At her desk, phone in hand, Meg dialed the + sign, country code, and number for Domenic.
“Pronto?”
That voice was like comfort food for the ears. “Buon giorno, Domenic. It’s Meg calling.”
“Cara mia! It is you! How beautiful to hear your voice after these many months. I hope you are well.”
She glanced at her foot, which she believed was as well as could be expected. “I am, I am. How are you? How is dear Elena?”
“We are old!” He laughed and released a string of Italian words that made no sense to her but seemed to make him happy saying them. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this happy surprise?”
His kindness brought tears to her. She blinked them away. “My friend, Liddy, gave me a book about Cinque Terre and it made me think of you. I think … I think I would like to plan a vacation to Italy, maybe for the spring. I am hoping you will advise me and maybe have dinner with me while I am there?”
“My word! What is this talk about dinner? You must come and stay with us—we will feed you!” His voice became more distant then, as if he had turned away from the phone. “Elena, Elena … she will be here in the spring! She will stay with us!”
Meg was crying now, full on happy tears. It felt heady and slightly dangerous to leave her job for weeks at a time to … play. But Domenic’s reaction confirmed to her that she was making a good decision.
They spoke for a time about places they would take her on her trip, and she in turn asked about Cinque Terre and how easy it would be for her to travel there. She was just about to say her goodbye—work was calling—when Domenic said, “Tell me about the siblings.”
“I’m sorry. What do you mean?”
“I am asking how Jackson and Pepper are getting along. I rarely hear from them, so I can only assume that all is well. Tell me. Are they a good team?”
A million responses came to mind, none that would calm any misgivings Domenic may be having.
He continued. “How is Pepper faring? I could never reach her after William’s death—she traveled so often, you see. It broke my heart that I had to send her the news in a letter. I take it she has come to terms with the news? Would you say that she is happy there, at Sea Glass Inn?”
“Oh Domenic, I’m not sure whether I’m the right person to ask. Pepper hasn’t been here very much all summer. She—”
“Excuse me?”
Meg jerked a look toward her open office door where Pepper stood decked out in a leopard pantsuit and black stilettos, her mouth ajar. “Are you speaking with Daddy’s attorney?” she screeched.
Meg’s mind spun. She looked from Pepper to the untouched papers on her desk, and back to the angry woman with long white hair that stood at the entrance to her office. She nodded toward Pepper, in the vain hope that she would go away.
Pepper charged into the room. “Hang up, hang up right now!”
Meg shrank back. She had done nothing wrong, but she turned toward the phone in a hurry. “I’m very sorry, Domenic, but there is a crisis at work right now and I have to run. Ciao-ciao.”
“This is highly improper!” Pepper stood over her now, wagging a nail-sharp forefinger at her. “What were you and he talking about? Tell me!”
Meg rose to meet Pepper face-to-face. She had the ability to clear up any misunderstanding right now, but something about the way Pepper drew erroneous conclusions, the way she ground her jaw and her eyes flashed, brought out the rebel in Meg. “It was a private matter.”
Pepper stepped closer. “There are no private matters when you are on my property!”
“This is my property, too.” Jackson’s voice cut through the tension in the room.
Pepper swiveled. “I caught her on the phone with Daddy’s attorney talking about private things,” she said, wagging that insidious finger. “This is an act of insubordination … we must not allow this, Jackson.”
Meg groaned and sat back down. “This has got to stop.”
Pepper dug a fist into Meg’s desk and bent, lunging toward her. “Yes, it does. And it begins with you and your constant meddling in private affairs. Domenic is Daddy’s attorney, not yours, and I advise you to keep your distance.”
Meg lifted a defiant chin. “Or what?”
“Woah, enough you two.”
Pepper poked her finger at Jackson. “Tell her. Tell her what we know … so far.”
Meg leaned her head to one side.
He set his jaw. “This is not the time.”
“It is precisely the time. Otherwise, she will think her prying into family affairs can continue. Okay, if you will not say it—I will!” She turned to Meg, her eyes like liquid fire. “We know you benefited greatly from our father’s wealth. I have seen the notations!”
Meg glanced at Jackson. “What is she talking about?”
He hesitated, concern etched across his forehead. He glanced at her, his mouth a flat line.
“Jackson?” Meg asked.
Pepper let out a haughty laugh. “Things are not so special for you these days, are they, Meghan? Not since the money train has stopped for you.”
Meg’s mouth dropped open. “I-I have no idea what you mean?” She swung a look at Jackson. “I have never taken a dime from the company other than my paycheck.”
One of Pepper’s brows arched. A disturbing smile spread across her face, outlined in scarlet. “The evidence is to the contrary.”
Meg gave Jackson a “come on” look, her eyes pleading with him to step up and tell his sister to back off. Surely, he knew the emptiness of her accusations.
“Well, I, for one, am tired of all of this.” Pepper’s open palms volleyed upward. She had come in with a wrecking ball, did her damage, and had, apparently, decided to flee and allow someone else to pick through the chaos. “I am going home now, but I expect you to take care of this … mess,” Pepper said, looking Meg up and down.
When she’d left, Meg took in Jackson’s torn expression. “Must have been some dinner you two had last night.”
“Were you really just on the phone with Domenic?”
She scrunched her eyes. “Why? Would that be a problem?”
Jackson ran his hand through his hair, then down his neck, pausing there as if willing away the tension. “Not too many twenty-somethings make it a point to call elderly men in other countries.”
Meg spurted a sarcastic laugh. “You think I’m a call girl?”
“What? No!”
“Well, then what kind of comment was that?” She flailed her hands in the air, exasperated. “You obviously have questions, so go ahead, Mr. Riley, spit them out.”
“Meg.” He reached for her wrists, wrapped his hands around them, then pulled them gently toward his hips. “There are some things I’m trying to figure out.”
“What kinds of things? About me?”
That skin between his eyes furrowed. “No. It’s-it’s complicated …”
“Well, I have time.”
He exhaled and lowered his voice. “It would be best if you laid low for a while.”
She wrenched her wrists from him. “You don’t trust me?”
“It’s not—no, that’s not true at all. I think, though, that now would be a good time for you to take a step back. Take a few days off while this blows over—”
Meg bit her top lip, lurched backward, and took in the sight of Jackson standing there, asking her to disappear. He had acted as if calling Domenic had been seedy and untoward, something that she needed to hide from. Why not just tell him the truth? I wanted to hear an old friend’s voice again and plan a real vacation for the first time in my life!
She looked at the boot on her foot, huffed out a sigh, then raised her chin. “If that’s what you want, Jackson. Fine. I will ‘lay low,’ as you put it.” She picked up her hot list, i.e. clients poised to sign on the dotted line, and handed it to him. “Good luck with these.”
Without as much as a glance over her shoulder, Meg headed home to pack.
Chapter 10
&n
bsp; Jackson’s head pounded like a hangover caused by a bottle of two-buck chuck. Only this affliction had been powered by something other than alcohol. He put a palm to his temple. Sleep eluded him, as did rest, and shortly, sanity would go too.
Meg had not shown up for work the day after their tense exchange. Not thoroughly surprising—Pepper’s caustic comments would make anyone want to hide. But what surprised him happened today: She had not shown up for a second day in a row. Nor had she called.
Jackson groaned into the dark night and flipped over onto his back, the ceiling fan working overtime to cool his temper. So much more he’d wanted to say that night, but he held back for his own reasons. His sister’s vehemence sucker punched him. So much to consider when it came to her, and unfortunately, Meg had misunderstood his reticence as an indictment against her—as if he agreed with Pepper.
Good job, man.
With a grunt, he threw off the covers and launched his legs over the side of the bed, thinking over his options. A glance at his phone told him the time. When had he become an old man who turned in so early? He rubbed his hand down along his neck, the pressure helping to soothe his headache. With resolve, he pressed palms into his thighs and willed himself to stand, get dressed, and get out the door.
Ten minutes later he stood on Meg’s stoop. Her car in the drive and lighted lamp in the window told him she was home. Would she be up? And would she talk to him? Get a grip, man. Jackson rapped his knuckles on her door, which swung open in a hurry.
Deena greeted him, coat on, suitcase by her side. “Jackson?”
“Yes. It’s me. Are you … Deena, it looks like you are leaving.”
“I thought you were my taxi driver. I need to catch a bus ride home.”
“I see. And Meg’s still not driving all that much, I gather.”
“Meg’s not here. I thought you knew she took a vacation.”
He startled. No, he had not considered she would actually leave town.
Deena’s face softened, her smile, gentle. “The night air is cool. Would you like to come in … ?” She opened the door wider.
He shook his head and almost turned away, but stopped. “It’s a ten-minute drive to the bus station. Let me take you—you can cancel your ride.”
Moments later they were in his Mercedes heading to the bus station that would take Deena back home after a summer at the coast. He took in her profile, illuminated by the flicker of street lights. A million thoughts were written in her expression.
“I’m surprised Meg left before you did.” He wanted to fill the quiet with something.
“My daughter has a mind of her own.” She peered at him. “I take it you already know this about her.”
This brought a guffaw from him.
“I thought so.” She forced a sigh and glanced at the terrain whizzing by in the night. “Meg and I talked it over. She had a sudden need for a break—no pun intended, ha!—and I have needed to get home for some time. I stayed on after she left to clean up after myself. No one will call me a sloppy house guest!”
He laughed. “I’m sure Meg would never say such a thing.”
“Eh, maybe, maybe not. Besides, my husband has been lonely. I told him to come visit, but—” she gave him an assessing look—“you know how stubborn men can be.”
“I hadn’t realized Meg had a stepfather.”
Deena shrugged. “I am not surprised.”
He waited, but she added nothing more and instead continued to stare out the window. “She mentioned, years ago, that her father had passed away when she was little.”
“She told you?”
“When I asked about him. She didn’t have much to say more than that. I took that to mean it’s not a memory she likes to revisit.”
Deena nodded, her eyes far away.
He drove, silent now, trying to recall what Meg had said about her father. Remorse rose in him. He’d been a selfish kid in a man’s body back then and could not recall anything significant. What a jerk I was … “Tell me about him.”
Deena shrank back, eyeing him. “Who?”
He kept his eyes on the road. “Meg’s father.”
Silence.
“If you don’t mind, that is.”
“He-he was a wonderful man.” She paused. “Jonathan loved Meghan and me. He would have done anything for us. I guess you could say he was … perfect.”
Jackson doubted that, but didn’t say so. “May I ask how he passed away?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry. That was prying.”
Sniffles. A hitch in her voice. More sniffling.
Now I have done it. “I apologize, Deena. I was prying into something that’s none of my business.”
“It was years ago, nearly twenty now. Car accident. So generous, he was—if you were cold, he would build a fire. If you were hungry, he would light the barbecue. Everybody loved him.”
“Sounds like someone to be celebrated.”
Jackson stopped at a light. Deena was watching him, a quizzical expression on her face. “Did I say something odd?” he asked.
“N-no. It was wonderful. Truly.” She paused, her forehead bunched, her mouth frowning. “Maybe I have been stupid.”
The light turned green and he continued down the narrow road. “I doubt that.”
“My daughter is like a closed book. I thought I was protecting her all these years, but I don’t know. Perhaps if I had been more open she would be too.” She sighed, the sound of it like an ache. “Now she flies off to another country all by herself as if she wants to be alone.”
Jackson whipped a look toward his passenger. “Meg left for another country?”
“I thought you knew.”
He let out a sigh of his own, a long, frustrated sigh. “I almost hate to ask … do you know where she went?”
“She took her passport from the drawer, packed her things, and flew off to Italy, of all places. I don’t understand it. All that gluten—I thought she avoided that!”
He was the one who had told her to lay low for a while. Jackson gripped the steering wheel, picturing Meg limping through customs all alone. The wrench in his chest was unmistakable.
* * *
“I apologize for calling so late.”
Liddy’s voice sounded tired. He had awoken her. “Jackson? Is-is everything okay at the inn? I left Amanda in charge, and—”
“The inn is fine. I’m calling about Meg.”
“Oh.”
“I know she went to Italy.”
“How—?”
“Her mother told me … it’s not important how. Listen, could you tell me how to reach her? I’ve tried her phone and she’s not answering. I suspect she has gone to see my father’s … old friend.”
“I mean no disrespect, but she’s on vacation and I really have to honor that.”
“You won’t tell me?” Even though I’m your boss?
“I’d rather not, Jackson. Everyone deserves a break. Don’t you think Meggie deserves one?”
What was he thinking, chasing after her like a lovesick kid? He sat on his cold bed, sleep far away from him. He wanted to protest, to compel his reservations manager to tell him the whereabouts of his sales director, but suddenly felt foolish. Who wakes up their pregnant employee at nearly midnight to ask about a co-worker?
“Are you still there, Jackson?”
“Good night, Liddy,” he said, pulling himself together. He hoped her husband would not show up in his office tomorrow to throw a fist.
“I will see you tomorrow,” she said with finality.
“Yes,” he said, “tomorrow.” He hung up but stayed awake, his rhythmic breaths his only company. It was nearly 8 a.m. in Italy, surely not too early to phone an old friend …
He punched in Domenic’s phone number and identified himself when his father’s attorney answered.
“William’s boy!”
Domenic’s aged voice on the line calmed him, reminding Jackson of his father. “Yes, sir, it is me.”
“Please. Tell me how you are. Tell me everything.”
“You are kind to ask, sir, but I did not mean to trouble you this … this morning. I am in somewhat of a hurry and I have a question for you.”
“I see. Well, then, go ahead and ask me your question. But, please, call me Domenic.”
“Of course. You do know Meg, correct?”
“Ah, Meg, yes. One of our favorite people, Elena’s and mine. Is everything okay?”
Jackson’s heart landed with a thud in his stomach. “I was hoping you could tell me. She, uh, she took a vacation, and, well, there are a few questions I needed to ask her before she left.”
“I’m very sorry, son, but perhaps you have gotten your signals crossed? We spoke briefly only a few days ago and she mentioned that she would like to visit Italy in the spring—she said nothing about coming now.”
Alarm gripped him. Days ago, Pepper had accused Meg of interfering in their private lives. He had not believed that, of course. Now Domenic tells him that Meg phoned recently to tell him she was planning to visit in the spring—for a vacation. More than one swear word came to mind. He should have shut Pepper down. He should have—
“Are you still there, son?”
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry to have bothered you, Domenic.” He released a breath. “I promise to call again … when there is more time to talk.”
“I would welcome it.”
* * *
By late morning, Jackson’s countenance resembled the inn’s night auditor after hours of reconciling daily statistics. Only he had nothing to show for his fatigue. He punched the button on his office phone for Room Service. “Bring me a large, dark coffee. No cream.”
“Right away, Mr. Riley.”
Runaway Tide Page 9
