He agreed. Even back in high school it drove him crazy when girls gave him notes written in bubble letters and hearts. “Whenever you figure the median, you toss the high and the low. I’d call a heart-dotter a definite low. Either way, I’ll take the sixty percent and run with it.”
Except...he wouldn’t. Instead, he’d have to find a way to do the exact opposite. To run away from Ella, in fact. Amazing how much that idea sucked. Today was Sunday. He’d only met Ella on Friday. Yet Gray couldn’t believe how close they’d gotten, and so quickly. The thought of not spending time with her for the rest of his two weeks here hollowed him out a little inside.
“Before you get all cocky, Gray, remember that your life’s not a spreadsheet. Not everything can be totted up as easily as a list of numbers. Your word change to the question wasn’t nearly as popular with the men. Made you sound like a slick talker, is the general consensus. They’re worried you’ll take her to dinner and she’ll get taken for a ride, if you know what I mean.”
Gray stopped dead in his tracks. “You must be jumping to conclusions.”
“It’s right here in black and white. A couple of people recognized Ella’s handwriting. Probably more than a couple, but most of us try to abide by the anonymity of the journal. Anyway, here’s an example of those responses. ‘Start slow. Group date. Don’t rush it.’ And here’s one from a woman. ‘Don’t leap into the arms of the first man you fancy. Wait for someone who’s worth making the leap.’”
“Those guys don’t even know me? How dare they pass judgment? Say I’m not good enough for Ella?” Arms swinging wide, he accidentally tossed half his coffee onto a low bush just filling out with leaves the color of lime sherbet. Gray ignored the fact that he hadn’t believed in the whole journal project from the start. He’d pendulumed from feeling pretty good to royally pissed. Sixty percent wasn’t that great a number. Still, it was enough to give them a green light. But for total strangers to assume he wouldn’t treat her well? The insult shouldn’t bother him—thanks to the total-strangers caveat. Logic didn’t take away the sting, though.
“Before you get too worked up, remember one thing. Graydon Locke wasn’t the man being judged. The idea of a man who might date Ella was being judged.”
A half hour ago, he’d decided not to hang out with Ella any more. At all. Classified it as too risky. Worse than walking into a Yankees bar wearing a Red Sox jersey. But now, the town had pissed him off just enough to change his mind. Gray tossed back the rest of his coffee before the conversation pissed him off enough to spill more. “I personify that idea. So yeah, I take it personally. Why should I let them decide who I can or can’t date?”
“You don’t live here, so you don’t have to. Ella, however, does.” She aimed a smile at him that looked to be equal parts pity and consolation. “It’s only been a day. The odds are currently in your favor. We generally let the answers pour in for three days before moving forward one way or the other. Give it a little more time.”
Ella hadn’t mentioned the three-day-waiting period. Weird that he could buy a gun in Montana faster than he could take a woman out for dinner in Seneca Lake. It gave him two more days to decide how to handle the situation. He’d be damned if he let a few anonymous lines determine the course of his life—even for two weeks. On the other hand, there was every chance that Gray would end up screwing over Ella’s life. Did he really have the right to screw around with her heart, too? “Sure,” he murmured absently.
“Don’t you want to see the answer to the other question? The one you wrote?” Before he got much further than a gaping mouth, Dawn shook a finger at him. “Don’t try to deny it. Your handwriting’s easy to pick out from where you changed Ella’s question right above it.” She laughed and patted the seat next to her. “Come sit.”
Why the hell not? It had been utter insanity to put the question on paper in the first place. Might as well treat the crazy by lobbing back more crazy. And nothing was crazier than expecting a lakeside journal to solve the career problem he could barely verbalize. Gray sat on the edge of the bench, still unwilling to read the words himself. That was too much like buying into the whole idea. He plopped Mitzi in his lap and gave her a good scratch behind the ears. “Well?”
Dawn gave the page a quick skim, and then looked sideways at him. “You’ve an even split this time. Half the people think you should quit, the general consensus being that life’s too short. The other half says you’re lucky to have a steady paycheck. And an idiot if you give that up without a replacement lined up.”
“I agree.”
“Hmm. Are you really that unhappy?”
In the grand scheme of things? It wasn’t like Gray was digging ditches or the poor, bored schlub who pressed the start button on roller coasters. But he did know that every day it took a little more effort to get out of bed and do his job. “I’m not sure.”
A slow nod, followed by quick purse of her unpainted lips. “Do you really want to quit?”
“I don’t know.”
She barked out a laugh. “Good talk.” Gathering the leash and both their mugs, she stood. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret. The journal isn’t so much about giving you an answer. It’s more about helping you discover the answer you knew was right all along. You should chew on what you really want before you come back tomorrow to see who else has weighed in.” Dawn carefully placed Mitzi back on the grass. Then, with a wave, she hurried back across the road.
So what? Now she was a Zen master? Find the truth within you. Sounded like equal parts Yoda and Karate Kid. Why would he bother to ask a question if he already knew the answer? Somehow Gray was leaving the mailbox with more information...and yet more confused than ever.
* * *
The cold, wet mud seeped through Ella’s black pants almost immediately. Didn’t matter. She wore her cemetery pants. The ones all but destroyed by mud almost three years ago, the first time she visited her parents gravesite. She’d knelt in the mud for hours, grinding it into her knees and shins as she sobbed, banging her fists against the cool marble of the headstone until they ached. At least that pain had been enough to distract her, if only for a second, from the stabbing agony in her soul.
Knowing it was useless to try and completely remove the caked-in grime, she’d dubbed them her cemetery pants. Ella came far too often to bother wearing them on every visit. But when she needed to tend the stone and tidy the flower holder, like today, on went the pants. It didn’t matter if she ran into someone she knew looking so bedraggled. Everyone who visited the cemetery knew why she was there. They all knew about Disaster Day. And if the journal was anything to go by, nobody expected her to be fully back in control. They all expected to see the shaken, stained-pants-wearing Ella.
Enough was enough. The obstinate side of Ella had almost put on a dress and heels before coming today. Just to prove that she was back. Pulled together and in complete control. But her practical side overruled the showy gesture. First of all, there might not be anyone else in the cemetery today, making it a moot point. And secondly, she was wielding the clippers to edge the flower holder. On her knees. In the mud. Why bother dressing up for what she knew to be a messy business?
What mattered was talking to her parents. It was hard to feel the remnants of them in the Manor. Too many other people always around. But here, at the grave, Ella could talk to them. Unburden herself of her loneliness, her grief, and whatever other troubles she carried. The feeling of actually talking to them might be as much a mirage as a functioning wet bar in the Sahara. Still, it comforted her. Reminded her of the days she could zip in and get a hug from Dad, a kiss from Mom, and such a sense of belonging. These days, Ella didn’t belong to anyone.
“It hasn’t been the best week. My business is fine. But bookings at the Manor are still down, even with the kickoff to this summer’s season just a few weeks away. Not the worst news in the world. Except that,
well, it is. Because we’re hemorrhaging money.”
There was the leak in the roof that necessitated new carpet, paint and linens in the corner room of the top floor. Not to mention the actual repair of the roof itself. A patch job wouldn’t cut it. It looked like three more holes might open up with the next good storm. The generator should’ve been replaced last year, so they were living on borrowed time there. The driveway needed to be repaved. Spring had brought a new colony of moles to the south lawn, dotting it with a warren of unsightly and dangerous holes. And for months now, Joel had been making noises about needing to upgrade the commercial-grade stove and the dishwasher. The last time he mentioned it, the words fire hazard popped up. Even though she officially didn’t run the Manor, people still came to her with questions and issues. Sending them on to Eugene didn’t prevent her from noticing all the problems piling up. Eugene had the passion for hotel management that Ella utterly lacked. If he couldn’t find a way to fix things, she didn’t stand a chance of making a difference.
Ella finished edging a neat circle around the rusted metal holder in the ground. Then she picked up a brush to clear away pollen and a few cherry tree petals. “Nothing catastrophic. Just the normal wear and tear of running a hotel. Especially a high-class, boutique hotel. You guys know how it is. The dining room linens should be updated. A bachelor party used the art in the Library suite for darts, so that all needs to be changed out.”
With an inhale so deep and long it might as well be a reverse sigh, she paused to trace the raised letters that spelled out the words Beloved Parents. On the one hand, she wanted to stay strong, tend the grave, and leave without a single tear falling. On the other hand, unburdening herself to the simple marble square comforted her. She always held it together in front of her friends nowadays. Had stopped seeing Dr. T. Ella knew deep down that she could keep this visit unemotional. The knowledge was enough. It wouldn’t hurt anything, wouldn’t be a step backwards, if she went ahead and let it all out. So she looked up at the dense leaves overhead and continued.
“It all just keeps coming. And it’s my fault. Things fell apart after...well, for a while there. But I feel like it really started before that. With me. When you guys took out the mortgage to buy back my shares. The finances have been strained since then. I shouldn’t have let you do it. I should’ve quit school, given you back the tuition money to cover the shares. It was because of me that you spent our safety net. Then I let everything slide while I grieved. So everything’s piled up now. Stopping the flood seems almost impossible.” Ella hitched in a breath through a throat clogged with tears she thought she was finished shedding. “I’m so sorry I’ve let you down.”
“Ella, don’t say that. Don’t even think it.” She dropped her brush as Gray stepped out from behind a tree. He wore a cream sweater against the misty and cool morning air. It gave him a rugged air that made her suddenly wish to be zipped into a tent with him...and an air mattress. Because she had comfort standards that couldn’t be bent even for the hottest of guys.
“Gray? What are you doing here?”
“Eavesdropping, apparently.”
At least he didn’t skirt the obvious truth. Ella eased back onto her heels to make it easier to look up at him. Okay, glare up at all six-plus gorgeous feet of him. Because while she didn’t mind being the kind of crazy girl the whole town knew talked to her dead parents on a regular basis, she really didn’t need anyone listening in on the one-sided conversation. Being funny, handsome and charming in no way gave him a pass on common courtesy. “Planning to apologize for that?”
“Nope.”
Before throwing a full-blown screaming hissy, Ella thought it wise to double check the other reason she was already steamed at him. “Are you planning to apologize for canceling on me for breakfast?”
“I already did. In the note I slid under your door.”
“Riiight.” She drew out the word while she stood, planting her hands on her hips. “The one where you said you had something important to do. Now I find out you stood me up just to walk through a cemetery? I may not be the best conversationalist in the world, but I’d like to think I rate higher than dead people, for crying out loud.”
Gray shuffled his dark brown boat shoes. “I didn’t stand you up.”
“You most certainly did!” There it was—the leading edge of her hissy fit, like a cold front pushing ahead of a blizzard. Even though they officially didn’t have a real date scheduled, being stood up felt crappily the same, officially or not. After not having dated at all for three years, it felt even crappier.
He crossed his arms and crowded forward into her space. A sharp, vertical line bisected the space between his eyebrows. “If I’d let you go down there, sit alone waiting for me and not shown up at all, then I would’ve stood you up. As it was, I made a very polite excuse and gave you more than sixteen hours notice.”
Technically, all true. But Ella didn’t intend to let him off on a technicality. Gray had pissed her off. Worse, he’d hurt her. Not a sobbing into her pillow thing. But it stung. And she didn’t deserve his thoughtlessness. No woman did. So she’d stay up on her high horse. “It’s the polite excuse part that bothers me. If you don’t want to spend time with me, be honest. You don’t have to make up a polite excuse. You can just walk away.” Ella tried for a breezy tone. Something to give the impression that she hadn’t holed up in her room all night in a serious pout after he’d canceled. “After all, we’re not really dating.”
“Trust me, I do want to spend time with you. That’s the problem.”
“What?” She didn’t understand. Not what he said, nor why the line on his forehead had deepened.
“Never mind.” He speared a hand through hair that appeared to not have seen a comb since rolling out of bed. It was sexy and adorable at the same time. Not that Ella should be noticing while they were in the middle of a spat. “Look, I thought I had something to do this morning. A conference call for work. It fell through, so I took a walk instead. This cemetery’s just around the bend from the Manor, and it looked interesting. I didn’t mean to piss you off with the note. I was trying to be a decent guy. Guess I’m not very good at it.”
“Oh.” Not a bad explanation/apology. Not bad at all. It poked a very sharp pin into her inflated temper. Nice to know Gray wasn’t the jerk she’d written him off to be.
His arms dropped to his sides. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”
“Right now. I had a bunch of other things lined up to toss at you. But I don’t think you either want or deserve to hear them anymore.”
“Thanks. I think.” He took her hand. There was a callus on the side of his thumb. She also noticed that despite his long fingers, Gray had big, manly knuckles. It was a sexy hand. A little rough, a little firm. “Now that it’s back to my turn, I have more to say myself. I’m not sorry for eavesdropping. It wasn’t my intent. But you sounded upset. Clearly you’re not getting the kind of...feedback you need in this area.” Gray pointed down at her parents’ grave. “They may not be able to absolve you of guilt, but I can sure as hell try.”
“Why would you?” He’d heard the whole story from her. Why on earth would he decide to whitewash her past?
“Somebody’s got to. This whole poor Ella thing the town’s doing only goes so far. Did you see someone, like a grief counselor, after the crash?”
“Yes.” No problem admitting it to him. Everybody else and their dog knew already. People had pumped Dr. Takeuchi for updates on her at the golf course, the gas station, and notably shouting the question across two fishing boats in the middle of a bass tournament. The whole town truly cared and wanted to be sure she made it through the long aftershocks of Disaster Day. Doctor-patient confidentiality didn’t matter—except, thankfully, to Dr. T, who didn’t spill a word.
“Did he tell you that you weren’t to blame?”
Ella turned her gaze away from the sq
uirrel scampering in between two headstones and up a tree. “For what?”
“For any of it. For the crash. For their death. For the struggles the hotel’s going through.”
“Yes. Pretty much every time I walked in his door.” If Gray kept this up much longer, she’d demand a change of venue to a long leather couch. “It’s been almost a year since my last appointment with Dr. Takeuchi, though. Things with the hotel have gotten worse since then.” It was just a few months ago that she became aware of the problems. Eugene said he had everything under control, but that was getting harder and harder to believe.
Swiping his hand in the air as if erasing a chalkboard, Gray said, “It’s time to forget about blame. Take the emotion out of it and be practical. Will blaming yourself fix the hotel’s money problems?”
“No.” Ella looked down at the spring green grass. Across to the mottled gray headstone with a last name, but no dates yet. Looking anywhere else was far easier than looking at the matter-of-fact expression on Gray’s face. She felt like an utter idiot for not thinking to use this approach sooner.
“So move on, already. How about you be the one to fix the problems, instead of fixating on them?”
He had a point. A good point. The mother of all points. Made her wonder why Dr. Takeuchi hadn’t ever brought it up. “You make it sound so easy.”
“I’d bet that it won’t be. But it’s where you need to start from. Right now. Today.” A double squeeze of her hand physically punctuated his suggestion.
Well, she’d tried everything else. Antidepressants, that she’d gone on and off of within three months. Ella hadn’t liked the idea of suppressing her feelings with drugs. It made her worry that when she finally stopped taking the medication, she’d backslide to the overwhelming grief of those first few days, having not worked through any of it. Instead, she threw herself into every other possible coping mechanism. Exercise. Deep breathing. Meditation. More than a year of therapy. The tried-and-true combination of copious amounts of both ice cream and chocolate, with a chaser of chick flicks. Giving Gray’s simplistic yet brilliant approach a try couldn’t hurt. Maybe it would turn out to be that final push that got her from ninety-five percent better back to a hale and hearty one hundred percent.
Up to Me (Shore Secrets) Page 12
