Summer Plans and Other Disasters

by Karin Beery

  “Welcome to Taco Bell,” she said. “Would you like to try a value meal?”

  “Do you still have cheese gorditas?” Callie practically climbed onto the counter.

  “Um, yeah.”

  “Can I have one, please?”

  She shrugged. “Sure.”

  The young girl went to work as Callie bounced in place. “I’m sure I’ll regret it later, but I can’t wait to eat one. I haven’t been here since we used to come after Bible study.”

  Ryan thought about those nights in the Stevens family’s basement—a group of teens looking for God, not at each other. He didn’t know if he’d still be able to do that with Callie around.

  As the employee walked back toward them, Callie opened her purse, but he already had his wallet out. Before Callie could even find her money, Ryan dropped a five-dollar bill on the counter.

  Callie’s face scrunched up. “You don’t have to—”

  “I know.”

  Since when had cheesy gorditas become an aphrodisiac? They used to simply be tasty, cheesy high-calorie treats, but in the company of Ryan Martin, each bite made Callie’s pulse race.

  “Aren’t you going to get anything?” Callie asked, squirming in the booth as Ryan sat across from her.

  “You think you’ll regret that later. I know I would.” He leaned back in his seat.

  She stopped the gordita on its way to her mouth. “Then why did we come here?”

  “Because you wanted to.”

  She shifted again. “That’s it?”

  “Yep.”

  “But what about you? What are you going to eat?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll pick something up later. Jack’ll be a while, so we’ve got time.”

  “Well, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Callie took another bite of the gooey snack, closing her eyes to better appreciate the hot, processed flavor. She sighed. “This is fantastic. You must think I’ve got some type of food fetish, but I honestly haven’t had Moomer’s or Taco Bell in years.”

  “I’m glad I could be of assistance.”

  She tossed the last bit of gordita into her mouth, then crumpled the paper in her fist. “Now what? How long do you think it’ll take Jack and Stacey to fix those walls?”

  “I don’t know, but they’ll call.” Ryan reached across the table and took the wrapper. He stood up and offered Callie his hand. “Where would you like to go now?”

  She didn’t have a clue. She’d expected to be home unpacking. What did a person do without a plan? She shrugged. “Let’s just get in the Jeep and see where we end up.”

  Ryan pulled his hand back, his eyes wide. “Are you sure?”

  “A little queasy, but I think it’ll pass. Does spontaneity always feel like this?”

  He laughed and reoffered his hand. “You’re just not used to it yet. Give it time.”

  Callie accepted his hand and found herself standing inches in front of Ryan, her eyes level with his chin. His familiar fragrance tickled her nostrils. He smiled but didn’t back up. She scanned up his neck and face until their eyes met. The intensity of his gaze sent shivers across her skin. Their nearness didn’t bother her, and that bothered her. She needed to see Kyle.

  “Feeling better yet?” Ryan asked, leaning forward until their eyes were level.

  “Air.” What had happened to all of the air in the restaurant? “I think I need some air.”

  She darted for the door.

  Callie stepped into the bright afternoon sun. A car honked on the nearby street. The air carried the scents of barbecue, spices, and fryers from neighboring restaurants.

  Ryan stopped beside her and put his hand on her back. Another chill covered her skin, cutting through the moist afternoon heat. He led Callie to his Jeep, opening the passenger door for her. She climbed in and reached for the belt, which he had already pulled forward. All she had to do was grab the nylon strip.

  Instead, she looked at him. That strange intensity looked back at her. She didn’t recognize that look, but something about it—with the hint of a smile on his lips and his nearness to her—startled her senses.

  So did the piercing ring tone.

  Ryan handed off the seatbelt as Callie answered the call.

  “Callie, it’s Kyle.” The sound of his voice hit her like a cold June wave in the Grand Traverse Bay.

  “Kyle. I didn’t think you’d call.”

  “I’m sorry. I should have called sooner. I should have called the other night. I could give you a list of reasons why I didn’t, but it doesn’t matter. I just want you to know that I’m sorry.”

  The temperature in the car spiked. “Don’t worry about it. It’s good to hear from you.”

  “Thank you, but I shouldn’t have made you worry. I’d like to make it up to you. How about dinner?”

  “Dinner?” The air left her lungs again. “I, I’d lo…” She watched Ryan climb into the Jeep. “I’d like that.”

  “Why don’t we shoot for Friday? I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “Sure. Sounds great.”

  “Thanks for the second chance. And Cal?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I can’t wait to see you again.”

  Callie’s head spun as she hung up the phone. She had to close her door, but there was already a shortage of air in the Jeep.

  Ryan had ended up in the driver’s seat while she was distracted. He reached over and touched her shoulder. “You okay?”

  She pulled the door in and nodded. “Kyle apologized and asked me to have dinner.” An expected excitement tingled in her toes. The heavy disappointment, however, surprised her.

  Ryan slid his sunglasses onto his nose. “That’s great.” He backed out of the parking spot. “Looks like today’s the day for creating happy memories at Taco Bell.”

  Happy, and completely confusing.

  Jack stared into the garage looking for inspiration. He had no idea what he was going to have Callie do.

  Unlike Stacey, who easily handled every project Jack threw at her, Callie was a klutz. He wanted to keep her away from anything sharp, pointed, scalloped, most things with moving parts, a few things with stationary parts, and all things electrical. Ladders were iffy. He’d gladly let her use one if it kept her away from the more dangerous objects, but he wouldn’t mind keeping the ladders in the garage too. He needed something safe, like weeding, but the township had the garden club doing that.

  Maybe Stacey was available to help. She’d learned to spackle and hang drywall in one afternoon. He chuckled, remembering how she had cheered when she knocked in her first straight nail, looking more like a middle- school cheerleader than a responsible adult.

  “What’s the plan?” Callie stepped beside him.

  Busted. Think fast. Scanning the walls, his gaze hit the paint cans. He pointed toward his work bench at the far end of the garage. “Grab a wire brush. I’ll get a tarp.”

  “Tarp?” Her face perked up. “What are we doing?”

  “We’re not doing anything. You are going to repaint the garage.”

  Ryan checked his watch. Half an hour late. Marshall said he’d call thirty minutes ago. Slim chance he’d call now. He’d always been one of Ryan’s biggest fans, but Marshall was also incredibly loyal to his graphic designer and not ready to give Ryan a chance. Still, Marshall called Ryan for bids, raving about his skills while never committing. What did it say about Ryan that he kept submitting them?

  Closing the browser on his laptop, he swiveled in his chair, turning his back on the tan-colored office to enjoy his second-story view. The parking lot wasn’t the best scenery, but a line of sugar maples stretched across the far end of the lot, and he couldn’t complain about all the natural light. Not all of the tenants in the building had such a wide window.

  Thump.

 
; Ryan’s flimsy door rattled. Someone must’ve come up the front stairs. He’d know for sure if his door had a window like the other offices, but at least he had his view.

  BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

  The plywood door shook. Ryan checked his calendar. Nothing scheduled after Marshall’s phone call. As he stood, the door opened.

  “Do you want me to build you a better door? This thing is awful.” Jack strolled in, his heavy boots scuffing across the high-traffic carpet.

  “You can make me one, but I’m not paying you for it. That’s why I pay rent.” Ryan sat back down.

  Jack dropped into one of Ryan’s wooden guest chairs, plopping a brown grocery sack on the desk. The aroma of spicy garlic wafted into the room.

  “Thai Café?”

  “Ming’s.”

  Either way. “What’s up?”

  “Nothin’. I was in town to pick up some parts for the mower and got hungry.” He reached into the bag, pulling out four different containers. “I figured I owe you one, since I sort of stuck you with Callie on Sunday.”

  That was not anything he needed to apologize for, but Ryan wouldn’t say no to free food.

  The desk phone jingled. Ryan checked the caller ID. Of course. Marshall. “I have to take this.” Jack didn’t even look up from his lunch as Ryan lifted the receiver. “This is Ryan Martin.”

  “Ryan, Marshall. Sorry I didn’t get back to you earlier.”

  “Not a problem.” After three years of submitting bids to the man, Ryan didn’t expect any less. “Do you have any questions about my proposal?”

  “Everything looks great. As always, your work is amazing.”

  Bad sign. That’s how all of the conversations started. “But you’re not ready to switch.”

  “I really am impressed. I even told your father at the club last weekend, but I’ve been working with Gibson Miller for years.”

  Ryan tuned out the rest of the speech. He’d heard it before. As Marshall rambled, the thick scents of sweet, sour, and garlic surrounded him. When Marshall neared the end, Ryan recognized his cue. “I can appreciate your loyalty, Marshall. Thanks for giving me the chance to bid on the project.”

  When he finally hung up, Jack was shoveling a forkful of noodles into his mouth, his head shaking. “Ypp ma fhht fslsmn.” Noodle bits shot onto the floor.

  Ryan grabbed the nearest carton and dug in, picking a piece of noodle off the top. “Sorry, I don’t speak slob.”

  Jack laughed. “I said you’re the worst salesman. You just thanked a man for not hiring you.”

  “I’m not a salesman. I’m a designer.” Ryan’s stomach growled, his mouth watering.

  “You’ve got to be more aggressive.”

  Another speech he’d heard a dozen times. “My work speaks for itself. Marshall will come around.”

  “It’s been years. Push him hard or let it go.”

  Ryan dug into the salty, sweet chicken. Just what he needed. He should probably let Jack finish the lecture, since he did feed him. “I appreciate the advice. I’ll think about it.” After lunch.

  Jack snorted.

  Ryan stopped his fork. “What?”

  “You and I had the stomach flu together six times in grade school. I know more about you than I care to admit. You’re not going to think about it, so just say so. You don’t have to play nice around me. I’ve seen you puke.”

  His stomach stopped growling, but something in Ryan’s chest rumbled. “Maybe you need a refresher course. There’s nothing wrong with manners. People still say please and thank you.”

  “Yeah, after they get the job, not after giving it to someone else.”

  “I’m not going to take business advice from a guy who considers good work clothes as those with the most stains.”

  “Just because I’ve never worn a suit to work doesn’t mean I don’t know how to get a job. I’ve never lost a job I was qualified for. I had to fight for the park superintendent job.”

  “There were only two applicants.”

  “I got the job building the new furniture for the peninsula library.”

  Ryan huffed. “You work for the township. It made sense to hire you.”

  “It doesn’t matter why they hired me, the point is they did. I stayed on them until I got an answer, and then I convinced them to hire me.” Jack pulled the takeout container from Ryan’s hands. “Are you going to eat this?”

  “Yes, I am.” He took it back.

  Jack laughed. “At least you’ll fight for something. Next time forget the garlic chicken. Go for the job.”

  “Says the man flashing me his navel.”

  Jack looked down, tugging at his shirt. He poked a finger through the hole and smiled. “At least I’m consistent.”

  “And you bought lunch.” Because of Callie, which made him curious. “Where’d you leave your sister today?”

  “She’s working at the lighthouse.”

  Ryan stuffed a juicy piece of meat into his mouth. “I didn’t think you were really going to make her do anything.”

  “I wasn’t, but she insisted.”

  “What did you find for her to do?”

  “It’s perfect. She’s stripping paint off the garage. There’s no way she can mess this up.”

  Blood dripped on the tarp. Again.

  “Seriously?” Callie mumbled as she grabbed the red-stained rag from her pocket. The knuckles on her right hand had finally stopped bleeding after repeated scrapes along the wall, but not before creating a colorful spot on her once-favorite khaki shorts. That’s what she got for trying to look cute while doing manual labor.

  Now a red streak painted her left forearm. She wouldn’t have gouged it with the edge of the brush if she hadn’t lost her balance after slipping in a puddle on the tarp that Jack laid down. Technically, it was his fault.

  The blood traveled down Callie’s arm, snaking its way across her skin. That was a lot of blood for a little scrape. As the shock of it wore off, the stinging started and spread, burning along the cut and numbing the rest of her arm. Maybe not such a little scrape. This definitely warranted a trip to the first-aid kit. Holding the rag against her arm, Callie left the tools in the yard and headed toward the lighthouse.

  The small group of people approached her. She’d never met this group of six people, but she recognized them from previous trips to the lighthouse. Two older couples and a young, smiling couple. The young brunette pointed and chattered, her arms flailing as she talked. One woman nodded continually. The other looked like she’d eaten a spicy pickle. The men appeared to be absorbed in their own conversation, though the shorter, balding one occasionally pulled at his collar.

  Callie didn’t need to talk to them to know what was going on—wedding planning. Her arm throbbed. A quick look at the rag almost buckled her knees. Between the blood and water, the cloth was turning pink.

  The group moved toward the fence, so Callie hurried. She just had to make it to the lighthouse first. Each step vibrated up her spine and into her arm. Lengthening her stride, she reached the gate at the same time as the nodding, dark-haired woman. Callie smiled, but she put her foot in front of the gate, stopping its path. “I’m sorry, ma’am. This part of the park is private property.”

  “We won’t take long,” she said. “We just want to see if the lighthouse will be big enough for the bridal party.”

  The gate pressed into the side of Callie’s foot, but she didn’t move. “The lighthouse is a private residence. It’s not available for public use.”

  The bride stepped forward, her brows crinkled. “But we were told we could have our wedding out here.”

  “At any public area in the park, yes, but not inside the fenced-in area.”

  The bride sighed and turned to the other women. The taller man was demonstrating a golf swing. The towel dampened under Callie’s hand, so she checke
d the gate latch before heading toward the deck. If she could just get a bandage on her arm—

  “Excuse me.”

  So close. Callie turned to the group following her on the other side of the fence. “How can I help you?”

  The nodding woman approached her. “How long will it take to build a rail?”

  “A rail for what?”

  “For the steps.”

  “What steps?”

  The woman rolled her eyes. “The steps down to the shoreline.”

  An image of the worn, wooden slats popped into Callie’s mind. A section of the eastern beach sat at the base of a small dune. It wasn’t difficult for most people to climb, but several years ago Jack had installed steps at the township’s request. She’d hiked up and down the gently sloping stairs several times, never once needing a handrail. “I’m not aware that we’re planning on putting one in.”

  “Then how’s my daughter supposed to get safely down the stairs?”

  Callie’s mind spun, and heat seared her arm. She grimaced but managed a smile. “I suppose her father could give her away.”

  “And how do you suggest he keeps his balance?”

  One of the men finally looked up and approached the conversation. He looked at Callie and frowned. “Miss, are you okay?”

  Callie looked at him, but the throbbing crept up her arm and started pulsing in her brain, blocking out everything else.

  “For crying out loud, Virginia. Look at the poor girl. She’s white as a sheet, and her arm’s bleeding.” He reached a hand toward Callie. “Can I help you inside?”

  Callie shook her head. “I just need to get this cleaned up.” Virginia said something, but Callie was already up the deck and letting herself inside.

  She stumbled through the house, forcing back the queasiness as she struggled to focus. When she finally made it to the bathroom, she leaned against the vanity, resting her arm on the sink. She pulled back the rag, shuddering.

  The torn, red skin on her arm flashed before her. The bathroom started spinning.

  Callie sank to the ground. She dropped her head between her knees. Her eyes closed. She focused on breathing. In and out, deep and slow. In and out. In and out.