Barefoot Season

by Susan Mallery

  “We live on an island. I know everybody here.”

  “So you never…”

  “Asking about my sex life?”

  “One of us should have one.”

  “No. Not with her.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why don’t you like working with Carly?”

  Michelle watched him pour them each a drink. She took her glass but only held it. “We used to be friends. A long time ago. It was complicated. Stuff happened and then we were friends again. Then we both met this guy. Allen.”

  She glanced at Jared, but he didn’t say anything.

  “I was crazy about him. He was charming and good- looking and I was so lonely. Then I found out he was dating Carly, too, and it broke my heart. I said he had to decide. I was so sure he was going to pick me, but he didn’t. I found out later it was because she’d slept with him.”

  “Why didn’t you, if he was so important to you?”

  She took a sip. “I was still a virgin. Sleeping with a guy seemed like a big decision. Carly didn’t have any worries on that front, so he dumped me for her and then they got engaged.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah. It was tough. But the worst part wasn’t losing Allen, which should have told me something about how I felt about him. It was losing her. She was still my friend, but every second of every day was about her and that damned wedding. It was like she was rubbing it in my face.”

  She was aware she was talking too much, sharing details that couldn’t possibly interest Jared, but she couldn’t seem to stop the flood of words. People said alcohol loosened inhibitions. Vodka had nothing on one of Arnie’s pork sandwiches.

  “My mother was all over the wedding, which made things harder for me. I had to be the maid of honor. That hurt.”

  She paused, knowing she didn’t want to keep going. But somehow she found herself saying the rest.

  “Two days before the wedding, Allen came to me. He said he’d made a mistake—that he’d really been in love with me and that he’d ended things with Carly. He seduced me and I let him and…” She looked out the window. “I was so stupid.”

  “You were young.”

  “Not that young. Carly found us and Allen told her it was my fault. That I’d tricked him into bed.”

  She could still remember him jumping up, still naked. He’d gone to Carly and actually started crying. He’d been so convincing, Michelle had nearly believed him herself. Only she’d known the truth. She had a feeling Carly had guessed it, as well, only she hadn’t let on. Carly had blamed Michelle, as had Brenda.

  “I took off that night, drove to Seattle and joined the army. I wanted to be anywhere but here and that seemed like my best option.”

  “Carly stole him from you and you stole him back. You’re even.”

  She eyed him over her glass. “Not exactly how I would describe it.”

  “That doesn’t change what happened.”

  “Maybe not, but now I have to work with her.”

  “It was a long time ago. You’re different people.”

  “You got that right.”

  “At least you let yourself come home.”

  She took a drink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You didn’t come back before. You were punishing yourself. If you’re back now, you’re done.”

  She glared at him. “Where the hell do you get off—?”

  Her cell phone rang, interrupting her. She was so startled by the sound, she just stared at her phone. No one ever called her. She wasn’t even sure why she kept the damn thing. She glanced at the screen and saw a Los Angeles number.

  She pushed the ignore button and finished her drink.

  “Where was I?” she asked, more to herself than him.

  “You were telling me to mind my own business.”

  “Were you listening?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Typical guy. You only hear what you want to hear.”

  “It keeps things simple. You miss your mom?”

  “That wasn’t a very subtle change of subject.” She reached for the vodka bottle.

  He poured more for her. “I wasn’t trying to be subtle. She died while you were gone. It was recent, wasn’t it?”

  “A few months ago. Cancer. She went fast. I wasn’t here.”

  “Should you have been?”

  “It’s considered polite.”

  “Do I look like I care about polite?”

  “No.”

  “Should you have been here?” he asked again.

  “I don’t know,” she said, admitting the truth. “I feel guilty for not being with her when she died.”

  “Where were you?”

  “In a hospital in Germany, getting part of my hip replaced.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  She sighed. “I feel guilty because I’m glad I didn’t have to make the decision. No one wants to be a bad person. I just can’t figure out what I think about her.”

  “So don’t. She’s gone. Move on.”

  “You’re not a very good psychologist.”

  “I own boats, Michelle. Ask me about the tide, the wind or the cost of diesel. I don’t know much about anything, but I do know how to listen. So what’s the real problem?”

  Michelle held on tight to her drink. “I slept with my best friend’s fiancé and I killed a man and I don’t know which is worse.”

  He slid to the end of the bench and stood, then leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “You’re going to have to be the one to figure that out, kid. Night.”

  He walked out of the kitchen, leaving her alone with the night and the bottle. She carefully stood. After tossing the paper bags, she rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher and limped to her bedroom. She left the vodka bottle where it was. For tonight at least, she’d had enough.

  Twelve

  Carly circled the dining room with a pot of coffee. Isabella had called in sick and Carly was picking up her shift as hostess for breakfast. It was a little after nine on Monday morning. Most of their guests were already finished eating and the locals had long ago left for work. Three older ladies sat together, lingering over a map of the town, and Leonard was by the window, typing earnestly on his netbook.

  She walked toward him, shaking her head when she saw the still-full plate of eggs in front of him. Leonard was the classic absentminded-professor type. She was amazed he managed to get through the day without walking in front of a car or absently tripping off the edge of a cliff.

  “Morning, Leonard,” she said, pausing by his table.

  He glanced up at her, his eyes unfocused. “Oh, hi.”

  “Did you forget something?”

  “What?”

  She pointed to his plate. “Breakfast.”

  He stared at the plate for a second, before glancing back at her. “Right. Food. I need to eat. I was up late, watching the cranes. All the breeding pairs have nested. I have the numbers on nearly all the eggs. We’re going to compare birthrates to eggs produced. I’ll calculate how many chicks we expect, and then later, when they’re hatched, we’ll be able to refine our process.”

  She wondered how long he could talk about his cranes and their chicks, then decided she didn’t want to know.

  “Leonard? You’re still not eating.”

  “What? Oh. Sorry.” He picked up a fork. “Thanks for the reminder.”

  “You’re welcome.” She turned over an empty cup and poured in fresh coffee, then picked up the cold one he hadn’t touched. “Have a good day.”

  “I will. I’m very excited to get those last eggs counted.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “Thanks.”

  She walked away, thinking he was basically a sweet guy. Not for her, but maybe for someone who could appreciate his avian enthusiasm. There was someone for everyone—at least she hoped there was.

  She returned the coffee carafe to the stand and surveyed the room. The ladies were gathering their things and
getting ready to leave; soon she could head back to the inn.

  Before she could make her way back to the kitchen to tell Damaris they were done for the morning, Michelle shuffled into the dining room.

  Carly instinctively looked for a way to escape. Ducking out would be a whole lot easier than facing her. She still didn’t know what to say to her. Their last encounter had been fraught with emotion. It was the only explanation for the other woman blurting out what had happened while she’d been in Afghanistan.

  Michelle had given her information she didn’t know what to do with. Compassion seemed the most reasonable reaction, but she was talking about someone who’d seriously screwed up her life, not to mention resented her. Life would be a whole lot easier if they could just go their separate ways.

  Michelle settled at one of the clean tables and dumped several pages in front of her. Carly approached cautiously.

  “Coffee?” she asked.

  “No, thanks. We have to talk. I spent the weekend going over budgets and projections. Is this a good time?”

  As there was only Leonard in the dining room and he was far more interested in his bird reports than anything they might say, she nodded and took the seat opposite.

  Michelle passed her a couple of sheets of paper. “Here’s how much we have in the inn’s checking account and what is owed to the bank in the short term. We’re okay with current payments, but there are six months in arrears and the penalties that go with that.”

  Carly stared at the numbers and immediately saw the problem. “We can’t pay this and cover our expenses, payroll and stay current on the mortgages.”

  “Exactly. I have some savings. I can pay about half of it back, but we’ll have to find the rest. Which means cutting expenses.”

  “I don’t need my raise.” She wanted to drag back the words the second she said them. She didn’t own the inn—she was an employee. Michelle had made that very clear.

  “While I appreciate the offer, it’s not close to enough, so no. We have to look for other places to save money. Starting with cutting dinner here at the inn. We’re in competition with some great restaurants in town. From what I can see, dinner is a financial sinkhole.”

  Carly thought about how quiet the dining room usually was and the evening staff had little to do. “I agree.”

  “Good. Because that’s only a start. We need to let go of about a quarter of the current staff. A third would be better.” Michelle paused. “I’d like your input on that. You know more about the day-to-day running of the inn.”

  Carly did her best to keep from looking surprised. “Of course. I’ll go over the work schedules and look at how long various jobs are taking. Obviously some things can’t be cut, regardless of how slow we get. Someone needs to be at the front desk from early until at least ten or eleven. But there might be ways to share responsibilities. The person on duty in the evening could clear email and send out reservation confirmations. That kind of thing.”

  “You’ve been thinking about this,” Michelle said.

  “I knew we had to start saving money. I’ve been making a list of ways to do that.”

  “I look forward to hearing your ideas.”

  “Does Wednesday work for you?”

  “Sure.” Michelle made a note on her papers.

  The formal, professional conversation made Carly feel both better and worse. She liked it for work-related items. This way, everything was out in the open and there wouldn’t be misunderstandings. But on a personal level, she felt strange. Because despite everything, Michelle was someone she had cared about deeply. Just her luck she couldn’t wish those feelings away.

  “The other area we need to look at is increasing the number of guests, especially midweek,” Michelle said. “We’re fine for weekends, at least through October. But that eighty-five-percent-occupancy number is going to be difficult to hit week after week.”

  “I have some ideas about inexpensive advertising,” Carly told her. “There are plenty of regional websites with travel sections. The major TV stations, for starters. I’ve done research on advertising costs and they’re reasonable. I can get you the report later this morning.”

  “When did you have time to check all that out?”

  “I did it a few years ago,” Carly admitted. “Brenda wasn’t interested. There are also websites for business conferences. We couldn’t take anything big, but a smaller group might enjoy being here and they’re often midweek. Executive retreats are also an option.”

  “All good,” Michelle said. “Get me what you have and I’ll look it over. I know we can get through this if we stay focused. At least we have Ellen on our side. If it wasn’t for her, I probably wouldn’t still own the inn.”

  Carly glanced down at the table. She was less sure about Ellen’s support. The banker’s visit on Saturday had shown that she was far more interested in punishing than helping.

  “What?” Michelle demanded.

  “Be careful about Ellen,” Carly said, trying to stay neutral while offering a warning. “I’m not sure she’s as friendly as you think.”

  Michelle’s gaze narrowed. “Why would you say that? She’s helping me, standing between me and the damned committee that wants to shut down this place.”

  “Are you sure? Did you check?”

  “Why would I check?”

  “Because Ellen stopped by on Saturday. She wasn’t exactly friendly.”

  “Her not liking you only makes me trust her more,” Michelle snapped as she rose.

  “Fine. Be angry at me, but don’t let that blind you. I think Ellen has an agenda you’re not aware of. I don’t think she wants you to succeed. I’m saying you could check it out.”

  Carly told herself to stop talking. What did she care if Michelle failed? Except her future was on the line, too. Financially, she wasn’t ready to leave.

  “We’re done here,” Michelle said, turning to leave. As she shifted her weight, her leg gave out and she started to go down.

  Carly rose and instinctively reached for her. Michelle caught herself on the edge of the table and straightened.

  “Can I help?” Carly asked.

  Michelle glanced at her over her shoulder. “You could go to hell. That would help a lot.”

  * * *

  “Hello, beautiful.”

  Carly looked up from the registration-desk computer and blinked at the huge man standing in front of her. He was classically tall, dark and, while more muscular than handsome, fairly impressive in the “take me now and don’t ask questions” department.

  “Good morning,” she said. “How can I help you?”

  She hoped he wasn’t a guest. With the exception of Leonard, single guys never stayed at the inn. Which meant if he was a guest, he was with a girl. Starting their stay by flirting with him wouldn’t bode well.

  “I’m looking for Michelle.” The man smiled at Carly. “I’m Mango.”

  “Okay.”

  They were the only two syllables she could manage after the smile. The flash of white teeth shouldn’t have unnerved her, but it did. Maybe it was because of the way his T-shirt stretched over huge muscles. Or the appreciation lurking in his eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had looked at her as something other than a piece of furniture.

  Then the actual meaning of his words sank in and she deflated like a sad, sex-starved balloon.

  “Michelle. Right. She’s in her office.” Carly pointed down the hall.

  Instead of moving in that direction, Mango leaned toward her. “I’m her physical therapist. She offered to show me around the island. Nothing more. We’re friends.”

  “Oh.” That was nice to know. She hoped she didn’t look too eager.

  He rested his elbows on the desk. His dark eyes flashed with humor. “So is she here?”

  “Uh-huh.” She pointed down the hall. “In her office.”

  “Thanks, gorgeous.”

  He spoke absently, without even thinking. When he was safely out of earshot, she allowed h
erself to chuckle. Okay—that had been a nice break in an otherwise uneventful day. The takeaway was clear—her hormones had finished hibernating and were starting to get frisky.

  She hadn’t seriously considered dating in the past ten years. Not only wasn’t there anyone who interested her, but Gabby had always been an issue. Now that her daughter was getting older and starting to have a life of her own, maybe the whole man-woman thing was something Carly should consider. Her entire body was one big tingle, and after a decade of living like a nun, it was nice to know that parts of her hadn’t died. Or atrophied. After all, where there were tingles, there was hope.