Bolted

by Meg Benjamin

  “Yes, I might.” Greta managed to keep her expression bland. The woman had a garden full of herbs and she still cooked canned spaghetti and meatballs?

  Nadia gave her a dry smile. “I know what you’re thinking, dear, but it really was a matter of principle. Alice was trying to force me to accept her point of view, and I was resisting. It’s nothing more than family politics, you see.”

  “I do see. I’ve been involved in a few family battles myself.” Most of them stemming from her folks’ fervent wish that she be more like Josh the Perfect. And her own insistence on being herself, flawed and screwed up though that self might have been. And possibly still was. More than possibly as a matter of fact.

  “Really?” Nadia leaned forward. “What kind of family battles?”

  “Oh, you know…” Greta shrugged, trying desperately to backpedal.

  “Where are you from, dear?” Nadia narrowed her eyes slightly. “And how did you come to be here in a bridesmaid dress you didn’t like? And why have you decided to stay here instead of going back home? Is this all part of one of those family battles?”

  Greta blew out a breath. Alice hadn’t bothered to ask anything beyond the basic question of why she was on the run, but apparently Nadia was more persistent. “I’m from Promise Harbor. Which is where the wedding was. Or wasn’t, actually. And I’m staying here because I’m just not ready to walk back into the crap that’s going on back home quite yet.”

  Nadia frowned. “Does your family know where you are and what you’re doing?”

  Greta shook her head. “I’ll tell them. Maybe today. They probably haven’t even realized I’m gone yet.”

  “I doubt that,” Nadia said gently. “What is it you’re trying to avoid telling them?”

  Greta blinked.

  Nadia shook her head. “I’m the most disinterested of observers, my dear. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. Whatever you tell me I can take at face value since I have no idea who’s who. Take advantage of my willingness to listen. You don’t get chances like this often.”

  Greta licked her lips. Well, why not? “My marriage broke up. And my brother was supposed to get married, but then his fiancée left him at the altar. Sort of. And I can’t bring myself to tell my mom that my husband walked out too.”

  She breathed deep. There now, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Actually, it was. Definitely.

  Nadia frowned. “Why wouldn’t your mother be sympathetic to you?”

  Greta pushed her fingers through her hair, probably leaving it standing in spikes. “I’m sure she’d be sympathetic. Eventually. But I have this…reputation. I’m always doing things wrong. I keep rushing into things without stopping to think about it. And this might look like one more thing I’ve screwed up.”

  “Actually, dear, I think that’s something of a misstatement. It usually takes two to break up a marriage.” Nadia picked up another muffin crumb.

  “Well, maybe. But I still think a lot of people will figure it was mostly my fault, given my track record.”

  “Bullshit,” Nadia said cheerfully. “Anyone who’d think that isn’t worth worrying about. What happened?”

  Greta took a deep breath, ready to tell her, politely, to butt out. Nadia stared back at her, smiling slightly. Take advantage of my willingness to listen. You don’t get chances like this often. True enough. Her mother probably wouldn’t be quite as relaxed about it.

  “My ex-husband, Ryan, is a bond trader. In Boston,” she began slowly. “He had this secretary, Dorothy. She was really good at her job. Very efficient. Very professional.”

  In fact, Dorothy always looked like she planned on moving up to the executive suite within the next fifteen minutes. Her ash-blonde hair hung just below her jaw in a smooth line. Her brown eyes were always made up flawlessly with just the right amount of taupe shadow and dark brown mascara. Even her lipstick was a perfectly modulated shade of pink. Greta herself could never quite pull off that kind of organization, so she had always been suitably impressed.

  Nadia picked up her coffee cup. “And?”

  “And one day she called me and said Ryan wanted me to meet him for lunch.”

  One of Nadia’s dark brows arched up. “Was this unusual?”

  “Sort of. He’d never done it before. And he’d seemed a little preoccupied before then, so I was kind of surprised. But I figured maybe he wanted to make it up to me for being preoccupied.”

  “Right.” Nadia’s eyebrow stayed up. “Go on.”

  “Well, when I got to the restaurant, Ryan was there but he seemed sort of surprised to see me. Shocked, in fact.”

  “He hadn’t asked his secretary to call?”

  Greta shook her head. “When I mentioned Dorothy’s name he actually turned a little pale.” Which should have been the tip-off, of course, but Greta had still been living in her nice little bungalow in the Land of Denial.

  Nadia grimaced. “Let me guess—Dorothy herself soon appeared.”

  Greta nodded. “She did. She sat down next to Ryan and told me to take a seat too.” Greta had actually been too shocked to do anything else at that point, and Ryan had looked almost as shocked as she was.

  “What did she say?”

  “She said they were in love—she and Ryan, that is. She said it was time for everybody to move on. And for me to move out.”

  “Did your husband say anything at that point?”

  Greta shook her head. “He looked sort of stunned.”

  “Meaning he hadn’t realized what his secretary was up to.”

  “Probably not. But he didn’t contradict her either.”

  Nadia gave her a dry smile. “Some men find it easier to let strong women take the lead. Perhaps your husband was that kind of man.”

  Greta sighed. “Maybe.”

  “So what happened next?”

  Greta shrugged. “He moved out. We got a divorce. I put my stuff in storage.” And she’d come back to Promise Harbor for a quick reconnaissance that had turned out to be the Wedding That Wasn’t.

  “Yes, I get that. What I actually meant, though, was what did you do at the time. In the restaurant. Did you walk out meekly or did you tell your husband what you thought of him?”

  Greta blew out a breath. “Well, neither actually. I mean, the waiter showed up and asked if he should set another place at the table. So I told him no, and then I dumped my glass of water into Ryan’s lap and left.” She shrugged again. “Not much of a gesture but it felt good at the time.”

  Nadia’s lips spread up in another dry smile. “I’m sure it did.” She pushed herself to her feet, dusting the crumbs from her fingers. “Well, this has been delightful, but I really must get started on my creams. I’m doing tea rose today, if you’re interested.”

  Greta nodded. “I might be at that.”

  “Good enough.” Nadia gathered her caftan around her, pausing as she reached the door. “I’ll mull all of this over and see if I have any advice to give you. And I do hope you’ll call your mother. She must be worried. And you’re certainly welcome to stay as long as you wish.” She gave Greta a warm smile, then sailed through the swinging door, presumably to change into her gypsy outfit.

  Greta put the last pan in the drainer, sighing. She would call her mother. Soon. She honestly would. Just not right now.

  Chapter Six

  Sophie Brewster woke up angry, although it took her a moment to remember just what she was angry about. But once she remembered, the anger escalated.

  Josh. Allie. Gavin. The mind reeled. Didn’t anyone know how to behave anymore? If Gavin was so bent on stopping the wedding, why couldn’t he have called Allie before the ceremony? Sophie refused to believe he didn’t have enough bars on his cell phone. No matter where he was, if he couldn’t phone, he could have used email. Or Spacebook or MyFace. Or whatever it was they did.

  He didn’t have to show up at the wedding Sophie had spent months putting together. And, of course, Allie hadn’t had to go off with him. She really hadn’t.

&n
bsp; After a shower, which did nothing to cool her off, and some minimal makeup, Sophie headed down to the kitchen to make breakfast for Greta and herself. Being angry was no excuse not to provide food. And she had a feeling she’d soon have more visitors to contend with, some of whom might possibly want coffee. Not that she’d really want to give them any. She swore if anybody brought her a casserole, she’d throw it in the street.

  She paused, taking a quick mental survey of her mood. Angry, yes. Sad? Down? Ready to sink back into darkness again? She blew out a long breath, then shook her head. Nope. Angry was it.

  Now that it was morning she also wanted to talk to Greta. Because she was also somewhat miffed at her daughter, although not as miffed as she was at her son and his erstwhile fiancée. Greta really should have come back home after the ceremony to help deal with the fallout. She should have stood shoulder to shoulder with her mother as the town gossips descended, talons bared.

  Her first responsibility, after all, was to her family. But then responsibility had never been Greta’s strong point. Nor had common sense. Greta seemed to spend her life rushing from one disaster to the next.

  As it was, Sophie’s only support had been Owen, Allie’s father, who’d stayed with her through the worst of the visitors and then taken her to dinner two towns over, where none of the wedding guests had been around.

  In fact, if it hadn’t been for Owen… Sophie sighed. At least she and Owen shared a common disaster, although they’d both been looking forward to sharing a married son and daughter. And it certainly wasn’t Owen’s fault that Allie had panicked. With any luck, the girl would come to her senses and come back to Promise Harbor.

  Assuming, of course, that Josh would take her back. Sophie wasn’t at all sure about that one. And to tell the truth, she wasn’t sure he should. Not after that wedding disaster.

  She turned on the coffee, then stepped back out into the hall again. “Greta,” she called. “Breakfast.”

  She had half a mind to let Greta do the cooking to make up for her absence yesterday. Let her put that fancy culinary school degree to work for once. Instead of wasting it as Ryan McBain’s wife. Sophie doubted Ryan and Greta ever ate at home, given all the social events Ryan attended as part of his job. And Ryan hadn’t seemed as interested in Greta’s skills in the kitchen as the rest of the family had been.

  His loss. Greta really was a wonderful cook. Not that Sophie had ever admitted it openly before, given that culinary school had been another of Greta’s impulsive decisions.

  “Greta,” she called again, louder this time. She glanced at the clock. Eight thirty. Surely the girl couldn’t have been out late enough last night to justify sleeping in. Particularly not on a day that gave every indication of being just as annoying as yesterday had been. She turned back to stomp up the stairs. Might as well vent some of her frustration on her daughter before she had to pull herself together to greet the nosy neighbors.

  She knocked briskly on Greta’s bedroom door. “Greta, time to get up,” she called. Without waiting for an answer, she twisted the knob and leaned into the bedroom.

  The empty bedroom. Greta’s bed was still neatly made, no evidence that she’d slept in it at all last night. Sophie stepped to the door of the guest bathroom, although she really had no hope Greta was in there.

  She stood in the doorway for a moment, gritting her teeth. Just like Greta. When faced with a nasty situation, take off. Sophie tried to think who among Greta’s friends might be in town, who she might be staying with.

  She sighed. She really hadn’t been paying much attention to Greta over the past few days, what with the wedding to plan and then the disaster to cope with. She had no idea what her daughter might do or where she might go, but maybe Bernice could help.

  Calling Bernice on the landline meant Sophie had to spend fifteen minutes talking to Bernice’s mother, who happened to be Allie’s aunt. At least she was apologetic about her niece’s behavior. But then Owen had been apologetic too. More than apologetic. He’d been heartbroken. As had Sophie, of course. They’d both been so happy at the thought of having Allie and Josh together. She took a deep breath. No more dwelling on the whole might-have-been part of things.

  When she finally came to the phone, Bernice sounded sleepy. “No, ma’am,” she mumbled. “I haven’t seen Greta since she left the inn yesterday.”

  Sophie frowned. Greta was at the inn? “When was that?”

  “Sometime in the afternoon. She went to the reception for a while and then she checked the dressing room where I was looking after Allie’s things.” Bernice paused. Apparently she was a little embarrassed about mentioning Allie’s name.

  Sophie gripped the phone more tightly. “Did she say where she was going then?”

  “No, ma’am. I thought she was going back to your house.”

  A fair assumption. Unfortunately, wrong. “If you see her, would you ask her to call me, please?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’ll do that.” Bernice yawned again as Sophie hung up.

  She headed back downstairs, ignoring the faint niggle of unease that made her shoulders feel tense. In the kitchen, she opened her cell phone again, checking the voice mail. Nothing. No messages. And there hadn’t been any messages on the landline either.

  “You’d think she’d at least call,” she muttered.

  You didn’t call her. Sophie blew out a breath. No, she hadn’t, but why should she? Greta was supposed to be here at home. She dialed her daughter’s number now, only to be transferred to her voice mail. “Greta, where are you?” Sophie snapped. “You’re supposed to be here. Call me as soon as you get this.”

  She stood for a moment, frowning at the sunlight filling her backyard. The child wouldn’t have gone back to Boston, would she? Without changing clothes? Without saying good-bye? Leaving all her things in her room? Surely she’d know better than that. Her hand hovered over the phone for a moment, and then she pulled up her address book. She must have Ryan’s work number somewhere. Greta claimed he hadn’t been able to get away from the office for the wedding, but surely he could take a few moments to talk to Sophie.

  Of course, getting Ryan on the phone once she’d found the number wasn’t as easy as she might have hoped. By the time his secretary finally deigned to ring his office, Sophie was doing deep breathing exercises to keep from yelling.

  When Ryan finally came onto the line, he sounded oddly tentative. “Yes?”

  “Ryan, dear, it’s Sophie. I’m so sorry to bother you at work, but I wondered if Greta had gotten back to Boston yet. Have you spoken with her today by any chance?”

  There was a very long pause before he spoke again, long enough so that the niggle of unease at the back of Sophie’s mind began to move toward full-blown anxiety. “I haven’t spoken with Greta in over a week,” he said slowly. “Not since the final decree was awarded.”

  Sophie gripped the edge of the counter in nerveless fingers. “Decree? What decree? What are you talking about?”

  This time there was a very, very long pause before she heard Ryan sigh. “She didn’t tell you, did she? I was afraid she might do something like that.”

  “Tell me what?” But of course she already knew.

  “We’re divorced, Sophie. We have been for about a week now. We were separated for a few months before that.”

  “Oh.” Sophie closed her eyes, leaning against the counter. Oh, Greta. Oh, damn it. “No, she didn’t mention it. Well, I’m sorry I bothered you.”

  “Wait,” he said sharply. “Why are you calling about Greta now? What happened?”

  “She didn’t come home last night. I thought perhaps she’d decided to head back to Boston instead,” Sophie said stiffly. “It’s nothing for you to be concerned about.”

  “Nothing?” He sounded slightly annoyed.

  “No. It’s not your concern. Don’t worry about it. Thank you for your time.” She disconnected quickly, then leaned harder against the counter, trying to catch her breath.

  Her mind was racin
g in a hundred different directions. Normally, she’d call Josh and ask for his advice. But she’d already called him three times since yesterday, trying to convince him to go after Allie. She had a feeling he wouldn’t be up for a conversation with her now, even if it was on a different subject.

  She glanced down at the phone again. One of the little icon things had a red number in the top corner. She wasn’t sure what it meant since she never did anything with the phone except take calls and voice mail. She pressed it gingerly.

  A screen popped up. Text message. All right, she knew about that. She stared at the green bubble in the upper corner with Greta’s name at the top. I’m all right. Don’t worry.

  Suddenly, her heart was thumping so hard she was afraid she might have palpitations. Don’t worry. To Sophie, that seemed to be the signal to be very worried indeed.

  Greta tried to ignore her phone sitting on the bedside table. Don’t want to run down the battery. Yeah, right. Maybe she’d just check for messages. Sighing, she turned it on again.

  A blinking icon showed she had a text message. She clicked on it—Josh.

  Where are U? What’s up? Greta gritted her teeth. Hell. I’m fine she texted quickly, hoping against hope he’d leave it at that. Maybe he was just checking on her whereabouts in a general way.

  Vain hope. The text icon blinked accusingly. Since when are you divorced? Why didn’t you tell Mom?

  Greta closed her eyes. Obviously, this had moved beyond the texting stage. She punched in Josh’s number and waited for him to pick up. “Greta?” he snapped. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Well, hello to you too.” She gathered her hand into a fist in her lap, staring resolutely at the floor. “I’m assuming you talked to Mom and she told you I was taking a break from Promise Harbor. I gather she also told you that Ryan and I broke up, as in divorced.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me,” he said.