Barefoot Season

by Susan Mallery

  “No, but you’re owed it. My mother took advantage of you for the past ten years. Even with you living here, getting free housing and some meals, she barely paid you minimum wage. It was wrong. I’m sorry. This is to make up for your back pay. Like I said, it’s all I can afford.”

  Carly let the words wash over her. Was it possible they were true?

  “Just like that?” she asked.

  Michelle shrugged. “Guilt is a powerful motivator. I don’t like what she did to people.”

  What she did to you. She didn’t say those words, but Carly heard them.

  “Thank you,” Carly whispered.

  “You’re welcome.”

  She started to leave. She turned back. “And for the computer.” Now her lips curved. “I really do know how to use Excel.”

  “You’d better.”

  * * *

  Per the new schedule, Tuesday afternoon Michelle was supposed to work the reception desk. Michelle leaned on the stool she’d dragged in from the kitchen and wondered if she was ready to face the public. After all, she wasn’t feeling especially friendly these days.

  Exhaustion didn’t help. She still wasn’t sleeping very much. When she did sleep, she found herself remembering things she would just as soon forget. While she was at it, she could also complain about the pain, but to what end? Eventually her hip would get better.

  She saw a car pull up and nervously smoothed the front of her shirt. Since she’d been back, she’d avoided the guests in the inn. She’d forgotten what to say to them, how to interact. Carly should never have assigned her to front-desk duty. Only this was her inn, and if she expected to make it a success again, she was going to have to do a lot of things that made her uncomfortable.

  She eyed the expensive sedan and the couple getting out. The woman was in her late thirties, maybe early forties, with stylishly cropped blond hair. Michelle hadn’t bothered to look at a fashion magazine in years, but she remembered enough to know the outfit alone would cost an easy four figures—not counting the shoes or the bag. The man had a sweater tied over his shoulders, which made her want to roll her eyes. Talk about an affectation.

  She stifled a snort, then typed on the keyboard, pulling up the list of guests due to arrive that afternoon. The therapy group, she realized, reading the notes by the three sets of names.

  Michelle glanced back out the window, seeing what she hadn’t before. That the couple didn’t speak or touch as they climbed the stairs. That the woman’s back was stiff and the man looked both lost and unbearably sad. Suddenly their expensive clothes and fancy car didn’t seem nearly as intimidating as they had before.

  An SUV pulled in behind the sedan and another couple, about the same age, got out. Michelle braced herself and attempted a smile.

  “Hello,” she said as the first couple entered. “Welcome to the Blackberry Island Inn. I’m Michelle. Are you checking in?”

  The man nodded. “Doug and Whitney Farmer.”

  Michelle found them on the list. “We’ve been expecting you.”

  She took the offered credit card and swiped it through the machine. Once it cleared, she handed them their room keys, along with the packages left for them. Then she detailed the hours of operation for the restaurant and the gift shop.

  Doug and Whitney listened without speaking either to her or each other. Just watching them, she would say they didn’t have a prayer of making their marriage work. Not that she knew anything about relationship therapy. It must help some people, although she wasn’t sure every marriage should be saved. Hers had been a disaster from the beginning, not to mention a huge mistake. They’d both been caught in the idea of being in love more than the reality of it. At least they hadn’t had any kids to worry about. Less than four months after taking impulsive vows, they’d been signing divorce papers.

  The second couple entered the lobby. The woman, a petite redhead, smiled broadly.

  “Isn’t this charming? I think it’s charming. I love the daisies. Did you see the gardens? They’re so beautiful. This is going to be wonderful.”

  Hers was a level of perky that made Michelle’s teeth hurt. Good thing she wasn’t in their therapy session, she thought. She would be forced to deck the woman. And wouldn’t that be a springboard for discussion.

  “Welcome,” she said, starting her greeting again.

  The Robbinses were from Bellevue, and so excited to be here. At least Fay was. Michelle checked them in.

  Carly joined them then and offered to usher all the guests to their rooms.

  “Each of your rooms has a fireplace,” she said, leading the way to the stairs. “They’re gas, so you only need to flip a switch. We have extra pillows and blankets in the armoire and anything you forgot is just a phone call away. I understand you’ll be joining Pauline and Seth for dinner tonight. We’ve already printed out directions.”

  Carly’s voice faded as she climbed the stairs.

  Fay and her husband hung back a second. The petite redhead stared at the man beside her.

  “What?” he asked, sounding defensive.

  “You were staring at her boobs! How could you?”

  With that, Fay flounced after Carly, her shoulders shaking, as if she were in tears. Her husband stood there a second, head bowed, before he followed his wife.

  They’d barely left before the third couple arrived. Michelle took care of them and sent them up the stairs to meet Carly.

  A few minutes later, Carly walked into the foyer.

  “That was strange,” she murmured, glancing toward the stairs as if concerned about not being overheard. “Is it just me or were all those people sad?”

  “Their marriages are in trouble.”

  “I know. I’m glad they’re getting help, but it’s…”

  “Upsetting?” Michelle asked.

  “Yes, and I can’t figure out why.”

  Neither of them had grown up in especially happy homes, Michelle thought, but she wasn’t sure if they were reacting to a broken marriage or the possibility of one being fixed.

  “Maybe these few days will help them.”

  “I hope so,” Carly murmured, staring at the stairs.

  “They can come back every year to celebrate.”

  Carly laughed. “Okay, I like that ending. It seems happy. Marriage sure isn’t easy.”

  Michelle would agree with that.

  Carly’s marriage had failed, as well, she realized. Only there’d been a child who’d been affected. A little girl who was growing up without a father. Something Michelle could relate to.

  She drew in a breath. “I’m sorry I slept with Allen.”

  Carly swung back to face her, both eyebrows raised. “Okay,” she said cautiously. “Thank you. For what it’s worth, I know he had a part in it. A big part.”

  Something she hadn’t been willing to admit at the time, Michelle thought, relieved Carly had taken a step toward middle ground.

  “I was angry,” Michelle said, settling on the stool to relieve pressure on her hip. “You had him and you were engaged and you wanted me to be a part of things. Maybe you meant it as a friend, but it seemed like you were rubbing my nose in it.”

  “I was,” Carly admitted. “A little. Mostly, though, I was so happy. I thought I’d finally found someone to love me. I’d felt empty and broken for so long. If Allen loved me, then maybe I was okay. That’s more what I was thinking. ‘Look at me. I’m not a loser.’”

  “You weren’t a loser.”

  “Yeah, I was,” Carly said. “He only picked me over you because I slept with him first. I really think he liked you better.”

  Michelle wasn’t sure what to do with that information. “We were both reacting. But I want you to know I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too.”

  A moment of fragile peace, she thought, wondering how long it would be until it shattered like spun sugar.

  She wanted to say more. She wanted to point out that she’d been a virgin and Allen had taken advantage of her, so she had even
less blame, but to what end? The past existed. There was no going back. No undoing. There was only moving forward and hoping it all got better.

  Sixteen

  Carly stood on the shore, watching the gray water of the Sound. The rain had stopped but an angry wind buffeted the waves into swirling patterns. The cranes swept low, looking for food, or maybe playing a complicated game. Did birds play? Did they find life funny or annoying or familiar? Not questions she usually asked herself, but then she didn’t often think about the Puget Sound cranes. Being around Leonard, however, meant thinking and talking about little else.

  “We followed them out for miles,” he was saying, his gaze trained on the sky. “They were searching for fish.”

  “Or messing with you,” Carly said.

  Leonard glanced at her, his eyes wide behind his glasses. “Why would they do that?”

  “Because they can.”

  He flashed her a smile. “You’re giving them too much credit. Culturally we like to anthropomorphize everything around us. Cranes don’t have a sense of humor.”

  She hoped he was wrong. Laughing made life a lot more fun.

  “You should come with me, sometime,” he said. “Out on the boat.”

  She shook her head and took a step back. “No, thanks. I don’t do boats. Or water.”

  “You live on an island.”

  “I get the irony of it, believe me, but no. I don’t go in it or on it.” She looked out at the Sound. “It’s pretty from a safe distance, and I don’t mind going on a bridge or a ferry. But anything smaller? No, thanks.”

  “What about when you go swimming?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Go or know how?”

  “Both.” She shuddered. She’d never been able to figure out why she was afraid of water, but that didn’t make the fear go away. Just the thought of stepping into anything deeper than a bathtub made her nauseous.

  “I could teach you.”

  It took a second for her to realize what he was saying, and the implication in the offer. Leonard had been at the inn for nearly three months. They’d become friends. Nothing more.

  She angled toward him. He was tall and cute, with broad shoulders. He was a little skinny, but strong. A good man. A safe man. Like Robert, she thought. She was surrounded by nice guys and she wasn’t interested in any of them. So far the only one who’d made her quiver had been Mango, whose flirtatious charm came too easily to him and, she suspected, too often.

  “Leonard,” she began, her voice gentle.

  He pushed up his glasses and nodded. “Don’t bother,” he told her. “I know what you’re going to say.”

  “How can you?”

  He gave her a rueful smile. “I’m not the guy who gets the girl. Especially a girl like you.”

  “It’s not you. I was married before and it didn’t work and I just can’t seem to want to get involved again.”

  “Do you still love him?”

  “No. That’s the strange part. I’m not sure I loved him back then.” She hesitated, before adding the truth. “He cheated on me.”

  “With Michelle?”

  “What? Why would you ask that?”

  “She was gone and now she’s back. There’s tension between you.” He flushed. “Damaris likes to talk.”

  “Great.” She wondered what other secrets the cook was sharing with their guests. “It was a long time ago. Allen cheated with a lot of women.”

  “You married him, anyway?”

  “I was stupid.” In truth, she’d been pregnant, but Leonard had already heard enough about her sordid past.

  “He’s the stupid one for leaving.”

  She smiled. “Thank you. I appreciate the support. As much as I’d like to put all the blame on Allen, I have some responsibility in what went wrong.”

  “If you change your mind,” he said, “about, you know…”

  “You’re very sweet.”

  “That means no.” He shrugged. “I guess it could be worse. You could have said I was nice.”

  “The kiss of death?”

  “You have no idea.”

  * * *

  The heat was bad enough but the bugs were worse. The grasshoppers had arrived and they were everywhere. Crunching underfoot. Flying into her, getting tangled in her hair. Michelle hated the grasshoppers, hated the heat. The unbearable scorching air surrounded her like a thick, smoking blanket, sucking the air from her lungs. She turned, wanting to run but unable to. Her feet were tangled. She was hot, too hot. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. She screamed then. Screamed and screamed until the nightmare faded and she was in darkness.

  Her breath came in gasps. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, like thundering hooves. Sweat covered every part of her, and despite her burning skin, she shivered as the night air cooled her.

  Confusion made it hard to think, to answer the basic questions like where was she and was she all right. Some of it was that she’d been deeply asleep—so deep she’d allowed the nightmares to surface. Some of it was she was still a little drunk. Which meant she couldn’t have been asleep too long.

  She automatically reached to her right and turned on a lamp. The clock on the nightstand said 12:34. She’d been in bed less than an hour.

  As that thought registered, so did the room. She recognized the furniture, the shape, the murky shadow that was the sunroom. Something moved.

  She spun toward the doorway and saw Jared standing there.

  He had on jeans and nothing else. Golden hair covered his chest and angled down to the open waistband of his jeans. His feet were bare, his hair mussed. In other circumstances, she would have thought he looked sexy as hell. But his eyes were wary and he wasn’t watching her the way a man watched a woman he wanted.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded, pulling up the covers and glaring at him. “This is my room. If you can’t respect my privacy, then I’m leaving.”

  “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I was checking on you.”

  “Why? Does it give you a thrill to watch women sleep?”

  “Not especially. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be…?”

  The nightmare, she thought grimly, remembering how it had ended. With her screaming. It hadn’t all been in her sleep.

  “Did I wake you?” she asked, less defensive now, but no more pleased with his presence.

  He shrugged. “It happens.”

  The nurses at the hospital had told her she often screamed out in her sleep. The information had been delivered matter-of-factly. It wasn’t as if she were the only one on the ward dealing with the aftermath of what she’d seen and done.

  “How often?” she asked.

  “A few times a week.”

  She winced. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You went through a lot over there.”

  “It would have been easier to come home with a rash. At least that’s quiet.”

  “It’ll get better.”

  “You know this how? Did one of the fish tell you?”

  He shifted so he was leaning against the door frame. Involuntarily her gaze strayed to the open waistband of his jeans, then lower, to where he’d obviously hastily pulled up his zipper.

  Something stirred low in her belly. What was he wearing underneath? Briefs? Boxers? Nothing?

  “I served.”

  His words were at odds with her thoughts. It took her a second to remember what she’d asked, and when she did, she covered her face with her hands.

  “Sorry. That’s right. I knew you had. I’m a mess.” She dropped her hands and looked up at him. “What did you do?”

  “I was a sniper.”

  Sniper as in—

  She swore silently. Talk about an unrelatable experience.

  There was more. Bits and pieces drifted to her. Local gossip loved a juicy story and he’d had his local fifteen minutes of fame.

  He’d returned to the island with a wife. She’
d been young and pretty, from somewhere back east or the middle of the country. Maybe one of the vowel states. But she hadn’t liked island life enough to stay. Or maybe it was being married to a guy who ran boats. Either way, she’d left. All that had happened just before Michelle had taken off.

  “You have nightmares?” she asked. “From when you were in?”