With the six of us making bracelets steadily for over eight hours, we made some serious progress. Plus, it was a blast. Even my daughter thought so.
“Your friends are really chill, Mom,” Kathryn confided after a few hours, giving me one of her rare full hugs and a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’m glad I came today.”
“I’m glad you did, too, sweetheart.” I smiled at her and hoped she could see my tremendous love for her in my gaze. She bobbed her head before turning and skipping toward Abby, where the two of them were creating a beautiful series of butterfly-themed bracelets.
Dinner time came and, with it, so did Sid, who’d amused himself around St. Armand’s for most of the day and had ended up at Castaways, chatting with Gil and Carter during the late afternoon.
“Kathryn, you gotta see the insane t-shirts and towels these dudes have at their shop,” Sid said with a grin, thumbing in the direction of Gil, who’d come into The Beaded Periwinkle soon after closing with a couple boxes of pizza, and Carter, who was toting a twelve-pack of sodas. Sid himself was carrying a tub of caramel corn and a handful of napkins, clearly impressed with all he’d seen during the day. “They’re crazy clever,” he added.
“Thanks, man,” Gil said with a laugh.
And Abby, inhaling the aroma of the warm pizzas, said, “Oh, my God... carb heaven has arrived. I could kiss you guys.”
Gil just grinned, taking it as the joke it was. Sid was too busy telling Kathryn about the wild and wacky items for sale at Castaways to hear her. But Carter looked hopeful that Abby would make good on her comment.
Too bad I knew she thought Carter was too young for her tastes. The guy had such an obvious crush on her. But the heart, unfortunately, didn’t work according to convenience. I knew that well enough.
If the day had been fun, the night was even more so. We sat around the shop talking, laughing, eating, and tallying up the number of bracelets we’d made.
“I thought we were going to barely make it by the deadline,” Joy said. “But we’re actually ahead of schedule now.”
We simply enjoyed being together until the leftover pizza was cold and the tub of caramel corn was just a container of crumbs.
At one point in the evening, Gil spirited me away to his shop for a few minutes, just so I could secretly help him choose a few gifts for Sid, Kathryn, and Ellen.
“Your daughter’s young man is actually pretty funny,” he whispered. “He had about a million questions for me about good business practices in Florida and what I thought made the shops in the Circle so successful. The guy has got a lot of drive, and he also seems very attached to Kathryn.”
“I know. He’s growing on me. Although, I can’t help but hope they’ll wait a few more years before tying the knot.”
Gil nodded. “Agreed. But I learned something interesting about Sid today. He’s a child of divorce, too. Like Kathryn. And like Joy and me.” He paused. “Sid told me his parents split when he was still a preschooler and that it was a particularly nasty breakup. Yet, he somehow maintained his optimism about love and marriage. I gotta give the guy props for having the courage and determination to try to make a committed relationship work, especially in the face of what he witnessed growing up. He’s earned my admiration for that. Kathryn has, too.”
I could appreciate what he was saying but, at the same time, what he didn’t say rang loudly in my ears. That Gil wasn’t somebody who had that kind of courage. That he wouldn’t be likely to take a leap of faith like that himself. That he hadn’t been able to overcome the bad memories of his own parents’ divorce and no one would be calling him an optimist when it came to love and marriage.
Nor would they say any of those things about me.
Maybe Gil had the excuse of being an artist. Someone extra sensitive to the world and even, perhaps, a little idealistic about it. But I didn’t have that. For me, it was all just emotional baggage and a fear of being burned so badly again.
At the end of the night, when Gil gave Kathryn and Sid their t-shirts (both with highly witty sayings that Sid had commented on earlier in the day), there was much laughter and appreciation. Gil gave a specialty towel to Ellen, which I’d been the one to select, and she, too, was surprised and grateful.
She actually snorted when she unfurled it and turned it around to show off to the group. It featured a woman standing in the middle of a palm-tree-lined Florida intersection, who had clearly just stolen a police officer’s cap, and she was demonstrating to him how to more efficiently direct traffic to the beach.
“This is perfect,” she said, smiling warmly at Gil for, perhaps, the first time. “I love it. Thank you.” To me, she whispered privately, “Okay, he’s a nice guy, as well as being a stud, but I’ll still kill him if he hurts you.”
“To serve and protect, eh?” I murmured.
“You know it, Sis.”
The next morning, Sid and Kathryn had plans to take a bus tour down the coast and visit a few new places, including Sanibel Island.
“I still haven’t gone there myself,” I admitted with a pang of regret. I wasn’t sure if Gil and I would have time to do that now, especially since my departure date was looming. “But I know you two will have a wonderful day. Wear lots of sunscreen!”
“We will,” they promised.
Once they’d left, I drove over to Ellen’s hotel to pick her up and drive her to the airport in Tampa/St. Pete.
“I’m actually going to miss you, bossy girl,” I said, nudging her.
She elbowed me back. “Not as much as I’m going to miss you, little brat.”
We laughed and then teared up, and then wiped our eyes and laughed again.
She hugged me fiercely before she headed toward Departures, and I watched my sassy, nutty, intense, and oh-so-loving sister as she walked down the long hallway that would, eventually, lead her home.
A part of me wanted to follow her—to talk with her in person for even a few minutes more—so I could tell her again how much this time away from my old life had meant to me and how thankful I was for all she’d done for me and how glad I was that, in spite of everything, we were sisters.
But I didn’t go racing after Ellen. I knew she knew all of that already, and more.
Instead, I drove myself to the Circle and spent another gloriously busy day with my Sarasota friends, trying to wring out every last bit of time with them that I could. It was much like watching the sunset over the Gulf. How I always tried to keep my eye on that last ray of light, which seemed to linger in the sky extra long, just so we could treasure and remember it.
~*~
I made the return trip to the airport once more, a few days later, when it was time for Kathryn and Sid’s flight back to Michigan.
“Be careful,” I said reflexively. Once a mother, always a mother, right?
My daughter rolled her eyes, but there wasn’t any genuine irritation behind it. Just amusement. “Of course, Mom,” she said with feigned exasperation. Once a daughter...
As Kathryn made a final run to the washrooms before she and Sid entered the Security line, Sid and I were briefly alone. He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets—now a familiar gesture—and thanked me for my hospitality to him while they were here.
“And I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said, Mrs. Gregory. About waiting until after Kathryn graduates to get married. We’ve been discussing it and considering that idea seriously. I just wanted you to know that your approval is very important to both of us, especially to your daughter, even if she doesn’t always tell you that.” Sid shrugged. “That’s really why she wanted me to come down here with her. She said she needed for me to meet you and your sister.”
Kathryn returned to find me hugging Sid. And when I hugged her goodbye, she whispered, “Love you, Mom,” in my ear.
My heart trailed after her and her fiancé, whispering, “Love you more,” with every step they took. I watched until they were out of sight.
But though my heart would always be with my daught
er, the rest of me seemed to have firmly rooted itself in the Sarasota sand. For the week that followed, Joy, Abby, Lorelei, and I spent our days in a final frantic push to finish the bracelets and deliver upwards of two thousand of them to Peter Barrett, so he could get them into the Art Gala gift bags.
“He’s been absolutely wonderful,” Joy gushed.
“Just about the B.E.A.D.S. project?” Lorelei teased. “Or, perhaps, there’s something more... ”
Joy blushed. “We’ve only gone out a few times—”
“More like seven,” Abby interjected. “She likes him.”
“Maybe a little,” Joy admitted, but she glowed whenever she mentioned his name.
During those long, hot evenings, Gil and I spent whatever hours remained together—strolling on the beach, watching old movies, eating meals that one of us cooked, and making love late into the night.
Peter had sent Joy, Lorelei, Abby, and I beautiful gold-leaf-on-linen invitations to the Naturalacrity Art Gala, and I’d planned to bring Gil as my guest. On Thursday night, he asked me the location details—Saturday, West Whelk Country Club in Sarasota, six p.m.—and I pulled out the invitation to show him.
On the back of the envelope was an embossed company logo, which Gil kept staring at all through dinner and beyond. I watched as he repeatedly traced the design with his fingertip—a half circle, like part of a sun on the left side, with a tree sprouting up on the right side. Simple, but not a logo I’d seen before. The same didn’t seem to true for Gil, who insisted he recognized it from somewhere.
I’d dozed off on his sofa and woke around midnight to see him typing like mad on his laptop. I yawned, got up, and wandered over to him. “What’d you find, Gil?”
Despite the lateness of the hour, his eyes were wide open and he practically vibrated with an odd, anxious energy. “I had my suspicions,” he told me, “but I couldn’t find a direct link to anything definitive. Until now.” He tapped the screen with his index finger, drawing my attention to an online image that looked identical to the embossed seal on the envelope.
“What’s that symbol mean?” I asked. “The sun with the tree? Is it bad? Is Peter part of a disreputable organization or something?”
“The symbol doesn’t belong to Peter, nor does the company. I’d seen this emblem years ago, but it’s been decades since it was in use. He’d been so careful... ” he murmured.
“Peter has been careful?”
Gil shook his head, his jaw tense and his mouth pulled into a tight, unforgiving line. “It’s not about Peter. At least not directly. And the logo isn’t a sun, Marianna. That half circle is the letter ‘C’—which stands for ‘Canton.’” He exhaled heavily and rubbed his temples. “It seems Peter Barrett works for a branch of the company that belongs to my father.”
Chapter Nineteen
Seasons of Change
Joy was going to flip out when he told her about this. Gil knew that with a certainty and an apprehension that settled deep in his bones. But he sure as hell didn’t want her to find out from anyone else.
Naturalacrity, was it?
Now that Gil knew what to search for specifically, he was able to verify through family and legal channels that it was, indeed, a hidden subsidiary of the Canton Corporation.
Oh, shit.
“Do you have any reason to think your dad has been trying to hurt Joy? Or that he wanted to upset her by offering her this Art Gala opportunity?” Marianna had asked him. “Because it seems kind of... well, supportive of him. The type of thing a parent might do to help his child if, let’s say, said parent was convinced his direct help wouldn’t be welcome.”
Gil took this in, nodding slowly. He liked the goodness of spirit and intention that this explanation showed—about Marianna and her nature—but she didn’t know his dad.
“You might see it that way,” he said. “My dad might see it that way, at least I hope he would. Even I might sorta-kinda-maybe see it that way. But my sister? I know Joy. And she will not see it that way. Believe me. For her, this is pure intrusiveness, not support.”
Marianna looked at him with great empathy, yet another quality he appreciated about her. “How long can you reasonably delay telling her, Gil? Long enough for us to make it through the Art Gala on Saturday? She’s been working on this project nonstop for weeks. We all have. But it’s an especially huge night for her. I’d hate to see it ruined after all the time and passion she’s put into it.”
“I know.” The knot that had formed in his stomach when he made the connection had only grown. “And the crappiest thing is that, usually, anyone who lends Joy a hand—anyone who encourages her creativity and her causes—is someone I’d back up without question. Someone I’d see as an instant ally.” He shook his head. “But these are special circumstances.”
“Would it help to talk with Peter, perhaps? Maybe call him? I know you were never his biggest fan, but perhaps he could explain... ”
He almost laughed. He just couldn’t quite bring himself to it. “Whether or not I’m his fan is, sadly, irrelevant.” He turned away from the computer and sighed. “But it’s a necessity. Any chance you’ve got the suit’s phone number? I don’t want to have to ask Joy for it.”
~*~
Peter Barrett was as hard to reach as a rattlesnake hiding out in the Texas brush.
Gil left him several voicemails and sent a couple of urgent emails, too, but Peter responded to none of them.
He finally managed to corner the guy just as the Art Gala was set to begin on Saturday night. Fashionable guests had begun arriving in designer clothing, sparkling jewels, and expensive vehicles. The lot of them could have fit in at the freakin’ Oscars, if they were so inclined. There was even a red carpet in the entryway.
In little clusters, the guests meandered into the country club’s ballroom, where pricey artistic displays were arranged for silent auction and with museum-like meticulousness. Gift bags were distributed by the hostesses to everyone officially on the guest list, and their names and invitations were checked with precision. Security guards manned each entrance like royal sentinels who’d be quick to remove any interlopers.
Since Marianna had the invitation and was coming separately, Gil had to wait until he could catch Peter walking out of the ballroom. The guy was in ultra-professional mode, greeting guests and schmoozing with them, completely engrossed in the pageantry of the event.
Gil wasn’t.
He waved Peter over. “We need to talk.”
“Of course,” Peter said, gazing distractedly at an older woman wearing a floor-length evening gown and enough jewelry to open her own branch of Tiffany’s. “But it’ll have to be a bit later. Part of my job is to officially welcome our Golden Tier donors, and make sure—”
“Yeah.” Gil cut him off. “That’s going to have to wait. This is important and it involves my sister, so let’s go someplace private. Right now.”
The suit eyed him warily. “Er, I... um, I’d really like to, but I’m sorry. I need—”
Gil’s patience snapped. “You need to stop deflecting me. And you need to tell me, is he coming?”
“Is who coming?”
“Gilbert Canton, Sr.” He put a sharp emphasis on that suffix and finally managed to garner Peter’s full attention.
The guy’s face turned an unusual shade of purple—a cross between plum and puce, actually, if Gil were to try to paint it. “You know?” Peter whispered.
“Just answer my damn question, Barrett. Do I need to worry about him showing up here tonight or not?”
“Worry about who showing up?” said a voice both he and Peter recognized at once.
Crap.
His sister was standing directly behind them. She must have just entered the building. Gil sighed and turned around.
Peter winced, but he turned to face her, too. “Oh, don’t you look lovely, Joy,” he declared.
Not that this wasn’t true, but Gil knew better than the suit that his sister couldn’t be redirected with flattery.
Gil almost felt sorry for the guy as Joy’s eyes narrowed dangerously and she crossed her arms, waiting.
When neither of them immediately spoke, she took a few steps forward, leaned in close, and whispered, “Y’all should know I don’t like secrets—especially you.” She poked Gil in the chest and then leveled a suspicious glare at the two of them. “And I recognize a pair of guilty looks when I see them. What’s. Going. On?”
This wasn’t going to be good, but Gil was helpless to stop the train wreck this late in the game. If their dad suddenly showed up and Joy had no warning, there was no telling how she’d react. She could be very unpredictable that way.
Unfortunately, with what he knew about the connection between Naturalacrity and the Canton Corporation, there was nothing uncertain about what his sister’s reaction to that news would be—infuriated. The only damage control he could summon on the spot was to keep this private rather than public.
He motioned with his head toward one of the small rooms down the hallway, away from the ballroom entrance.
Peter took the hint and said, “Joy, let’s, um, go somewhere a bit quieter.” A very pained expression crossed his face. “I’ve got a story to tell you... ”
~*~
I was running a little bit late.
I’d been on the phone with Ellen, checking in on how things were going for her, which was fine, thankfully (no new panic attacks), but it took me longer to get to the country club than I’d thought. I knew Gil had planned to be there before six, to see if he could finally get ahold of Peter, and it was ten minutes after the hour when I arrived at the Art Gala.
After scanning the lobby and seeing no one I knew, I checked in with the hostess at the table, entered the ballroom, and looked around in there. I felt woefully underdressed. Peter had told us it would be a “formal” occasion, but I’d expected wedding-guest attire, not Hollywood-esque glitz.
Truth be told, though, I might have blended well enough with the crowd if only I’d upped my application of makeup and the amount of bling I had on. My single strand of pearls and my dangling gold earrings weren’t going to cut it in this crowd. These women were decked out in rocks that rivaled the Crown Jewels.
Stranger on the Shore (Mirabelle Harbor, Book 4) Page 21
