by Nina Lane
Guilt twinges in my chest. I hate knowing I’m putting both Allegra and the committee members in a bad position. The announcement for the mural unveiling has already been printed in the Bicentennial Festival program, and everyone has been apologizing to me, as if the garden wall debacle is their fault rather than an asinine blockade by Tycoon Cole.
“Have you talked to Cole directly?” Vanessa shifts her attention to a shelf filled with baby booties. “Not that he’d budge.”
I examine an embroidered pillow, hoping she doesn’t notice the warmth rising to my cheeks. Yeah, I’ve talked to him. I’ve also done other things with him.
Ugh. My lips still tingle from his kiss, the delicious scrape of his stubble. Not in all our years together had he ever kissed me quite like that. And we’d kissed an awful lot.
“He wasn’t very responsive.” Well, isn’t that a colossal lie? I’d felt Cole’s big hard response right up against my belly.
My flush deepens. That kiss has seared through me like a bolt of fire, sizzling my nerves and demolishing my defenses. My lips, my body, my heart…everything had remembered him with the power of a thousand shooting stars, as if all our years apart had converged into that one moment.
And then…
Much as I hate his cruelty, part of me reluctantly understands. The view from Cole’s office window includes the entire wall of the Botanical Gardens. He would only have to glance out the window to see the mural, which for him would be another soul-searing reminder of the accident. Of his belief that he failed me.
But what about the town of Castille doesn’t serve as a reminder of all that we once had? Peddler’s Ice Cream Shop, Ford’s College, the cafés we’d frequented, the acres of woodlands, the ocean, the pier…This whole town is our memory book.
But Cole chose to come back here. Even if his reasons were for mafia-level revenge over his father and the town that failed him and his mother…like me, Castille must still hold good memories for him. This is where we met. Where we climbed trees, swam at the beach, leapt together off Eagle Cliff. This is where we fell in love.
Does he ever think of those times? Or was our entire past obliterated that horrible night?
I set the pillow down and refocus my brain. “Have you thought about nursery colors yet?”
Vanessa touches a baby blanket patterned with ducklings. “I know blue is a cliché for a boy, but it’s my favorite color. Blue and cream, maybe with an ocean theme.”
“That’s a great idea. I could paint some animals on the wall, if you want. A whale, seahorses, plants.”
She smiles, which turns her face from pretty to beautiful. “That would be really nice.”
Enthused by the idea, I pull several children’s picture books about fish and whales from a nearby shelf. I can create an entire underwater theme with a little submarine, a pirate’s treasure chest, and all different kinds of sea animals. Octopi, smiling clown fish, pufferfish, sharks…
I leaf through a photography book featuring stunning color photos of marine life and waves rolling over sand and tide pools. I gaze at a photo of a rocky inlet, a mist of spray crashing against the shore.
I haven’t had a chance to visit the ocean yet. I can also make a trip to the aquarium to see the—
Sudden cold prickles my skin. An image takes shape in my head—a ghostly pale face submerged in freezing water, blood pluming around the distorted features and ice-blue eyes, mouth contorted…
Holy shit.
Panic flares. My lungs constrict. I can’t breathe. I’m drowning.
I grab the shelf, forcing myself to feel the ground under my feet, the solidity of the book in my hand. Lullaby music drifts from the store’s speakers. Closing my eyes, I drag in a breath and slip my hand into my pocket, unconsciously gripping the silver amulet.
Evil eyes. That’s what I’ve been seeing all this time. Haunted, vacant, demonic. They’ve been cursing me.
“What do you think of this one?” My sister’s voice eases the tightness in my chest.
Suppressing the fear, I set the book back on the shelf and turn. Vanessa is holding up an ocean-patterned bedding set. I nod with approval.
“There’s also a stuffed Nemo.” I try to dismiss the horrible image, but it lingers like a ghost.
Nightmares. I’ve only ever seen the disembodied heads during my shallow sleep. Not in the daylight, and certainly not while surrounded by soft baby clothes and colorful picture books.
I wipe a trickle of sweat from my temple. Good things. New nephew. Hope for the future.
I take the crib bedding and stuffed Nemo to the cash register.
“You don’t have to buy that, Josie.” Vanessa follows me.
“Yes, I do.” Well aware that she’s in financial straits, I hand the cashier my credit card. “More importantly, I want to.”
We spend the next hour shopping. I buy two lamps and several spare bulbs for the cottage. Though I’ve been fine there so far, these hallucinations I’ve had during the day won’t make it easier to contend with nighttime. The more light I have, the better.
As dusk approaches, Vanessa and I have dinner at a Mediterranean café, discussing my career and her recent trip to Portland. By the time we pay the bill, our enjoyable few hours together has mitigated my lingering unease.
We return to her car and put several shopping bags in the trunk.
“Do you want a ride home?” she asks.
“No, I’ll walk. It’s a nice night, and I could use a little exercise after that dessert.”
“Evening, ladies.” Nathan Peterson approaches from his parked patrol car, glancing at the Dodge. “You sure that thing is safe?”
“I just use it to get around town.” Two spots of color appear on Vanessa’s cheeks as she closes the trunk.
“I have a friend who’s a mechanic.” Nathan’s brow furrows. “I can take it over to have him check it out, make sure the engine is okay.”
“No need, but thank you.” Vanessa takes her keys out of her purse and steps away from him.
Sensing my sister’s unease, I give Nathan a bright smile. “What are you up to this evening, Officer Peterson?”
“Usual patrol.” A frown darkens his face. “I heard about what Danforth did to you at the meeting. I’m sorry you have to deal with this kind of crap.”
“So am I, but I’ll figure it out.”
“Hey, are you both going to the Arts Center fundraiser next weekend?” He glances at Vanessa again. “It’s a dinner-dance and silent auction over at the country club.”
I shake my head. “Not me.”
“Me either.” Vanessa opens the car door.
“If you’d like to go, I’d be happy to take you.” Nathan appears to be talking to both of us, but his gaze stays squarely on Vanessa. “I know a lot of people there would like to see you.”
Hesitation rises to her expression. I get it. Neither of us are thrilled at the idea of facing a crowd of people who might very well look at us with pity. But Vanessa is the one who will still be living here after I’ve left, and Nathan is looking at her with such hope….
“Why don’t you two go?” I reach into the backseat to pick up a paper bag containing the two lamps I’d bought earlier. “I’m still busy getting settled in, but it sounds like it’d be a lot of fun for you.”
My sister shoots me a narrow look. “I’m not really up for socializing.”
“We can just go for an hour or so,” Nathan suggests. “Or we can leave whenever you want.”
“No, thanks.” Vanessa gets into her car, adjusting the seatbelt around her belly. “See you both later.”
She closes the door. The car starts with a rattle, belching out a stream of exhaust. Nathan and I both watch as she drives away.
Disappointment nudges at me. Vanessa doesn’t have any friends left in town—or if she does, she doesn’t want to associate with them right now—but Nathan has always liked her. She couldn’t have a better first friend than him.
Maybe even a romantic one. I th
ink she needs light and hope as much as I do. As much as Cole does.
“You want me to talk to my mechanic friend?” Nathan asks. “He might have some leads on a decent used car.”
“That would be great, thanks. I’d like to help her find something more reliable.” I point my thumb toward the path leading to the harbor. “I’ll see you later. I’m heading back to the cottage.”
He pulls his eyebrows together. “We’ve had a few problems with vagrants up on the hill. You shouldn’t walk up there alone.”
Great. Another thing I need to be freaked out about.
“I’ll be okay.” I pat my backpack. “I have a really good flashlight.”
“I can go with you.” He glances at his watch and reaches out to take the bag from me. “My shift is about over.”
Given his warning, I decide walking home with a police officer in uniform is not a bad idea. We head back to the cove and up the hill. I unlock the cottage door and usher him inside.
“Nice place.” Putting the bag down, Nathan looks around the sunroom appreciatively. “I’ve never been here.”
“My mother used it as a studio.” I set one of the lamps on a rickety little table beside the sofa and the other near my easel. “Vanessa said she’ll help me decorate it.”
“She’s back into interior design?”
“I hope so. She was so good at it.” Sorrow flickers through me. My sister’s talent was yet another thing lost in the decade-long darkness following the accident. “Maybe decorating this place will give her ideas about how she can start again. Hey, can I offer you something to drink?”
“I’ll take a soda, if you have one.”
“Sure. Have a seat.” I fill two glasses with ice and pour us each a soda.
He settles on the sofa in front of the picture window. The sun making its final descent over the cove is a lovely picture of reddish gold light. I’m probably the only person in the world who doesn’t love sunsets. After sunset comes the dark.
“That’s yours, huh?” Nathan nods to the small easel.
“Yeah, but I haven’t come up with any ideas for what to paint yet.” I keep hoping I’ll be inspired to paint something good. Hopeful. Hell, I’d even settle for pretty. Anything but a horror show.
“Looks like you have a picture right here.” He gestures to the view.
“I’m already painting Castille for the mural.” I sit on a chair beside him and look at the blank canvas.
I used to love creating my whimsical, detailed little creatures, all scientifically precise with settings often influenced by Dutch genre paintings. While my mother’s art had been big and expansive—mystical images of women bursting with color and light—my paintings were smaller and quieter. I’d wanted the viewer to connect with my work on a personal, intimate level, the way a reader connects with a beloved book.
Whimsy and personal intimacy are no longer my aesthetic. I don’t know what is.
“Did you know Ms. Havers still teaches art over at the high school?” Nathan takes a gulp of soda.
“Yes.” I smile at the thought of my favorite teacher. “I’m hoping to visit her soon.”
“She married Mr. Larson from the middle school,” Nathan says. “He taught sixth grade and had this really impressive moustache that he agreed to shave off one year if the school met the fundraising goal.”
“I remember that. It was a handlebar moustache.” Fondness rises in me. I have plenty of good memories about Castille. I just need to be reminded of them.
Nathan and I spend the next hour reminiscing, and his easygoing company is a welcome reprieve. He takes his empty glass to the sink, pausing to reach for mine. As I glance up at him, my heart suddenly jumps into my throat.
Nathan’s face looking down at me. Angular cheekbones, wide horrified eyes, blood pooling on his skin…
“Hey, you okay?”
His voice breaks through my shock. I hand him the glass, fighting to school my expression into one of calm.
“Yes, sorry.” I manage a small laugh. All I need is for the police lieutenant to think I’m crazy. “Sometimes I get these…um, flashes of strange things. Post-traumatic stress related.”
“What kind of strange things?”
“Disembodied heads, usually.” I twist my mouth wryly. “In the past few years they’ve made their way into my art. My last series sold out, if you can believe that.”
“Actually I can.” He sets the glasses in the sink. “People like scary stuff. That’s why horror movies are so popular.”
“I’d rather paint flowers.” I rise, rubbing my palms together.
That’s not strictly true, though. I do want to create provocative art that challenges people, but not in a horrible, shocking way. My mother had pushed boundaries and made statements through incredible paintings that glowed with life, not death. Surely I can do the same thing.
“I should get going.” Nathan picks up his lightweight jacket from the sofa. “It was good seeing you again.”
“You too.” I walk him to the entryway. “Maybe we—”
A knock suddenly rattles the door. Nathan frowns. “You expecting someone?”
“No.” I peer through the peephole. The porch light doesn’t work, but I catch a glimpse of Cole’s set features. My heart slams against my chest.
Wary, I open the door. “What are you doing here?”
The sheer impact of his presence jolts me to the core. Sunset light creates golden streaks on his hair. A faded Montreal Canadiens T-shirt clings to his chest and shoulders, and worn jeans hug his muscular legs. Everything inside me weakens.
Back when we were together, he’d worn a suit and tie a few times, but even then I’d preferred him in jeans with his hair messy and jaw scratchy with stubble. It had always been so easy to slide my hands under his T-shirt, seeking out the smooth ridges of his abdomen and—
Stop it.
He slants his gaze narrowly to Nathan. “What’s he doing here?”
The two men lock stares. Tension seizes the air.
This should be fun.
In high school, the two of them hadn’t been friendly—Nathan’s father had been the chief of police, a man known for being chummy with Kevin Danforth—but as far as I know, Cole and Nathan had chosen to ignore each other rather than engage in open dislike. However, after what Cole did to Nathan’s brother and his bottled water company, that appears to have changed.
“Josie and I are old friends.” Nathan rests his hand with deceptive casualness on his gun.
I glance uneasily between them. “Cole helped me out with some repairs when I got here. The electricity hadn’t been turned on.”
“You should have called the police department.” Nathan keeps his steel-edged gaze on Cole. “We’d have helped you out.”
“Cole, what are you doing here?” I repeat, stepping partway between them.
He indicates my portfolio, which I hadn’t realized he was holding. “You left this in my office.”
“Thank you.” I take the portfolio from him, suppressing a shiver when our fingers brush.
“I’ll change this.” He points to the burned-out porch light. “The contractor left some extra bulbs. No need to stay, Officer Peterson.”
He tilts his chin at Nathan. A distinct territorial vibe radiates from Cole, one I don’t like at all. Yes, he’d come to my rescue last week, but he’s being an ass about the mural and trying to bully me into leaving.
That aside, he has no right to be possessive about me because I’m definitely no longer his. Even if his kiss had gotten me so fired up I’d throbbed.
“I’ll stay,” Nathan says decisively.
My stomach knots. I’m not about to get caught in the middle of some pissing contest between the town villain and the chief law-enforcement officer.
I pull the door open wider. “Thanks for your help, Nathan, but I’ll be fine.”
He frowns. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.” Not wanting Cole to think he won, I add, “I’ll swing by the
department later this week. Maybe you, me, and Vanessa can get together for dinner.”
“I’d like that.” Shooting Cole another glare, Nathan steps toward the door. “Take care, Josie. Just call if you need anything.”
He and Cole face off in the doorway, neither one stepping aside to let the other pass. Finally Nathan backs down. Cole strides past him into the sunroom as if he owns the place. I say goodbye to Nathan and set my portfolio on a chair, suddenly questioning the wisdom of being alone with Cole again.
He stalks into the kitchen, casting a cursory glance over the clutter—my easel and paints, a sweatshirt thrown over the sofa, books piled on the wooden crate I’m using as a coffee table. I can almost see the judgments forming in his brain. When we lived together, my scattered disorganization had been an occasional source of contention. As had his penchant for over-cleaning and throwing things out.
He closes the storage closet and returns to the porch with the lightbulb. As he reaches to unscrew the old bulb, his T-shirt rides up. My gaze snaps to the exposed ridges of his abdomen.
“That the first time you’ve seen Peterson?” Tension threads Cole’s shoulders.
“No. Vanessa and I were just doing some shopping downtown. Nathan happened to be there.”
“Stay away from him.”
“Really?” Irritation ripples down my spine. “You think you have a right to give me an order?”
“It’s a warning.”
A warning. Cold ices my blood. Twice now, I’ve had odd images of Nathan’s pale face and red eyes.
Don’t be silly. They were hallucinations, like the ones you’ve had before that ended up on canvas. The ones that finally drove you back here.
“You’re the one who should come with a warning,” I say tartly. “I heard you shut down Richard Peterson’s bottled water company. And not in a good way.”
Cole flips on the porch light and closes the door. “His fault for defaulting on the loan.”
