Runaway Tide

by Julie Carobini

  The headache that had tormented him last evening had returned today with a vengeance. Sally leaned in from her office on the other side of his. “Long night?”

  “Something like that.”

  She nodded once and left him in peace, without jumbling those pearls of hers. Grateful, he was. Through his window, he stared into a grey-painted sky. How often had his father stared at this same sky? Did he experience the letdown of a day without sun? Or did he welcome the cooler days that so often occurred out here on the coast?

  “Sir? Your coffee?” The server delivered a tray large enough for two meals that held one large mug of coffee and a carafe of cream.

  “Thanks.”

  The coffee burned going down, a wake-me-up he needed desperately.

  Several of the investors he had met with days ago had left messages, and if he expected to make headway with plans to upgrade their properties he would need to stay attentive to their questions and concerns. He took another gulp of hot coffee and buried himself in the details of the inn’s profit-and-loss statement, the first in a stack to review.

  An hour later, he pushed himself away from his desk, numbers filling his mind. Without much thought of direction, Jackson wandered outside at a fast clip, eager for fresh air. He rounded the first bend of the seaside path and nearly collided with Liddy, which, considering her condition, might not have ended well.

  “Don’t tell me, let me guess,” she said with a laugh. “You didn’t see me coming?”

  He avoided looking at her belly. “Sorry if I scared you, Liddy.”

  “No worries. You look deep in thought. Lots of meetings today?”

  “Thankfully, no.” He leveled a look at her. “Listen, I want to apologize for calling you last night. It won’t happen again.”

  “I’m relieved that you mentioned it first. It wasn’t easy for me to say no to my boss.”

  “When Meg didn’t show up, I grew concerned.”

  “That’s all it was?”

  Her question lingered between them. Avoiding truths came naturally, but lying? Not something he wanted to associate himself with. “Let’s just say that’s part of it.”

  She smiled. “Totally acceptable. She’s a big girl and is used to taking care of herself.”

  “Finally realized that. I called an old friend in Italy last night and he had not heard from her, and it hit me that she does not want to be found. That’s her prerogative.”

  Liddy’s smile faltered. “Old friend? Meg knows this person?”

  He shifted. “Not a shining moment for me, but yes. My father’s attorney lives in Italy now. I thought Meg might have gone to see him, but he assured me that she hadn’t.”

  Liddy’s expression collapsed. She frowned and seemed to be formulating a response. “Did he say whether he had heard from her?”

  “He had not—do you know Domenic?”

  “I—yes, well, no, but I know of him.” She looked away, sighing.

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  She swung her gaze back to him. “Nothing, really. It’s just that I have been trying to reach Meg for two days and she hasn’t responded. Even her locator app doesn’t seem to be working.”

  “Locator app?”

  She sighed. “A BFF thing. I live vicariously through her whenever she travels. The app tells me where she is. Right now, all it says is ‘location not available.’”

  Maybe that’s the way she wants it.

  “Anyway, it’s probably just phone issues, but I’m concerned that Domenic said she hadn’t been in touch because … well, she was planning to go straight to his apartment when she arrived.”

  “Could she be lost?”

  Liddy’s hand went to her stomach. “No, no. She has traveled alone many times. I’m sure … I’m sure …” She reached out and grabbed Jackson’s hand. “What if something’s happened to her?”

  Jackson put an arm around Liddy and supported her beneath an elbow. He walked her to a bench and sat down next to her. “Let’s not panic. Like you said, Meg has traveled many times on her own.”

  “Yeah,” she said, her laugh non-convincing. “Maybe she decided to do some sightseeing first. She mentioned going to see the statue of David.”

  “Call me if you hear from her?”

  “Of course.”

  “Great.” Slowly, he stood. “Are you going to be okay?”

  Liddy nodded. “Of course. I think I’ll just sit here and pray a little.”

  A novel thought. There was no doubt in him that he would soon be boarding a plane for Italy. “Liddy?”

  “Yes?”

  “While you’re at it, say one for me.”

  * * *

  Meg awoke disoriented and drenched in sweat. The bed she slept on creaked when she turned to check the time on her phone. Dead. She shut her eyes, remembering. Not only had she forgotten to purchase international calling, she had neglected to pack her charger. Even if she had, she realized, it would not have worked in Italian electrical outlets. She made a note to buy one tomorrow.

  They did have Apple stores in Florence, right?

  She had arrived in Rome and taken a short flight to Aeroporto Amerigo Vespucci in Florence. From there, she had planned to hire a car to take her to Domenic and Elena’s apartment … but she lost her nerve. What would Domenic have thought if she’d shown up there today after telling him not more than three days ago that she would see him in the spring?

  A short-lived breeze entered through a screen-less window that she had left open all afternoon in an attempt to shake the sweltering heat. She had arrived in the afternoon, her body clock in disarray. Logic told her to adjust by staying awake, but heavy eyes and tired limbs had won out and she collapsed onto the less-than-comfortable bed and fell into a mesmerizing sleep.

  Packing in a hurry had been easy enough—she knew how to roll her clothes, always kept small toiletry bottles on hand, and thanks to a trade show in Toronto, her passport had been handy. What she had not counted on was the choke-worthy heat and that she would arrive with a sudden sense of protocol. She had lost her mind—she could fathom no other reason for hopping on an impromptu (and expensive!) flight out of the country.

  She yawned and stretched, glancing around the plain, dark room. An English-speaking booking agent at the airport had called the owner of this apartment and arranged for him to meet her with a key. Not until she had paid a two-night deposit did she realize there was no air conditioning—and that a faint smell of BO lingered in the hall.

  The din of revelers on the streets below brought her reality closer. She leaned out the window, taking in Florence’s star-filled sky. What Northern Italy lacked in cool breezes this time of year, it more than made up for in charm and a welcome embrace. The aroma of truffle oil from a nearby restaurant called to her and her stomach grumbled. She had nothing but a free packet of pretzels with her to eat—but this was Italy! She pulled herself up and headed out to join the throng.

  The ancient streets had worn unevenly, causing her to step with caution. The piazza heaved with life—lovers holding hands, friends eating gelato stacked precariously, and children darting through the crowds. It was like Stars Hollow—Italian style.

  She continued to walk, unaccustomed to such freedom at home where fog rolled in and businesses closed in a hurry after dark. If she had learned anything from her travels it was to eat where the locals ate. True, not many of the places she passed as she strolled were empty, but some screamed “tourist trap” to her anyway—especially those with expensive specials that skirted the edge of the piazza.

  Down a narrow street, she spotted a line of people outside of a small shop and knew she had found dinner. One by one she watched people exit the shop carrying a pizza box, a bottle of red wine, and a stack of small white cups. The line moved steadily, and it wasn’t until she got closer to the entrance that she realized there was little room to sit inside.

  A couple of guys moved past her on their way out, each holding a pizza of their own. Her mout
h watered at the aroma of sauce and cheese and garlic. She was third in line behind two girls who had been talking nonstop about their study abroad program. After they placed their order, she reached the counter.

  “Una pizza margherita, per favore.”

  “Prego. Chianti?”

  When she hesitated, the man nodded his head quickly. “Ah, you try.” He grabbed a plastic cup and filled it to the brim with the dry red wine and handed it to her. “Enjoy!”

  “Grazie.”

  She moved to the side to allow someone else to order, took a sip of wine, and relaxed her shoulders for the first time since stepping on that first flight from home. On the plane, she had relived Pepper’s wild accusations, but it was Jackson’s reaction that hurt more. She blinked away emotion. She and Jackson had been slowly mending what had been torn between them. But when he told her to lay low, as if she should take some responsibility for Pepper’s nonsense, she felt as if he had punched another hole in their gossamer truce.

  Soon her number was called, and she too stepped out into the street, pizza and wine in hand, and searched for somewhere cool to eat. About a block and a half away, she found a spot on the steps of a church next to others who had spilled out of doors to get away from the heat. Live music danced on the wind, and the crowd showed no sign of thinning.

  “You look like you could use some more wine.” She glanced up from her slice of pizza—aka heaven on earth—to find a man with thick blond hair and a warm smile peering down at her.

  He held the bottle over her empty cup. “May I?”

  “Thank you.”

  “I wondered if you were Italian, but with that accent, I’d say west coast.”

  She laughed at that. “I wasn’t aware that Californians had accents.”

  “Absolutely we do.”

  “So you’re saying that you are from California, too.”

  “I knew I was right about where you’re from. Although I have to say, you could pass for an Italian too. I took my chances speaking to you in English knowing there was only a 50/50 chance you’d understand.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. You were holding a bottle of wine over my empty cup. I think that’s understandable in any language.”

  He threw his head back at this, laughing. “True, true. I’m Garrett, by the way.”

  “Meg.”

  “Is he bothering you, ma’am?” A teen with a goofy grin and hair that could use a solid trimming body slammed into her wine bearer.

  The man shrank back, holding the bottle at bay. “Hey, watch it. I’ve got wine here.”

  The kid rolled his eyes. “Stuff’s like water around here.”

  Garrett slapped one side of the teen’s head with a palm. “What are they teaching the young uns these days?”

  She tsked, tsked.

  “I’ve been sent over here to tell you Pastor says it’s time to go.” The kid gave Meg a fake pout.

  Garrett dipped his chin. “And just when I was getting to know the lovely Meg.”

  The boy threw an arm around Garrett’s neck like a hook. “Sorry,” he said, a teenage cackle to his voice. He shot a look at Meg. “We’re with a church group—he probably didn’t tell you that when he was flirting.”

  Garrett ignored the teen. “We will be staying in this area for the next couple of days, touring museums and hiking before sunrise. I hope to run in to you again, beautiful Meg.”

  She stayed put and lifted her glass in salute. “Thank you for the wine, Garrett.”

  When they’d gone, she finished her pizza and continued to people watch. She had no phone and no plans—only a longing to forget about the drama going on at home. Any other time, she might have felt alone, maybe even a little afraid. On the contrary, she looked around at the vibrant pocket in an ancient city and saw a glimpse into William’s affection for this country. Though a sadness over what might have been lingered, at this moment, she felt right at home.

  Chapter 11

  Pepper continued to needle Jackson about Meg’s part in their financial troubles, but something did not add up. He could feel it. He’d had a dozen hours to stare at the grim accounts receivable reports Pepper had shoved into his hands on his way out of the hotel this afternoon, but he’d been unable to concentrate. Of course, she had not realized that he would be stopping home only long enough to change into jeans and pick up his packed suitcase. While the odds of finding a woman who might not want to be found were not in his favor, hanging around the inn and worrying about her whereabouts weren’t either. He stretched his legs in front of the first class seat he’d purchased on the fly, thankful he’d had enough frequent flyer miles to temper the sticker shock.

  The plane landed on the final segment of his trip. He grabbed his bags, and with other travelers spilled out into a muggy Florence afternoon. By the curb, a man in a suit much too dark and heavy for a day like today held a sign bearing the name RILEY. He handed the man his bags and hopped inside.

  The driver took him to an address off the Piazza del Duomo and left him there with his bags. A buzz and a click and he was inside the foyer of the grand apartment building. Relief from the day’s heat came immediately. He eyed the narrow elevator and opted for the stairs instead, taking them quickly.

  The door to the Marino’s apartment swung open and a short woman with bright eyes and short-cropped white hair charged out. “Jackson!” She reached up for him, and he bent to hug her. “Why, look at you! I haven’t seen you since you were a boy. Oh but I would know you anywhere.”

  Behind her a bent man with wire-rimmed glasses and thinning hair waited, a gentle smile on his face. “Come in, come in,” he said.

  Jackson entered their apartment, soaring ceilings and a blast of icy air greeting him. “You have a beautiful home,” he said, impressed.

  “Mi casa es su casa,” Elena said. “Now, here. Give me those bags. You will stay in our side bedroom. It has a bathroom all its own—”

  Something in his heart twisted. He’d hoped she’d be here, but obviously, that was not the case. “Thank you for your generosity, but I have already booked a room nearby,” he said.

  Elena gasped and slapped a hand to her cheek. “You will not pay for a room elsewhere!”

  Domenic wagged his head. “My boy, she will never let you hear the end of this if you don’t stay here.”

  “Grazie, grazie, Elena. But I am not paying. I have offered an acquaintance a room at one of our hotels in exchange for one in his.”

  “You are resourceful,” Domenic said. “Just like William.”

  Elena hugged her body with crossed arms and shook her head, unhappy.

  “While I understand your resourcefulness, son, I think you had better change your plans or Elena here might poison the bistecca!” The older man’s merriment filled the apartment.

  Jackson side hugged Elena. “Of course, of course. I am sorry if I offended you. I would love to stay here with you both.”

  Her smile returned. “Good!” She pointed toward the bedroom. “Now put your things in there and I will bring out the aperitivo.”

  Jackson returned to the kitchen after freshening up. The catnap he took on the plane was time well spent, though he’d had to stifle a couple of yawns since arriving in Florence. Nothing to do with Elena’s constant chatter—she reminded him a lot of his grandmother who passed away when he was a child—but everything to do with the number of hours in the air or on the road.

  He ate another olive and chased it down with a sip of Campari. Elena fussed about him, her cheeks flushed from the heat of her stove. “How I wish my container garden was well, then I could offer you fresh herbs.” She pointed to the soaring windows opposite the kitchen that opened to a narrow balcony where thirsty, rambling plants trailed. “So hot here and I forget to water all the time.”

  Domenic nodded. “And I am no help, I am afraid.”

  Elena’s mention of plants led Jackson’s mind to Rudy at the inn. He’d probably have a great solution for the Marinos. Unfortunately, Jackson’s foray into
musings about the inn inevitably brought him back to thoughts about Meg. He forced himself to think about something else …

  Domenic had hardly touched his glass of Lambrusco, opting instead to watch Jackson thoughtfully for a few moments. Finally, he spoke. “Tell me about Meg.”

  Jackson hesitated. “What is it you would like to know?”

  “Why did you come here to find her?”

  Aim. Shoot. Fire. Jackson gave the elderly man a grim smile. “Is that how it seems?”

  “I would say so. It’s not every day that a busy man as you travels for half a day by himself for a vacation.”

  He had let down his guard and determined to put it back up. Stat. “It is more than that, of course. I have potential business here. The friend I mentioned, who manages the hotel nearby …”

  Domenic lifted his chin, examining Jackson through the glasses that had slid down his nose. “You mean your acquaintance.”

  His smile went slack. “Yes, well, we have some ideas for Sea Glass Inn that we may be able to adopt from his property.”

  “I see.”

  Elena spoke without turning away from the stove. “But what about this Meg? Didn’t you say she is on vacation?” She spun. “Is she alone, too?”

  So many questions. More reason to stay elsewhere. If he wasn’t careful, Domenic and Elena would figure out his actions even better than he could.

  Domenic chuckled.

  Elena nodded. “I see. You had a lovers’ spat.”

  For the second time, he was questioning himself. “There are just some things that I would like to clear up with her. She is not prone to wander, so—” he shrugged—“I had hoped to find her here and talk it out.”

  Elena slid a plate in front of him with a bistecca—a steak—as large as his head. “Mangia,” she said, waving tongs at him. “You don’t worry. If she is in Florence, we will flush her out!”

  * * *

  The line to buy tickets to Galleria dell’ Accademia straggled out the door and onto the street, but the line to enter the museum snaked like a triple row of braids. After buying a ticket, Meg took her place in line, right outside of the Cherubini Music Conservatory next door to the accademia. She had hoped to arrive earlier, but a fitful night’s sleep made her morning slow. That and a unique soreness on the top of her foot.