by Jean Oram
She almost turned away when something caught her eye. Finian had finally opened the door to a 1950s Jaguar Mark I. She barely dared to breathe. What had she missed while fuming to herself?
Finian rolled up the car’s window. Closed the door. Gave the roof a little pat, then walked away as the clouds submitted to the weight of their load.
What had she missed?
She popped her head above her camera for a ‘real world’ look. Why hadn’t he hot-wired the car? Had he found something to take instead?
Whatever had happened, she knew one thing for sure: she’d missed her chance to save herself as well as her sisters.
Hailey stood under a shop awning, keeping an eye on Finian, the Big Letdown, as he ambled up the other side of the street, seemingly unaffected by the pouring rain. Which bar had Austin gone to for his beer? She needed to talk to him about a little thing called ruining another photographer’s shot. Preferably while keeping Finian in her sights, but not within Austin’s.
Hailey tried to sidestep the person who popped up to block her view.
“Hailey? Hailey?”
She glanced down to see her youngest sister, Daphne, clutching her arm, peering at her with concern.
“You okay? You look kinda pale.”
“Yeah, fine.” She peered around her sister, who was trying to rein in her bouncing five-year-old daughter, Tigger, who resembled Tigger from Winnie-the-Pooh more than her seldom-used given name, Kimberly. Hailey relaxed as Finian paused under an awning across the street. She looked toward a nearby bar. “I was just thinking about how I’d like to rip Austin Smith a new…butthole.”
“Hailey!” gasped Daphne.
Tigger looked up with a sparkle in her eyes. “Auntie Hailey said a bad word.”
Hailey sighed and gave herself a shake. “Sorry, kiddo.” She placed her hands over Tigger’s ears and gently rocked the girl’s head back and forth. The little girl’s long plastic raincoat rustled as she moved, one of her ever-present second-hand party dresses peeking out from under the hem.
“There.” Hailey held up her fisted hand. “It fell out.” She pretended to throw something on the ground and stomp on it. “It’s like you never heard that word.”
“Butthole,” replied Tigger.
“Tigger!” Daphne clutched her daughter’s shoulders. “We don’t use words like that.”
“Auntie Hailey used it.”
Hailey winced. “Sorry,” she said again.
Daphne gave Tigger a stern look and turned to Hailey. “So, what’s up with you and Austin? You’ve barely talked since high school.”
“Professional complications.”
Daphne’s nose scrunched and her eyes followed Hailey’s to where Finian, protected from the rain, was leaning against a building as though he had all the time in the world and not a care to burden him.
He wouldn’t last a second in the real world.
Daphne laughed. “You still have a crush on Finian Alexander.”
Hailey snorted and rolled her eyes as though the idea of her harboring a flaming, scorching torch for the movie star was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard.
Her sister giggled and stared across the street. “I can see why. He’s delicious.”
“Very delicious,” Tigger agreed.
“And I heard he just broke up with Jessica Cartmill,” Daphne added. “Hello!”
Hailey squinted at her niece. “Do you know what we’re talking about?”
“The ice cream store.”
Hailey found her attention drawn to Finian again. Yep, he was standing near the sign advertising twelve different flavors.
“I wouldn’t mind licking that,” Daphne said in a low voice. Hailey placed an arm across her sister’s chest, pretending to hold her back. Daphne let out a sigh of longing. “It’s been over five years. I’m dying here.”
“Do they have bubble gum ice cream?” Tigger asked.
“No sugar, Tigger,” her mother answered. Then she clutched Hailey’s arm again. “Tell me you’re not following Austin’s lead on photography. What he does goes against your principles.”
“I know.”
“You said the paparazzi are the ambulance chasers of the photography world.”
“They are.”
“Use your powers of photography for good, not evil.”
Hailey laughed and adjusted the heavy bag digging into her shoulder. If only her sister knew how out of options she was. It was either become an ambulance chaser or lose the one place that had always brought the four sisters together. The place where not only their great-grandmother had fallen in love, but their grandmother and mother, as well. It was the very place where little Tigger had been conceived. And as much as the grown sisters teased Tigger for thinking the small family-owned island was enchanted, Hailey knew they all secretly agreed. There was something about Nymph Island and their cottage, Trixie Hollow, that grounded people. The place had kept the family together when they could have easily ended up spread across the country, barely speaking to each other.
“You’re up to something,” Daphne said.
“Nope.”
“You won’t meet my eyes.”
Hailey stared into her sister’s blue eyes, willing her to realize that her own slim tax contributions toward the cottage hadn’t been enough. That none of what the four of them--especially Hailey, who held the cottage in trust--had done over the years had been enough, and that by the end of August the whole kit and caboodle would be sold off to cover years of back taxes. And it would be Hailey’s fault. For failing their ailing mother, her sisters and niece, and most of all, herself.
The jokingly used nickname Hailey-Failey would finally fit. Big time.
Familiar anxiety swirled within her and she tightened her hold on her camera bag’s strap. She needed something lucrative, and fast, or she’d be forced to ask her sisters for help. And she couldn’t. Just couldn’t.
Not yet.
She glanced across the street to where Finian was still standing. Maybe it was true, what her mother always said--that if the cottage was meant to stay in the family, a solution would present itself. Maybe Finian wasn’t in Muskoka by coincidence. It was fate. Destiny. Karma giving Hailey a hand up for her years of taking care of the family.
Tigger whispered to her, “Mom always finds out if someone is up to something.”
“Not always,” Hailey whispered back.
Especially since she was going to solve this problem. Right now. Before anyone knew the gambles and risks she’d taken, and how she’d messed it all up.
She straightened her spine. If anyone in the family were to be voted most likely to succeed in solving this dilemma, she was. She’d pulled them through their father’s death when they were teens and kept the family afloat with after-school jobs. Then five years ago, after their mother’s debilitating stroke, Hailey had moved in with her and taken over responsibility for the cottage. When it came to the point where their mother needed more care than Hailey could provide, she’d found the perfect nursing home offering the right balance of support and independence.
Not only that, but Hailey had been there for Daphne when her sister’s summer boyfriend went home, never to be heard from again, leaving her heartbroken and pregnant. And she’d been there to help however she could when their two middle sisters, Maya and Melanie, went off to university.
Their mother had placed the cottage in her trust for a reason. Hailey solved problems and made things happen. And yeah, things looked bad right now. Really bad for the 110-year-old cottage. But she’d solve this problem just as she had all the others, and her sisters would never have to learn how close she’d come to losing the place they all loved.
Besides, telling them would just stress them all out, and they’d start running around in a panic, distracting her from getting the job done.
She could do this.
Her solution was waiting for her across the street.
Easy as drooling over apple pie.
&nb
sp; “What’s wrong?” Daphne repeated. “What did Austin do?”
Hailey waved a hand. “He pissed me off, that’s all.”
“Auntie Hailey said ‘pissed’!”
“You didn’t hear that,” she replied quickly. “I meant ticked.”
“How did he rub you the wrong way?” Daphne asked, head tilted.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I heard he moved home to chill out for a while after that last fight with George Clooney.” She leaned closer. “Did Austin ask you out? I don’t think he ever got over you, you know.”
Hailey scoffed and pushed her away. “Don’t you have a protest to organize?”
“Oh, that reminds me. Can you join us for the picnic and protest for the dam?”
“Picnic?”
“It brings out more families.”
“Um, I think I have a…” Hailey scrambled for an excuse.
“It’s tomorrow and we desperately need a good photographer.”
“Please?” Tigger asked, jumping up and down as she yanked on Hailey’s hand.
“I think I have to take Grandma to an appointment, hon. Sorry.”
“I already asked Maya to take her,” Daphne said. “It’s just a few shots for a brochure and the website. Please?”
Hailey felt like a poser when she went to rallies. Yes, she usually believed in whatever her sister was protesting, but felt awkward yelling and shouting and making a scene about it. Although maybe if she helped her, Daphne would speak up for Hailey if she lost it all. The cottage. Her business. Her home. She gulped for air and squeezed her hips like a runner after a sprint, knocking her swinging camera bag out of the way. This wasn’t good. Not good at all. She was going to default on all the promises she’d made their mother. All her cover-ups were going to be revealed. She was going to fail.
“Relax. Maya will take good care of Mom.” Daphne rested a hand on Hailey’s shoulder. “She only forgot her that time by accident. She won’t forget again. And besides, she didn’t even get all the way out of the parking lot.” Her sister squeezed her shoulder. “It’s okay, Hailey, we can all take turns helping. It doesn’t always have to be you.”
Hailey sucked in a deep breath, her mind tangled in the complications of allowing Maya to help. “It’s faster and easier--”
“On your own. We know. But she’s our mother, too, and we’ve all grown up. The doctor has all her medical info, you don’t have to be there to tell him everything. Let us show our love for you, Hailey. Let us help.”
Hailey cringed, knowing her sister was about to launch into her sappy, let-love-cure-the-world philosophy which in her current mood would make her say something that would hurt Daphne’s feelings.
Across the street, Finian was stretching, looking as though he was preparing to vanish on her. Hailey tried to breathe past the tightness in her chest as the pressure built within her. She squeezed her eyes shut until the burning passed. “I have to go. Now.”
Finian was walking away, as the rain let up to a light drizzle. She was going to lose him.
“Hailey, I love you.”
She turned to her sister and niece. “I’ve got to run. I have work to do.”
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Daphne said. “We’re rescheduling the Canada Day picnic on Nymph Island because of the rain, and because Maya got called into work.”
“Okay.” Hailey stepped away.
“We’re thinking of having it in a day or two.”
“Okay.”
“When do you need this year’s tax money for the cottage?”
She paused and cleared her throat. “Um, before the end of the month.” Guilt rose within her as she thought about how Daphne’s portion of the annual tax bill and back taxes would not only clear out her savings for taking Tigger to Florida, but would make going to the cottage the only vacation she could afford from now until her daughter grew up and went off to college.
“I heard taxes went up. How bad are they?” Daphne drew Tigger close.
“Not too bad,” Hailey lied. “Maybe you can call in some honorariums with your environmental work or something?” Her niece’s bright eyes flicked between the two, and Hailey stepped closer to lightly tap Tigger’s nose. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you to Florida little monkey.”
Tigger grinned and began bouncing on the sidewalk, singing about airplanes, Disney World and her mom.
Hailey glanced down the street, her shoulders sagging. Finian was strolling along, hands in his pockets, kicking an empty Tim Horton’s coffee cup. He caught her eye over his shoulder, beckoning her to go save her family.
What kind of cut-rate paparazzo was this girl with the crazy hair, anyway? Finn had seen her following him off and on all week, her massive camera bag always over her shoulder. A few minutes ago, he’d ducked into an alley, hoping she’d follow, and mindlessly tried door handles on fancy cars as though seeking a joyride. Thankfully, none of them had opened. Until the Jag. But by then he’d given up on her helping him into the tabloids and had, instead, walked away.
What did he have to do to get her to take shots of him?
Right now, when she could easily be stalking him, she was across the street chatting with someone, her hair growing frizzy from the rain. He began to stroll away, noting her panic and how she tried to extricate herself from her conversation with the woman and child.
Gotcha.
Maybe she had potential after all. He paused for a little fake window-shopping, allowing her to catch up. In the reflection he watched as she stopped at a food truck to purchase a cup of coffee, chatting with the vendor as though they were friends.
How was she going to aim that big camera at him if she was drinking coffee? What kind of paparazzi did they have in Canada, anyway? He ought to stomp over there and give her a few tips.
He hadn’t been mentioned in a single tabloid--other than the odd post-breakup speculative whisper--since coming to Bala. Even after three days of this lady tailing him.
And yeah, sure, he’d selected Canada because he needed downtime to sort out who he was and where he was going with his life. But he hadn’t been expecting to slip out of the spotlight in doing so. He’d just broken up with Jessica Cartmill and finished a movie. It shouldn’t be easy to lie low.
Either that, or him breaking up with Jessica, a beloved star since the day of her debut, back when she was three years old, wasn’t earth-shattering news as he’d assumed. Their breakup had come as a shock to the public, but instead of milking it he’d fled to what turned out to be backwoods Canada, where the paparazzi preferred to drink coffee rather than snap shots of him.
Maybe Jessica had been right. Maybe he was nothing without her.
His phone rang and he whipped it out, frowning as the rain started up again. His agent, Derek Penn, probably wondering why Finn hadn’t delivered anything fresh for the celebrity news.
As if he needed that kick in the nuts right now.
“Yo! Finnegan!”
“Finian. Finn,” he reminded him kindly. Finn cooled his temper, telling himself that he worked with Derek because the man was great at building stars. Derek knew who Finn needed to align himself with. What to do--and when--in order to keep his name out there, build his image, and which rung he should climb to take him up the ladder to A-list notoriety. Then on to the Hot List. No more B or C, or heck, D list for him. He was so close he could smell it. And it smelled like irresistible women hungry for him. Redemption. And cash. Lots of much needed cash.
“You haven’t been in the rags in almost a week, man. What’s up? I know you’re chilling out and mending your broken heart and all that B.S., but you can’t leave the planet. People will forget you exist.”
Finn’s heart thundered at the thought. If fans started wondering what had happened to that guy who was in all those action movies, everything would crumble. Not just his finances, but his promises. He’d be a broken man sent right back to the horrible place he’d struggled to escape.
He spun in a slow circle on the side
walk. Not a camera in sight.
He kicked over a trash can and stalked on down the street. When he turned, a family was clustered around the barrel, righting it and placing the refuse inside. Canadians. They were making him feel guilty when he was supposed to be a man with no regrets and certainly no remorse.
Finn paused, spotting his little shadow with her face buried behind her phone as she sipped her coffee. She glanced at him, frowned at her cell, and continued on past him.
Maybe she wasn’t a paparazzo. Maybe she was just a fan. A stalker. Though, she seemed much too indifferent for that. Those women did a lot more giggling and bumping into him. He’d be eating a meal, lost in his own world, and suddenly look up to see an excited face shining with the thrill of having locked eyes with him.
That was surreal in a way that made him shudder every time. It was as though they were looking into a pool where their own wishes and dreams were being reflected back at them. They weren’t seeing him, they were seeing a man he could never truly be, and they expected so much from him. Things he couldn’t give.
“And dude, what’s up with your tweets? They’re like friggin’ cotton candy, they’re so sweet,” Derek said.
“What do you mean?”
“A puppy? Really?”
“What? It was cute.”
“Yeah, but a golden retriever? Are you trying to kill me?”
Finn smiled. “I’ll have you know that got over seven hundred retweets.”
“Finn, man, listen to me. Bad boys don’t tweet cute puppy photos. They tweet beer bongs and cleavage, and their hundred-and-forty characters are loaded with swears. Got it?”
“Yeah.” Finn stared at the cracked sidewalk. He knew what men from the wrong side of the tracks did. He just couldn’t seem to stay in that role. That was probably why he had fallen off the planet. He sucked as an actor.
He let out a jagged sigh and stared up at the rain clouds. Cool drizzle landed on his face, weaving its way through his stubble.
Maybe that was the problem. If he pretended to be a bad boy long enough, he might succeed and become the people back home. The people he’d promised not to become. And tweeting out crap felt like going back on the promises he’d made himself. It was though he’d be taking a step back to the place he’d struggled to leave behind.
