The Promise of Us

by Beck, Jamie

  “Hello!” Karina snapped her fingers. “Are you paying attention?”

  “Sorry.” He shook his head to clear away the doldrums. “This is going to be our most grueling investigation. At least after the hurricanes, most people were working with each other. Lesbos sounds like a total shit-show.”

  “We’ll stay until we find an angle the other news networks have overlooked.”

  He’d be looking for that one extraordinary family or person who put an unforgettable face on the problems. Of course, every reporter and photographer who visited would be looking for the same thing. His father’s words about the slim chances of ever being that person who rises above the others replayed.

  It required more than skill. There was an element of luck to breaking through the noise, like Ryan Kelly’s being in the perfect spot to capture that prizewinning, brutal image of the car plowing into the racially charged protests in Charlottesville, Virginia.

  What did it say about him that making a name for himself was worth placing himself smack in the middle of a riot, literally putting his life at risk? Claire would never think any prize worth a life.

  He believed there were things worth dying for—one’s country, an uncompromising principle or value, saving the life of another—but an accolade? Could he really have been pursuing his dream for the wrong reasons all along?

  Karina batted his foot. “What’s the matter with you? You’ve been mopey all week.”

  He set the empty bottle on the floor, then stood and walked to the window. From her third-floor walk-up he could see swarms of people on the sidewalk, and streets crowded by cyclists, cars, and delivery vans. He closed his eyes to picture the unpolluted view of the Sound and imagined the echo of the woodpecker’s bill drilling the tree outside his bedroom window at Arcadia House. “I’m not mopey.”

  “Is it Peyton? Was there a setback or something?”

  “No. She’s doing great. If she weren’t, I wouldn’t be going with you.” He scratched the back of his head. His hair had grown only an inch or so. He supposed it wouldn’t be a bad thing to have it short in a hot, dirty place like the refugee camps of Lesbos. He glanced over his shoulder to find Karina scowling at him.

  “I’ve never seen you less enthused to dig for a story than you are right now.” Karina crossed her arms. “Is it Claire?”

  He glanced away at the first sight of her amused expression. “I’m a little tired, that’s all. It’s been an emotional several months with Peyton, and now I have to switch gears and get back into a working mind-set. I’ll be fine by the time we land.”

  “You’d better be, Logan. You might have a trust fund to fall back on, but my career and rep are all I have.”

  “Have I ever given less than one thousand percent?” He frowned.

  “Not yet . . .” She picked up his empty bottle and carried it to her sink. “But you know the saying. There’s a first time for everything.”

  “Not for me.” He turned away from the window.

  “Hope you’re right, although it seems like it might be your first time for something else.”

  He narrowed his eyes, failing to follow her logic.

  “Claire? You like her . . . like, like her.” Karina seemed to be tamping down a giggle. “Could she be the woman who finally brings you to heel?”

  To heel? He shook his head to reject the dog metaphor and then crossed to the door, waving her suggestion away. “I’ll see you at the airport tomorrow night.”

  He could hear her laughter as he closed the door. A thin sheen of sweat coated his forehead, although his discomfort at having his feelings for Claire exposed made little sense. He trotted down the stairs and onto the sidewalk, heading west toward his place. When he arrived, Steffi was still working.

  “Didn’t expect you to stay so late.” He closed his door, forcing a smile despite a dull headache.

  She balanced on her ladder, mounting one of the picture-frame moldings to the wall. “Trying to get as much done as possible. No use getting caught in rush-hour traffic, and I’d rather work four long days than come back for a fifth.”

  “Makes sense.” Logan tossed his keys on the counter. Some masochistic part of him wanted to edit those pictures he’d taken of Claire at the Breakers, but first he had to eat something. The apple and three beers he’d had at Karina’s wouldn’t sustain him for long. “You hungry? I’m ordering takeout.”

  “Chinese?”

  He shrugged. “If you want.”

  “I’m not starving, but I can always eat a spring roll and pan-fried dumplings.” She nailed another section of the molding.

  He noted the paint cans, sprayers, brushes, and such collected in one corner. Drop cloths folded into piles. He’d cleared out most of his furniture so they could work while he traveled, but he wasn’t looking forward to sleeping on the blow-up mattress tonight. “When will you start painting?”

  “I’ve finished the sanding and caulking, and am almost done with this framing. I should get a coat of primer done by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Guess it’s a good thing I’m getting out of here tomorrow, so I won’t have to sleep with the paint fumes.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t stay at Arcadia this week.” She peered at him as if he might respond to her statement. She could fish all she wanted, but he wasn’t biting. Steffi climbed down the ladder and came to the kitchen to get a glass of water. “Are you looking forward to your trip?”

  “You say that like I’m going on vacation.” He wondered how much Claire had shared with Steffi, and if Steffi agreed with Claire. If he asked about her, Steffi would be all over him, and he didn’t want that. Not tonight, anyway. He was leaving for weeks and had no idea what to expect from his trip, let alone worry about what he might want when he returned. “I’m hoping what we do there might make a difference. It’ll be draining, no doubt.”

  “Must be weird to get back into the groove after taking so much time to help Peyton.” She patted his shoulder. “You did an awesome thing for your sister. I hope you know how much it meant to her, and how much I admire you for it.”

  “I didn’t do it for praise.”

  “All the more reason why it deserves some.” Steffi gulped down the water.

  “Thanks.” He pulled out menus from some local Chinese places that delivered.

  “You okay? You seem off, like you aren’t eager to go. I know Claire’s worried about this trip.” Steffi held up her hand to stave off questions. “She hasn’t said much, and even if she had, I wouldn’t tell you anything, but she’s distracted, and I know it’s because of you.”

  Logan didn’t want to add to Claire’s stress, yet hearing about her concern made him happy. She missed him. She still cared. Maybe time apart would make her rethink her hasty decision. “I’ll be checking in on Peyton now and then, so she can reassure Claire of my safety while I’m away.”

  “Why don’t you do that yourself?”

  “Because she ended it, Steffi.” He crossed his arms. “Not me.”

  Steffi waved him off. “Pfft. That’s a technicality.”

  “A big one, don’t you think?”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “You and I both know that was a preemptive strike. She nipped it in the bud before saying goodbye would hurt too much.”

  Maybe, but that still had been her choice, not his. “And now we’ll never know what might’ve happened.”

  Steffi shook her head. “You’re no smarter than I was in college. That’s sad, Logan. Especially since I had the excuse of being nineteen at the time.”

  He leaned against the counter. “Just because you and Ryan found your way back to each other doesn’t mean every other couple can or even should make it work. And I’m not the only one with issues here. Claire’s got her own to overcome.”

  “I know. The only reason I’m not pissed at you is because you got her to question what she’s been missing out on all these years. I never succeeded, and neither did Peyton. She might not make changes on your preferred time fra
me or scale, but she’s better off for having spent time with you.”

  Small comfort. “For her sake, I hope so. She deserves a full life.”

  “So do you, Logan.” Her voice echoed in his large, empty apartment.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I would’ve come to your house, Claire.” Peyton waved Claire inside Arcadia’s entry.

  Claire hoped she hid her surprise to see Peyton without the wig or a head scarf. Short, tufted hair dotted her scalp, but she still looked jarringly bald. The ruddiness had begun to fade from Peyton’s skin. Her shirt hung flat against her chest. Claire didn’t know if Peyton planned to get reconstructive surgery, and wouldn’t ask such a personal question. Not with the way things stood between them.

  Cancer had lost this round, but its ravages remained, a fact that elicited Claire’s empathy despite her lingering disappointment in Peyton.

  “It’s fine. I need to drop off this information for your father, anyhow, so two birds . . .” After weighing her desire to build a thriving business against her fears, Claire had spoken with Steffi and worked up a bid for the hotel project. If they were hired, the income would enable them to move forward with their retail rental plans as early as this summer. She couldn’t pass up an opportunity to get closer to her dream.

  But delivering the bid wasn’t the only reason she’d wanted to meet with Peyton here. With Logan halfway around the world, Arcadia House was a local place where she could feel his presence.

  “I’ll put this on my dad’s desk.” Peyton took the envelope from Claire. “Let’s talk at the kitchen table. I made brownies with walnuts.”

  One of Claire’s all-time favorite treats. Peyton knew that, and knew her well enough to know that this meeting would require a chocolate binge. Her gesture made Claire want to smile and cry at the same time. “Thank you.”

  Peyton headed down the hallway toward her dad’s office. Claire meandered to the kitchen, a place where she’d once spent a lot of time. Darla Prescott had always been proud of the home’s old-world charm: checkerboard flooring, white cabinets with black pulls and hinges, and butcher-block counters. In the 1990s, they’d installed an island with country cabinetry and a soapstone counter, but Claire thought the kitchen could use additional modern conveniences—like soft-close hinges and new-retro appliances.

  A pile of freshly baked, still-warm brownies sat on a plate in the center of the table, its aroma filling the kitchen. Claire couldn’t ignore the overture. One of several Peyton had made these past weeks. She told herself to rise above her ego and forgive Peyton in the hope of finally gaining some peace of mind.

  Peyton reappeared and poured them each some milk. “I’ve been thinking about what you said—that Steffi probably wouldn’t like a traditional bachelorette party. Since we know her dad and brothers won’t think to throw any kind of family event, your wedding shower idea is probably the more practical way to go.”

  “Practical.” Claire sighed, taking a seat while snatching the largest brownie on the plate.

  “I didn’t mean that as an insult.” Peyton’s expression stiffened, wary of Claire’s reaction.

  “I know.” The tension between them crackled like static electricity—uncomfortable but not actually painful—despite Claire’s vow to set aside their issues so they could plan something special for their friend. “I’m well aware of my own shortcomings.”

  “Practicality is hardly a fault. It’s a better way of life than impulsiveness.” A brief smile flickered, then Peyton cast her eyes downward. Her impulsiveness had certainly taken its toll on their friendship.

  “Still,” Claire replied. “I don’t want to throw a boring party for Steffi and Ryan, so please, make free with your ideas.”

  “Really?” She smiled in that devious way she’d done since adolescence.

  Claire’s stomach tightened at the mischievous glee in Peyton’s eyes. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Well, you know how they both love being on the water. What if we rent a private yacht and cruise around the Sound?”

  “A yacht?” Claire’s palms grew clammy. Didn’t some ferry just burn en route in Florida last winter? “That sounds . . . expensive.”

  “Richard Warner, my father’s good friend, owns a sixty-some-foot trawler that he keeps at a nearby marina. It’s beautiful. My dad said he’d lend it to us as long as we cover the cost of gas and crew for the day. Steffi and Ryan have a relatively small group of friends and family, so everyone would fit. I thought an intimate dinner cruise would be romantic.”

  Perspiration gathered on every surface of Claire’s skin as she struggled to think up reasons to kill the idea. “It would be memorable.”

  “You look sick.” Peyton sighed. “I’m sorry. Logan told me that you’d gone to the city and up to Newport, so I assumed . . . well, it doesn’t matter. I’m sure we can come up with something nice to do here in town. We can hold it here on the patio to keep expenses down.”

  “No, thank you.” Claire frowned. “I told you, I want it to be special.”

  A rivulet of sweat slid down her spine. She reminded herself she’d have a couple of months to prepare for a cruise. In fact, she’d be forced to push herself out of her comfort zone if Mr. Prescott hired her soon.

  “So is that a yes to the cruise?”

  Claire nodded because her mouth was too pasty to say the word. She bit into the brownie to make her inability to speak less obvious. Peyton broke into a bright smile and covered Claire’s hand with her own, then withdrew it as if she’d been burned.

  “Sorry, I . . . well, this is great.” Peyton tore off a bit of brownie, popped it in her mouth, and chased it down with a sip of milk. They continued nibbling their brownies during the textbook definition of awkward silence.

  “Do you want to make the guest list and hire the caterer, and I’ll handle music?” Peyton finally asked. “Logan can be our photographer.”

  At the mention of his name, Claire shoved the rest of the brownie in her mouth. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t ask, but she couldn’t help it. His absence this past week had felt more like he’d been gone a full month. After gulping down her milk, Claire asked, “How is he?”

  “Logan? Busy. Overwhelmed, I think.”

  “How so?” She couldn’t picture him that way. He always seemed in control of everything to the point of nonchalance.

  “He’s just outside the Moria refugee camp. Apparently, there are five thousand people jammed in a facility meant for half that number. It’s an old military base, but he said it looks like a prison with chain-link fences topped with razor wire. Karina’s employer got them a rare pass to get inside for one day. Rats, trash-lined streets, unaccompanied minors, open fires for heat, emotional and physical trauma . . . He sounded appalled, which is saying a lot considering other things he’s seen in his travels. He almost sounded hopeless in his description, which is very unlike him.”

  Claire’s heart rate spiked. Those conditions were ripe for violence and riots. “Is it safe?”

  “There was no immediate threat when we spoke a couple of days ago. We never hear much from him when he’s on assignment. He gets pretty involved in his work, and with the time difference and stuff, it isn’t easy to communicate. He’ll ping me occasionally so I know he’s alive.”

  Claire swallowed. The Prescotts’ cavalier attitude shocked her. Her parents couldn’t go more than several hours without checking in to make sure she was unharmed and happy. “Did he mention when he’d be home?”

  Peyton peered at her, head slightly tilted. “No. But I’m surprised you’re so interested, given the way you dumped him at the gala.”

  “I didn’t . . .” Claire blinked. “We shouldn’t talk about my relationship with Logan.”

  “Why not?”

  Claire met her gaze. “I still don’t trust you.”

  Peyton’s left brow rose. “Despite my past behavior, in this instance you can rest assured that I don’t want Logan for myself.”

  The wry deli
very stunned Claire so much she laughed, then covered her mouth. They stared at each other until Claire reached for another brownie and poured herself a second glass of milk.

  Peyton tapped her fingers on the table, letting loose with a heavy sigh. “I’ve apologized in every way I know how, Claire. Will there ever be a day when we might laugh together for real?”

  Claire’s blood boiled until she thought she might melt right there at the table. It should be enough that she’d consented to work with Peyton on this party for Steffi’s sake. But everyone—Steffi, Logan, Peyton—wanted more from her. “Forgive and forget,” Logan had once said. How does one forget? She’d never been good at that. “I don’t know.”

  Peyton propped one elbow on the table and rested her cheek in that palm. “Logan thinks I’m one of the reasons you won’t let yourself be happy with him. No matter what I do, the ripple effect of my mistake keeps coming back to hurt everyone.”

  There weren’t enough brownies on that plate to get Claire through this conversation.

  “You always liked him so much,” Peyton continued. “I wouldn’t have believed you’d let anything stand in the way of making things work.”

  “Logan loves you more than anyone in the world, Peyton. Even if he wanted a serious relationship—which was never on the table, by the way—it would only work if I could let you all the way back into my life, because you’ll always be an integral part of his. A few weeks ago, I couldn’t imagine sitting at a table with you.” She snorted. “But look at us now . . .”

  “There was a time when we both would’ve thought it a dream for you to end up with my brother.” Peyton shook her head with a sigh. “When your name comes up, there’s tenderness in his voice. That’s rare. It makes me question whether I was wrong to warn you off. I shouldn’t have sold him short. Not after everything he sacrificed to help me through the darkest period of my life. He deserved better from me. Besides, it’s pretty obvious I don’t know anything about what makes love last.”

  Claire huffed, swallowing the rest of that second brownie and eyeing a third. “Apparently, neither do I.”