by Pamela Fryer
She drew away and a second later opened her eyes. “We’d better keep things G-rated.”
He stepped back and raised his hands. “You’re right. That was my fault.”
“Uh-uh.” She grinned. “That was my fault.”
“Sweetheart, you’re great for my ego.”
She turned around and faced the bed. “I guess we’re stuck with this room. I’ll take the left side so you don’t bump my arm.”
“Deal.” Two red spots appeared in his cheeks. August found it adorable.
“Why don’t you look at the room service menu? I’m going to take a shower.”
“Ugh! When this cast comes off, I’m going to take the longest, hottest shower ever!” She peered into the small bathroom. “Thank goodness, a north pointing tub.”
He looked at her questioningly.
“I can lean against the back with my cast on the outer edge. The bathtub at your house faces the other way, so I lean back on the faucet and drain lever to rest on the edge.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
She shrugged. “It wasn’t a big deal. I just sat up. Besides, what could you do?”
“Well, you’ll be glad to know the tub in my loft is a ‘north pointing’ tub, too.”
She turned back to the room, deliberately avoiding the subject. “I’ll check out the menu.”
She didn’t want to tell him she wasn’t going to be part of any “trap” for her attacker, and she wasn’t going with him to Portland.
She intended to move out of Geoffrey’s house as soon as they returned to Newport.
Chapter Fourteen
Colin pulled into his driveway and shut off the Jeep, dead tired but at the same time, buzzing with nerves and anguish. He stared across the dunes at the glistening night sea. Tears welled in his eyes, sending starbursts shimmering across the silvery path cast by the low moon.
After waiting three hours in Seattle for a uniformed officer to show up and then spend an eternity taking his credentials, he was finally shown into the room where the unknown woman he prayed was Emily lay in a coma.
It wasn’t her. Even though the woman’s face was swollen and pale and she had bandages across her nose and tubes coming out of her mouth, he knew right away. It wasn’t his Emily.
God, could his fiancée really be dead?
He banged his fist against the steering wheel. No. He refused to believe it. He wasn’t giving up on her. Dammit, he could feel her inside himself. He would know if she were dead. A piece of him would be dead, too.
The door to the kitchen opened, spilling a slice of yellow light onto the driveway. The silhouette of his father’s burly frame filled the doorway.
“Come inside, Colin. I need to talk to you.”
His heart sank. Even with the Jeep’s window rolled up, he could hear the tone in his father’s voice: level and low, but very resolute. That tone always meant bad news to come, or he was in trouble for something.
Christ, he hadn’t learned about Sonja, had he?
It would be just like her to go running to his father if she didn’t get what she wanted from him.
Graham left the kitchen door standing open. Colin slipped out of the Jeep and slammed the door behind him. His feet crunched across the driveway, the only sound in an otherwise deathly still night. He couldn’t even hear the never-ending crash of waves over the cottony hum of the highway still thrumming in his ears.
He closed the kitchen door, but didn’t join his father at the table. Graham sat motionless, holding a steaming cup of coffee between two hands.
Colin saw it on the table beside the mug: Emily’s engagement ring. His heart lurched in his chest.
“I found it today.” His father picked it up and held it out to him.
Colin rushed across the tiny kitchen and grabbed it. “Where?”
“In one of the electronics compartments on the Maraschino.”
He stared at the delicate ring pinched in his fingers.
“She was wearing it that night,” Graham said, as if he needed to be reminded.
A sharp sliver of ice plunged into his gut as he met his father’s suspicious gaze.
“You want to tell me what’s going on, Colin?”
He shook his head, unable to form words.
“Why would she take it off? There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“Like what?” Colin demanded. Sudden rage flared inside him like a wildfire. “Are you saying she dumped me so I threw her overboard? Jesus Christ, Dad. How could you even insinuate—”
“Calm down. I’m not saying that at all.”
Graham stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. Colin shrugged it off. His father frowned.
“I’m asking you what would make her so upset she would take off her engagement ring.”
Colin turned and paced across the tiny kitchen. He ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe she didn’t want to catch it on something when she was working.”
Or maybe somehow she found out about Sonja. Christ, when I get my hands on that bitch—
“Colin, come clean with me now. If there was something that made her so upset—”
“What? That she jumped? Emily wasn’t like that.”
Holy hell, this was getting worse by the minute. Sonja had probably already been here and told Graham everything. His father was probably baiting him into a confession, like he was a toddler caught in a lie. Shit, that pissed him off.
But when he looked into his father’s eyes, the compassion and the sadness he saw made him crumble inside. He’d loved Emily like his own daughter, certainly more than her own father ever had. When they’d gotten engaged, his father had been almost as happy as he was.
Colin sat at the table and pressed his fingers to his eyebrows. The fatigue from six hours on the road could be rubbed away; this situation could not.
He heard his father pull out the chair and sit beside him. Other than a drawn sigh, Graham said nothing as he waited.
“Sonja’s pregnant.”
The weight suddenly came off Colin’s shoulders like a dozen fat seagulls taking flight from an overstressed telephone wire.
He looked up at his father. Graham stared at a speck on the table, his expression gray with raw grief. He suddenly looked every one of his fifty-eight years.
“It’s mine,” Colin added, and then felt like an idiot. No kidding, it was his. He clutched his head in his hands as a long moment of miserable silence ticked by.
“How far along is she?”
“Almost five months.” He lifted his head and looked at his father. “We weren’t having an affair. I never would have done that to Emily. We were just...fooling around. I was drunk that night—at Spring Fling. Jesus, I didn’t even want to do it.”
Except for another drawn sigh, his father didn’t condemn him, and Colin felt a hot rush of gratitude. He wished he’d told his father as soon as he’d learned himself. He’d always been there for him, supporting him no matter what, and now Colin felt like an undeserving brat.
“Did Emily know?”
“I don’t know. But even if she did, she wouldn’t have jumped.”
“I know that.” His father patted him on the shoulder, and this time Colin relished in the familial touch. “But she very well might have taken off her ring, and thought about a hundred ways to get your balls in a vise.”
“Yeah, that sounds more like Emily.” He almost chuckled as he thought of his fiancée with her gander up. She never did put up with his BS.
“Was Sonja below with you when Emily went overboard?”
Colin’s attention snapped clear and bright, as though he’d been doused with icy water. “What are you saying?”
“Is it possible the two girls were fighting on deck?”
His stomach twisted. It was too horrible to consider. “No. No! Sonja would never do that. She and Emily were best friends!”
“It could have been a terrible accident. We don’t know until we talk to her.”
“Oh, Go
d.” Colin shot out of his chair. He turned and paced across the floor as the horrific images played in his mind like a living nightmare. “Fuck. Please. Oh, shit.”
Graham rose and caught him by the shoulders. “Colin, get hold of yourself.”
“Jesus, Dad.” He shook his head, unable to fathom the intensity of what his father said. “Sonja couldn’t have—”
“I don’t want to believe it either.”
Colin covered his face with his hands and let go the first tears since that night on the boat. His father pulled him into a hug and let him cry like a baby, and for a moment Colin wished he was a baby again. No problems, no responsibility. No heartache. If only such a thing were possible.
“I think it’s time we called the police,” Graham finally said.
Colin nodded. He dropped into the kitchen chair, numb and raw, almost detached from his physical self.
“Do you know what this means?” He looked up at his father, his last crumb of hope wiped away. “My fiancée died because I cheated on her.”
* * *
Room service knocked on the door just as Geoffrey heard the tub start to drain. A few minutes later, August emerged from the bathroom wearing her knit shirt and a towel wrapped around her legs.
She sat at the small table and wound the length of her hair behind her back with her good hand. “Mmmm, smells wonderful.”
Geoffrey removed the silver dome and placed a plate in front of her. “German waffles with whipped cream, maple syrup, hash browns, hot chocolate, and sliced honeydew melon.”
“Yum, breakfast for dinner. I love it.” She picked up a fat waffle. “Excuse me while I eat with my fingers.”
Geoffrey laughed. “No problem.” It was just one more of her endearing traits that was so uniquely, adorably August. Only she could eat with her fingers and still look perfectly mannered. He poured a generous helping of syrup onto a saucer and slid it over to her.
“Anything interesting on the news?” She leaned over to see the screen.
“A storm, due to hit by Tuesday. No missing persons’ reports.”
She tipped her head to one side and offered him a lopsided grin. “Wishful thinking.” She dipped the corner of the waffle in the syrup, bit off a hunk, and chewed thoughtfully. “I really appreciate your bringing me up here. Sorry it was a bust.”
“I wish for your sake it wasn’t.” He wasn’t sure if he was lying or not.
She swallowed a mouthful of potatoes. “Maybe it’s better this way. I was really scared, and almost hoping I didn’t recognize anything.” She glanced at him sheepishly. “I think this is my mind’s way of telling me I’m not ready to remember yet.”
He wondered if she’d become as content in Newport as he had with her there. He was torn between his loyalty to her and his selfish desire to have her all to himself.
“Nothing at all looked familiar?”
She leaned back in her chair and sipped her hot chocolate. “Not a thing.”
The news broadcast flipped back to the storm warning, showing cartoon animations representing the sleet and frigid winds coming from the arctic region.
After finishing the honeydew melon he’d served her, August rose and went over to the bed to get a better view of the television. She slipped under the covers and tossed the bath towel onto the chair.
Geoffrey swallowed and pretended interest in his nearly empty plate.
What had he been thinking, agreeing to this room? He never imagined he and August would spend so intimate a night together under circumstances like this. It should be passionate, spontaneous, and desired by both sides. Instead of looking forward to a new level of closeness with her, the whole situation left him feeling miserable.
He stood and turned around. “Maybe I should set up camp on the floor.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s plenty of room. You won’t bump me.” She downed the last of her hot chocolate. “I will use this extra pillow, though. This fiberglass cast may seem light at first, but try sleeping with it.”
“It’s yours.”
“Top me off?” She held up her cup. Realizing he stood in the middle of the room like a gawky teenager, Geoffrey pried his feet from the floor and took it.
August placed the pillow at her hip to rest the weight of her cast. She settled in and used her good hand to pull her hair out from under her neck.
“We’ve talked so much about me. I want to hear more about Geoffrey.”
The knot of tension in his shoulders tightened another notch. He poured the last of the hot chocolate into her cup.
“There isn’t much to tell.” He took his time rolling the dining cart into the hall.
She pressed the mute button on the remote control, silencing the droning newscaster’s voice. “Tell me about Berkeley. Maybe hearing about college will remind me if I went.”
He suddenly wished he had calls to make, papers to read, or anything to occupy him while she fell asleep. What should he do? Climb into bed as if he belonged? Or sit in the chair a polite distance away?
After standing in the middle of the room like a dolt for another long minute, he flipped off the light and shuffled to the far side of the bed by the glow of the television. He sat on the edge.
“Some people call it ‘Berzerkely.’ There were a lot of unique characters there, including this guy who walked around naked.”
She laughed. “No way.”
Geoffrey nodded. “He considered it his constitutional right.”
She glanced at the television. “You want me to turn it off?”
Oh great, he’d hesitated for so long she thought he was afraid to be seen in his boxers. In truth he was, but not for physical reasons. Years of dedicated exercise and a healthy diet had left him lean and muscular. He knew he looked okay, especially in front of someone who had never compared him with Justin or David. He just couldn’t shake the feeling he was pushing her too far. Well, she’d seen him in his running shorts after he’d removed his t-shirt. This was almost the same thing.
Then why does it feel so different?
“Um, leave it on until the news ends,” he said. “You never know, we might see something.”
He shrugged off his jeans and slipped under the blanket. Only then did he wonder if he’d just made a huge mistake. Had she wanted him to leave the jeans on? Was he exposing himself to her like a horny frat boy?
She shifted onto her side to face him. “A naked guy, huh. I think that would gross me out.”
Uh oh.
“Wouldn’t it be kind of...drafty? And I can only imagine what the bottoms of his feet looked like.”
“I didn’t have the wild time a lot of people did at Berkeley,” he said, pretending nonchalance. In truth, his heart was racing. “In fact, I spent a lot of my time in San Francisco at bookstores and poetry bars.”
“Now that I can believe.”
He leaned up on one elbow. “Why?”
Her smile softened, but didn’t dim. “You’re sensitive.”
Sensitive. That wasn’t the highest compliment. He rolled onto his back, hoping the bluish light from the television hid his growing embarrassment.
“Were you on any sports teams?”
Sports were his brothers’ thing. “Track. I like the way running clears my head.”
August giggled. “Let me guess. The mile. Two mile?”
“The mile. How did you know?”
“You don’t strike me as a sprinter. You’re a long-haul kind of guy.”
How did she see these things in him? Was it that she was really good at reading people, or she was the first person to take the time to look more closely?
“What else?” he asked her.
“Hmmm.” She narrowed her gaze. “Debate team.”
“Only for one year. It was too intense for me.”
“And...you volunteered at the soup kitchens.”
“At Thanksgiving and Christmas. August, you’re amazing.”
She shook her head. “No. You’re amazing, Geoffrey Bart
hlow. If it weren’t those things specifically, it would be something similar. That’s the kind of person you are. I’m surprised you don’t own a dog that was once a stray.”
He laughed, wondering if it would be passé to tell her about Scruffy, the family’s terrier mutt who had come sniffing around the beach house one year. The poor thing had obviously been abandoned by one of the high-season residents. They’d taken him in and kept him fat and happy until he died a ripe old dog.
“You give me too much credit. I have a confession to make: I hope your past life was boring.”
After he’d said it, he realized how callous it sounded, but August surprised him by laughing. He deserved her anger for such a selfish and inappropriate statement.
“That was rude of me. I’m sure the opposite was true.”
She was still giggling. “You know, I’m hoping it was boring, too.”
“There’s something to be said for a quiet life.”
He almost wished he had never met Christina, that he’d never endured the pain that every day chiseled away at his heart, that he’d never been thrust into this wretched situation with his brother. Almost as if reading his mind, she asked the question he knew she’d been wondering about.
“You said you met Christina at Berkeley.” When he hesitated, she gave him his out. “You don’t have to tell me about her if you don’t want to.”
Geoffrey sighed. “I should have told you about Christina right away.” He figured he owed her as much, since she had fallen into the middle of his feud with Derek.
He wondered how to begin. No matter which words he chose, the subject always churned his guts. He’d never actually talked about her with anyone outside the family, even though Leah had nagged him damn near to death that seeing a therapist would help.
“I met her in the tutoring center. She was at risk of losing her scholarship because of her grades.”
That wasn’t as hard as he’d thought it would be. Surprisingly, once he got started, the rest flowed out of him. “Christina was from Oakland and received her scholarship as part of an outreach program for students from low-income families. She got her BA and I got my master’s in the same year, and we were married two weeks after graduation. I was her ticket out of Oakland, and she couldn’t wait to leave.”
