Some Kind of Wonderful

by Sarah Morgan

Braced for a litany of his own deficiencies, Zach stared at her. “That’s it?”

  “Yes. It was a long time ago. Was I upset? Yes, I was. The worst part was that I thought we were friends and the fact that you’d just leave like that without talking to me—” she bit her lip “—well, that was the saddest thing of all. But I got over it. I want to work here. I want to spend some time at the camp, and I don’t want it to be awkward. Tonight, with our friends, it felt awkward. And I don’t want that. It makes it difficult for everyone.” She drew in a breath. “I think we should both forget it and start again. Can we do that?” She stood like a little warrior, her eyes fierce and her head tilted slightly to one side as she waited for his response.

  “Are we forgetting our marriage or what happened the other night?”

  “Definitely the first, and probably the second, too. That would be the sensible move. And this time round we’re going to be sensible. We don’t have youth as an excuse for doing crazy stuff anymore.”

  Zach wondered what she’d say if he confessed she was the one woman he’d never forgotten.

  Except for Brittany, his relationships had all looked the same.

  The only thing the women he’d met had in common was that he’d disappointed each and every one.

  He wondered how much she’d told her friends when they’d all vanished to the kitchen.

  “Ryan invited me for a drink and to discuss the changes he was making to the house. I didn’t know dinner was included and I didn’t know he had a houseful of guests.”

  “Not guests,” Brittany murmured, “just us.”

  And that was the difference between them, he thought. She took the friendship for granted, and assumed she’d always be welcome. She’d grown up with these people, their lives interwoven like the fronds of seaweed on the seabed. The Forrest family was rooted on Puffin Island, as was Ryan’s family, the Coopers. They wandered in and out of each other’s houses, sharing conversation and hospitality. Friendship, so easy and natural to her, still seemed alien to him. He didn’t trust it not to explode in his face.

  “Do your friends know you’re here now?”

  “No.”

  “I expect they warned you to stay away from me.”

  Instead of denying it, she nodded. “Emily did, but she’s almost as cautious about relationships as you are. Sky had already told me to have sex with you, but I think she was a little surprised to discover how quickly I took her advice.”

  He swore under his breath and raked his fingers through his hair. “You told them?”

  “We talk about things.” She was up front and honest. “If I hadn’t told them, they would have guessed. They’re my closest friends. I trust them.”

  And that was another difference between them.

  What did he know about trust?

  About as much as he knew about the sort of friendship she was describing.

  He couldn’t imagine revealing such intimate details to another person. He’d never revealed anything, confessed anything or confided in anyone. He didn’t see the point of giving someone ammunition they could use against you when they managed to find plenty without help.

  And never in a million years would he have discussed his sex life with anyone.

  “I can’t believe you did that.”

  She leaned on the railing and stared out at the sea, darkened to an oily black under a midnight sky. “When I was young I used to love this place almost as much as Castaway Cottage. Did you know Philip was offered a huge sum of money by a developer for the land? The same person who wanted to buy my place?”

  “Yes.”

  “Of course you do.” She traced her finger over the smooth wood of the railing. “You stayed in touch?”

  “He was better at it than I was.”

  She nodded in understanding. “Sometimes when you’re busy living your life, home seems very far away. How involved with the camp are you?”

  He could have told her the exact extent of his involvement but that would have meant revealing information he made a point of not sharing.

  “I help out when they need it.”

  She gave a crooked smile. “You knew every path through the forest. You could name every tree and every berry.”

  “I liked being outdoors. It made sense to me.”

  “Philip tells me the sponsorship money has increased. That’s good. I still remember those kids who came from the city for the first time. They arrived here not knowing the difference between an oak and a pine and by the time they left they could build a camp in the forest and cook their own food.”

  “I was one of those kids. It’s an important education. Connecting kids with the outdoors.” For him it had been more than that. It had been life changing and it had triggered his interest in nature and the wilder areas of the planet.

  “Philip tells me the Marine Center is involved.”

  “They run sessions on coastal ecology and the marine environment. He’s thinking of adding in archaeology.”

  “Good plan.” She nodded. “I ran an archaeology club for local kids when I was in Cambridge. It was four times oversubscribed. Everyone wants to be Indiana Jones.”

  “You should talk to him.”

  “Which brings me back to my reason for being here. Do you mind if I spend time here over the next few weeks? I don’t want it to feel awkward.”

  “It isn’t awkward.” It was other things, though. It was tense and arousing.

  And it was dangerous.

  Her gaze met his, direct and honest. “So we’re cool?”

  Cool wasn’t the word Zach would use to describe the heat coursing through his body but he managed a nod.

  “Yeah. We’re cool.”

  And he knew that this time he was the one telling the lies.

  CHAPTER TEN

  BRITTANY WAS UP at dawn the next morning and found Philip Law in the catering barn where the children ate their meals. Breakfast had ended and the barn echoed with laughter and conversation as the kids left in their groups for their first activity, following the colored signs that marked the tracks through this section of the forest.

  It was an idyllic location for a summer camp, a curve of land where the forest met the ocean and the sharp scent of pine mingled with the fresh sea air.

  Reliving happy memories, she strolled across to Philip, who was in conversation with one of the other camp directors.

  “Brittany.” Philip gave her a warm greeting, exchanged a few pleasantries and then got straight down to business. “How is the wrist? Would it survive a few archery lessons?”

  “Yes, as long as you don’t expect me to demonstrate.” She accepted the coffee someone handed her with a smile of thanks, and then rolled her eyes as a few drops sloshed onto the floor. “Oops. Maybe archery is a little ambitious as I can’t even get a mug to my mouth without spilling it.”

  “Anything you can do would be great. We have a lively, inquisitive group this year. They need to be kept busy.”

  Brittany put her mug down on the nearest empty table and straddled a chair. “Zach mentioned that you’re thinking of running an archaeology activity.” She saw the surprise on his face. “You’re surprised we had a conversation? Did you think I would have buried his body so deep he’d turn to oil before anyone found him?”

  “No. But I thought you’d have a few things to say.”

  “I did, and I said them.” She retrieved her mug and sipped her coffee, trying to think about anything other than Zach. “So—archaeology. Tell me what you’re thinking. A talk in the barn or a session out in the woods digging?”

  “Both? The focus of this place is always the outdoors and the environment, how we can preserve it and what it teaches us. Do you remember when we saw each other in the Ocean Club a few summers ago?”

  “That time when Ryan was developing the apartments and we had to yell to be heard above the drilling and banging?” She put the mug back down. “I remember.”

  “You were full of enthusiasm about a summer camp you�
��d led at Cambridge.”

  “That was a day camp, not residential. They came for a week and helped on-site.”

  “There are a few children here this week who I think would be interested. We can try it. If it’s popular, we’ll plan a full program for next year. I contacted the university back in the spring to see if they could spare someone. They couldn’t, but now you’re here and your credentials are impressive.”

  “Kids don’t care whether you have a PhD.”

  “But they’re going to care that you’ve been on digs all over the world. Didn’t you do an excavation in Egypt?”

  “Years ago. Since then it’s been mostly the Mediterranean.” She took another sip of coffee. “I can definitely put something together, especially as we’re starting right at the beginning.” Her spirits lifted. Maybe the rest of the summer wouldn’t be such a washout after all. “How old are the kids in my group?”

  “Seven to twelve.”

  “And how long would I have them for?”

  “Mornings for a week? Start with that. See how it goes. In the afternoon they can choose between water sports and coastal ecology. If it works out, you can do the same next week with a different group. Then write me a report with your recommendations for next year. I know you won’t be here, but give me something I can take to the university.”

  “I can do that.” She felt a rush of excitement and energy that had been missing since she’d stepped off the plane. “When do you want me to start?”

  Philip glanced down at her shorts and hiking boots. “Now? Why don’t I show you round, introduce you to a few of the team and we can take it from there. What equipment would you need?”

  “They’ll learn more if they’re hands-on. It would be fun to do some actual digging, mark out a site. You’ll need to find me somewhere we can dig—” She pondered. “Can you get me a couple of masonry trowels? That flat type that they use to spread cement? I have a couple in my bag but a few more would be good. And I’ll buy a few toothbrushes next time I’m in the store.”

  “We have toothbrushes. You want them all to clean their teeth before they smile at you?”

  “No. I want to teach them that sometimes excavation requires cleaning up what you find, and that archaeologists often improvise when they’re looking for the right tool for the job. Talking of improvising—” she glanced over her shoulder “—can I take a few spoons from the kitchen?”

  “Help yourself.” Philip rose to his feet. “I presume that’s not so you can eat dessert?”

  “You can dig with a spoon.” She picked up the small backpack she’d brought with her with some of her equipment and walked with him out of the barn. “What exactly is Zach’s role here?”

  Philip gave her a cautious look. “He didn’t tell you?”

  “No. I know he’s living in Seagull’s Nest.”

  “He—” Philip paused. “He helps with the sponsorship program.”

  “Tapping his rich contacts for money?”

  “Something like that.” His answer somewhere between vague and evasive, Philip led her towards a group of eight children sitting in a circle. “These are the Seagulls. Seagulls, meet Dr. Forrest.”

  With no time to give any more thought to Philip’s answer, she dropped her backpack down and joined them in the circle. “Call me Brittany. I was a Seagull when I was your age. It’s the best group.”

  ZACH LEANED AGAINST the tree, watching. She was friendly and natural with the children, answering their questions and engaging them in conversation.

  Camp had been part of her summer routine growing up and the year she turned eighteen, the summer they finally got together, she’d helped out with the younger children. She’d taken groups kayaking, taught archery and forest skills, and they’d loved her.

  It seemed nothing had changed.

  Within minutes of Philip’s introduction, they were bombarding her with questions. All except Travis Whitelaw. Travis had barely spoken since he’d arrived at camp a week earlier. He was part of the sponsorship program and Zach knew Philip was concerned.

  Not that the boy was disruptive. He wasn’t. But he said nothing and made no attempt to integrate with the group.

  When it came to activities he did what needed to be done and nothing more.

  At Philip’s request, Zach had taken him up in the Cessna, but even that hadn’t induced Travis to talk.

  Zach knew social workers were involved and he felt a pang of sympathy for the boy who trusted no one.

  He knew exactly how that felt.

  Brittany had obviously noticed the boy at the edge of the group, too, because she delved into her bag and handed something over, trying to draw him in.

  She included Travis even when he made no effort to include himself.

  Zach eased upright. Even as a teenager she’d sought out the kids who were on their own; the awkward, the homesick, the unpopular.

  That was how she’d first got talking to him.

  He’d hovered, silent and detached on the edge of the group, observing a life that wasn’t his. It was like looking through the window into a party to which you weren’t invited.

  Brittany had ignored the fact he was older and pretty much a social leper. She’d talked to him as if he was someone worth knowing. To begin with he’d assumed he was being patronized. Then he’d noticed that she was the same way with everyone. Friendly and interested. Confident.

  Realizing that any moment now he was going to be caught staring, Zach was about to walk away and return to the woodshop where a group of older children had spent the week constructing a raft, when Brittany glanced up and saw him.

  It was too late to move. Too late to pretend he hadn’t been watching her.

  The sounds of the forest faded away, as did the laughter of the children and the sounds of excited chatter.

  There was only her.

  And he saw something he’d never seen in her eyes before. Uncertainty and confusion.

  She didn’t know what their relationship was anymore.

  And he couldn’t help her because he didn’t know, either.

  BRITTANY WATCHED AS Zach walked away. That brief wordless exchange had unsettled her.

  Shaken, she focused her attention on the kids who were bursting with questions.

  “So you’re like a detective?” asked one girl sitting cross-legged, peering through glasses as thick as bottles. “You’re looking for clues about what happened a long time ago?”

  “That’s right. Clues and answers. We’re asking ourselves how an ancient community survived. We want to know how they lived, what they made and what they ate. Sometimes the answers are buried in the ground, so we have to dig to find them.”

  A girl who wore her hair in neat braids stuck her hand up. “My mom doesn’t like me to get dirty.”

  “Well, you don’t do it in your party dress.” Brittany decided not to mention the time Spy had called her late in the evening about something they’d found and Brittany had gone there straight from a restaurant in a minidress. By the time she left the site her legs had been muddy and her dress ruined, but the find had been worth the sacrifice. “Of course that’s another reason archaeology is the greatest thing ever—” she rocked back on her heels “—it’s the perfect excuse to get dirty.”

  One of the boys perked up. “How do you know where to dig?”

  “Survey, mapping and excavation.”

  “Are you allowed to dig anywhere? My dad went mad when I dug up his potatoes.”

  Brittany grinned. “There are laws that protect the land, and in every country they’re different. That’s why we have national parks, to protect them, so no one can ever build on them. Before builders can build on a site, there has to be an archaeological survey.”

  “So you might find treasure and then you’d be rich?”

  “There are laws that protect archaeological artifacts from being removed from a country. Whatever you find in a country has to stay there. Here in the US whatever you find belongs to the person who own
s the land.”

  “What do they do with it?”

  “If it’s valuable, they might choose to give it to a museum.”

  They fired questions at her. What was the most valuable thing she’d ever found? How far had she traveled? Did she have a whip like Indiana Jones? Had she seen the pyramids in Egypt?

  At one point Philip Law came and sat on the edge of the group and Brittany saw the pleasure in his face as he witnessed the enthusiasm of the children.

  She tried to find a way of explaining what she did in a way that would mean something to them. “When I used to come to camp, I kept a journal. Do you still do that?”

  Two of the girls nodded. “We write it in the evening, after dinner and before campfire.”

  “Archaeology is a bit like keeping a journal, only it’s a journal of human history. That’s why archaeologists don’t like artifacts to be removed from a site before they’ve seen it, because it isn’t just what we find that tells us about the past, it’s where we find it. Context. Do you know that word?”

  She talked, expanded, watched their faces to see when she was getting too complicated.

  One of the boys crept a little closer. “Have you ever found a dinosaur?”

  “I’ve never found a dinosaur. Archaeologists don’t actually look for dinosaurs, but sometimes they might find one by accident.”

  “I’d like to look for dinosaurs.”

  “Then you need to study paleontology. Paleontologists are interested in the remains of plants and animals, whereas archaeologists are interested in humans and how they lived.” She answered their questions patiently and then Philip joined in. He suggested they mock up a site so that Brittany could give them a taste of what it meant to “dig.”

  The morning passed quickly. The children were engaged, their excitement infectious and motivational. All except Travis. He said nothing. Even when Brittany made deliberate attempts to include him, he responded with the bare minimum.

  Everyone had a story, she knew that. As an archaeologist she focused on the stories of those living in the past, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have an interest in people living in the present.

  There was no doubt in her mind that she needed more information if she was to stand any chance of drawing him into the group.