Down Shift

by K. Bromberg

  The problem is he’s winning me over too. And it’s not just the gifts that have been arriving to the house and the bar since Tuesday. No. I’ve lived a lifestyle where I could have anything materialistic without a second thought about expense. It’s more the thought that has gone into the gifts. The smiles they’ve brought to my lips. The happiness they evoked about that moment in time I shared with Zander.

  The little things he’s trying to remind me of so I don’t forget how good we are together.

  Like the four dozen pairs of knee-high socks in all different patterns and colors he had delivered. The card attached mentioned how much he enjoyed those socks wrapped around his hips.

  Or the two cases of fresh golden pineapples followed by the empty green crates void of strawberries. The note that mentioned he’d asked the strawberry council to go on strike because pineapples are the decidedly best of all fruits.

  Next was the case of new paints and brushes and canvases in all shapes and sizes that now clutter my little alcove in my bedroom. The card still makes me smile. The dedication “to the world-renowned artist” from her model who still needs his six-pack and other delicate places painted and committed to canvas.

  Then there was the hammer with the flowery handle. So I had something to use when I needed to get out aggression or emotion. An outside use only sticker attached to it.

  The bubble mailer delivered to the house with the kid’s jump rope nestled inside. A note along with it that said Will you? followed by the few minutes it took me to figure out what Zander was asking. But once I did—his gift a reminder of his just jump encouragement—I lost the battle against holding back a smile.

  All the items tugged on my heartstrings. Reminded me of his generosity. His kindness. His thoughtfulness. They all made me want to pick up the phone and call him. Hear his voice. Close my eyes and sink into the warmth of his presence.

  But none of them were the one thing I so desperately needed. Him to tell me he didn’t sleep with someone else.

  Am I being stubborn? Yes. Unreasonable? Maybe. Will my anger and hurt fade with time, and will all these small gestures that tell me he realizes what’s so very important win out in the end?

  God, how I want to be able to say yes. I want to let love prevail. Win. Sweep me off my feet and carry me off into the island sunset.

  But I also know love doesn’t fix everything. Trust and honesty are huge factors too. And I’ve lived without all three of those for so long. Is it really so bad to require them the next go-round?

  Time. That’s what I keep telling myself. I have three more days to convince myself one way or another. To just jump or to say good-bye and go our own separate ways.

  Even the thought of it gets me teary-eyed. And makes me question why I’m fighting this so hard. Shouldn’t the fact I’m resistant to walking away be enough of an answer?

  “I placed some calls to some friends. We’ll find something for you. You’re a local now—you get the inside track,” Liam says with a wink, pulling me from my thoughts of Zander and placing them where they should be. On finding a place to live. Because as if I needed more shit to deal with right now, Darcy called this morning to tell me the house has been bought. Word of mouth around the island about the house being fixed up, in a market where real estate goes fast, had brought in an irresistible offer.

  So not only do I have to deal with a broken heart and whether I want to mend it or just cut my losses and accept the hurt, but I now need to find a new place to live.

  Maybe this is a sign. A clean break could be just what I need. A new place to live means no more memories of Zander everywhere I look. No more reminders when the pipes creak or when I pass the mini-blind wand still sitting on my bedroom dresser.

  The one absolute is that I’m staying here on the island. The easiest thing would be to pack up the car and run again. Set down roots somewhere else. But I don’t want to take the easy route. I like it here. I’ve made friends. I feel at home. Accepted. And that’s not something I ever expected to find, so leaving the island is not an option.

  “Thanks. It’s all so sudden. I just . . .” I fight the tears that well in my eyes.

  Liam pats my shoulder in support. My tears instantly making him uncomfortable. “It’s all going to work itself out for the best. We’ll all make sure of it.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it. Everything with Zander and now this . . . I don’t know what I’d do without—”

  My voice stops midsentence, my breath hitching, when I see who’s walked into the bar.

  My heart clenches when I meet eyes that match mine.

  I just can’t take anymore right now.

  I just can’t.

  Let alone him.

  “What does he want?” Liam mutters beside me. His words surprise me. His rigid posture even more.

  My body tenses with each step closer my father takes to the bar. I know I’m strong, can hold my own against him, and yet exactly what he predicted would happen with Zander happened, and I really don’t want to go toe-to-toe with him right now on it.

  “Good afternoon, Gertrude. You’re looking well.” Sharp eyes. Stiff demeanor. Zero emotion.

  “Father.” I nod. My head is so cluttered with everything that I can’t think straight.

  We stare at each other. The patrons around us take notice. Liam stays put by my side.

  “Can I help you?”

  He angles his head. “I’d heard you’d had a falling-out with that guy. I came to make sure you were okay. Heard your house had sold. I thought you might need help. Figured you were ready to come back home.”

  I stare at him wide-eyed as everything starts to make sense. “You bought the house, didn’t you? You bought it so I wouldn’t have a place to live.” My blood boils. His pulling strings in my life is no longer acceptable.

  “No. Never. Do you really think I’d buy property in this town of all places?” The disgust-laced defiance that tinges his denial has a few more heads turning in our direction in the bar. Backs and pride standing at attention.

  Liam’s feet shuffle beside me. A warning growl sounds off deep in his throat that’s for my ears only.

  How could I not have put two and two together? The real estate mogul would have known somehow it was up for sale. Used his insider knowledge to his advantage. Tried to run me back home by getting rid of the place where I live, in a town where room vacancies are few and far between.

  I stare at this man whose blood I share and feel absolutely zero connection besides sadness. And missed moments that, no matter how hard I long for them, he’ll never be able to give me.

  My resolve is stronger than ever when I speak again.

  “Insulting the town you’re standing in isn’t going to win you any favors in this bar. Thank you for your concern, but it’s no longer needed. I think it’s best if you leave.” My voice wavers on the last word even though I stand tall. My anger fueling my tone rather than my fear.

  His jaw pulses. The dislike of being dismissed by me of all people is the only transparent emotion he shows. I can pick up on his anger, though. Disappointment. Frustration. And I’m perfectly okay with it.

  “You’re making yet another mistake, Gertrude. It’s a pity you can’t seem to make a man happy enough to keep him loyal.”

  Fury heats my blood. My face turns beet red with embarrassment as he insults me in a bar full of my neighbors. I try to save face despite the rush of emotions vibrating through my body. “Zander was only here for the summer, Father. It was time for him to go back to his life.” My voice is loud enough so the customers can hear me. So I can hopefully make them believe what I’ve said and restore some of my dignity that has been run through the public wringer over the past few weeks.

  He tucks his tongue in his cheek, eyes unyielding. “Oh. My apologies. I assumed the picture circling the Internet of him screwing RaceBunnyBabe Katy to be
the reason you weren’t together. Guess I figured that would be more damaging to your relationship than anything. But then again, seems you like to make a habit of playing the martyr in relationships. . . .”

  His words paralyze me. The insinuation that I brought this on myself—with Ethan and with Zander—causes such a strong wave of diverse emotions that I don’t know which one to focus on. Humiliation. Anger. Surprise that he went there.

  I stand looking at him with a slack jaw and a litany of words I want to say but can’t process quickly enough to combat the damage he just caused.

  “I think it’s time you leave my bar.” It’s Liam who speaks. My father’s eyes move with methodical slowness over to his. They challenge. And mock. It’s only when chairs scrape across the floor as other locals stand up, cross their arms, and stare down my father that he takes a step back.

  “Good-bye, Gertrude.” He nods his head and turns on his heel.

  Then I finally sag against the counter. Breathe for the first time in what feels like hours. Try to comprehend everything that just happened. Try to overcome the disbelief that he’s going to buy the house just to force my hand to return home.

  Liam runs his hand over my back. A small show of support on top of his strong stance in asking my father to leave.

  And in a split second of time, it clicks. What he said.

  I tear from behind the counter and out the front door like a madwoman. My mind stumbles over the idea. The why. The how. He was behind it all. The holy shit.

  When I fling the door open, I look left, then right. Eyes searching for the gray jacket and the silver head of hair.

  “Father!” I shout down the street, not caring who stops and pays attention to the crazy lady with wild eyes and a desperate voice.

  He stops in his tracks. There’s a smug smile on his face when he turns around and walks back toward me. All my mind can process is that he thinks I want to go with him. That his ridicule has done what he wanted and worn me down so I’d realize I need him and Ethan to survive.

  His arrogance knows no bounds.

  “I knew you’d see things my way, Gertrude. Come.” He motions for me to follow him with visible impatience.

  But I stand my ground. Hands on my hips as the door of the bar opens and closes behind me. The locals most likely all standing there to make sure I’m okay.

  “How’d you know her name was Katy?” My words ring out across the distance, but from his reaction it’s like they slap him in the face. His accidental slip in the heat of the moment. It’s a split second of shock that flickers before it’s gone, and I know his every nuance, his different combative faces, yet never have I seen him surprised like this.

  My heart pounds in my chest. My blood rushes in my ears. And hope . . . it surges and swells like a tidal wave threatening to pull me under its welcome haze, because I realized somehow my father knew the name of the mysterious woman when no one else does. Not even Zander himself.

  With his reaction giving me a stronger foundation beneath my feet, I take a step toward him and ask again. “No one else knew her name. How did you know her name was Katy, Father?” I shout the words, tears of anger thick in my voice, such a different kind of hurt in my heart from what’s been plaguing me the last several days.

  And with his sputtered lack of coherent response, my mind starts to pull together hints and connect them. “It was his phone, wasn’t it?” I shake my head. It’s spinning and yet I can see things very clearly now. “When Ethan broke in the house. Zander’s phone was on the counter. He tracked it somehow, didn’t he? While Ethan waited for me to come home, he found the phone on the counter and uploaded the app to it just like he did to mine before. Must have been a big surprise for him to come home after you bailed him out, go to snoop on my whereabouts, and find out the phone wasn’t even mine. I bet that pissed both of you off until you figured Zander’s phone worked just as well. It allowed you to know where Zander was going to be. Where he was going to stay. What was going on between us. You tracked him, his travel plans, outgoing texts, and made sure Katy was right there. Paid her to set up the photo opportunity worthy enough of making me think he cheated on me. The shirt. The tag to the Lazy Dog account.”

  Oh my God. How could I have been so stupid? How could I not have seen this from a mile away? Control. It was always the name of their game, and they did just that, even when I wasn’t anywhere near them.

  “Gertrude.” All he can say as he tries to stop me from putting all the pieces together. From realizing the extremes to which he and Ethan would go to deflate my confidence, to ruin my self-worth, in the hopes that I’d come running back home.

  “You wanted me to believe he’d slept with her, didn’t you?” I scream. Emotion overflows out of me at this point, heart torn in so many pieces and yet being put back together on a whole different level. “You wanted me to see the photo and run back home with my tail between my legs.” He steps toward me and I step back. “How could you?” Tears stream down my face. They won’t stop. “How could you take the only happiness I’ve had since Mother died and try to ruin it for your benefit?”

  Emotion finally flickers through the ice of his stern expression. Regret. Apology. Embarrassment. But I don’t believe them for a single second.

  “I don’t ever want to see you again. You are dead to me.”

  I turn my back and walk between the twenty or so customers standing out in front of the Lazy Dog. They part as I stride through, murmurs of support surrounding me and buoying me forward.

  Chapter 41

  GETTY

  From the scramble to make travel arrangements to throwing clothes in a suitcase to running between connecting flights, I feel as if I haven’t had a minute’s time to catch my breath.

  And yet I wouldn’t have it any other way because I know the truth now. I know Zander was right. That I should have listened to him. That what we have is real and worth the chance.

  Now I just can’t wait to get there and tell him face-to-face. Kiss his lips. Wrap my arms around him. I’m just hoping I can do it before the race starts, because I don’t think I can wait four or five hours. I’ve waited long enough as it is.

  The cabbie honks his horn. My knee jogs up and down from my seat as I bite a desperate shout for the other cars to get out of the way. I have a man to make mine.

  I extract my phone from my backpack to text Rylee that I’ve landed. And I silently thank Zander for programming her number in my phone. It feels like days ago, but I don’t think I’ll ever forget her response when she answered my call. After a rambling explanation about how I needed to get to Zander and see him and talk to him—and she could direct me how to get to the track once I landed, because it was dire that I see him—she told me, “You are his water.”

  Too focused on the details of how soon I could get to Boston, I had no idea what she meant; now I’m trying to figure it out.

  By the time the taxi gets me to the location Rylee had indicated, my body is riding high on adrenaline. I’m so close.

  “Okay. I see the taxi,” Rylee says through the phone as I collect my bag and backpack and stand there amid a massive amount of people milling around in the prerace excitement as the cab pulls away.

  “Getty!” Her voice is in my ear and behind me simultaneously.

  As soon as I turn around, I’m engulfed in her arms. She pulls back and stunning violet eyes meet mine with a smile lighting up her face. We just stare at each other for a moment. It’s like I don’t have to say a word for her to understand how much I love her son. I can see it in her eyes. She already knows.

  And the nerves I thought I’d feel disappear as she laughs out loud and pulls me against her again. “I’m so glad you’re here, Getty.” Her voice holds so much warmth, so much welcome, that I’m not sure how to respond, because I’m not used to it. “I’m Rylee. So nice to meet you.”

  “Hi. Thank you for helping
me get here.” Tears well in her eyes and she just shakes her head as if she’s really trying to believe I’m here.

  “Anything for one of my boys.” She looks away from me and around at the crowd. “We’ll talk properly during the race, but right now I want to get you to Zander. Here. Put this on.” She loops a lanyard around my neck with all kinds of official-looking information on it that matches the one she’s wearing. “Let’s go!” She grabs my hand and begins to lead me through the crowd.

  We move through security, around barricades, and weave in and out of the crowd of people that line the street. Their excitement is contagious. The exhilaration of being so close to Zander and the chance to right my wrongs is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. And strangely enough, the woman whose hand is holding mine is also providing me with a sense of acceptance that I never expected.

  We can’t really talk, given the noise of the crowd and how fast we’re moving as we skirt through openings in the mass of people.

  The crowd begins to thin some. The security becomes tighter, its presence more visible. We have to show our badges at a gate before we’re allowed through. Men in fire suits of different colors stand all around us now. Some say hi to Rylee as we pass by. Some just nod in greeting. The clatter of tools as they’re dropped on concrete can be heard here and there.

  My nerves jitter with anticipation. With uncertainty. With hope. But we keep walking at our brisk pace. And while the crowd may have thinned, Rylee keeps my hand in hers. I have a feeling she can sense how freaked out I am.

  And just like that, in the middle of a makeshift alley where concrete barriers divide the track from the pits, she stops abruptly. I look at her, startled, my heart pounding.

  “Just remember, more hearts break from words left unspoken than from saying too much.” I nod my head as the tears well up at her absolute compassion. The kind she’s taught her son. Her eyes hold mine, encourage me, ground me. I take a deep breath and squeeze her hands in mine before she helps to take my bags from me. “Welcome to the family, Getty. Zander’s right over there.” She lifts her chin over my shoulder.