Up to Me (Shore Secrets)

by Christi Barth

  “Bottom line is that Ella’s fine now. Some of us are probably more sure of that than she is. Some aren’t willing to believe it at all. The whole town’s always loved her. A lot of folks stepped up to help her. Just hard for them to break the habit.” Another steel-blue glare from Joel. “How long are you sticking around? One week? Two? What sort of plans do you have for Ella?”

  The question noosed around him. Still, Gray respected it. Respected Joel for asking. His question made a lot more sense than Eugene’s crazy assumption that they’d run off into the sunset together. “I’m here for two weeks, total. Then I hit the road. For good.” There. One-hundred-percent, undiluted truth. Wherever else he did or didn’t fail, he’d been upfront about his rock-solid intention not to stick around. At all.

  Joel cracked his neck. “Hit the road? What are you, a trucker? Or the guy who paints all the lane markings on the interstate?”

  So much for the truth and being upfront. Time to pull out his standard lie. “I’m a consultant.”

  Another snort from Joel. This one sounded like disbelief. “Nobody’s just a consultant. So either you’re a CIA agent, or you just don’t want to tell us what you do for a living. I’m fine either way. But if you are a special agent, it’d be cool if you showed us your gun.”

  Gray swallowed another snicker. Made a big show of patting himself down. “No guns today.”

  Ward took a long swallow. Then another. A third. Stared at Gray as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “Are you set on having a go at Ella?”

  Luckily, Gray could offer them another one-hundred-percent truth. “We’ve already started. There’s something about her...” His voice trailed off. Was it her spirit? Her sass at the most unexpected times? The way her lips felt against his? Damned if he’d share that laundry list out loud. So he went for broke with another truth. “Right or wrong, I can’t keep away from her.”

  And that was a problem. He was in too deep, too fast. Especially since getting involved with Ella was an epically stupid move, careerwise. Every day, he consciously made the choice to pursue her. Which meant every damn day, he was sabotaging himself. Sabotaging his assignment. Gray had tried to ignore it, but talking to Ward and Joel brought the reality of the situation to the forefront of his mind. Except that he couldn’t share that complication with them. Shit. How was he supposed to ignore what felt like the best thing that had ever happened to him? Even if, on paper, getting involved was one of the worst mistakes he could ever make.

  As he crushed the can, Ward nodded. Lobbed it effortlessly across the length of the room in a slam dunk into the trash can. “Then treat her right. And don’t lead her on. I’d hate to have to be opposite you in a fight instead of next to you.”

  “As if you could take me without help.” In response to the squinted eyes they both aimed at him, Gray raised his hands, palms up. “Message received.”

  “Good. If we make it through three hundred bottles, I’ll give you a sample of the good stuff. Some wheat whiskey I’ve been aging in bourbon barrels for a couple of years. It’ll either kick you in the balls or slide down smoother than butter.”

  “Looking forward to it.” That was more like it. A couple of hours of good, solid labor, a great lunch, and private reserve booze straight from the distiller himself. Pretty damn good way to spend a Monday. And to distract himself from a problem with zero good solutions.

  “Gotta have tunes.” Joel loped over to the iPod dock. “Whether you like Ozzy or not, be grateful I put in the request. The kind of music Ward usually makes us listen to? Well, I won’t torture you with a description. Just be glad you’re not sticking around Seneca Lake long enough to find out.”

  Oh, yeah. Another timely reminder that Gray was an outsider. That he didn’t belong. That these new friends he was making were just as pretend as his whole damn life.

  Chapter Nine

  Ella poured a few drops of the sample massage oil into her palms and rubbed. Sniffed. Inhaled the fresh scent of cypress and vetiver and something else. A base note of cedar, maybe? Definitely some tangerine, but that wasn’t what stumped her. Drat. She’d have to cheat and read the label. Good thing Brooke wasn’t around to notice her undeveloped aroma sense. Giving in to impulse, she raised her hands back to her face. Sniffed again, and wondered how it would smell on Gray’s skin. How it would feel to rub it across his chest. To slide slickly through the strip of dark hair that bisected his pecs.

  “You must really like that new oil. Your expression’s practically orgasmic,” said Brooke.

  Her eyes flew open. When had she even shut them? “It’s got, um, potential.”

  “As much potential as a certain dreamboat of a guest?” Brooke teased. “Because this isn’t the first time today I’ve seen that goofy smile on your face. You were wearing it an hour ago when you were loading towels into the dryer. I think your not-yet-a-boyfriend’s the reason.”

  “Fine. You got me. Thinking about Gray puts a little spring in my step.”

  “A little? You could moonlight as Tigger, you’re so sproingy.”

  Out of reflex, Ella smoothed a hand over the turquoise scarf around her ponytail. Her mood might be springy, but her outward appearance needed to reflect nothing but a collected professional. Even with the spa officially closed for the night. “The morning started with a terrific breakfast with him. Every client was on time, and I treated my hands to a paraffin dip over lunch. All things considered, a pretty great day. The only hitch is that the mail isn’t here yet. I’m expecting swatches of some bamboo sheets I’m thinking about using on the massage tables. The company promised I’d get them today.” She glanced down at the clock on her computer screen. At just past six, it was too late to call. “Maybe I should email them and check.”

  Brooke caught her at the elbow before she sat down. “Don’t bother. I’ve got the mail. I hid it.”

  This ought to be good. Or at least a good excuse to tease her friend. “Why? Start a magazine subscription that embarrasses you? What’s your new obsession—scrapbooking? Recipes from the heartland for gelatin salads?”

  “I hid it because I could tell you were having a good day.” From the deep, bottom desk drawer Brooke retrieved a stack of envelopes and catalogues rolled up into a rubber band.

  “Geez, you know all the bills are up to date. You’re the one who pays them. So what’s in there that could be so terrible—a notice for jury duty?”

  “Worse.” Silently, she handed over a large manila envelope.

  Amazing how the sight of that all-too-familiar kelly green logo on a mailing label could send Ella’s day straight into a tailspin. “Fuck.” Good thing their last client of the day hadn’t lingered, or she’d have gotten an earful. Ella found it physically impossible to restrain her language whenever she spotted that logo. “Again? So soon?”

  “They sent the last reminder almost two months ago. In fact, Taft, Riggles & Levinson sent this one certified mail. Guess they wanted proof that somebody would actually look at it.”

  “I look at everything my lawyers send me. I’m not irresponsible. In fact, there’s a very specific ritual I go through.” She grabbed the letter opener and neatly slit open the top. “I pull out all the papers. Skim them to be sure it’s the same old, same old.” With a precision gleaned by repeating these motions month after month, Ella tapped the papers into perfect alignment at their corners. Then she started with the envelope. Tore off a long, thin vertical strip. Tossed it in the air. Tore another, a little faster. And kept going.

  “You realize how immature this is, don’t you?”

  “Says the woman who still wears a headband with bunny ears at Easter and puffy hearts on Valentine’s Day.” Rip. Toss. Repeat.

  “That’s a low blow. Besides, my holiday headbands are whimsical, not immature.”

  “Says you. I say that tearing my way through this stack of papers is catharti
c, not immature.”

  “You’re making a mess.”

  “I’ll clean it up. Or have one of the seventeen maids that work for Mayhew Manor come on in and go wild with a broom and dustpan.” Rip. Toss. Ella moved on to the first page of the letter. Delighted in tearing right through their hated logo.

  “What’s going on? Are you singlehandedly prepping for a tickertape parade?” Gray kicked at the growing pile of scraps on the floor.

  Okay. She could spare a couple of seconds from this burst of temper to appreciate Gray’s droll take on the situation. Some guys would’ve run the other way at the emotional instability she must be radiating. Yup, Gray could apparently roll with the punches. In gratitude, Ella tossed back the calmest response she could muster. “I’m dealing with today’s mail.”

  “Guess I won’t be sending you any postcards. Or even a birthday card.”

  Brooke pushed out an exhale long enough to blow up a trio of balloons. “If this is still going on by Ella’s next birthday, there’ll be serious hell to pay.”

  “Now I’m really curious.” Gray looked back and forth at both of them. “Is somebody going to explain?”

  Rip. Toss. “Nope.”

  “Sure,” Brooke said, almost on top of her attempt to shut the topic down.

  That was enough to finally still the automatic, repetitive motion of Ella’s hands. She and Brooke crossed the line between friends and colleagues at least a half dozen times a day. In their case, it was much more of a dotted line. The only time Ella asserted her authority as boss was when she bestowed the annual raise. But this—opening up this deep wound to Gray—crossed about two miles over that imaginary line. Mostly because she didn’t want to talk about it with anyone. Not with Brooke, Gray, her therapist, and certainly not with the law firm who sent the darned thing to her in the first place.

  In the coldest tone possible, Ella said, “This is a private matter, Brooke.” Coupled with the ice daggers she stared at her friend, there could be no mistaking the command to drop it.

  The out-of-the-ordinary command popped Brooke’s eyes super wide. She froze that way for a second. But then she pursed her lips and crinkled her nose, clearly unfazed. “So’s your bra size, but it’s kind of obvious that Gray knows that by now, too.”

  Comments like that were exactly why Ella adored Brooke. She could knock the serious out of any situation. Her upbeat spirit always turned around the frowns caused by the grumpiest of clients on the worst of days. Ella just wasn’t used to having that particular superpower aimed at her. Nevertheless, her lips tugged up into a smile.

  Gray stepped away, hands up. “No comment. I don’t kiss and tell. Especially with a woman I’m officially not-dating.”

  Toying with the oversized buttons on her cropped navy sweater, Brooke opened her mouth. Closed it. Took a deep breath and started again. “Look, the contents of that envelope are no secret. You wrote about it in the journal when you got the first delivery. All seventeen of those maids you so blithely mentioned probably know by now. And this—” she snatched the last paper from Ella’s hands, “—ridiculous coping method Dr. T. gave you isn’t resolving anything.”

  True. But it was all she had. It felt wrong to not follow Dr. Takeuchi’s advice until she had a better alternative. “Ripping this paper to shreds is as much real medical advice as taking two aspirin and calling in the morning.” The defense sounded hollow even to Ella’s ears. From the way Brooke rolled her eyes, she didn’t buy it either.

  “I’m going home and taking two beers. Gray, she’s all yours.” Brooke grabbed her lime green slicker from the coat tree and slung her purse over her shoulder. “The negligence lawsuit against the guy who killed Ella’s parents netted her a chunk of change. A big one. But she refuses to accept it. Every couple of months the lawyers send out more paperwork. And every couple of months, I’ve got a pile of confetti to clean up the next day. Classic stalemate. If you can get her out of it, I’d be grateful.”

  Brooke flipped the sign to closed and locked it behind her. Ella looked at the shredded paper at her feet. Knew that to be a good boss, and a better friend, she should darn well grab the dry mop and clean it up herself.

  “Feel any better?”

  A mental scan didn’t take long. “No.”

  “Your doctor’s a putz.”

  That jolted a laugh out of her. “To be fair, he recommended this during a frantic, five-minute phone consultation. And it used to make me feel better. I’d see the envelope and my stomach would twist. I’d cry for hours on end.”

  “Why?” Gray’s question was simple. The feelings she got, however, when he put his hand on top of hers were not. A jumbled jolt of sympathy, caring, understanding, peace. Although he said only a single word, his touch conveyed an entire paragraph.

  Nobody had asked her a question like that in so long. Nobody wanted to bring it up and awaken the sleeping monster of her grief. So no, Ella still didn’t want to talk about the missive from the lawyers. But Brooke was right. Not talking about it sure wasn’t working. And Gray was a fantastic listener. Not pushy. Just...present.

  She flipped over her hand to lace her fingers through his. “Because they were trying to force blood money on me. Here, your parents are dead, so we’ll reward you with a check for one million, five hundred thousand dollars. Like that would make it all better. Like that would make it better at all? Yes, the guy who ran into them technically killed them. But I’ve already told you that I shoulder a boulder-sized load of guilt for their death as well. My stubborn, prideful actions put them in harm’s way.”

  “Nope. No way.” Gray sounded surprisingly stern, like he was reprimanding her. “We covered this already. Sure, you’d rather have a toy ring from a cereal box than a big-ass check. Hell, I think you’d rather have kidney stones than accept that check. But you are not so self-centered as to take even a portion of the blame for their death.”

  “Self-centered?” Her almost-cooled temper seared back to life. But this time, instead of being aimed at the lawyers, it sparked right at Gray. Ella crouched, scooped up the shredded paper with her hands and dumped it into the white wicker wastebasket. “Quite a judgment for you to make, from your vantage point of being on the outside looking in.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “And you have no idea what shouldering this blame feels like. A couple of heartfelt conversations don’t give you the right to presume you know what I’m feeling.” Ella glared up at him. Surprisingly, Gray’s eyes were shut, his lips pinched into a thin line. What was he so upset about? She was the one full of righteous annoyance.

  “I happen to be an expert on blame and guilt. Years of experience in the topic.” Gray’s eyes reopened, but didn’t fully focus. Whatever he was seeing, it wasn’t in the spa. A deep chord of pain resonated through his words. “Trust me when I say you are not responsible for anyone else’s actions. Every life is a made up of a million different choices every day, big and small. That’s why the Butterfly Effect is such a powerful concept.”

  Hmm. Didn’t sound so much like he was pretending to walk in her shoes. More like he was revisiting his own demons. She certainly couldn’t take offense if that was the case. And it was a glimpse at the history he so carefully guarded. Dusting off her hands, Ella stood. “What’s that?”

  “A time-travel theory. Ray Bradbury wrote a great short story about it, ‘A Sound of Thunder.’”

  “You don’t have the look of a sci-fi aficionado.”

  “What do they look like?”

  “Pasty. Pale,” she teased. “Unable to sweet-talk a girl into middle-of-the-night kisses the day they meet.”

  “Good thing I wore my sexy stud disguise that night.” At her blank look, he added, “The robe you made fun of?”

  As if she’d ever forget a moment of that night. Especially how his muscled legs looked coming out the bottom of it. Or t
hat where it gaped open in front, his chest bore a line of dark and sexy hair. But on principle, Ella couldn’t let him believe that his bathrobe alone would ever catch him a woman. “That robe’s a crappy studly disguise, unless you’re trying to seduce someone who’s post-menopausal.”

  “Ouch.”

  “It was what I saw underneath the robe that...oh, never mind.” He’d pissed her off this evening. So Gray didn’t deserve to know just how well she could still picture his tanned skin. Or that the thought of it kicked up her internal temperature until her cheeks should be the bright crimson of a candied apple. “Tell me about the butterfly thing.”

  “Basically, if you went back in time a couple of thousand years and killed a butterfly, or pulled out a weed, it would start a cascade effect. When you came back to the present day, things would be different. Maybe that species would be extinct. Maybe the color blue would be illegal. Maybe Germany would’ve won World War II.”

  “It’s an interesting premise. Basically, if my mother had stubbed her toe on the way out the door that night, they would’ve been running forty-five seconds later? Thus avoiding the crash completely?”

  “Simplistic, but yes. That’s why you can’t shoulder the blame any more, Ella.”

  “I’ve let a lot go.”

  “You shouldn’t feel even a tiny bit.”

  So he’d dropped his guard and hinted at his own heartache for a whopping two sentences before turning the conversation right back around to her. Ella appreciated that he cared. That he made the effort to reassure her. But the gaping chasm between what she shared and what he hid needed to be filled. She couldn’t take the lopsidedness any more.