by Susan Hatler
“What do you mean?” Her brows furrowed. “I think the retreat’s going really well. I’m happy to sneak in a good word with Greta if you think my opinion will help.”
I smiled at her gratefully. “Thanks. I’d really appreciate a good word from you. She seems to adore you.”
“Not a problem.” She patted the table as if the matter were settled, then a mischievous look crossed her features. “Now, tell me something I’ve been dying to know. What’s going on with you and that hottie, Brody?”
A small laugh escaped. Here I’d thought I was being so sly. “I don’t know exactly, but I really like him. I think he likes me, too. We’ve been flirting since before the retreat, and he almost kissed me last night. Oh, wow. I sound giddy, like I’m in seventh grade, don’t I?”
Her grin widened. “Kind of, but in a good way.”
“Now it’s your turn to tell me what’s going on with your hot firefighter.” I smiled, having forgotten how nice it felt to share everything with Charlie when it came to guys.
“His name is Wyatt. Isn’t that a perfectly normal name?” she asked, a gleam forming in her eyes. “And he’s just so . . . normal. I said that already, didn’t I?” She giggled. “Can you tell I miss having a regular everyday life? He’s sweet, for sure. He’s also . . . what’s the word? Humble. I’ve never actually been with a humble guy before. Rex wasn’t even humble before he hit it big, and his ego’s the size of the Grand Canyon now.” She put a hand to her mouth. “I can’t believe how good it feels to talk to someone I trust completely.”
My vision blurred again. Her trust meant a lot since she’d obviously had “friends” who sold her conversations to tabloids. Here I’d thought Charlie and I needed the trust exercises, when in reality we’d secured our faith in each other years before. No matter how much time had passed, we knew each other inside and out.
She got quiet for a minute. An odd look crossed her face—something bittersweet. “You still have feelings for him,” I said softly.
“Stupid, isn’t it? After all he’s put me through.” She fiddled with her fork, then set it down again. “I’ll probably always have feelings for him. When we got married, I thought we’d be together forever. But, in truth, things weren’t great even before he cheated on me.” She shrugged, tilting her head. “That’s why I kind of admire your dad for trying to win your mom back, even if you think it’s a futile endeavor. He still loves her, so why should he give up?”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” I said. “Things seem so impossible, but you’re probably right. He won’t know unless he tries.”
After a few moments of silence, she scooped up a bit of salmon. “Greta wants me to let her write a book about Rex. A tell-all. She keeps saying retelling my story would be cathartic for me. That writing Men: Who Needs Them? helped her get over her ex, for good. She says all I have to do is share the stories, and she’ll do the rest.”
Greta’s strange phone call came back into my thoughts. She must’ve been speaking with her publisher, who was probably urging Greta to convince Charlie to write this tell-all about Rex. Greta’s name was already huge, so add in a celebrity to the mix and the book would be a guaranteed bestseller.
From the strained expression on Charlie’s face, I could tell she was torn about whether or not to write the book. “Are you going to say yes?” I asked.
“Honestly? I don’t know,” she said, and shook her head.
We lapsed into a comfortable silence, and it felt good to be talking to Charlie again. I was about to ask her more about the tell-all when Greta walked in.
We both turned in her direction, then my heart dropped into my stomach. Instead of being precisely put together, Greta appeared disheveled from head to toe. There was no way she’d come down to breakfast looking like that unless something was really wrong.
My dream was doomed.
Chapter Thirteen
An hour ago, the frazzled version of Greta I’d seen at breakfast made my blood run cold. Not only did I need to worry about keeping my job, now I had to make sure the retreat’s leader hadn’t completely fallen apart. As I stepped out of the shower, I recalled how Greta had entered the dining room, loaded a plate with eggs, set her breakfast untouched on the table, then ran from the room sobbing. My confident mentor had turned into a quivering mess.
I needed to check on Greta to make sure she was all right, but the women were gathering and anxious to begin today’s exercise.
I pulled my hair into a low ponytail at the base of my neck and thought about the scheduled activities for today: relaxation, journaling, and baking bread with each other—chapter seven, a confident woman makes healthy food for herself, giving her body the energy she needs to succeed. Maybe Greta should bake a dozen loaves.
Since we were staying at the mansion, I put on jeans, a white top, and a black cardigan. Around my neck, I clasped my delicate four-leaf clover necklace that Charlie had given Wendy, Megan, and me right after graduation. She’d told us that wearing our necklaces would bring us luck, and keep our friendship solid forever. I’d brought the necklace with me on a whim, and the piece felt right hanging just under my clavicle.
Time to check on Greta. With soft steps, I walked down the hallway to her room, and knocked lightly on the door. “Greta? It’s Olivia. May I come in?”
“Why not?” she said, her tone flat.
Alarm bells sounded in my head, but I eased the door open, and slipped inside. I knew what getting your heart broken felt like, and I understood how holding that hurt inside made anger grow. Greta sat on the bed, her dark bangs sticking out in all directions. She wore a pair of sweats and a wrinkled shirt that was half tucked in. Her eyes were red and swollen. Wads of used tissues surrounded her on the comforter with a fresh box sitting on her lap. She didn’t look like a confident, independent woman, who succeeded fine without a man.
She looked like a woman with a shattered heart, who had no idea how to pick up the pieces so she could heal.
I stepped past littered candy wrappers and an empty ice cream carton, then sat down gingerly on her bed. “Oh, Greta. Is there anything I can do?” I asked as gently as I could.
“Do I look okay?” She turned her head and stared at me blankly, then raised her hand and fussed with her hair.
I tried to think of something nice to say about her appearance, and failed. I noticed a hardback copy of her book on the nightstand, which was propped open with a shoe, and had a red stain that looked like wine on one of the pages. This was bad.
I cleared my throat. “I think you’d feel a lot better if you stood up, took a shower, and got dressed. It’s just like you say in chapter six, ‘a confident woman who looks her best, feels her best.’ Now, you get ready while I clean up your room. Sound like a plan?”
In answer, Greta fell backward onto the bed, and moaned. “I can’t sleep. I can’t think. I can’t do anything. I don’t know what to do.”
Um, hadn’t I just told her what to do? “Uh . . .” I snatched Men: Who Needs Them? off the nightstand and flipped through the pages, trying to find a way to handle this.
I glanced at section one, “Independence from Men.” Nope, she’d failed that test already. Section two, “Focus on Yourself.” Yeah, the mass of candy bar wrappers told me not to leave her alone right now. I turned more pages, stopping on section three, “Focus on Friendships.”
Apparently, that was her only option. Since I was the only one here, she was stuck with me. I shut the book. “Look, I know seeing Scotty again was upsetting, but sometimes it feels good to talk about things. Think of section three, and focus on friendships. I’m here for you. We all are.” I paused, wondering if she was listening to me. Then she blinked, tears falling across her temples. “Your book has helped so many women, Greta. It saved me after my last breakup. I understand what you’re feeling. But you’re our leader. You have to pull it together, because everyone here is looking to you as their guide.”
Greta clutched a wad of tissues to her chest. “
How can I guide anyone?” she asked. “Look at me. I’m a complete fraud!” she wailed, then reached behind her pillow and pulled a half-eaten chocolate bar to her mouth. She bit off a chunk.
“No, you’re not a fraud,” I lied, then gaped as she chomped down the rest of the chocolate while lying on her back. Oh, I sure hoped she didn’t choke on that candy. Not sure how good I’d be giving the Heimlich maneuver. “Would you mind sitting up?”
Amazingly, she followed orders as she stuffed the last of the bar in her mouth. “I’ve missed Scotty this whole time. Now seeing him again makes me feel like I’m dying inside.” She grabbed a handful of tissues, buried her nose in them, then blew, making a sound like a foghorn. “I want to forgive him and strangle him at the same time. I’m pathetic!”
“Oh, Greta,” I said as I sat down beside her on the bed. “We all feel that way about a guy sometimes, but that doesn’t mean you’re pathetic.”
I reached out and took her hand, and she clutched onto me as another round of sobs wracked through her body. Feeling this vulnerable woman convulse against my arm, I contemplated Men: Who Needs Them? That book saved me when I needed strength. Now Greta needed help and there was no way I’d let her down. I patted her back. “Everything will be okay, Greta. You’ll see . . .”
She wiped her red nose with a tissue, then sat up and dabbed at her swollen eyes. “Can I tell you something, Olivia?” she asked.
“Of course you can,” I said.
“Seeing Scotty last night devastated me.” She paused, shaking her head. “But I don’t want any of the other women to know I’ve fallen apart. It’s too embarrassing.”
I squeezed her hand. “You talk about the power of sharing and confession in your book.”
She gave me a shaky smile. “Way to throw my words back in my face.”
“Well, you’re a wise woman.” I smiled back at her, thinking of how angry she’d seemed last night, which reminded me that Brody had said Greta had broken up with Scotty and not the other way around. I held my breath, hoping I wouldn’t be overstepping my bounds with my next question. “Do you mind if I ask what happened between you and Scotty? Why did you two break up?”
Greta’s eyes widened and she put a hand to her chest. “I’ve never talked about our relationship with anyone. This is going to sound ridiculous coming from a bestselling author who preaches about confidence. But, I don’t have anyone I can talk to honestly. I don’t really . . . have any friends.”
As I stared at her, my chest tightened and my lips quivered. When heartache struck, I’d felt alone even though I had friends. I took a chance and said, “You have me, Greta. I’ll be your friend.”
Her eyes watered as she stared back at me. Finally, she stood up and removed something from a drawer. Then she handed me a framed picture of a handsome couple gazing into each other’s eyes. “We’d been together for two years when Scotty bought a boat. This makes me feel so stupid now, but I thought he was getting close to proposing. That is, until I saw him with a beautiful woman on his new boat. He and I were supposed to meet there later that night, but I arrived early and found them together. She had a bottle of champagne in one hand and two flutes in the other, so I knew that was a romantic rendezvous.” Her jaw tightened. “As much as I loved him, I couldn’t put up with infidelity. I wasn’t going to end up like my mother.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, glancing down at the photo I held of the happy couple.
“I broke up with him that night,” she said, her forehead wrinkling. “I didn’t give him the satisfaction of telling him I’d caught him, so I told him I needed to focus on my career. He at least had the decency to appear upset. Devastated even. He phoned me countless times, but I refused to take his calls. Breaking up with Scotty was the hardest decision I ever made.”
“I can imagine.” I handed her back the photo, wondering if it was possible Scotty hadn’t been cheating on Greta. Although . . . the night rendezvous with that woman did sound pretty incriminating. Brody had seemed positive about Scotty’s feelings. “You could call Scotty and talk to him about what happened that night. Tell him how you feel, what you saw, and what you’d wanted. A confident woman communicates what she wants, right?”
“Are you suggesting I forgive him for cheating?” Her tone lifted incredulously. “I can’t forgive someone for betraying me like that. What if it happened again? No, once a cheater, always a cheater.”
I’d only seen Scotty from a distance, but he didn’t strike me as the type of guy to cheat. Not that I was an expert or anything. If he hadn’t cheated, then who was that woman on the boat with him? I was trying to think of a way to convince her to uncover the truth when she gripped both of my arms, wearing a look of desperate determination.
“I’m not to be trusted with my actions right now when my emotions are so volatile. I need you to take over The Date Escape completely. You just treat me like you would any of the other women on this retreat,” she said almost frantically. “Like what you did for Amy, pulling her out of the boat cabin and away from Pete.”
My face heated. Guess I hadn’t given Greta’s observation skills enough credit. “I can’t believe you saw that. I had a long talk with her afterward about being independent.”
“Exactly.” She gave a curt nod, then picked up her copy of Men: Who Needs Them? and held the book against her chest. She stroked the cover like it was a small pet. “You have to remind me of everything I wrote in this brilliant book, and convince me that I don’t need Scotty in my life to be happy. I’m so weak right now. If you don’t help me, I might call him. Crawling back to a cheater will ruin my self-esteem forever. Promise that you can save me, Olivia.”
Once again, I wanted to suggest a conversation with Scotty Mitchell, but she grabbed onto my arm. The wild look in her eyes told me she was on the verge of a complete breakdown. She’d said reconnecting with Scotty and confirming his cheating would destroy her. Did I want to be responsible for ruining my mentor’s self-esteem forever? Um, no. That left me no choice.
Not only did I have to pull off the rest of this retreat on my own, but I also had to rebuild our leader, too. If I failed as a professional event planner, then maybe I did belong at The Market forever and Piper Lewis had been right to look down on me.
That was not an option I could live with.
So, I sucked in a deep breath, and shook my mentor’s trembling hand. “You can count on me, Greta. I promise.”
Chapter Fourteen
The next day, true to my word, I dragged Greta out of bed despite her protests to let her “shrivel up into a dark ball that would never see the light again.” On the plus side, she didn’t cry or ask for a phone to call Scotty, so I hoped we might be making progress.
Our next scheduled activity had to do with section one, “Independence from Men.” Based on my new understanding that Men: Who Needs Them? had been written in a state of rage, I considered how wise it was to hand an angry Greta the lug wrench tool we’d be using to change the tire on a car. I’d never changed a tire before, nor did I really want to learn, but I’d researched online and watched “how to” videos. I’d invited our neighbors to join us, but that didn’t include the mansion’s owner, Scotty Mitchell. Greta would likely fail that temptation teaser. Or, she’d engage in another shouting match with him. Neither option boded well.
“Each of you has been assigned a car, ladies.” I stood on the front doorstep and gestured to the eleven cars lining the driveway for our event. Then I glanced up to see our neighbors walking toward us. I spotted Brody right away, but he didn’t see me at first. He and Wyatt were talking as they sauntered our way, and the corner of his mouth rose at something Wyatt said to him. Suddenly, he glanced over, and his gaze met mine. Electric darts zapped my belly and the breath left my chest.
Talk about a temptation teaser. Yum. I didn’t even want to resist. But, sadly, I needed to prove to Greta she wasn’t a fraud.
“How many of you have changed a tire before?” I asked, as everyone gathered aro
und me. Surprisingly, none of the women raised a hand, yet all of the men did. No wonder stereotypes were alive and well in Blue Moon Bay. “Well, after today everyone will be raising their hand.”
My gaze darted to Greta, who had taken my advice by dressing in jeans and a blouse. Her hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail. Other than the dark circles under her eyes, her face looked composed and she appeared fine. Not like a woman still devastated by her ex, even though they’d broken up several years ago. I needed to ask Brody if he’d heard anything else about what went down between Scotty and Greta.
“Please use the laminated instructions Janine passed out to you,” I said, holding up the copy in my hand. “Also, remember that our neighbors are here for refreshments and conversation after we complete our work. They are not to help you with this task. Good luck!”
There was the usual clamoring and chaos as the women went to their assigned cars. I glanced over at Greta, relieved to see her moving toward her car. Oddly, I missed her usual commanding attitude and her calling me darling.
I went to my assigned car, a little red sporty coupe. After checking my instructions, I opened the trunk and removed the lug wrench, jack, and spare tire. I took off the hubcap and fit the wrench onto the first nut as Brody moseyed over. He watched me in silence while I tried to turn the wrench but the lug nut wouldn’t budge.
With a sigh, I glanced up at him. “You know what I’m doing wrong, don’t you?”
He made a circular motion with his finger. “Counter clockwise.”
I checked my instructions again. Yep, he was right. I smiled. “I knew that. Just testing you.”
“I figured.” He smiled, then stepped closer as I turned the wrench in the correct direction. “Never knew watching a woman change a tire could be this appealing.”
Even though he was talking about a tire, a shiver raced through me. “Just wait until I start pumping the jack,” I joked, wiggling my brows. The sound of his chuckle sent a rush of warmth through me, and I suddenly remembered my parents met each other in a similar way. “You know, this is how my mom met my dad.”
