Cass smiled sideways at him. “You remembered,” she cooed. The hand slid up Eddie's leg.
Of course he remembered. He remembered every damn thing. That was the problem.
* * * *
Ash lay facedown on her bed, listening to Paradise's only jazz station. She should have told Marty she'd take an extra shift. Or she should have stopped down there anyway, had a beer, and listened to J.T.'s stupid jokes. Anything to get out of the house. Anything to keep her mind off what had happened that morning.
Instead she'd eaten cold pizza around seven and crawled into bed. She'd pulled the blinds down tight, not wanting a sliver of light to sneak in and brighten her mood. Now the room pressed down with heavy, unpleasant humidity. She tried to take a breath and tasted stale cotton. Tucking rumpled blankets around her shoulders, she turned to face the wall. The blues rolled over her, thick as murky midnight, and she gave in to tears.
Cass. He went to Cass. She couldn't stop replaying Frank's words and the awful, pitying expression on the man's face. Worse, she couldn't stop thinking about Eddie's ex-girlfriend, with the red hair and the tight clothes and the come-hither look she didn't bother to hide.
He dated her once, Ash told herself. It only makes sense that he'd go back to her. Look at her. What guy wouldn't want that? She drew a forearm across her face and told herself to stop crying.
"...and that was Miles Davis, with his classic rendition of ‘Bye Bye Blackbird,'” the DJ said. “To all you lonely lovers out there, this next one's for you..."
Ash looked at the clock. Ten minutes to twelve. She shut off the radio and listened. Nothing but silence from the apartment below. No music patterning the floor with vibrations. No kitten paws racing around the hardwood. No laughter. No voices. Nothing at all.
She fell back against the pillows. “Maybe Dad's right. Maybe Colin's right. Maybe there really is nothing here for me."
What was the point in staying, anyway? She supposed part of her had always known that she'd have to go back to Boston. She just didn't think it would be this soon.
Well, tomorrow I'll give Marty two weeks’ notice. That should give him enough time to find another night manager. By then, anyway, the summer will be almost over, and they can sublet this place to someone else. If she told Helen she'd be out by mid-August, maybe the landlord could rent to a college student. Rolling over, Ash tried to slow her breath, to still her heartbeat, to find a rhythm that would carry her toward sleep. And she tried not to think of all the things she'd miss when she said goodbye.
* * * *
"Shit.” Eddie stumbled off his barstool and spilled a bowl of peanuts onto the floor.
Cass leaned against him. Her perfume wafted up and reminded him of other days, earlier days, when he'd breathed in that scent and wanted more, always more, of it. “You can't drive home."
"No kidding.” Double-shit. He hadn't meant to get so slobbering drunk. He'd just wanted a few shots, some beers to chase them down, something to mellow him out so he could forget Ashley Kirtland. Or Ashton Kirk. Or whatever the hell her name really was.
"There's a motel next block over,” offered the bartender. “Or I can call you a cab."
Cass wound her arm through Eddie's and tugged him toward the door. “The motel'll be fine,” she called over her shoulder.
Outside, the air felt good as Eddie drew it into his lungs. Fresh. Clean. Forgiving. Everything he wasn't. The rain had stopped, though puddles still dotted the pavement. He lifted the two helmets off the back of Frank's bike.
"I gotta call Frank, tell him I'll get the Harley back tomorrow."
Cass pressed her hand against his. “You already did. About an hour ago."
"Uh oh. Really?” Eddie rubbed his forehead and tried to remember. He pulled out his cell phone and checked. “Oh. Yeah."
"There's the motel.” Cass pointed across the street.
A few hundred yards away, Eddie could make out the blur of a neon sign. “Vacancy,” he read. “We'll get two rooms."
The redhead put one hand on a hip. “Like hell we will.” She snuggled herself under his arm. “You need some comforting tonight, Eddie West. I don't know who broke your heart, or how she did it, but tonight you need some grade-A ex-girlfriend lovin', and that's exactly what I'm gonna give you.” She slipped a hand inside his back pocket.
Eddie didn't answer, just started to walk. What he really needed was a soft bed and about a thousand hours of sleep. Then, in the morning, he'd let some greasy home fries deal with his hangover while he went about shoveling the pieces of his heart under the carpet. But if a woman like Cassandra Perkins wanted to keep herself warm beside him in the meantime, he wasn't sure he had any objections.
Not tonight, anyway.
Chapter Twenty-one
Consciousness came slowly, working its way into Ash's bedroom on leaden feet.
I'm still in Paradise, she thought after a minute of staring at the ceiling. For now, anyway. A blink at the clock and a long swig of water reminded her of last night's decision. She'd give Blues and Booze two more weeks. But no more.
She swung her feet over the edge of the bed. Though nearly nine, no light came through her blinds. She padded across the room and peered outside. Rain spit against her windows, not heavy, just steady.
"Great. Another stupid, gray day.” Just what she needed to match her mood. Ash headed for the bathroom, glad she'd taken a lunch shift to fill up the empty afternoon. I'll tell Marty when I get there. She eased her way under the shower's hot spray. No reason to call him earlier. He'll throw enough of a fit as it is.
She felt more than a little guilty about leaving, especially since she'd been running the place a couple nights a week, but what was she supposed to do?
This place has nothing to offer you...
"Dad's right,” she said aloud. The sooner she went back to Boston and faced down her demons, the better. After all, she had a degree from the top law school in the country. She knew of a half-dozen firms in the city who'd give their eyeteeth to hire a Harvard grad, especially one with the last name Kirk. She'd have no problem working herself back into that way of life. And if her father and her family needed her, then it was about time she stopped acting like a spoiled child with her heart broken. You're twenty-six. Not sixteen. Get it together. Go to Martha's Vineyard. What's the worst that can happen?
Ash turned off the shower in time to hear the telephone ring.
Eddie. The one word shot adrenaline straight into her soul. He's calling to talk. He wants to make up. It's not too late after all. She wrapped a towel around her head and grabbed her robe. All thoughts of Boston, and her father, and the Vineyard, fled. Still wet, she skated into the living room. I'm sorry. Please let me tell you how sorry I am.
But the answering machine picked up before she could reach the telephone, and as soon as hope had lifted inside her heart, it was gone again.
"Ash? Marty here."
She sank onto the loveseat and rested her head on one palm. Of course, it wasn't Eddie. Of course, he wasn't calling her. Look what she'd done by lying to him. Look at everything she'd ruined.
"Got something to ask you.” Marty hacked up phlegm for a good ten seconds before continuing. “And, ah, I know you're coming in to work lunch today, but I've got a meeting down in the city."
The city? As in Boston? Marty rarely left Paradise, as far as Ash knew. Though he's been gone a lot of nights this summer, she reminded herself. What's the guy up to? Got a woman? She couldn't imagine it. Gambling addiction?
"...so could you give me a call when you get this message?"
Ash reached for the receiver. She might as well get it over with. I'm sure he wants me to cover as manager tonight, pull a double. Better tell him about my leaving at the same time. He won't like it, but—"Marty?"
"What the...? Hey,” he mumbled. “You're there."
"Yeah. Just got...” out of the shower, she almost said, then changed her mind. Didn't really need her boss thinking about her wet and naked. “...back from a run."
<
br /> "Oh. Well.” He coughed again.
"Oughta get those lungs looked at,” she said almost without thinking. She knew he wouldn't listen; she told him the same thing two or three times a week. It wasn't like you could change the habits of a chronic smoker. The things people carried around for a lifetime worked their claws inside the skin and stayed there.
"I'm gonna need someone up here full-time to run the restaurant,” he said. “Thinking about opening another place down near Salem. College place."
"What are you talking about?"
"Been talking to a buddy of mine these last few weeks. He's got the dough, likes my ideas. Wants to go in partners with me."
Ash's brows rose. He likes your ideas? For running a restaurant? She couldn't picture Marty leaving Paradise, let alone opening another version of Blues and Booze. But then again, she'd never really looked past his yellow teeth and bloodshot eyes. Maybe the restaurant business had grown on him. Maybe, after all this time, he did want more. Maybe he wanted expansion, a place that drew a younger, bigger crowd. More money. More possibilities.
"So wait, you're leaving town?"
"For a while, if I can find someone to take care of this place. Be spending most of my time down there, next few months, anyway. So, ah, if you're interested, like to offer you the manager job. Full-time.” He chuckled, wheezing only a little. “Well, probably be more than full-time, ‘cause you know what the hours are like. You can hire someone to work under you, if you want. Part-time, cover nights."
"Marty, I can't—"
"Don't say no right away,” he interrupted. “I know it probably ain't the dream job you got lined up inside your head. But you're damn good at it. The customers like you. Lot of ‘em come in to see you. But you don't take any crap from anyone either, and that's good.” He paused to draw a rattly breath. “I ain't never considered opening another place, ‘til this opportunity came along. And you ... you're okay. You got the hang of it. And you're about the only person with enough brains to keep it going. So if you want to stay in town for a while, give it a shot, I'd appreciate it. Really."
Are you kidding?
Ash didn't say anything. The telephone hung from her hand. Stay in Paradise? Run Blues and Booze? It was ridiculous. She couldn't. She'd do a terrible job. Besides, she'd make what? A few thousand dollars? Barely enough to cover the rent in this second-floor apartment. No way. It made no sense.
Then why didn't she just tell Marty thanks, but no thanks? Why didn't she tell him she'd be gone in two weeks, back in Boston where she belonged? Why, instead, did she tell him she'd think about it?
Because, she decided as she threw on an old pair of shorts and a halter top and stepped into the rain, she had finally, and completely, lost her mind.
* * * *
The rain let up shortly after Ash rounded the corner of Lycian Street, and by the time she headed downtown, past the church green, all that remained was a fuzzy sky with some sun poking through. She bent her head against the wind, shoulders hunched, and walked past the restaurant. Past the tiny yellow-sided library, where Celia Darling waved a hand as she gathered up books from the return bin. Past Annie's Fabrics and the Used Book Depot, sharing space in a corner building. At the convenience store she turned, giving a nod to the guy who stood in the doorway. Harry Broker. Comes in sometimes with his teenage daughter, weekends when she visits from her mom's.
Ash shook her head. Stop it. She couldn't keep thinking about the people she knew, the connections she'd made here in Paradise. It had been just a summer detour, a distraction, as her father had put it. A few weeks of getting to know the locals didn't mean she belonged here, even if Marty had just offered her the perfect opportunity for staying. Ash dodged a baseball that rolled into the street and kept her eyes down. She didn't need to see who it belonged to, didn't need to play the matching game with another local face.
Another turn, this time onto a quiet street, thick with oak trees. St. James Avenue curved up toward the community college, and she followed it, slowing as the hill grew steeper. Here, the houses pushed together, one atop the next like postage stamps in a line. All one-level, all neatly tended, almost all brick with white or black trim and flowers on the stoop. Here and there, a flag in the window or a bronze nameplate broke the pattern. Don't they mind? Don't they want to look distinct? Or is there comfort in fitting in?
Ahead of her, a wrought iron gate stood open beside a sign welcoming her to New Hampshire Central Junior College. Ash wrapped her fingers around the bars and stared at the squat buildings, made of the same red brick as the houses behind her. Near the entrance stood a white building with cupolas on top and a sign that read “Admissions” in front. In the background she could see the three story library accented with flowerbeds and a stone lion statue sitting regally in front. It looks like every other local school, plopped in a tiny town, anywhere in the country.
Except it wasn't. This one belonged to Paradise, New Hampshire. And suddenly, she heard Eddie's voice again, inside her head.
"...people have the same problems no matter where you go. Big city or small town, people get hurt. Friends steal from each other. Men cheat on their wives. Kids sneak out at night and get drunk while their parents think they're sleeping. People get divorced, same as every other place ... At least here, in Paradise, you know someone's got your back. You know there's always someone you can count on, someone you grew up with who's gonna forgive you no matter how bad you screw things up..."
She turned. Two benches flanked the fence, and she dropped onto one, not caring that rainwater had puddled inside it.
Is that why I like it? Because there's something here that makes me feel like I belong? Something that tells me people would look out for me? Stand up for me? Forgive me when I screw things up?
She ran one finger along the bench's scrollwork.
"...I know it probably ain't the dream job you got lined up inside your head. But you're damn good at it. The customers like you. Lot of ‘em come in to see you..."
True, the town didn't seem to care who she was. The people living here hadn't asked questions when she'd moved in. They'd taken her word and welcomed her just the same. And she liked that she hadn't relied on her last name to find a job. To make connections. To make love.
Eddie chose me. Not my pedigree. Not my degree. He chose his screwed-up, neurotic, upstairs neighbor who sleeps late and spills coffee on people and chews her thumbnail when she gets nervous. He chose me.
The realization washed over her in hot waves.
I have to tell him how he changed me, how this place changed me. If Marty was offering her a chance to stay, to explore the possibilities that Paradise held for her, then Ash wasn't about to say no. Not just yet. Not when everything between her and Eddie felt so unfinished. She stood and made her way back down St. James. At the bottom, she broke into a jog. The church clock boomed out eleven o'clock, and she hurried on. Why was it that time only dragged when you wanted to rush it along, and when you really wanted to slow it, it insisted on running away from you?
She headed back to Lycian Street. If Eddie wasn't home yet, she'd leave him a note, wedge it inside his door and ask him to come to Blues and Booze. She didn't care that maybe he'd spent the night with Cass. She had explaining to do. And apologies to make.
"Hi, Ash!” Toby Darling, Celia's son, sat on the front step of the library, tossing a baseball from one hand to the other.
She remembered the time a few weeks back when she'd given the ten-year-old a dish of leftover ice cream, the night the power went out and every restaurant on Main Street had to empty their freezers. He'd adored her ever since.
"Hi yourself,” she answered, waving back. The sun winked in and out of clouds, and she felt it press down on the back of her neck. Warm. Comforting. Like a hand urging her home.
She practically skipped the last block, rehearsing her speech to Marty in between thinking of the first thing she wanted to tell Eddie. Not to mention the first thing she wanted to do to him. With him.
Her face burned a little, but she didn't care. When you figured out what it was you wanted, you'd do whatever it took to get it back. Even if that meant staring down the vixen from your lover's past.
Ash cracked her knuckles as anxiety welled up inside her. Due at work in less than an hour, she didn't have a lot of time to waste. Her fingers dug inside her pocket as she rounded the corner, and because her house keys got stuck in a loose thread, she was looking down as she made her way to the porch steps.
So he saw her first. He spoke first. And when she raised her head to see who waited for her with a smile in his voice, all breath left her body. Tall and impossibly good-looking, the kind of good-looking that belonged on a magazine cover, Colin Parker stood atop the porch of number two Lycian Street. He winked. Cocked his head to one side, the way she remembered too well. Grinned that camera-ready smile that flipped her stomach over and loped down the steps to meet her. All Ash could do was stand there and stare as his rolling bass voice carried her back through time.
"Hi, babe. God, it's good to see you again."
Chapter Twenty-two
Garbled country music jarred Eddie awake. “Shit ... what the—” He reached a blind hand in the direction of the motel nightstand and jabbed his thumb toward the alarm clock. There. Silence. Falling back against the flat pillow, he flung an arm over his face. Jesus, but he had a headache to beat all headaches. And he guessed he'd forgotten to close the curtains last night, because now a strip of sunlight streamed across the bed, eye-level.
"Eddie?"
He squirmed. For a few minutes, he'd forgotten he wasn't alone in the bed.
Cass poked a finger at his bare shoulder. “You feeling okay?"
He didn't answer. What the hell did she think? The last twenty-four hours had tossed him into the center of a tornado. If he looked in the mirror, he wasn't even sure whose face he'd see, or if he'd recognize it. Couple that with the fact that last night's binge had left him with someone playing drums inside his skull and someone else painting the roof of his mouth with acid, and no, he wasn't feeling okay. Or anything close to it.
Lost In Paradise Page 14
