Finding Forever: A Bluebird Bay Novel

by Christine Gael

  Saved by the bell. Still facing Ian so he wouldn’t be able to see her rear end, she backed her way up to the sedan. “This isn’t over!” she hissed, scuttling into the back seat.

  She didn’t wait for his reply as she slammed the door behind her.

  “Miss, are you okay?” the Uber driver asked as he eyed her with concern.

  “Yes. I’m fabulous…and frankly, I wish everyone would stop asking me that.”

  He shrugged and pulled away as she watched Ian, still staring after her with that bemused look on his face, recede into the distance.

  She slumped into the seat with a groan, remembering how naïve she’d been an hour ago when she’d thought she’d known what rock bottom was.

  If nothing else, today was a good reminder…

  Things could always get worse.

  4

  Stephanie

  “I don’t care what the doctors say. I’ve made it eighty-two years so far, and I’ve done it on good food.”

  “Pop, please.” Stephanie was practically begging now. “Oatmeal is good food.” There was no use in reminding him that healthy eating most days had played more of a role in his longevity than he thought; he would either deny it, brush it off, or find a way to use it as more ammunition against her. She had been at this with him for the past five minutes, but her father was as stubborn as a mule.

  “Maybe to you,” insisted Pop, shoving the bowl of now lukewarm oats away from himself. “But I need something with a bit more substance.”

  Steph sighed. Her patience was starting to wear thin, as it always did when she had to deal with her father for an extended period of time. Her fuse seemed to have gotten shorter recently, though, most likely owing to certain events in her own life, and she found herself on the verge of snapping at him. He’s old and has dementia, she told herself, closing her eyes for a moment. He doesn’t mean to be argumentative. You have to remember that. But somehow that didn’t help much. He’d been stubborn long before this insidious disease had started to take its hold.

  “Listen, Pop,” she said, having to take a breath to calm herself, “your doctor said you have to work on your cholesterol, okay? Oatmeal is good for your heart.”

  “I don’t give a damn what that old bat said,” Pop said. “Oatmeal is for squalling infants. I want a man’s breakfast, and by that, I mean bacon.”

  That “old bat” was twenty years younger than he was and had been practicing medicine for decades.

  Stephanie closed her eyes, counted to ten, and stood up from the dining room table, picking up the untouched bowl of oatmeal. Then, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the kitchen without another word. By now, she had learned to pick her battles with Red Sullivan, and if that meant making him a second breakfast – one with turkey bacon that wouldn’t clog his arteries – then so be it.

  She scraped the uneaten oatmeal into the trash and went to the fridge, taking out the container of eggs.

  “I like my eggs salty,” Pop called from the dining room. “And toast with real butter, not that plastic tasting stuff. I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter, my tookus. ‘I Can’t Believe It’s Not In the Trash’ is more like it.”

  “I know, Pop,” she replied.

  Normally, this wouldn’t be her responsibility. Her father had been struggling with his mental faculties for a long time, now, but a fire that he’d inadvertently set had destroyed his beachside home and had sent him even further into a downward spiral. It had been a rough period for her and her sisters, but the tragedy had also brought the three of them closer together. Now, Pop lived with Steph, although their arrangement usually provided for a caretaker named Eva, who often dealt with meal preparation.

  Eva seemed to have a better touch with Pop, and times like these were when Steph particularly felt her absence; Eva was coming in late today, and the night nurse had gone home before the sun came up. That left Stephanie as the sole caretaker at the moment – and the sole target of her father’s wrath. But she and Todd had drawn straws over who would be on call at the veterinary clinic on the day after Gabe’s wedding, and she had lost. Steph had been secretly delighted that her son had “won”, allowing him to stay late after the ceremony and mingle with one of the pretty bridesmaids – at least, so she hoped; at twenty-six, he had yet to find a girlfriend, and the mother hen in her wanted to see him settle down with someone.

  Cracking two of the eggs into a mixing bowl, Steph went in search of a whisk. As she was rooting around in the ceramic utensil container, a ladle fell out and clattered onto the counter. The sound was enough to make her jump, her heart nearly hammering out of her chest in response to the noise.

  Relax, she told herself. You’re fine.

  But she wasn’t fine. She never seemed to be fine lately.

  Damn it, why hadn’t she taken Ethan up on his offer? Ethan was not only her boyfriend, but also a cop, and she felt undeniably more safe when she was around him. He had offered to let her stay at his place for a while to get a break from the nightmares. But that would have inevitably meant staying up late and not getting enough sleep to function properly at work. Needing to be fresh with a surgery on tap first thing, she’d had him take her back to her house after the wedding, with the promise that tonight she would go to his place.

  Now, however, she was regretting that decision.

  She was even more on edge than usual lately. Not that it wasn’t warranted. Things had been rough, there was no denying that. Two years after the sudden and supposedly accidental death of her husband, Paul, Stephanie had found herself following the mysterious trail of new evidence that had come to light. With Ethan’s help, she had gotten to the horrible truth of the matter. Paul had been murdered by his business partner, Bryan, when Paul had uncovered Bryan’s pilfering of company funds. Ethan had been like a beam of light cutting through the darkness of that discovery. A grounding, protective force. She honestly didn’t know what she would have done without him – not just as a detective, but as a lover. It still felt strange caring for someone so deeply after Paul, but in a good way. She felt new. Revitalized, even.

  If she could just move past the dang nightmares and all this skittishness, things would be perfect…

  Closing her eyes, Steph found herself unwillingly pulled back to a stormy night on the Bluebird Bay pier, where she had been lured by Bryan under the pretenses of meeting the confidante her husband had had before his death. Bryan had pulled a gun on her, forced her onto his boat, restrained her, and then shot her. If Ethan and her sisters hadn’t come to rescue her, her body would be at the bottom of the ocean right now.

  Reaching down, Stephanie touched the shiny white line on her leg. The scar tissue was raised slightly, and in all likelihood, the mark would never completely fade. Even looking at it still sent a chill up her spine, and she had to grip the counter for support as she dragged herself out of the past and back into the present.

  Bryan was in jail, and would be for a very long time – probably the rest of his life. But that didn’t make dealing with the trauma any easier. Anyone would be jumpy after an experience like that, she reminded herself. All she could do now was keep trying to take her life back, slowly but surely, and if that meant taking something for her nerves once in a while, so be it. Needing help didn’t make her weak.

  Stephanie threw herself into breakfast preparation, whipping up a couple of poached eggs that, in her opinion, at least, looked tasty. She put these on a plate, along with two slices of turkey bacon, and a piece of wheat toast spread with just a hint of butter. When she returned to the living room, Pop was still in his chair where she had left him, and was staring out the window. He turned when she came in.

  “About time,” he muttered as she set the second meal down in front of him. He sniffed, scowling down at the plate as he jabbed a finger at something. “What’s that?”

  “Turkey bacon,” Stephanie replied as she followed his gaze. “This is the closest you’re going to get. It’s this or oatmeal – your choice. The chef h
as clocked out for the morning.”

  Pop muttered something unintelligible under his breath, but picked up his fork with a gnarled hand and began to eat, shooting Steph a begrudging nod as he did so.

  It had been rough going when he’d first moved in, but by now they had managed to work the kinks out of the arrangement. He had his own little in-law set up, an area of the house that allowed him to keep his privacy – and Steph to keep her sanity.

  It wasn’t perfect, by any means, but things were going more smoothly now than they had in a long time, and when either of them needed a break from the other, it was easy enough to separate themselves. At this point, she had more or less come to terms with the fact that she would always butt heads with her father, and a little space was their saving grace.

  Steph felt her stomach rumble, and realized with vague surprise that she had completely forgotten to make breakfast for herself. Taking one last look over her shoulder to make sure Pop was still eating, headed into the kitchen and grabbed a granola bar. She was just about to take a bite when the doorbell rang. There was another muttered remark from the dining room, but Steph ignored it, turning and heading back to the entryway.

  She hadn’t even made it to the front door before Eva Hildebrand came sailing into the house, clutching her enormous tote bag to her chest and tipping a wave in Steph’s direction as she went.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said as she breezed through the entryway. “One of the other waitresses had to visit her sister in the hospital, so I told her I’d cover for her.” She turned to Stephanie, putting her hands on her hips. “So how’s the old coot this morning? Do I need to put on my boxing gloves and mouth guard, or what?”

  “No worse than usual,” Steph replied, chuckling. “He’s just in the other room having breakfast.”

  “I can hear you two, you know!” came Pop’s voice from the dining room. “I’m not deaf or dead yet.”

  Eva rolled her eyes. “How are his vitals today?”

  “Looking good,” replied Stephanie. “His blood pressure was a little low, but other than that, solid. I would say just check it again in a few hours, after he’s got some food in him.”

  “Will do,” Eva said, squaring her shoulders. “Wish me luck…I’m going in.”

  “Good luck,” Stephanie replied, turning and heading upstairs to her room. At least with that out of the way, she could officially start a new day at the clinic. She made quick work of the breakfast bar and then tossed on the most comfortable clothes she could find in her dresser – after the dress she had worn yesterday, she was in desperate need of something breathable. Then, she headed out, saying a quick goodbye to Pop as she did.

  The clinic wasn’t far, and it was small enough that opening by herself as she had for years, before Todd joined the practice earlier in the year, was second nature.

  As soon as she had the office door unlocked, Stephanie heard a telltale yowling coming from the back. There was a duo of feral cats in the back who had been spayed two days before, as part of her policy to tend to stray animals the community brought in. It took some pressure off the local nonprofits and she didn’t mind. She had found this pair herself, trapped in an alleyway not far from the clinic, and once again, she wondered if they were from the same litter. They looked like twins, even though one was missing part of her ear – probably due to a brawl with another stray. They howled day and night – all the thanks she was going to get for taking them in, Steph supposed – and it was clear that these ones wouldn’t do well being adopted. Some of the strays she cared for took to domesticity well, but others--

  The screeching intensified as she turned on the light in the boarding area, carefully taking the cats out of their carrier one at a time. She had informally named these two Pop 1 and Pop 2, because they were always griping, and today was no exception. Pop 2 even hissed at her when she examined her, but unlike the real Pop, she found it more amusing than annoying. Setting out a dish of food as a distraction, she was miraculously able to look over their incisions without getting scratched. Everything looked good, and considering the racket these two were making, now was as good a time as any to let them go. They needed their freedom.

  After herding them back into their carrier and getting a couple shallow scratches for her trouble, Steph brought them out of the office, rounding the corner to the alleyway where she had found them, and opening the cage door. The cats practically scrambled over one another in their desperation to get out of captivity, and within moments, they had scurried out of sight under a heap of broken furniture.

  She was just closing the door to the carrier and standing back up when the sound of footsteps behind her made her heart leap out of her chest. Stephanie whirled around, eyes wide, to see a tall man making his way down the alley towards her… and then setting the garbage bag he’d been carrying in one of the dumpsters against the wall. He gave her an uncertain wave before turning around and walking away, but Steph only stood there, paralyzed.

  It was the kind of fear that gripped a person when they missed a step going up the stairs – a sudden surge of adrenaline that struck like a freight train. Except this one seemed to hit again and again. She could hear a faint ringing in her ears, and had to lean over, her breath coming in unsteady bursts.

  It’s okay, she told herself. He wasn’t going to hurt you.

  But as rational as those reassurances sounded, they felt far less certain to Stephanie. Images of Bryan flashed through her mind…

  Bryan, pointing a gun at her with murder in his eyes.

  Bryan, dragging her onto the deck of his boat.

  Bryan, gripping her tightly, telling her he was going to kill her.

  She was free of him, yes…but now it was like she was a prisoner of her own mind.

  She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, hands on her knees like she had just run a marathon, staring after the man and trying to get her fear under control. Eventually, though, she managed to straighten. She picked up the cat carrier with a trembling hand and began to make her way unsteadily back to the clinic. She couldn’t seem to stop shaking, even as she left the darkness of the alley.

  The second she stepped through the clinic door, she made a beeline for her purse. It took her quite some time to get the pill bottle open with her hands trembling this badly, but eventually she did, breaking one of the little white tablets in half and swallowing it dry.

  That would take the edge off, she reasoned. Now, she would be able to make it through the day. There was nothing wrong with that, was there? She had a prescription, after all.

  She ran her fingers through her hair and nodded. Time to prep for her incoming surgery.

  “Suck it up, buttercup.”

  Work would take her mind off things. And when the nightmares came again tonight? Well, she’d deal with that then…

  5

  Max

  Max felt a bit like she had been run over by a semi-truck. The only difference? Most people who got run over by semi-trucks didn’t live to tell the tale. But there was no denying, some part of her wished she was dead.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she felt this bad, and that included the time back in high school when she had given herself food poisoning trying to make eggs in the microwave. The sun felt like it was personally attacking her, making her narrow her eyes to slits as she made her way down the sidewalk, each step sending a pulse of pain up her neck and through her head.

  God, she hated hangovers. Why the hell had she drank so much yesterday? She was kicking herself, and not just because she was now paying for her binge drinking. No, the embarrassment, as it turned out, was worse than the physical discomfort…

  If only I’d blacked out, she thought as she rounded a corner onto her mother’s street. At least then I wouldn’t have to remember...

  She groaned and squeezed her eyes closed. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt this humiliated, and with the champagne goggles gone, her stomach lurched every time she thought about Ian Thackery. The way h
e had looked at her last night was almost too much to handle – that little self-important, discreetly-amused smirk on his face. His unfairly handsome face. And then her dress…

  Her face flamed just thinking about it. That had really been the cherry on top of an awful evening, hadn’t it? Now that she’d slept off the alcohol, she found herself facing her behavior and the realities of the night before with full clarity, and it wasn’t pretty. The lease issue had been a stunning blow, and her actions had only made things worse.

  Certainly not the behavior of a successful entrepreneur.

  She pushed aside the thought as she came to a stop in front of Cee-cee’s storefront. Despite them both opening shop within months of one another, the difference between hers and her mother’s businesses was staggering. There was already a line at the counter, the place was humming with activity, and framed articles on Cee-cee and her baking prowess decorated the walls. It was a far cry from the admittedly modest growth of the bookstore, and she felt a fresh pang of grief as she pulled open the door, making the bell tinkle.

  Pete, the gangly high schooler for whom Max had babysat once upon a time, was in his usual place at the cash register, handing a box of cupcakes to an older gentleman. He glanced over when she entered, smiling as he began to ring up the next person in line.

  “Hey, Max,” he said. “Long time no see.”

  “Good to see you, Pete,” she replied, doing her best to keep her tone light. “How’s it going in here today?”

  “Hopping,” Pete replied, nodding to the line of customers. “Your mom should be downstairs, I think. We got a catering order in and she wants to get ahead of the game. By the way, have you met Wanda?” At the sound of her name, a woman in her mid-twenties stood up from behind the display case, where she had been fastidiously arranging a row of red velvet cupcakes. “Wanda, this is Max,” Pete said. “Cee-cee’s daughter.”