Runaway Tide

by Julie Carobini

  “Promise.”

  * * *

  The memory faded, and he found himself whispering into the night, What happened? The night refused to answer him, but his conscience did. He had put her in her place tonight with his declaration that she was nothing more than an employee here at the inn. While that may have been true in HR’s eyes, Jackson knew that her connection to this place ran deeper—deeper than even he understood.

  But his pride had gotten the better of him today.

  His father once said that he thought of Meg as his daughter. Thought that was strange since he had a daughter—well, not one that he knew very well, but he had one. But William Riley treated Meg like an extension of himself. “She has my drive, a spirit similar to my own, but she carries a sadness with her,” he recalled his father saying. “It would behoove you to speak to that sadness.” He never knew—or cared—what that meant.

  That was a lie … he did care, but what did his attempt to show his concern get him? A door shut in his face—by both Meg and his father. He glanced around the well-appointed room. He sank deeper into his father’s leather chair, taking in the expanse of sky that shadowed the water. Everything about the office—the furnishings, the framed photos on the wall with his father and heads of corporations—screamed professional. So why did he feel more like a high school junior without a ticket—or a date—to the prom?

  * * *

  Meg returned home by Lyft, exhausted and longing for silence. A full day on the phone or in meetings used to invigorate her, but lately she’d found herself spent before sundown. Even her attempt at a few minutes of solitude overlooking the sea had been torpedoed by Jackson’s interruption. She tried not to think of how poorly that had ended.

  She stood on the front stoop of her home, about to insert the key into the lock when she stopped at the sound of crying. Mom’s tears. Quickly, she unlocked the door and limped inside, tossing her crutches to one side.

  “Mom?”

  Sobs. More sobs. Mom’s arms were folded in front of her on the dining room table, her face buried, her shoulders bouncing, a napkin crushed in one hand.

  Meg made her way across the room and gently rubbed her back. Deena sat up with a start, her face splotched red and swollen.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  Her mother attempted to sop her face with the thin, wet napkin. “Oh, it is nothing for you to worry about. I’ve had a bad day, that’s all.”

  Meg eyed her. She doubted that something as ordinary as a bad day could produce this amount of emotion, yet she knew that treading lightly with her would go a long way toward uncovering the truth. Meg grabbed a stack of napkins from the table and set them in front of her mother. “You know, you really don’t need to stay here any longer. I appreciate you stepping in to help me after the, um, accident, but you really should be getting back to your own life now.”

  Her mother grabbed both of Meg’s hands, nearly causing her to stumble. “You are my own life!”

  Meg lowered herself into a chair. “I-I didn’t mean … of course, I understand. I just meant that it can be hard to live out of a suitcase. No one understands that better than me!” She smiled and patted her mother’s hand. “And I’m sure Adam is missing you something fiercely.”

  A couple of fresh tears seeped from her mother’s eye, but Meg held her tongue. Of course, this outburst had little to do with the doldrums, but if she were to force the issue, her mother might clam up—something she had done her entire life whenever a crisis occurred. By the time Meg usually learned the truth behind a crisis, such as her uncle’s drug addiction, the problem had grown to mammoth proportions. Part of her wanted to scream: Just tell me what really happened!

  That’s when she noticed the notepad beneath her mother’s other hand. Reading upside down was not her forte, especially when trying to do so nonchalantly, but the words “county jail” came across as clear as the day’s blue sky.

  Her mother tore off the top sheet of the pad and crushed it in her hand.

  Meg took a careful breath. “Who?”

  “Nothing for you to worry about in your condition.”

  “I’m not pregnant.”

  Deena pushed away from the table, and her chair leg screeched against the wood floor.

  Meg put her hand over her mother’s to stop her. “No, Mama. Not this time.”

  Her mother’s chest rose and fell and her eyes flitted around with nowhere to land until they found her daughter’s. “It’s Greg … he’s in jail.” She looked away as if her brother’s shame was her own.

  “I am so sorry.” And she was. As far as Meg knew, her Uncle Greg had been doing well. After a lifetime of addiction and spates in rehab, he had found a girlfriend and together they had started a gardening business.

  “He was caught selling marijuana.”

  Meg leaned her head to one side. “While it may not be advisable, that’s not exactly illegal these days in California, is it?”

  “It is if you don’t have a license, which you cannot get if you have a record.” She sighed, a hiccup rattling her chest. “His lawyer is saying he might lose his business license now—he was growing the plants in with the azaleas.”

  Oh brother.

  Her mother continued to work over the sopping napkin in her hand. “If only he could afford to go back to rehab … he had to leave so abruptly last time.”

  “Really? Why?”

  Her mother didn’t answer right away. “Was getting too costly,” she finally said. “Let’s change the subject. How was work?”

  Clamming up had begun. The abrupt change of subject had always been disorienting to Meg, but she sighed knowing there was little she could do for her mother when it came to Uncle Greg. Maybe she would give her some space.

  “I used to love going to work each day, but less so these days,” she finally said, dragging herself from the table. She needed a bath and maybe a glass of wine.

  “Your foot hurting you?”

  “Not as much anymore, although it is tiring lugging it around.”

  “Then why don’t you love your job anymore?”

  Meg paused. Where do I begin? “Well, I miss traveling, for one. Hopefully my doctor will give me clearance so I can get back in the air again.”

  “But it’s more than that?”

  “I’m not used to so much competition.” There, she said it. “The only person I used to compete with was myself, but now Jackson and even his sister, Pepper, have been breathing down my neck. It’s unsettling.”

  “Be careful, Meghan. It never looks good to bite the hand that feeds you.”

  Meg grimaced. “I would never—”

  “Oh no?” Her mother’s right brow pulled upward. “You bit mine when you decided to leave at 17. I could have tried to stop you, but you were so pig-headed.”

  Stunned. That’s the only word that came to mind. Hadn’t her mother helped her pack her car and handed her two twenties for the road? “You … never said that before. You had just gotten married … I thought you were fine with my dream of living by the coast.”

  Her mother pursed her lips, puffing out her cheeks. “You are my only child. What was I to do, hog tie you to a post rail? No. You wanted to leave so I did not protest, but if you want to know, yes, it made me sad.”

  Meg swallowed. Her mother suddenly looked frail to her, weary. She had never meant to cause her sadness, but had she thought much about how her leaving might affect her? Not really. Instead, Meg had taken the money she had earned at the mall, loaded up her car, and headed west. Liddy had already married the first time and left the area, so without her best friend to keep her around, she had decided to follow her own dream.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I had never considered you felt anything but as excited as me about my new adventure. If it helps any, I missed you a ton. Almost turned the car around twice.”

  Her mother appeared to brighten. “I’m so glad you didn’t—my daughter is not a quitter!”

  Meg laughed.

  “So,
don’t put it into your head that you need to quit your job, young lady. The competition will only make you stronger. You need to figure out a way to get along with the son of the best boss you have ever had!”

  Finally, something she and her mother could agree on.

  Chapter 8

  One of the best inventions ever: drive-thru espresso. Fortunately, Meg’s Uber driver willingly made the detour before work. She ordered a double-shot cappuccino, wanting something strong before she set foot into the inn today. She had turned over a new leaf. Despite her misgivings and issues with Jackson, she had a job to do. One that William had trained her to flourish in, and to honor him, she would continue to move forward and be the best sales director she could be. She glanced down at her foot, which was now fastened into a boot with Velcro. During her doctor appointment earlier in the morning, she had learned that she had safely avoided surgery—halleluiah!—and had transitioned from that wretched cast into a boot that could be removed for baths.

  At the inn, she nestled into her desk chair and picked up the phone. Before she could punch in a few numbers, Jackson ducked into her office.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hello, Jackson.”

  “I deserved that.”

  She scrunched her brow. “Deserved a hello?”

  “A formal one,” he said, a scowl on his face. “Listen, you and I need to call a truce starting today.”

  She didn’t see a white flag anywhere so she waited.

  He took in the sight of her foot in its black-booted glory. “Good news, I see.”

  “Right. I won’t be suing you.”

  He hesitated, then grinned. “My prayers have been answered.”

  “Did you want something, Jack?”

  His eyebrows pulled upward. “Yes. Lunch. I have some—some things I’d like to discuss with you before a meeting I have tonight.”

  “With one of my clients?”

  “Funny. No. With potential investors.”

  It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. “Sure, Jackson. Anything I can do to help.”

  “Great. I’ll meet you at 12:30 … unless you need me to squire you in your wheelchair?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I don’t think ‘squire’ has been used in about fifty years. Thanks, though. I think I can find my way.”

  Two hours later she met Jackson at the hotel’s signature restaurant. The hostess led her to a table that used to be their favorite, one that overlooked the sea. She sipped a glass of water that had been brought to the table and glanced outside to where the tide rolled in on this late summer day.

  Jackson interrupted her musings. “Glad you made it.”

  His shirt was white and crisp, his suit coat black and expensive. A faraway memory came to mind … She longed to press her nose to his neck and breathe in his cologne—probably some type of mint mixed with oak. Any other situation and he may have bent down to kiss her cheek, or better yet, her lips. She would have smiled and leaned into the moment. But today he was her boss, someone she had agreed to get along with … for better or worse.

  He draped his coat over his chair and sat opposite her. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me.”

  He said this like he wasn’t her boss, like it wasn’t expected that she would meet him. “What can I help you with, Jackson?”

  “Just a moment.” He motioned for their waiter to approach. “Please bring us a bottle of sparkling water.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jackson turned to Meg. “You still like fizzy water, right?”

  She nodded, a slight smile at his recollection of an old term.

  When the bottle had been delivered, Jackson poured her some in a fresh glass, his smile engaging and kind. He stared at her for a beat longer than she expected him to.

  After they had ordered lunch, Meg asked, “What is it I can help you with for your meeting, Jackson?”

  “As you know, I’ve been thinking of rebranding Sea Glass Inn as more of a destination. One part of that would be adding a spa.”

  She nodded. “You mentioned that quite a while ago.”

  “I did, but—” he seemed to shrug— “I faced some opposition for a time.”

  “Pepper?”

  “She doesn’t understand that this is an investment that could pay out in years to come.” He took a sip of wine and set his glass back down onto the table. “Before we get into specifics, tell me about some of your travels—what you’ve seen and enjoyed.”

  “Do you mean, what I think might work here at the inn?”

  “Not necessarily.” He leaned forward, his voice low. “If you had the freedom to do anything while you were traveling, what would you choose?”

  He sat back and continued to eye her, as if listening intently to whatever she had to say. She looked down at her plate and studied the pattern that mimicked the arc of a wave. Whenever Meg traveled, her mind was on her work—what the clients needed to make their events stand out, what she could do to cause them to return, and how all those efforts affected the company’s bottom line.

  She looked up. “Until recently, I’ve had the freedom to travel to our little hotels and make sure that each event provides a win-win situation for guests and our rock star employees.”

  He frowned. “I’ve no doubt that this is how you’ve done your job, but now I want the non-scripted version.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Tell me what you would have said if you weren’t speaking to the boss.”

  Meg leaned her head to one side, considering this.

  “Don’t tell me that if you had time all to yourself you would stay inside and figure out how many additional rounds you could fit into a banquet hall.”

  She scoffed.

  Jackson stared at her wide eyed. “You really would do that, wouldn’t you?”

  Meg rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Please. You make me out to be so boring. Can I help it if I like working?”

  He was silent for a moment. Then quietly he asked, “Do you … really?”

  For some reason, the way he asked that simple question caused a catch in her throat. Yes, of course, she liked to work. She had fixed her eyes on leaving her hometown in the middle of the state and did so before she had even reached eighteen years old. Wasn’t that something to be proud of?

  A server delivered their salads, but Meg had little appetite. She reached for her fork and let it hover over her Caesar. “I’ve done what I had to do to provide a good life for myself,” she said. “If I had more time on my hands, I probably would go outside and read something other than client files.”

  “Or business magazines?”

  He had noticed. She shrugged a shoulder. “I like magazines that help keep me spinning with new ideas—Fortune, Inc., Fast Company, etc.”

  “Like the goat yoga classes you booked out on the lawn for guests?”

  “I only wish that had been my idea, but no. Truthfully, I don’t have that many fresh ideas myself.” She paused. “Maybe I should not be telling that to the boss.”

  “You are selling yourself short, but I do agree about reading. When I was a kid, I was too impatient to sit down and read an entire article, let alone a book. But now? Finding a terrace with a nice view, an abundance of quiet, and an unread book sounds like paradise.” He reclined, leaning an elbow on the arm of his chair, exposing tan skin beneath the open collar of his shirt.

  She bit her top lip just as his cell phone rang. He glanced at the screen and barely hid a frown. “I should take this.”

  “Of course.” She set her napkin by her plate and pushed her chair back, but Jackson motioned for her to stay.

  The voice on the other end of the call had become unmistakable: it was Pepper’s and she was unhappy about something. How unusual …

  Jackson winced more than once at the screeching directed at him. Financial improprieties! Things to get to the bottom of! Unqualified staff! After only a minute and a half or so, he had clearly had enough. “Pepper, I’ve got to go. We’ll talk about this
later.” He hung up before his sister could protest.

  He sent a wary glance at Meg. “I’ve never asked, but do you have any siblings?”

  She shook her head.

  “Want mine?”

  She smiled at this. “Not a chance. Did she have an issue with something in particular?”

  He ran a hand through layers of wavy hair, his look now slightly disheveled. She had to force herself not to reach out and run her own fingers through that hair. She cleared her throat. “Maybe it would be a good idea to hold a staff meeting with both you and Pepper. If she could see how hard everyone worked, what a great team your dad built, maybe she would, um, relax a little.”

  Jackson leaned forward on his forearms now and smiled kindly at her, like he knew that she meant well and he appreciated it, but … “Everyone knows how she is, Meg. My inclination is to ignore her.” He sighed. “Now tell me about your ideas for the spa.”

  * * *

  When she returned to her office, Meg found Liddy curled up under a blanket, a copy of People in her hands.

  “Girl, you know I tried reading that, but it made no sense.”

  “You read it one time,” Liddy protested. “It was an off week, I promise you. Give it another chance.”

  Meg sat on the other side of the L-shaped couch. “Not happening.”

  Liddy’s eyes zeroed in on Meg’s foot. “Hey, you got your cast off. Does this mean …?”

  “No surgery.”

  She lunged for Meg, crushing her with a hug. “Ya-hoo!”

  “My gosh, you are suffocating me!”

  Liddy stood, her stomach most definitely pooching forward. She had one hand on her ample hip and a child’s pout on her face. “Mean girl.”

  Meg cracked up.

  “What’s going on with you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Liddy examined her closely, like a mother bear searching for crumbs. “Hmm, yes, there’s a light in your eyes for the first time since the accident … since awhile, really.”

  “I’m feeling better.”

  A half-smile appeared on Liddy’s face. “Is that all it is?”