by Laura Moore
Why should Lily care if the mystery woman’s hair had dark gold streaks, its thick mass pulled into a high pony-tail? So what if Sean’s taste in women hadn’t evolved past cheerleader look-alikes?
Who cared? Not Lily. The only reason her insides ached with such an awful hollow emptiness was because she hadn’t eaten anything since dawn.
Lily resumed packing the box, but blindly. Her eyes were riveted on the couple.
Karen studied the woman, too. She gave a loud snort, then said, “You’re so bent, John. Anyone with eyes can tell Sean’s not interested.”
“Yeah, right, Einstein. McDermott clearly hates her. Speaking of which, don’t you think he’s a little old for you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“About the mega crush you have on him.”
“Get real, Granger.”
“And you’re about as obvious as that chick over there.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of Sean and the woman. “I heard you earlier: ‘Oh, Sean, you’re such a great dive buddy. Let’s do it again sometime,’ ” he simpered exaggeratedly.
Karen’s face reddened with embarrassment. “God, you’re such a troll. No wonder you can’t get a date.”
“Shows how much you know, Masur.” John laughed. “Though with your looks, I’m not surprised. You wouldn’t know a date if it bit you.”
With an inarticulate cry, Karen jumped up from where she’d been helping with the boxes and flew at John. She shoved him—hard.
Unprepared, he stumbled, landing on his rear with a loud thud and even louder curse as the backward momentum of his fall sent him crashing into the empty scuba tanks. They toppled, one after another, like bowling pins as the discordant clanging of metal resounded.
The noise had the woman turning her head. The better to observe the mayhem, she lifted oversized sunglasses, until they perched on top of her streaked blond head.
Lily reeled with the shock of recognition—as stunned as if one of the scuba tanks had bashed her in the head.
That was Stacy Malloy clinging like a limpet to Sean.
Funny how nothing ever changed.
Sean and Stacy. Why, it was just like old times.
The artfully applied makeup couldn’t hide the crow’sfeet that fanned the corners of Stacy Malloy’s eyes or the deep brackets that framed her mouth—lines Stacy could have avoided for at least a few more years if she hadn’t cut quite so many classes in favor of lying prone on the beach, broiling her body for hours on end.
Lily knew it was petty of her to feel smug; the only reason she herself avoided the pitfalls of the sun-equals-crocodile-skin equation was because of her father’s fair Scandinavian genes. Lily didn’t tan. She blistered.
That John was transfixed by Stacy’s teensy-weensy, red Lycra halter top came as no surprise. But Lily would have thought that Sean, ten years down the road, would be a bit more discerning . . . but then again, she’d never been able to figure out what Sean found appealing in Stacy Malloy.
Stacy had exchanged her earlier, limpetlike characteristics for those of a vine—a clinging vine at the height of summer. Sean looked quite content to be her stake.
“It’s so nice to see you again, Lily.” Stacy’s heavily mascara-ed eyes flicked over Lily, taking in her ragtag clothes. “You don’t look any different.”
“You haven’t changed at all, either,” she replied coolly. One whiff of testosterone and Stacy was on the prowl.
“Thanks. It’s incredible how some of the girls from high school have let themselves go. Their bodies gone to pot, dressing any old how.” Her toned shoulders shimmied with obvious pride that she was still pouring herself into a size four, as she squeezed Sean’s arm for what had to be the eighth time in as many minutes.
Yes, Stacy was the same as ever, crow’s-feet notwithstanding, Lily decided. She was convinced that if Stacy could only figure out how, she’d defy the laws of physics and crawl into Sean’s lap right now.
Sean listened impatiently while Stacy discoursed on her favorite topic, counting off an entire legion of women who’d supposedly lost their figures. Unfortunately, he couldn’t wander off, out of earshot. Stacy was clamped tight. It would take a force of nature to loosen her hold. Even that might not do the trick, he thought, his imagination conjuring a cartoon sketch of Stacy flying through the air, hurricane winds buffeting her about, her hands latched tight about his torn-off arm.
Sean coughed, muffling his laughter, and Lily’s eyes fixed on him with a cool glare. For Christ’s sake, she didn’t truly think he was amused by Stacy’s catty remarks?
“Stacy, I think Owen would appreciate it if we cleared the Tangiers’s decks so he can scrub them down. I’ll get back to you about this matter first thing tomorrow.” Maybe now Stacy would let go. Wrong. He winced as her fingers tightened determinedly.
“But Sean,” Stacy said, the pout in her voice matching the one on her cherry red lips, “I really need your input on a few matters. I promise it won’t take long.”
Lily thought she might be ill, right then and there. Stacy had been waiting for Sean’s “input” for as long as Lily had been paying attention to these things—probably far longer, as Lily had been admittedly slow on the uptake in terms of sexual awakening.
Stacy mistook Lily’s revolted expression for rapt fascination. “You see, I’m the Junior League’s new president,” she explained brightly. “We’re sponsoring the very first fund-raiser for Sean’s reelection campaign. As you can imagine, it’s an enormous job, with hundreds of details. I want everything perfect for Sean’s big night. He’ll be giving a speech, and afterward there’ll be dancing, bathtubs of champagne, and balloons everywhere. That reminds me—we have to choose the colors. You’ll have to come, too, Lily. If you’re still here.”
Stacy named the date.
Lily smiled. Her first genuine smile since she’d laid eyes on Stacy Malloy. “Gosh, it sounds like a great event. Unfortunately, our study will be finished by then and I’ll already be in the Bahamas.”
“What a shame,” Stacy replied with blatant insincerity. “Now, whatever was I talking about? Oh, yes! You’re a hard man to pin down, Sean McDermott,” she accused. “So I’m kidnapping you for lunch. We’ll be able to talk without interruption.”
Not in this lifetime, you’re not, Sean retorted silently. “Sorry, Stacy,” he said, shaking his head. “The reef committee’s arranged for Lily to use one of the college labs. I’m going along to make sure it’s adequate for her needs—”
Lily raised her hand. “No, no, Sean, that’s okay. We can handle things from here. The lab’s mainly a storage cum work space. Once we’ve collected enough samples, we’ll be sending them back to the center. Our labs there can run far more sophisticated analyses.”
“Nevertheless, I’d—”
“I’d hate for your reelection party to be anything less than a resounding success for you—and the Junior League. Really. You stay and talk with Stacy; we’ll head over to the lab and get organized. If we need any little thing, though, I promise we’ll be in touch with your secretary. No doubt you’ll still be busy with Stacy.” Which was fine by Lily— Stacy Malloy could have Sean for as long as she wanted.
She forced herself to smile at Stacy. “Lovely seeing you again, Stacy.” She turned to Sean. The angry cast to his jaw filled Lily with bitter satisfaction. He didn’t like having his plans foiled, she thought. What a shame. “ ’Bye, Sean.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Sean had foreseen how it would be with Lily back in Coral Beach. His life would quickly become fucked up beyond all recognition. But, while he was long accustomed to having Lily destroy his peace of mind, he was going to do everything he could to protect his heart.
What really got him, though, was that he was partly to blame. He’d let himself fall under her spell.
This morning, aboard the Tangiers, Sean had encountered a whole new Lily Banyon, a Lily who was self-assured, patient, committed, caring.
A Lily Sean liked. Really
liked.
How could he not be beguiled by a woman this entrancing, mesmerizing? Hell, Lily had even talked to him, for once had treated him as something other than a pariah.
And when she’d batted those beautiful eyes of hers, she’d turned him into a mush puddle of goofy hope.
It hurt to realize that he’d been fooled by an illusion, that he’d been gullible enough to believe things might be different between them. Lily’d set him up, and he’d swum right into her sucker trap. Dumbass.
Then she had happily abandoned him to the merciless clutches of Stacy Malloy, the lowest trick of all.
Despite being free once more, at safe remove from Stacy’s tired and stale ploys, Sean was still fuming. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one: Stacy was well and truly pissed that he’d sent her packing only a minute after Lily, with a jaunty wave from the driver’s seat, pulled out of the parking lot and sped off. Which meant that the next time he ran into Stacy, she’d be even more determined to get him alone. Damn, he detested this side of politics. Fund-raisers were hell on earth. And a sad comment about politics that election campaigns—even for small-town elections—required that the candidate go begging for obscene amounts of money.
Sean rarely closed his office door, but today he didn’t want to deal with anyone, not even Evelyn. A knock sounded. He cursed softly. He should have known he wouldn’t be allowed the luxury of licking his wounds in peace.
“Come in.” He picked up his pen and bent his head, staring blindly at the speech he’d written at four o’clock this morning on controlled growth in communities.
There was a slight creak of hinges as the door opened. Footsteps signaled Evelyn’s approach. Although Sean kept his eyes trained on the text before him, he could feel the weight of Evelyn’s careful scrutiny.
“I’ve brought you the folders on the Bellemer Bridge and the engineer’s report.”
“Thanks.” He didn’t look up.
“Ferrucci’s been trying to reach you all morning. Wants to arrange a lunch with these developers. What do I say when he calls again?”
“I’m not here. He can wait until the six o’clock meeting to begin his wheeling and dealing.”
“All right. You had some other calls, too. Your mother telephoned, ship to shore. She said that she and Mrs. Alcott are heading back to port. Both send their love. Your grandmother called. Mrs. Farrady apparently needs some furniture moved for her party, asked if you’d be willing to lend your back—her words, not mine,” Evelyn informed him, a smile in her voice. “And she wants to know when you can come to dinner. Here are the others; no messages, just to return the calls . . . Ms. Malloy was particularly insistent.” Evelyn deposited the pink rectangles of paper just inside his line of vision. Stacy’s name was topmost.
Sean ignored the pink stack.
“Besides Ferrucci and Ms. Malloy, there was one other eager caller today. Mr. Feldron, the high school principal. He’s dying to have you come back for another talk.”
“No.”
“It’s not until next week,” Evelyn said, adding, “It’s for their career day.” As if that might make a difference.
“No.”
“Sean,” Evelyn’s voice was patient, “it’s not a bad idea to have Coral Beach’s parents know how much you care about their children. This is what’s known in politics as an opportunity: excellent publicity, upstanding cause.”
“Evelyn,” he said, laying his pen down with exaggerated care. “There is no way that you are going to make me go back and talk to those kids again. Do you understand? No way.”
“But Sean—”
“Forget it. I’m not doing it. I wouldn’t ask my worst—” he broke off. “Wait a sec.” An idea occurred to him, too beautiful by half. Forget opportunity—this was a gift from the gods, and a smart man used it to his advantage. And Lily would absolutely hate it. “This is for the school’s career day?”
“That’s right. You only have to—”
“All Feldron wants is someone to talk about his or her job?”
“Why yes, Sean, that’s generally what one does for a career talk,” Evelyn replied, shaking her head with exasperation.
The black cloud hanging over Sean lifted, sucked into the building’s vast ventilation system. A wicked smile spread over his face. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly against the wood of his desk as he considered the possible pitfalls.
There were none that he could see.
“Get Feldron on the phone for me, would you please, Evelyn? While unfortunately I won’t be able to participate in the career day program, I have someone in mind who’d be absolutely perfect.”
Evelyn regarded him in silence. “And that would be?”
“One of Coral Beach High’s very own.” Sean smiled. “The return of the native.”
“This could be interesting,” Evelyn murmured. “And who is going to inform Dr. Banyon of her good fortune?”
“I believe I’ll let you make that call.”
“Why, gee, thanks, Mr. Mayor.” Evelyn’s tone was dry. “And in the event your star speaker displays the same enthusiasm you yourself have shown?”
He gave her a sunny smile. “Ah, Evelyn, that’s when you pull out those thumb screws you always carry in your pantsuit pockets. Tighten them at will. I’ll call Feldron and make his day.”
Later that afternoon, Lily returned to the apartment. When her call of “Hello” received no response, she cocked her head and heard the faint sound of running water. Dropping her bag by the door, she walked into the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil, then went over to the table in the living room and booted up her laptop. She was entering the day’s notes and temperature readings in her reef log when Karen came into the room.
Freshly scrubbed and in purple sweats, she plopped down onto the sofa. “Hi, how was the lab?”
Lily looked up from the screen. “Fine. We didn’t do much today, just got things set up and labeled samples from the site.”
“Did John come back with you?”
“Yes, but I think he said he was going out again later.”
“Oh. Do you think I should go talk to him, apologize?” she asked.
Lily took off her black-framed reading glasses to stare at Karen. “Whatever for? Apologize, I mean.”
“Because I acted like such an idiot on the boat. John gets me so mad. I should have come up with something really clever to say instead of losing it and pushing him like that. Now he probably hates me,” she concluded with an unhappy sigh. “I’ve been trying to figure out what to do. Perhaps if I were nicer to him—you think that would work, Lily?” Karen looked at her with an earnest expression.
“Uh . . .” At an utter loss, Lily extended the syllable for as long as she could. But before she could fabricate an appropriately sage response, Karen spoke.
“Then there’s Sean,” she said, veering abruptly to a new topic. “He’s so cute, totally ripped.”
It was lucky the chair Lily was sitting in had arms, otherwise she would have fallen out of it. She gripped them tightly while Karen continued blithely.
“And such a good guy, which is pretty unusual when you think about it. Most men who look like he does don’t bother being decent. And really, drool-worthy only goes so far in a guy. Sean was even nice to Stacy what’sher-name . . . and you could just see he was dying to get away from her.”
Actually, Lily hadn’t seen any such thing.
“But like I said, Sean’s decent. Why can’t John be? His tongue was practically to his knees when he was staring at her. And she’s so old.”
Stacy was a year younger than Sean and Lily.
“And John, telling me I shouldn’t have a crush on Sean ’cause he’s too old. Boy, John should practice what he preaches—that Stacy could be his mother!” she finished indignantly.
“Uh, probably not,” Lily said, appalled to find herself defending Stacy Malloy. Still, there were certain biological realities. . . .
“Thing is, I was kind o
f checking Sean out—not because I have a crush on him or anything—but because he’s so charismatic. It’s funny, though, Lily. I looked and looked, even framed him the way I would if I were photographing him.” She put her hands together and made a squared U. “But it wasn’t until he angled his head just slightly that I figured out what makes him so appealing.” She smiled. “You know what it is?”
The enormity of the question staggered her. “No, what?” she replied, and immediately regretted opening her mouth.
“It’s his nose,” Karen pronounced, triumphant. “He’s got this little, funny bump on the bridge, right here.” She pointed with her finger. “I think it must have got broken at some point. Totally makes his face. Wild, isn’t it?” Perhaps taking Lily’s stunned silence for indifference, she shrugged. “I guess you don’t notice his looks, ’cause you know him already. Too bad Sean’s so much older, though I’m not sure he’s really my type anyway—I’m not that into politics. But if I were you, Lily, I’d go for it. For sure, Sean would rather go out with you than someone like Stacy. Well, I’m gonna knock on John’s door, see if he wants to grab a bite to eat. Maybe if I offer to treat . . .”
Karen was so wrong.
The thought repeated, complete with a high school stress on the so. It played unendingly, mercilessly, like a loop of tape in Lily’s head as she stared blankly at her computer screen.
With a tired groan, she exited the reef program, then stood and walked over to the large windows.
The sun was sinking into the sea. Fifteen stories below, the beach glowed dusky golds and pinks. Yet the sight of it, like Karen’s innocent chatter, evoked painful memories and served as a harsh reminder: Sean had never wanted to be with her.
The memories were of a night Lily wished only to forget. But coming back home, seeing Sean, and then Stacy, made Lily achingly aware that although years had elapsed, an important part of her still lodged there, unable to let go of the past.
The setting hadn’t been far from the strip of beach Lily gazed upon now. There’d been a beach party one Saturday night during high school. A crowd of kids was sitting sprawled around a blazing bonfire. Music blared from a boom box, accompanied by laughter and the loud popping of burning driftwood. The fire’s flames glowed bright, illuminating the stand of black palm trees with their arched fronds rustling in the night breeze.
