That Carolina Summer (North Carolina)

by Janet Dailey

  “What happened between you and Josh Lord?” he asked curiously. “You two seemed to be a pretty hot item."

  “There were a few things we didn't agree on, so I walked,” Annette shrugged, and sauntered closer. “He didn't have anything worthwhile that you don't have.” She stopped and ran her finger along the underside of his uniform's lapel, peering up at him. “Besides, I think you and I could have more fun. That is—” she paused as though she might be too presumptuous"—if you'd still like to go out with me."

  “Sure,” he answered quickly, then tried to conceal his eagerness.” It might be fun."

  “Are you busy tonight?” Annette continued to let her finger ride under his lapel, slowly going up and down.

  “I was thinking about going over to a buddy's place. He's having a keg party. You're welcome to come along.” Craig made it sound like he was doing her a favor by inviting her.

  “Actually,” she sighed, and her finger stopped its movement, “I thought we could go somewhere a little more ... private. Someplace where we could be alone, just the two of us. Do you know what I mean?"

  “Like ... uh ... where?” His hand moved to the bare curve of her waist where the cut-out sides of her swimsuit exposed tanned skin.

  “Maybe at your place—or a friend's?” Annette suggested.

  “The guy I room with is ... entertaining company tonight,” Craig replied, eliminating that possibility. “And the one friend who might let me use his place is having the party."

  “There must be someplace we can go,” she reasoned.

  “One of my buddies is a night clerk over on motel row.” He studied her closely as he passed on the information. A motel sounded a little sordid, but Annette supposed it wouldn't matter.

  “Wouldn't it be all booked up this time of year?” she asked, letting him know by her question that she was willing.

  “It's policy to hold one room back for regular customers—businessmen who come here a lot,” Craig explained. “He owes me a favor,” he bragged. “What time do you want to meet, and where?"

  “Is nine o'clock too late?” She allowed his hand to draw her against his length but arched her back a little to keep some space between them.

  “That's fine,” he agreed. “How about if I pick you up by the parking-lot exit?"

  “I'll be there at nine o'clock on the dot,” Annette promised, and kissed him lightly on the mouth, then slipped out of his hold, leaving him wanting more and expecting it. She waved to him and walked around the corner of the game room.

  BENDING DOWN, Marsha gave Robby a hug and a good-night kiss. “See you in the morning,” she promised. “Have a nice night and don't let the bedbugs bite,” she teased, then straightened. “Good night, Dad, Kathleen."

  They echoed her parting phrases as she left them to walk to her own room. Unlocking the door, she walked in. A tray of dirty dishes sat on the round table by the window. Marsha guessed that her sister had ordered dinner from room service, since she had refused to have the evening meal with the family.

  “Annette?” she called.

  “I'm in the bathroom,” her sister answered.

  The door was standing open so Marsha walked over. Annette was leaning close to the lighted mirror and applying dark brown mascara to her lashes. Marsha stared at the haltered pink sundress and white sandals her sister was wearing.

  “Are you going out?” Marsha asked in disbelief.

  “Yes. I have a date.” Annette stepped back to survey the finished product in the mirror.

  “But ... I thought you and Josh—” Marsha began in bewilderment.

  “I'm not going out with Josh,” her sister stated in the flat voice that had become her trademark in the past twenty-four hours. “That's over. We didn't have the same end in mind and there wasn't any way to compromise."

  “Then who—"

  “Am I going out with?” Annette finished the question for her. “Craig."

  “Craig,” Marsha repeated, because it didn't sound possible. “The waiter?"

  “Yes.” Annette brushed past her into the main section of the room. Dazed by the unexpected announcement, Marsha followed.

  “But I thought you didn't like him.” As a matter of fact, her sister had made it plain that she didn't. But she'd never known Annette to do anything without a reason. There was bound to be one this time. A thought occurred to her. “Are you trying to make Josh jealous?"

  “No.” Annette laughed at the suggestion, but there was little amusement in the sound. It was too brittle and phony.

  “Then why are you going out with Craig?” Marsha frowned.

  Annette made a project out of being certain the room key was in her purse. “I never realized what a problem it was being a virgin,” she said airily. “I've decided to eliminate it."

  Marsha's mouth dropped open in shock. “You aren't serious?” she protested on a squeak. “You don't expect me to believe that you cold-bloodedly intend to—"

  “Take it from me,” Annette interrupted, “the cold-blooded way will cause a lot less heartache than the hot-blooded one. At least, you won't want—or expect—the man to marry you afterward."

  Marsha didn't like that kind of logic, but she was beginning to understand what had happened between Annette and Josh. “But don't you want to—"

  “Save myself for the man I marry?” Again Annette finished the sentence for her in a mocking tone. “The problem is the man I want doesn't want to marry me."

  “But ... surely Craig doesn't know what you have in mind?” Marsha was in a state of shock. She couldn't believe her sister was saying these things—or really intended to do them.

  “He's very dense if he doesn't,” Annette retorted, suddenly sounding impatient. “What else would he think I wanted when I agreed to go to a motel with him?"

  “A motel?” Marsha was shocked, appalled. This couldn't be her sister talking. It was someone else. “Annette, you aren't going there? It's so ... so..."

  “The place doesn't make any difference, Marsha.” Impatience and irritation seemed to lace every word. “You've been reading too many romantic stories.” She used the same accusation that Josh had directed at her. “Why don't you grow up for a change?"

  Annette had criticized her before, but this time there was more sting to the barbs. “You talk about me growing up and you're the one who's going to some sleazy motel—"

  “It isn't sleazy,” Annette denied. “It's one of the places on motel row. Craig has a friend who's a night clerk.” Her features became cloaked with cynicism. “He'll probably get the room for nothing."

  “You can't go through with this,” Marsha said flatly, suddenly very calm and determined.

  “I can and I will,” Annette stated, and started for the door.

  Marsha rushed to block the way. “I mean it, Annette. You aren't thinking straight,” she stated. “You're upset because of Josh and you want to hurt him, but you're going to end up hurting yourself more. If you'll think about it, you'll admit I'm right."

  For a fleeting second there was a crack in her sister's defensive shell and Marsha had a glimpse of stark pain, but the slight break was immediately repaired. There was a stubborn set to Annette's jaw. She realized that she was determined to go through with this. Marsha could talk until she was blue in the face and not sway her from this self-destructive course she'd set.

  “Would you mind getting out of my way?” Annette requested with stiff formality. “I don't want to keep Craig waiting."

  There wasn't any way Marsha could stop her short of physical force, and even that was doubtful. Reluctantly she stepped to the side, letting Annette pass. She felt helpless as she watched her sister walk to the door and pause.

  “Don't wait up for me,” Annette declared with deliberate flippancy, and Marsha wanted to scream at her not to go. But she didn't.

  “You're a fool,” she said quietly instead.

  The instant the door closed behind her, it unlocked the agitation that had been building inside Marsha. She ran a hand
through her glistening brown hair, searching for some way she could stop her sister when reason had failed. She couldn't just let it happen.

  Her mind recalled a remark Annette had made not long ago. “You're always there when I need you most,” she'd said. Whether Annette knew it or not, she needed Marsha now. But what could she do? How could she help? She wished for Annette's cleverness at coming up with ideas. Time was slipping away.

  It was out of the question to go to their father. After the angry quarrel they'd had, there was too much chance that involving him in this would lead to another with more severe consequences. Annette was already furious at his interference in her relationship with Josh. And in her present mood, she just might break from the family altogether.

  Marsha couldn't go to Kathleen, the second obvious choice for help. She was positive her stepmother would insist that her husband be told what was going on. Which brought her back to the starting point.

  She chewed at a fingernail, desperate to find a solution. There simply wasn't anyone else who could help. Annette wouldn't listen to her or their father. And there just wasn't anybody else.

  Josh! His name leaped into her mind with the suddenness of a switched-on light. All of this had started with him. He was ultimately the cause for Annette's actions. He was probably the only person that Annette would listen to, but would he help? Her already tense nerves tied themselves in tighter knots because she knew she would never find out unless she asked him.

  A phone call would give her a degree of anonymity. Marsha didn't like the idea of confronting him in person with the news of Annette's latest escapade. It was sure to be an uncomfortable experience, but she knew she had to see him. It was possible she wouldn't be able to convince him over the telephone that the situation was really desperate.

  Yet she struggled with the decision a few minutes more before she gathered up her courage to seek him out. With her room key tucked safely in her purse, Marsha switched off the lights and left the room.

  She could just imagine what they thought at the hotel desk when she asked where Joshua Lord's suite was. A hundred doubts fluttered in her stomach as she approached his door. There were lights on inside, so at least he was home. She crossed her fingers that no one was with him and knocked at the door.

  Within seconds her summons was answered and the door opened to frame a shirt-sleeved Josh Lord. A slight frown narrowed his dark eyes when he saw her. His features were grimly drawn, minus any polite welcome. There wasn't even a flicker of recognition in his look.

  “Yes?” It was a peremptory demand to state her business.

  “I'm Marsha Long.” She thought she should identify herself first and clutched her purse with nervous fingers. “I'm not sure if you remember me, but I'm ... Annette's sister."

  “I remember you,” he stated, but his aloof expression didn't change. No attempt was made to put her at ease.

  It was going to be harder than she thought. For a panicky instant, Marsha didn't know where to begin. He didn't look like he'd be willing to help at all.

  “I need to ... talk to you about my sister,” she managed finally.

  If anything, his expression hardened. “There is nothing I want to discuss about her, Miss Long,” he replied in a cold flat voice. “You've wasted your time coming here. Good night."

  When he started to close the door, Marsha sprang forward in desperation. “No! Please!” she protested, and pushed a hand against the door to keep it from shutting. “I need your help."

  The request made him pause. “My help?” Josh repeated, and his flare of interest gave her a fragment of hope.

  “Yes,” she said, affirming her request, and nervously brought her hand down to her side. “You see, Annette just left to go out with Craig, one of the waiters here at the hotel,” she began.

  His interest immediately waned. “She's welcome to go out with anyone she pleases. It has nothing to do with me,” he stated.

  “Yes, it does,” Marsha insisted anxiously. “She's only going out with him to spite you and Dad."

  “That's her business.” Again the door started to close on her.

  “No, you don't understand!” she burst out in a rush. “She's going to a motel with him!"

  Josh visibly stiffened. The sharpness of his gaze seemed to pierce her. “What did you say?” he demanded.

  “She's going to a motel with him.” She repeated the sentence in a less assertive tone. “I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn't listen to me. She's got this wild idea in her head ... that it's better to ... do it ... with someone she doesn't care about.” Marsha blushed furiously as she stammered over the words.

  “She decided that, did she?” He seemed to snap out the words as the ridge of his jaw appeared to become lined with steel. “And was it part of her plan to send you over here to tell me about it?"

  “No!” She breathed out the denial in a burst of alarm, realizing Josh had seen through all of Annette's plottings and maneuverings.

  What if she couldn't convince him that this time the situation was genuine and not manufactured by her sister? It couldn't become a case of the boy crying wolf too many times!

  “I swear Annette doesn't know I'm here,” she vowed, and automatically raised her hand as if taking a pledge. “Honestly, she doesn't."

  “You sound very convincing.” But skepticism continued to narrow his gaze. “But you are Annette's sister, aren't you?” It was practically an accusation.

  “I admit that sometimes ... Annette ... arranges for things to happen.” She struggled with the confession of her sister's guilt—and her own. “And ... sometimes she talks me into helping her out."

  “Like with the sweater,” Josh guessed.

  “Yes,” Marsha admitted. Agitation surfaced as she tried to convince him that this time it was different. “I'm trying to help her now, but not because she wants me to. It's because she's my sister and I don't want her to make a terrible mistake.” All the apprehension that was twisting her into knots threaded itself into her voice. “She doesn't even like Craig—and she's planning to go to bed with him!"

  The corners of his mouth tightened in a kind of angry impatience. “You believe that she means to go through with this?” he demanded.

  Marsha sighed brokenly and shook her head in vague confusion. “I don't see how she can. But with Annette—I sometimes think I wouldn't put anything past her.” She looked at him, her rounded blue eyes filled with anxiety. “After last night, when she broke up with you and had that awful quarrel with Dad, she's been ... different. I don't know how to explain it,” she finished lamely. “You're the only one who can stop her. Will you help?"

  Josh didn't answer directly. “Do you know which motel they were going to?” His insistence on more information was its own indication.

  “No.” Marsha shook her head as a quiver of relief went through her. “All she mentioned was Craig had a friend who was a night clerk somewhere on motel row."

  “That's a start,” he muttered grimly, and turned away from the door, leaving it open.

  Marsha hovered on the threshold, unsure if she was supposed to enter or if Josh was coming back. She watched him stride across the living room and stop to pick up the phone. Half turning, he looked to see where she was and motioned her into the suite.

  Stepping inside, she closed the door. During the ensuing one-sided conversation, Marsha was able to gather that Josh was talking to one of Craig's co-workers and buddies to find out which motel on the strip employed their friend. Obviously he obtained the information. The minute he hung up he was moving toward the door.

  “Are you coming?” He shot the question at Marsha and she nodded, too intimidated by the angered set of his features to speak. With a barely suppressed violence, Josh yanked the door open. “So help me,” he muttered under his breath, “if this is another one of her tricks, I'll wring her damned neck!"

  ANNETTE HUGGED THE WALL while Craig unlocked the door to the motel room and pushed it open. Her skin felt chilled and she b
lamed the cold feeling on the motel's air conditioner and the sleeveless sundress she was wearing, Craig curved an arm around her waist to guide her into the room.

  “Hey, this isn't bad.” He made the pleased declaration as he looked around. “It's even got a king-size bed."

  She had already noticed the way the huge bed dominated the room. It seemed appropriate that it was covered with a scarlet spread. The other requisite furnishings in the room were diminished by its prominence.

  The paper sack under Craig's arm rattled noisily as he released her to set it down on a long dresser. He hadn't mentioned what was in the sack, but she had already guessed it contained a bottle of liquor.

  Switching on the color television set, he glanced at her. “We'll be able to watch it in bed."

  His remark drew her attention to the fact that the screen faced the bed. Craig began changing stations to see what was on. It seemed ridiculous to her to pretend they had come here to watch television.

  But she went along with him. “Yes, we can."

  Satisfied with whatever was playing on one channel, he moved away from the television and took the bottle out of the sack. “Is whiskey okay?"

  “Sure.” Annette wandered farther into the room and looked around, but the bed was all she really saw.

  “I'll get some ice.” Craig picked up the Styrofoam bucket the motel provided to the rooms and paused. “There's a pop machine outside. What kind of mix do you want with your whiskey?"

  “Whatever you're having will be fine.” She didn't care.

  Before leaving the room, he stopped to kiss her. “Don't disappear while I'm gone,” he winked.

  When the door closed behind him, Annette unconsciously rubbed her hand across her mouth to wipe away the moist trace left by his lips. She walked to the bed and set her purse on the nightstand. Half turning, she sat down and pressed her hands on the mattress as if testing its firmness. There was a numbness, a blankness that kept her from feeling or thinking anything.