You know, after he died.”

  But because I didn’t know—couldn’t know, since Myles had shut me out of his life so soon after that loss—I said, “Tell me.”

  I felt a hesitation in him, and I looked up, saw the way he kept his eyes focused on the dark road, as if he might burn a path for us. “I guess what I mostly felt was angry after what happened.” He blew out a breath. “1 mean, I know my dad was a fucking hero—”

  I cringed, mostly because I rarely heard a curse word come out of Myles’s mouth.

  “But I couldn’t help thinking sometimes that he cared more about his victims than he did about us. His family. Like that time he got stabbed on a domestic disturbance call. And then going into that house that night, without any backup. It was like he cared more about those hoodlums who were squatting in that house than he did about his own kids.” He shook his head.“God, I know that sounds awful.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, stopping him, taking his hand in mine as I looked at him.“It’s okay to be angry at him, Myles. You aren’t perfect. And neither was he.” But I could see by the swirl of emotions in Myles’s eyes—anger, yes, but also sadness so deep I felt it widening the gap between us—that I couldn’t reach him. How could I? Did I really understand what it meant to lose a parent that way? I mean, yeah, I had lost a parent, but my father was alive and well somewhere. His guilt was obvious. Whereas Myles’s dad had died a hero. At least to the rest of the world. I thought of Francesca, her sullenness as her father ran to Les’s rescue. Clearly she had some sort of resentment over Tom’s hero antics. I wondered, briefly, if Maggie had resented Tom. Resented him enough to seek solace somewhere else.

  I looked into Myles’s eyes again and wished I could do something, anything, to take the sadness and anger away. But just as quickly as he’d opened up to me, I saw him close again, his golden brown eyes going vacant.

  He resumed walking. “We’d better get moving. I’m not sure how late the kitchen is open at The Inn.”

  As it turned out, the kitchen was not only open but well-supplied with Moose Tracks. And take-out containers for ice cream, which surprised me. I guess I had strolled here under the impression that Myles and I might be sharing a table and a bowl of Moose Tracks. Who knew you could take out ice cream from a restaurant? I thought, watching as Myles accepted a bag filled with two pint-sized containers of the stuff. I didn’t want to know who he was bringing all that ice cream back for. I guess, in light of everything, I was trying not to be selfish.

  It wasn’t easy.

  “You gonna get some?” Myles asked.

  For who? I thought, realizing everybody was likely asleep back at the house. Or doing their own thing. Suddenly I wished for that fantasy house that Sage imagined we’d have this summer, the three of us, drinking, laughing, having a good old time. What had gone so wrong?

  I looked at Myles, wishing I could go home with him, curl up on the couch in his living room and share a bowl of ice cream and some laughs. But of course I couldn’t. “I’m good,” I said finally, and we headed for the door.

  We walked in silence for a short while, or we did once we passed the rowdy crowd of revelers who stood outside The Inn, smoking and talking and laughing as if tomorrow might never come. Soon enough, we were alone on West Lighthouse, and when Myles didn’t turn off on the road to his own house, I realized he was walking me home.

  I sensed his mood was just as ponderous as mine, though I had no idea where his thoughts had gone until he stopped in front of a tall A-frame house that rose up prettily through the trees.

  I looked at him as he studied the house, drank in his strong profile, the way his hair, which he’d let grow, now fell over his eyes. He turned to me, caught me staring and smiled. “Nice house,” he said.

  “It is,” I replied, then dutifully turned to look at it.

  “I could have a house like this,” he said quietly. “Probably by next summer. I’m going on that second interview with Banks, Rutherford and Simms,” he continued. “If I take the job, I’ll be making a lot of money. Probably triple what I would make in the D.A.‘s office.”

  I looked at him, wondering who he was trying to convince.

  “It’s not wrong to want things, Zoe,” he said, his tone filled with accusation.

  I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off.

  “It’s not wrong to want things for yourself. Or your family. That’s what matters, Zoe. Taking care of yourself. Your family. Not running after bad guys and collecting citations.”

  Understanding expanded through me as I watched him struggle with his words. I wanted to touch him, to tell him that I understood, but I wasn’t sure he would accept my affection, considering that he was looking at me as
if…as if I were the enemy.

  I swallowed hard, feeling a slight relief when we started walking again, if only because I didn’t have to look at his eyes anymore, see the hurt, the anger—some of it, I sensed, directed at me.

  Within moments, we were standing in front of Maggie’s Dream, and I watched as Myles gazed up at the dark house. At least he didn’t look so mad anymore. But it hurt, still. Hurt so much that he felt the only way he could have what he wanted was to walk away from me.

  “I guess I better go before this melts,” he said, turning to me and aimlessly waving the bag he held in the air.

  “Yes, you better,” I said.

  Then I stood on the road, watching him walk away until he disappeared into the darkness.

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Maggie

  We all die alone. But some of us take hostages.

  They say a parent lives on in his or her children. I don’t think I truly understood this until my own father died. I was thirty-five when he passed. I hadn’t seen him for six years, hadn’t known him for even longer.

  But I went to the funeral, of course. A child knows her obligations after all. Especially an only daughter.

  It wasn’t pretty. It’s never pretty when a man dies of cirrhosis of the liver. I’m not talking about the body itself. My father looked as placid as he had looked in life. The mood at the funeral was ugly though. There really isn’t anything nice to say about a man who lived his life for the drink. And died by it. He didn’t suffer, at least not in a way anyone could see. Didn’t lie in a hospital bed receiving get well wishes from loved ones.

  Didn’t even really have to die, at least according to Tom, who didn’t believe in diseases of the spirit. Diseases of the body he could sympathize with, but a failure of will was something he simply couldn’t buy.

  I suppose I didn’t buy it either, until I stood before my father’s coffin, saw the shape of his mouth, so like my own, the line of cheekbone that marked me and my brothers as family. And understood what it meant to give up.

  It lived in me, that desire, to chalk everything up to missed chances and dashed dreams. To take comfort in a solution that could destroy you.

  I also realized that, although I hadn’t had a father for years, I had been living all this time with the possibility of him. The hope that I could return home and find somebody there to care for me. Because as ill as he was, my father had taken care of us once. My mother’s bipolar disorder made him the better parent by default. He hoisted us onto school buses, packed lunches for us—when there was lunch to pack. Helped us fill out college applications and outwit the financial aid departments.

  And then, one day, he was gone.

  “Everyone is responsible for their own happiness,” Tom said as we drove home from the funeral.

  I wasn’t sure who he was referring to, my father or me.

  Which was why, when my small inheritance arrived in the mail a few months later, compliments of the pension my father didn’t live to collect, I took it as a sign. Imagined my father had died so that I could live a better life myself.

  I knew twenty thousand dollars wasn’t enough to escape my marriage. I had, after all, become accustomed to a certain kind of life. But as it turned out, during my seemingly pointless job in accounts payable for the radio station, I had discovered I had a good head for numbers. And though at the time I had been disappointed to realize my gift was for numbers and not music, now that I actually had some money of my own, I was going to put that gift to work for me.

  After all, my happiness depended upon it.

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Sage

  I could use a ghost right about now.

  After less than a week of walking in Maggie’s shoes, I was starting to wonder if I really had what it took to fill them. Especially as I sat poring over the budget she had set up just weeks before she died, trying to make sense of it.

  Not that Maggie wasn’t organized. In fact, ever since I had moved into her office, I realized she might have been more zealous about her organizational systems than even Tom was. The problem was, though I knew just about everything when it came to the selling and merchandising of skin, I knew zip about budgets.

  So much for my good head for business, I thought, running a hand through my hair again as I stared down at the mass of numbers in front of me. I had even resorted to calling Tom yesterday, but the only thing clear to me when I finally got him on the phone was that there was a reason why Tom had needed someone else to run Edge. He had his hands full with Luxe. His assistant interrupted our conversation so many times with various emergencies that I finally gave up. I didn’t want to overburden him, after all. Or worse, make him realize I didn’t have that head for numbers he’d once relied upon Maggie for.

  I could practically hear her laughing at me from the grave.

  Which was probably why I took that framed photo she had on her desk of her at the ribbon-cutting ceremony for the showroom and tossed it right in the trash.

  Along with the fussy little stained glass flowers she had hanging on the windowsill and the pink mouse pad she kept by the computer.

  This place was going to need a little redecorating, to say the least.

  But I certainly couldn’t tackle that today, I thought, looking at the clock and realizing it was close to noon. I wanted to get this budget business done before lunch.

  Before Vince arrived anyway.

  When I learned from Tom on Monday that Vince was coming to town, I immediately rang his office in Bohemia, hoping to get a lunch date. And though Vince wasn’t sure he would even have time for lunch between his meeting with Tom and his appointments with various vendors around the city, he did say he would stop by.

  I was looking forward to it. Especially after our cozy little chat on the deck was cut short by that character Nick dragged out to the beach. Of course, neither Nick nor Zoe could understand why I was so pissed off at them that night. And I was tired of explaining what should have been obvious to my two closest friends.

  The intercom on my phone rang, and I grabbed the receiver. “Yes, Yaz?”

  “Vince Trifelli is here to see you.”

  I smiled. Early. That was nice. “Send him down, Yaz.”

  Shutting the file of Excel spreadsheets I had been staring at for way too long, I stood up, catching a glance of my reflection in the mirror, the only useful personal item of Maggie’s in the office. I gave my hair a quick tousle, then pulled my lipstick out of my handbag and dabbed it on.

  That budget would have to wait. Right now, I had more urgent matters to attend to.

  “Well, hello,” Vince said, appearing in the doorway.

  “Hey, Vince,” I replied, smiling at him and stifling an urge to lean forward and kiss him. Mmm. He looked good. I didn’t usually go for suits on a man, but Vince was no ordinary man, I thought, studying the way his linen suit fit his broad shoulders and highlighted his olive skin. “So does this mean I have a lunch date today?”

  His brows furrowed. “Unfortunately not, Sage. One of my vendors needed to move his appointment up, so I don’t have that much time.”

  I bit back on the disappointment that stabbed at me.

  “But I’ll make it up to you,” he continued, his dark gaze meeting mine. “Dinner Friday night at the beach? Le Dock in Fair Harbor is pretty nice. Especially at sunset.”

  Well, well, well. I might have lost a lunch, but I had gained a dinner. Complete with sunset. “Sounds good to me,” I said smiling at him. ‘“Can I get you anything? Coffee?”

  He shook his head. “I really can’t stay long. I just wanted to see how you were doing. I see you moved into your new office,” he said, his gaze roaming around the room.

  “Yeah, well, it needs a little work, but I’ll get to it.” Then I realized what I’d said and stepped a little to my right, hoping I was blocking the trash can filled with Maggie’s tchotchkes.

  “I really enjoyed our talk the
other night,” he said, returning his gaze to mine. “I’m hoping we can talk some more. I’d love to hear some of your ideas for next year’s styles.”

  Now style ideas I could handle, I thought. For a moment I contemplated asking Vince the questions I had about the budget, then realized I might look like a know-nothing. And that was the last impression I wanted to give him. “That sounds great. I’ve already got a few ideas about some styles we can do in lamb and goat,” I said.

  “That’s what I like to hear, Sage. We need to do a few more styles in some good-quality skins. Not that I have anything against your bulletproof hip-hop styles,” he added with a wink.

  Clearly I had made an impression on him. At least he remembered some of the ideas I’d shared with him out on the deck last weekend.

  “How’s Les doing?” he asked now.

  “Oh, he’s fine,” I said. “I think he may have had a little too much to drink that night.”

  He shook his head. “He’s lucky to be alive.”

  “I know,” I said, feeling pretty lucky to be alive myself. Especially with Vince standing before me, looking at me as if he might be finding me just as irresistible as I found him.

  This was shaping up to be a pretty damn good day after all. Budgets notwithstanding.

  He glanced at his watch.“I’ve got to run. So Friday then? Pick you up at the house around eight?”

  “I’m looking forward to it, Vince.”

  “So am I,” he said, giving me a look that said dinner wasn’t the only thing he was looking forward to.

  Yes, it was good to be alive.