The Comfort of Secrets

by Christine Nolfi

  “They’re including the Wayfair?”

  “Sadly you won’t get center billing. You’re sharing the limelight with seven other small hotels and B and Bs, some of them very high end.”

  “I’m glad we made the grade at all.” She eyed him knowingly. “Should I thank you?”

  “I called in a favor. Part of the job.”

  “Then thank you.” Slowly she swiveled the chair from side to side. “What’s the interesting news?”

  “Midnight Boyz has invited the public to watch their final practice session tonight in the ballroom.” She began to object, and he hurriedly added, “I’ve already run it by Linnie. She’s fine with it. A good thing, since our favorite drummer posted on the group’s blog and Twitter.”

  “Nathan sent out an invite without checking with you first?”

  Ryan chuckled. “Three hours before we talked.” For a twenty-year-old, Nathan had chops.

  His amusement proved contagious, and Cat smiled. “I can’t decide what Nathan likes better, chatting with his fans on social media, or clearing the kitchen of porterhouse steaks. You know he’s had a steak with every meal since he’s arrived?”

  “He’s too young to give heart disease a second thought.”

  “Apparently.” She brought the chair to a stop. “When’s the practice session?”

  “Seven o’clock tonight.”

  The news put alarm on her face. “It’s already past four. How many people are we expecting?”

  “At least a hundred. Linnie sent someone on staff out to buy hotdogs and buns.”

  “They should add Cobb salads to the impromptu menu, use up some of the extra romaine.”

  “Linnie added Cobb salad. Mr. Uchida is printing up the menu now.”

  “We should pull tables out of storage, get them into the ballroom.”

  “Already done. She also called two of the bartenders in early for their shifts.”

  “Whoever she sent shopping should also pick up paper plates. If people are wandering in and out of the ballroom—”

  “It’s on the list,” he cut in, approaching. Tracing a soothing path across her jawline, he assessed the fatigue beneath her eyes. “What’s going on, Cat? Trouble sleeping last night?”

  “Like I said—I’m frazzled.”

  The subtle evasion nudged the small seed of worry lodging inside him, lending it the impetus to grow. The promotions they’d devised together were bearing fruit, this week especially. But the past days had brought an equal number of personal disappointments in the form of canceled dinners and hard feelings, all thanks to his mother’s refusal to break out of her shell.

  For the briefest instant, he considered the odds of losing Cat if the situation didn’t improve.

  Pushing aside the troubling thought, he pulled her up into his arms.

  She rested her head on his shoulder. “Where’s Penny?” she asked.

  “Still photographing the beach. She’s looking for a pristine shot to use on the website’s landing page. At this rate, you’ll have enough photos for a year’s worth of Instagram posts.”

  Mention of the beach lifted Cat’s head. “Did Julia go for another walk with Ruth? I haven’t seen either of them today.”

  With a pang of guilt, he realized he’d only given his mother a passing thought all day. “I’m not sure if she went out or not.” They’d only shared a few words before he left the south wing to start his workday. “I haven’t seen Ruth.”

  “How is Julia today?”

  “She seemed fine when I left the south wing earlier. Why?”

  Cat drifted out of his arms. “You haven’t talked to her since then?” When he lifted his brows in a light admission of guilt, she added, “Check on her.”

  He pulled out his phone and called. After the fifth ring, he said, “She’s not answering. If she’s walking the beach, she may have left her phone in the suite.”

  “Ryan, go upstairs and see if she’s all right. If Ruth didn’t stop by, she’s been alone for hours.”

  “Sure,” he said slowly, still trying to get a fix on the problem. His unease increased. Cat seemed incapable of regarding him directly. “Come with me?”

  “I should stay here. Lots to do.” She began straightening papers on her desk.

  The refusal took him off guard. “It’ll only take five minutes.”

  At last she regarded him, the doubt in her eyes impossible to miss. “All right.”

  The door to his mother’s suite was ajar, the bed made. He spotted the note on the dresser.

  He read quickly. “She’s gone back to Cincinnati.”

  Cat threaded her fingers together, turned away.

  “I’ll call the house in an hour,” he added. A sense of helplessness washed over him. So much rode on his mother’s reaction to Sweet Lake.

  She’d failed every test. Predictably she’d fallen back on the habit of running. Only this time, she was running from a future he wanted desperately to build. Even though he had every reason to stay in Sweet Lake, the bad habits she’d cultivated for years took precedence.

  “Cat, I’ll fix this. We’ll encourage her to come back during a less hectic week. She’ll meet your parents. Once she’s comfortable, I’ll tell her that we’re moving here.”

  “Shouldn’t you call her now?” She left his other statement unaddressed.

  It was an upsetting development, but he shrugged off the impasse. This was only one week. In time, he’d impress upon his mother that changes were coming. He wasn’t giving up Cat.

  “She won’t pick up on the road,” he explained. “In her opinion, cell phones cause more accidents than drunk drivers.”

  “Should you drive home, make sure she’s all right?”

  “Cat, I am home.” Erasing the distance between them, he clasped her shoulders. When he finally captured her flittering gaze, he added, “This doesn’t change anything. I love you. My home is with you. I need a few months to get everything in order, but I am moving here. We’re moving here—I’ll get my mother on board. I’m not losing you. Do you understand?”

  “I do.” Cat blinked back tears. “I love you too.”

  “You do?” In wonderment, he held her at arm’s length. Her pledge washed a dizzy sort of delight through him.

  “Yes, Ryan. With all my heart.” On tiptoes, she brushed her nose affectionately against his. Her smile fading, she glanced around the room. “Your mother leaving . . . I feel like I’m at fault.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. She needs time, that’s all.”

  Cat rested her forehead against his chin. “I know. We’ll make this work.”

  A shudder went through her, dulling her promise. It was enough to puncture his heady delight. With the returning worry, a question shuttled through him, one he despised. Would he get the chance to build a future with Cat?

  The answer stalled his heart. He wouldn’t, if his mother continued to stand in the way.

  Chapter 23

  Redneck types crowded the bar in Nowhere, Ohio.

  His eyes still burning from the Mace, George pushed through the throng. In the hours since the she-devils had come at him, he’d done nothing but drive aimlessly. His fury rising, he still couldn’t believe Frances’s meddling friends had thwarted him.

  There was nothing waiting for him back in Cincinnati but a night at a men’s shelter, and another slew of useless job interviews come Monday. A whole weekend ahead of him—days he’d expected to use for the drive to California. Now he had no choice but to drive back to Sweet Lake tomorrow and figure out another way to get to Frances.

  Once he did, he’d break parole and leave the state. With all the real criminals clogging up the justice system, Ohio law enforcement wouldn’t canvass the whole US of A for a guy who’d done a few days on a misdemeanor charge.

  Jarring rock music thumped through the tavern. The scent of burgers grilling drew him to the long counter in back. He waved down a girl covered in tattoos.

  “Got a menu?”

  She slap
ped one down. “What are you drinking?”

  He nearly ordered a whiskey, hesitated. Between gas and meals, he’d used up most of the cash he’d taken from the lonely heart he’d met in Cincinnati the day he got out of jail. A hundred dollars and change—he’d lifted the bills from her purse on his way out of her apartment at five o’clock the next morning.

  “I’ll have a beer.”

  “Give him something stronger.”

  A chick with peroxide-blonde hair flowing down her back slid onto the next bar stool. Cheap silver earrings jingled to her shoulders. Young, thin, with a rhinestone pierced through one brow, she gave off a low-burning rage. She was one shade from ugly, but he smiled.

  “I’ll take a shot of whiskey,” he said, “and a burger and fries.”

  “I’ll also take a shot,” she told the bartender. When Tattoo Girl moved off, she held out a hand covered in rings. “Stevie.”

  “George. Nice to meet you.”

  “Bad day? Looks like you’ve been crying.”

  “I got hit with Mace.” He saw no reason to lie. Stevie wasn’t like the lonely career-types he usually targeted.

  Sure enough, the comment sparked interest in her pale-grey eyes. “Got on your wife’s wrong side?”

  “Friends of my sister-in-law. She’s giving me a loan, and they don’t like it.”

  “Why do they care?”

  Two shot glasses thudded down on the counter. He swept one up. “No reason, except they’re assholes.”

  “Here’s to bitches sticking their noses where they don’t belong.”

  Stevie downed her shot, motioned for another round. When the drinks arrived, she threw an elbow on the counter. She opened her thighs like a man getting comfortable and made no effort to hide her pleasure as she coasted her eyes down his body.

  “Your sister-in-law, how much is she loaning you?”

  “Originally? Five hundred. After the crap from her friends, I’m thinking about asking for more.”

  “She can afford to give you more?”

  “She’s rich. If I ask for ten grand, she’ll never miss it.”

  “Go for it, man. You’ve got a rich relative, you ought to take advantage.”

  She ordered them both another round, and he asked, “How come you’re flush?”

  “Just lucky.” The bartender brought his meal, which George ignored. She nodded at his plate. “What are you waiting for?”

  “You to let me in on the secret.” He pressed his palm to her thigh, slid a slow caress up to her crotch. “You can trust me.”

  “All right.” She pressed her spine to the back of her bar stool, giving him access to roam. “A guy on my crew went in. As of today, I’m taking over.”

  Drugs. The cocky chick wasn’t older than twenty-five, but she sure had means.

  They stayed at the bar downing shots until her speech became slurred. By the time George suggested leaving together, the music had taken most of his hearing. Given the liquor she’d downed, he practically carried Stevie out. The night air bit at his cheeks as he helped her into the passenger seat of the Mustang and got directions to her place.

  The mobile home was a rat hole of the first order. Dishes green with mold were heaped in the sink. The thick scent of weed blanketed the miniscule living room. A plastic milk bottle filled with change sat on a crate beside a bed that stank of sweat.

  Low as he’d sunk in his life, George wasn’t sure he could do a chick like this. He sure as hell didn’t want to get into a bed filthier than a men’s restroom. Giggling, Stevie flopped down on the mess, her arms splayed wide.

  Turning on his heel, he strode back to the living room.

  “Where are you going, baby? Help me undress!”

  In the built-in cupboard beneath the couch, he found the booze stash. Three bottles of cheap wine. He kept searching. Relief coasting through him, he pulled out a bottle of vodka. It wouldn’t take much for Stevie to pass out, allowing him to skip the sex.

  But fortune’s unpredictable wheel was already turning his way. Returning to the bedroom, he found Stevie passed out cold.

  She’d dropped her oversize cloth purse on the floor. Grabbing it, George hurried back out. Five twenties inside the wallet, a ten note, and a wad of singles. Stuffing the cash into his pocket, he was tossing the purse aside when the glint of metal deep in the bag caught his eye.

  A pearl-handled pistol.

  For a split second, he hesitated. Then he slipped the gun into his pocket and went out.

  Chapter 24

  Morning light glinted off the cars on the highway.

  At the last fast-food joint before the Sweet Lake exit, George sped away from the drive-through window.

  He was still nursing the dregs of his coffee when he reached the town. Spending the night in his car had left him in a foul mood, impatient to finish up his business and clear out. After parking behind one of the shuttered buildings on Sweet Lake Circle, he ambled onto the green.

  Choosing a table far at one end, he sat down to work out his dilemma. Break into Frances’s house, and confront her? Wait until she went out, and approach her in public? However he managed to pull this off, he sure didn’t want another run-in with her friends. He needed money, not a stint in jail for battery.

  A woman came into the center green with her dog. He was glad she didn’t notice him, deep in the shade at the opposite end. Finishing his coffee, he crumpled the cup and tossed it away. Irritation burnt across his skin. He still wasn’t sure how to get at Frances.

  Deep in thought, he gave a second woman a cursory glance as she strolled into the park and struck up a conversation with the first woman.

  “What a sweet face! What breed is your dog?”

  “Susie is a Bedlington terrier.”

  “She’s gorgeous. Do you mind if I get a shot of you both? We’re working on ad concepts for the Wayfair.”

  “Where would you like us to stand?”

  “Hold on.” The second woman, taller than the first, bent down to pet the dog. A camera swinging from her neck, she glanced over her shoulder. “Ryan, do you have the release forms?”

  A business type in a navy suit joined the women. Recognition poured ice through George’s veins. For a disorienting moment, he stared aghast at a more successful version of himself outfitted in a thousand-dollar suit and a red silk tie.

  Ryan.

  Dumbfounded, he scrambled from the bench and shot behind a tree.

  The last time he’d seen his boy up close, he was a moody kid latched to his mother’s hip like a barnacle. Seeing him now put knots in George’s gut. Looking at Ryan was like seeing a mirror image. Only a more powerful version: with smooth authority, Ryan withdrew the document from his briefcase and explained the details to the woman with the dog. The commanding air surrounding him, the self-confidence, kindled the hatred George thought he’d put to bed long ago.

  He waited, hidden and seething, until they finished clicking photos. They got into a slick BMW and drove off. The dog barked, straining against the leash. The woman was pulling a Frisbee from her bag when George strolled up.

  “Excuse me, ma’am. The man who was just here—was that Ryan Hunt?”

  She struggled with the leash, finally got her mutt to sit. “You mean Ryan D’Angelo?”

  Disbelief punched him in the gut. “D’Angelo, right,ˮ he said, the tumblers in his mind clicking into place. No wonder he’d never found Julia. The bitch had either remarried or taken a fake name. He wasn’t sure which possibility enraged him more. Thinking fast, he added, “Right—his mother’s maiden name was Hunt. We went to high school together. Great gal. I was hoping to say hello to Ryan, ask how she’s doing.”

  The woman tapped the Frisbee against her thigh, clearly happy to help. “Go on up to the inn,” she suggested. “I heard Ryan brought his mother with him this week . . .”

  Shock lanced through George. He steadied his feet. Julia, here in Sweet Lake? All the time wasted this week—all the time wasted searching for her over the yea
rs—and she was right here, under his nose.

  “Ryan is doing such a great job for the Wayfair,” the woman was saying. “Everyone in town is excited. We’re sure looking forward to those tourist dollars.”

  “I’m sure they’ll help the town.”

  “Are you going to the concert tonight? My husband isn’t crazy about rock and roll, but I’m making him take me. I enjoy Midnight Boyz.”

  “Tonight’s concert?” he said, and his heart fell into a dark place. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “We’re staying in a purple house?” Patty maneuvered her ancient Buick to the curb. “Looks like something out of Grimm’s Fairy Tales.”

  “It’s lavender, not purple.” Hopping out, Gemma grabbed their luggage from the backseat. “The garden gnomes are a nice touch.” She counted eight fat porcelain men scattered in the flower beds.

  Throughout the drive from Kent State, she’d subdued the nerves jumbling inside her with moderate success. Now that they’d arrived, she felt nervous enough to jog from one end of the picturesque town to the other.

  Eying her, Patty ducked into the backseat. “Don’t forget this. You definitely need it.” She slung Gemma’s yoga mat beneath her arm.

  They were barely up the steps when Penelope Riddle appeared on the small front porch. Thick eyeglasses, double chin—she looked exactly like her Airbnb profile pic, with the additional curiosity of a crown of feathers stuck on her head and a flowing black caftan sprinkled with silver stars covering her stout frame.

  “Girls, hello!” She practically shoved Patty inside without a second glance. Her smile deepening to benevolent, she cornered Gemma in the tiny foyer. “How are you, dear? The drive wasn’t too tiring?”

  Gemma wasn’t sure what to make of her solicitous tone or her strange outfit. “We didn’t hit too much traffic.”

  “Oh, good. I sent positive vibes to aid you on your journey.” She followed the enigmatic remark with a look of concern. “Are you ready for tonight? So exciting!”

  “Um, yeah. I love Midnight Boyz.”

  “Ah, I’d nearly forgotten about the concert. You aren’t too anxious, are you?”