You have no right to be happy!
Those were the precise words he’d said to her mother. She could still hear his voice echoing in her head.
“I found it! I found it!”
Just like that little girl, Jocelyn slapped her hands over her ears, squeezing her eyes shut, drowning out the sound of that man hollering. God damn you, Mary Jo, God damn you.
Why did he hate her so much?
“Look, Missy!”
He slapped a half-finished needlepoint pattern clamped into a round embroidery ring on the table.
“Those are gladiolas,” he said proudly.
The work was awful, no two stitches the same size, loose and knotted threads, but the shape of a tangerine- and peach-colored gladiola was clear, the wide-hole netting made for beginners bearing the design of a bouquet in a glass vase.
“I never could finish it,” he said glumly. “It made me sad.”
“That’s the memory making you sad.”
“It is? What happened?”
She looked at the craft, each little row of stitches so clearly the work of someone who’d labored to pull that silky yarn and follow the simple pattern.
“Does it really matter, Guy?” she asked.
His shoulders slumped, tears forming again. “I just want to know why this makes me so damn sad. Every time I look at these flowers, I want to cry.” A fat drop rolled down his cheek. “Do you know why, Missy?”
Of course she did. “No,” she lied. “I don’t know why they make you sad.”
“ ’Sokay,” he said, patting her hand with thick, liver-spotted fingers, a fresh smile on his face. “Maybe that Nicey lady will help me figure it out when they do the show.”
“Yeah. Maybe she will.”
Chapter 7
Nice work, Palmer.”
Will didn’t look up at the sound of a female voice, barely audible over the scream of his mitre saw. He recognized the voice, though. “Just a sec, Tessa.” Cutting wood this costly required a steady hand and a completely focused brain, and, shit, he’d been fighting for both of those since he’d left Guy’s house a few hours ago.
When he finished cutting the plank, he shut off the saw and shoved his safety goggles onto his head, meeting his visitor’s gaze as she stood in the doorway of Casa Blanca’s largest villa, Bay Laurel.
“You like?” he asked, gesturing to the one-quarter of the living-area floor he’d managed to nail down.
“I do.” She raised her bright red sports water bottle in a mock toast. “This must be the astronomically expensive African wood that Clay’s been talking about for two months, right?”
He grinned. “I picked it up on Friday.” Grabbing his own water and a bandanna to wipe the sweat from his forehead, he paused to admire the wood he’d laid so far. Scary thing was, he didn’t remember leveling or nailing half those planks. His head was not in the game. But the wood was gorgeous, perfectly grained and beautifully stained. “Bay Laurel’s going to be spectacular when it’s done.”
“As nice as Rockrose?” Tessa asked. “I saw it last night all finished for the first time.”
“Yeah, I understand we have our first guest.” He picked up the freshly cut plank, dusted off the sawed edge, and rounded his cutting table to return to the floor.
She nodded. “Small world, isn’t it?”
He threw her a look as he passed, trying—and failing—to read the expression on a face he’d gotten to know pretty well in the months they’d both worked at Casa Blanca.
“Sure seems that way,” he said, laying the board so he could get the blind nailer on top of it and start hammering.
Tessa stepped over the new wood, getting her footing on the underlayment that hadn’t been covered yet, and settled into a corner of the room like she was ready to chat.
Not that unusual; they’d had plenty of conversations about the resort, her gardens, the other construction workers when someone irritated them. But he knew that she knew—no, he didn’t know what she knew.
And that made everything awkward.
He kneed the nailer against the board and waited to let her set the direction and tone of the conversation.
“So you and Jocelyn were next-door neighbors.”
So that would be the direction and tone.
“Moved in next door when we were both ten,” he confirmed, scooping up the soft-headed dead-blow hammer to start nailing the flooring. This was a critical plank, part of a decorative band of darker wood that offset the shape of the room, an idea he’d had and really wanted to make perfect to impress Clay.
He’d have a better shot at perfection if he wasn’t nailing at the same time he was having this conversation.
But Tessa sipped her water and watched, not going anywhere.
He raised his hammer just as she asked, “Were you two close?”
He swung and missed the fucker completely.
“Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I didn’t know it was like batting.”
“It’s nothing like batting,” he said, shifting his knee on the pad and looking over at her. “And, yeah, we were good friends.” The next question burned, and he couldn’t help himself. “She never mentioned me?”
Tessa looked at him for a beat too long, a lock of wavy brown hair falling from her bright-yellow work bandanna, her soft brown eyes narrowed on him. She never wore makeup, he’d noticed, not even for employee parties or barbecues at Lacey and Clay’s place. But her eyes were always bright and clear, probably from all those vitamins and organic crap she ate.
“No,” she said simply. “Not once.”
He nodded and raised the hammer again. This time he hit it direct and hard, a satisfying vibration shooting up his arm. Not once.
Why would she mention him? He’d never even called to find out where she was, if she made it to college, how she made it to college. Not once. And she’d never called him, either. He’d stopped waiting sometime around the middle of his first baseball season, a mix of relief and loss dogging him like a yearlong dry spell at the plate.
“I remember when Lacey was fighting for the permits to build Casa Blanca last year, I saw Jocelyn,” he said, remembering how he’d practically jumped her before she’d shot out of the town hall. “And another girl was there with you, a blonde.”
“That was Zoe Tamarin. The three of us were in a triple dorm room. Lacey was the resident adviser. Zoe’s here, too, by the way. She flew in last night and is staying at my house.”
“Really? College reunion or something?”
She screwed up her face like he was clueless. “Jocelyn’s in trouble,” she said, the words sending a weird punch in his chest. “The four of us are really tight. When someone has a problem, like Lacey did last year or Jocelyn does now, we rally.”
“That’s… nice.” So she’d found another safety net when he was out of the picture. He wasn’t sure how that made him feel, but the next hammer swing was even harder.
“How close were you two?” she asked.
“Maybe you should ask her.”
She snorted softly. “You don’t know her very well, do you?”
“Funny, I was just thinking that. I don’t really know her much at all anymore.”
“Well, she’s not the most, uh, forthcoming person. She’s very private.”
She’d always played things close to the vest, but not with him. She had been open with him. But that was so long ago. He slid the nailer along the wood plank and nestled it into place, then raised the dead-blow hammer again.
“You don’t think she had an affair with that Thayer guy, do you?” she asked just as he swung.
God damn it, he missed again.
“Sorry, Will.”
He closed his eyes, silently accepting the apology and delaying his response.
“Do you?” she asked again.
“I haven’t thought much about it.” Which was pretty much an out-and-out lie. He’d thought plenty about it when he heard it on TV and still had the damn tabloid in his truck.
“Well, she didn’t,” she said. “It’s all lies.”
“Then why doesn’t she say something to shut up all these yapping reporters?”
She took a sip of water. “In true Jocelyn fashion, she won’t say. But I know her and I can assure you, she’s caught in the middle of something that is unfair and untrue.”
“That’s a shame.” And he meant it. She’d had enough crap in her life. “Good that she can ride it out here in Barefoot Bay.”
“Well, she does have her dad here, but…” Her voice trailed off. “Do you know him?”
That one came in like a curveball, low and slow and totally unexpected. Good thing he caught curveballs for a living once.
He hammered a few times, thinking. How much had Jocelyn told her friends? Any other woman, he’d guess everything. Jocelyn wasn’t any other woman, though. And how much did she want known? Probably nothing.
“I live in my parents’ old house, right next door to him, so, yeah, I know Guy Bloom.”
Tessa inched forward, interest sparking in her eyes. “What’s he like?” When he didn’t answer, she added, “I’m not prying or anything, it’s just that she doesn’t talk about him much. At all, really.”
He slammed the last nail and leaned back on his haunches to survey the board before pulling out his level.
“He’s old,” he said, doubting that he was giving away any state secrets. “Not real healthy. I, you know, keep an eye on him now and then.” Like every morning, afternoon, and night.
“Nice of you.”
He shot her a look. “Decent and humane. I’d do it for anyone, any old man living next door.”
“Whoa.” She held up a hand and smiled. “I just said it’s nice, Will.”
Puffing out a breath, he let his backside fall onto the underlayment, shaking his head, words bubbling that he just had to fight.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Look, she’s private, you just said so. I don’t want to speak out of school.”
“Will, we all want to help her,” she said, leaning forward. “We love her. But last time she was here and probably this time, too, she won’t go anywhere near that part of Mimosa Key. She refuses to go south of Center.”
“Well, she’s south of Center right this minute.”
“What’s she doing there? I thought she was shopping.”
He cracked his knuckles and looked at his fresh-laid floor. This woman was one of Jocelyn’s best friends, a replacement for him all those years ago. Maybe they could help her—and help Guy.
He wouldn’t reveal old secrets, just new ones. “He has dementia,” he said softly. “I think she’s down there trying to figure out what to do with him.”
With a soft gasp, she lifted her hand to her mouth, eyes wide. “I had no idea.”
“Neither did she.”
“Oh my God, poor Joss. What’s she going to do?”
It was a rhetorical question, he knew, but he answered anyway. “Let’s see, she’s going to organize his life, catalog his stuff, research facilities, pack him up, sell his house, move him out and anything else she can put on some kind of to-do list.”
“Oh.” She almost smiled. “That’s our girl. So she was always a control freak?”
“Not as much as she seems to be now.” He dragged his hands through sweaty hair, committed to the truth now. “I don’t think it’s the absolute right way to go. I’d just like her to think it through. He’s not…” He blew out a breath. “He’s changed from when she last saw him.”
She thought about that for a moment, maybe struggling with how much she should reveal. “I don’t know… details, but my guess is a change in her father’s personality can only be an improvement. That’s just conjecture on my part, but I did spend four years in college with her and I picked up a little here and there.”
He just nodded, carefully choosing his words. “He wasn’t the nicest guy in the world. But now, well, I’d just like to see him comfortable.”
“Well, one thing about Jocelyn,” Tessa said. “She’s fair. And she’s a really good life coach with a track record for helping people find balance and joy.”
Then maybe she needed to work on her own life and not Guy’s. And, hell, Will could use a little balance and joy, too. “Then maybe she just needs time to figure out the best way to help him. I’m just not sure how to convince her of that.”
Tessa smiled. “My advice? Whatever you want, let her think it’s her idea and she’s in charge. Otherwise, wham, she’ll—”
“Be gone.” He heard the hurt in his voice and, from her look, so did Tessa.
“She has mastered the disappearing act.”
You can say that again.
Tessa pushed up, gnawing on her lower lip with worry. “I wonder if she needs help down there.”
“No, no,” he said quickly. “Honestly, Tess, don’t. She’s fine and I’m going back really soon. I don’t think she’d want—”
She waved her hand. “Don’t worry, Will. I’ve been her friend for a long time. I figured out how to deal with her secretive nature ages ago, and I won’t tell her you shared this. I’ll wait to see how much she tells us.”
“Thanks.” He grabbed his bottle to take a gulp of water, wiping his mouth, realizing how glad he was to have someone to talk to about this. “You know, I’m just still getting used to the idea that she’s here.”
She gave him a slow smile. “Like her, do you?”
Jeez, was it that obvious? “I’ve always liked her.” Understatement alert. “I’ve always… really liked her.”
She cocked her head, thinking. “So you must be the one.”
“The one?”
She let out a little sigh, like puzzle pieces just snapped into place as she nodded at him. “Wow, I’d never have put you two together.”
“We weren’t, not really. Why?”
“She got drunk once.” She laughed softly. “Exactly once, as this is Jocelyn we’re talking about. Zoe took her to a frat party one night and brought her home totally toasted.” She was looking at him, but remembering something else.
“And?”
“Zoe was with her when she was, uh, you know, puking her guts out. Then Zoe left—probably went back to the party if I know her—and I had the privilege of getting Jocelyn in bed.”
He tried to imagine her drunk, sick, helpless like that. Tried and failed. “What happened?” he asked.
“She told me…” She caught herself, shaking her head. “Never mind. File it under too much information for an ex.”
“I’m not an ex; we were just friends.”
“But she said she—” She cut herself off, firing total frustration through him.
“C’mon, Tess. I just told you more than I should have. Can’t we have a little quid pro quo here?”
She considered that, no doubt balancing her fairly new friendship with him and her much longer, deeper friendship with Jocelyn.
“She said she was in love with someone back home but…”
In love. “But what?”
“But it didn’t work out.”
Because he’d been a coward and an idiot. “We had some… obstacles.”
“You didn’t hear that from me,” she said, stepping back over the wood to get to the door. “I gotta go talk to Lacey.”
He stood, brushing sawdust off his pants, his brain whirring like his mitre saw, howling just as loud, telling him what he had to do. “When you see Lacey, tell her I had to take off early. And I might not be here tomorrow. Personal day.”
She just smiled. “Very personal, I’d say.”
Chapter 8
The front door popped open, startling Jocelyn. She and Guy turned to find Will in the entry, a red bandanna wrapped around his head, a smudge of dirt on his white T-shirt, a look of horror on his face as he stared at Guy.
“Why are you crying?” he asked. He shifted his gaze to Jocelyn and she could read the question: Did you tell him where you’re sending him?
“Of course I’m crying, son!” Guy stood and ambled to William, arms outstretched. “You’ve seen the show! They don’t get the ratings if they can’t get the old farts to cry.”
Will looked at her. “So the whole Clean House thing is still going well?”
“It’s… going,” Jocelyn said.
“She’s gifting me with memories,” Guy said.
“She is?”
“And you know what she deserves, William?”
A whisper of a smile pulled at Will’s mouth, an old smile she recognized, one that always took her heart for a ride. He held up a bag. “Enchiladas from South of the Border. There’s beer in my fridge, too. Can you stay, Joss?”
A strange pressure squeezed Jocelyn’s chest. A longing to say yes, so real and strong and natural it nearly took her breath away. She really, really wanted to curl up and eat enchiladas with Will and Guy.
How insane and wrong was that? Wrong, on every level. “I promised Lacey I’d go over to her house tonight,” she said quickly, standing up. “But thank you.”
“Will you be back tomorrow?” Guy asked anxiously.
“I have some, uh, calls to make in the morning.” To assisted-living facilities. “Maybe later or the day after. Don’t make any messes while I’m gone, Guy.”
“I promise, Missy.” He broke away from Will and held out both arms. “Let me give you a hug.”
She froze. “That’s okay.”
“Come here.” He threw both arms around her and squeezed, moving his face to one side to give her a clear shot of Will, who just drank in the scene, clearly unsure what to make of it.
“Thank you,” Guy whispered in her ear, still loud enough for Will to hear and react with a raised eyebrow of surprise.
“Okay,” she said stiffly, backing away without returning the hug. She had her limits. “Bye, now.”
She headed for the door, snagging her bag from the planter where she’d set it out of years of habit.
“Let me walk you out,” Will said quickly.
Barefoot in the Rain Page 7
