So far, I’m losing that battle.
Unable to let sleep claim me for the night, I hunker down on the couch, my computer on my lap, half-listening as Mel closes up the house, shutting windows and shades. She straightens the kitchen and steps into the living room, standing there until I pull my attention away from the screen and focus it on her.
“I’ve been hard on you.”
I don’t even hesitate. “Yes, you have.”
Mel groans. “Don’t make me want to take it back.”
“Eventually you will anyway.”
She crosses her arms tightly about her. “You’re not off the hook with all this Daddy business, you know. You were right about Shane.” She lowers her gaze and wags her head from side to side. “Thank heaven. But we still need to have a conversation about this. And to figure out what we’re going to do. Good night.”
She turns away and heads down the hall, and I linger on her words before allowing my attention to drift back to the computer on my lap. I log in to my soap account to see that Eliza apparently had quite the busy day on Quartz Point. In just one episode she used a rusty razor blade to chase away an intruder, fired two dishonest employees, carried out a lunchtime tryst with her long-time lover Maurice, and . . . hm . . . caused the breakup of her son and his fiancée.
Well, she must’ve had a good reason. No one would get in the way of someone’s happiness just for sport. Right?
I read more of the synopsis. Huntington, Eliza’s son, was about to marry Justina, who had once worked as the family’s housekeeper. This did not go over well with Eliza. So she gave a call to the agency and had them send over Vicky the vixen, one blonde, bold, bombshell of a maid—and threw in a little extra to have her corner Huntington in the master bedroom closet. Unfortunately Justina witnessed the whole thing and got the wrong idea about her husband-to-be. Or the right idea, according to Eliza.
I read through it again, this time with more attention to the details, actively searching for some solid reason for Eliza’s actions. In her defense, she did think Justina had quite possibly been behind the recent rash of thievery in the kitchen. Seems the silver had been disappearing, one piece at a time.
Not exactly solid evidence. I groan and rub my face with my hands. Before I can shut off the computer, a message pops onto the screen. It’s from Mom.
Having a grand time, Tara. My weight has dropped considerably, so much that I wonder if you girls will recognize me when I return.
Question is, will she recognize us? I shake off my weariness and resume reading her message.
Yes, in answer to your question, your father and I took you and Mel to that church when you were young. I am surprised that it is still standing.
That’s it. Weeks have gone by with little contact and that’s all she wrote. Good job, Mom. Could you care any less? I hit delete and another message pops up.
And Tara? Please don’t forget what I said to you on my wedding day. Love, Mom
p.s. International calling is not cheap! But I will look into it domani. (That’s Italian for tomorrow.)
I lean forward and press two fingers to my temples. What did she say to me on her wedding day? The day was a blur and—other than that moment when she casually mentioned that she’d be leaving the country for a year and oh, would you keep an eye on the girls for me?—I remember little else.
Nowhere closer to sleep, I wander through the house following the same path Mel took earlier, double-checking doors, tugging on windows, eyeing the burners.
I almost hear Mel’s voice accuse me. Don’t you trust me, Tara?
It’s not that I don’t trust Mel, or Camille for that matter. I’m just trying to do the right thing. To protect them, to . . .
Mel’s imaginary voice slices through my thoughts. “To be the hero?”
Is that what she thinks? That I suffer from an inferiority complex and need bolstering from my alter ego? Something like nausea sinks in my stomach. Maybe I shouldn’t have dragged my sisters into my dream. Maybe Mel would have found happiness in New York if I hadn’t put a guilt trip on her. As for Camille always being on the young side . . . did I have anything to do with that? Was I too protective? Too . . . controlling?
Shane may have been a jerk—scratch that, he is a two-timing fool—but I could’ve interrupted them less forcefully. Maybe Mel’s pronouncement of my hero-complex (okay, so it was an imagined pronouncement) was the right one. I stop in the hall and lean against the wall, replaying the evening. Each scene flows across my mind in vivid color. Each expression of pain or hurt on my sisters’ faces pierces me.
I never meant to cause my family pain, so the least I can do is apologize.
“WELL. THAT WENT OVER well.” Mel tosses the last bite of her bagel into her mouth. We both cringe when Camille slams the screen door behind her on the way out. “You didn’t have to apologize, you know.”
I take in the early morning sun that’s done absolutely nothing to lighten the mood. Sigh. “I’m not sorry for throwing the guy out, but I do feel bad about coming on so strong. I should’ve tried warning her again . . . left her a message or something. Or maybe I should have made us stay behind the door and wait for her to come into the hall.”
“She could’ve been pregnant by then.” Mel pushes back from the table and rolls her neck until it cracks twice. “Stop trying to control the situation.”
“I was apologizing!”
She holds up one palm. “Yes, you were. Maybe you don’t realize this, but that’s how you operate. You try to control how everyone thinks and reacts and, in this case, you didn’t like Camille’s reaction. So you apologized as if that would make everything all better.” She stands.
I laugh, not even caring it comes out snarky. “Okay, so now you’re a psych major. If I were your professor, you’d have failed that little analysis.”
Mel’s face softens. “I’m not saying that apologizing was the wrong choice, Tara. You just can’t make people forgive you.”
“So either way, I’m the bad guy.”
She shrugs. “Pretty much. If it helps any, and I doubt that it will, I back you up on this one hundred percent. Camille needs to learn to be a better judge of character.” Her chair makes a deep, scraping sound as she pushes it back under the table. “I’ve got to get to Simka’s, but I’ll go find out where Camille’s off to first. Don’t worry yourself. She’ll get over it.”
Alone in the kitchen, I glance out the window and down toward the sea, where a flock of herons glide freely beyond the rocky cliffs. My breathing slows as I watch them ride the air with such grace, such power despite their narrow, stick-like bodies. Sadly though, if I turn my head a half turn toward the right, I can find a glimpse of Beth’s burned-out house. The pretty and the ugly, side by side. Isn’t this the way life is?
I reach across the sink and jiggle the wooden window until it slides open. A nippy breeze flows in, raising goose bumps on my arms. And yet the smell of salt and sea and pine all woven together is worth every bit of chill. Despite the turmoil of the past few days, the smell alone is enough to help me remember the pretty things from my family’s past and, for the moment, to forget about all the uglies.
My cell rings and with a sigh I leave the open window in search of my purse. I answer it on the fourth ring.
“Tara, it’s Josh.”
A flutter runs through me, and not from the cold. “Hi.”
“I have to see you.”
“Um. Okay.” Not the sort of reaction he may have expected, but I’m not used to men having to see me. Unless they’ve got a late payment to make on their auto parts account, that is. Sure, Trent and I were together often, but it was more of a “You wanna do something tonight? I dunno, what do you wanna do?” kind of thing.
Josh grumbles and groans. “I can’t drive.”
He needs me to pick him up. Now this I’m used to. I smile. “So you’re at my mercy then.”
Josh is quiet for a moment. “Sounds like a place I’d like to be.”
My heart does one of those flips that’s reserved for women on the brink of diving deep into churning waters. Do I really need a man like Josh right now? Someone who is hell-bent on being a daredevil when what I really long for is a calm and steady hand as I continue to delve into my family’s past?
He doesn’t wait for my answer. “I’m home now. Will you come for me?”
My flipping heart melts at his request and I know the truth. It’s too late. I’ve already taken the plunge. Big time.
I only hope I can remember how to swim. “Guess this means you’ll need to tell me where you live.”
He gives me directions, the sound of relief in his voice lifting my wavering heart. At least for the time being.
Chapter Twenty-two
Josh lives just minutes from my rental cottage. Minutes. He could even walk over, say, if he hadn’t just suffered a concussion. I pull up in front of what looks like it should be nestled in the mountains somewhere, a cabin wrapped in stained wood with a jacaranda tree in front, its purple flowers nearly spent.
Being here makes seeing Josh again all the more real, and conflicting feelings climb their way through me. When I came to Otter Bay, I wasn’t looking for a man; I’d just gotten rid of one, although admittedly, not by choice. Josh has stirred up something fresh and exhilarating within, like a roller coaster that throws in a couple of quick twists after the initial death-defying drop.
The tune of my cell phone jars the quiet. “Hello?”
“Tara, it’s Camille.”
“Oh, Camille. You okay?”
She sniffles. “Yeah. I am.” Muffled tears make it through my earpiece. “I just wanted to say th-th-thank you for saving me from that . . . cr-creep.”
My brows crinkle. “Um, you’re welcome. Are you sure you’re okay?”
She doesn’t answer right away, then Mel comes on the line. “Hey, Tara. I found her at the beach, kicking the snot out of Shane.” Camille’s crying gets louder. “She found him here with naked girl.”
“Oh, no. Listen, I’m at Josh’s, but I’m going to come home—”
“Don’t do that. Camille and I have plans to check out her new school today. Go see Josh. You need something tempting to distract you from all this weirdness.”
I sit back. My initial reaction is to protest, to throw my car in reverse and be Camille’s cavalry. Isn’t that what Eliza would do? I flinch. Eliza. I’m still not sure she should’ve taken things with her son’s fiancée to quite that extreme . . .
“Tara, you still there?”
I shake away my random thoughts. “Y-yes. Still here. If you’re sure you don’t need me, then I guess I’ll just stay with Josh.”
Mel’s laugh roars into the phone. “You guess you’ll stay with Josh! Please. The man’s harem-worthy, Tara, or are you blind?” She snickers. “Nah, I’ve seen the way you run your eyeballs all over him.”
“I do not!”
“Yeah, whatever. Try not to get too bored over there. I’ve got this covered.”
She clicks off and I stare at my phone. A movement near the driver’s side window catches my attention and I look up. Josh peers in at me. I jerk, slapping the back of my hand against the parking break.
I laugh, but my voice shakes. Is my heart zipping along because of this fright, or because of the man with the magnetic eyes watching me from behind the glass? He taps the door, eyeing me with a mischievous grin, as I unlock it and step out.
“Thought maybe you were second-guessing yourself in there.” He reaches for me.
I scowl at him, or at least give it my best attempt. “Were you spying?”
He shrugs. “A little. Let’s go in.” He lays an arm across my shoulder and ushers me toward his cabin, the ground strewn with slim, purple petals and thick piles of pine needles.
I stop. “Should you be on your feet?”
He winks at me. “Nope.”
“You’re making me nervous.”
“Ah honey, I promise not to ravish you, at least not in my current condition.”
I stop again, this time rooting myself in place. His eyes dance along with his dazzling smile. Maybe he’s on morphine or something.
“What?” He looks genuinely confused.
“I, uh, didn’t come here for, you know, that. Not that I don’t find you attractive.” Now there’s an understatement! I take a breath. “It’s just that, well, I ended a long relationship recently and, uh . . .”
Josh furrows his brows and my heart sinks at the look on his face. I get it. He doesn’t want to hear my no right now. I can tell. He just suffered a concussion, but apparently head trauma’s not enough to stop a man on a mission. He drops his arm from my shoulder, and for some reason this causes me to hold my breath.
“What you must think of me.”
I let out my breath at his sad words and turn my chin upward. He continues navigating the path to his front door. “You didn’t seem very happy when you left my hospital room yesterday, so I’d hoped we’d be able to sort things out by talking about it.” He pauses. “Trust me when I say that I didn’t call you over here to seduce you.”
I rub my lips together, at a loss over what to say. What is wrong with me? Why do I keep thinking—and saying—the worst? This man is the whole package, and yet something’s holding me back.
There’s a lift again to his voice as he holds open the screen door for me. “Not that I don’t find you attractive or anything.”
I step in through the doorway and wave both my hands. “Okay, okay. Truce. Let’s not go there.” The words have barely rolled off of my lips when Josh pulls me into his arms and kisses me like one very healthy man. Extremely healthy. Behind us, the wooden screen door closes with a succinct bounce. A gull caws across the sky. My toes, I believe, have left the ground.
Josh pulls away, his eyes staring into mine. He holds me at arm’s length. “I’m sorry.”
I still feel the warmth of his kiss on my lips. “You’re . . . sorry?”
He rakes his fingers through his hair, his face sheepish. “I got carried away. I really meant what I said, that I didn’t ask you here to . . .”
“I know.”
“I’m usually very careful . . . uh . . . what I mean is . . .” He lets the wind flow through his teeth. “Tara, I’m not that kind of guy.”
My jaw clicks. And you think I am that kind? “I see.”
He touches my shoulders with both hands and looks upward. “No, I don’t think you do. You just bring out . . . something in me.” His smile reminds me of a grimace. “Can we start over?”
I nod and he kisses me lightly, one hand barely touching my shoulder. A flutter tickles my insides.
He’s smiling at me, a slight shadow stretching across his cheeks, the lines in his face smooth and distinct. “It’s good to start again.”
The compassion in his gaze startles me. Trent? Trent who . . . ? I’m speechless and no longer offended.
“Tara?”
“Hm?”
“I’m feeling woozy.”
“Oh!” I slide my arm around his back and guide him toward the couch until he lowers himself into it. I stand up, my arms awkwardly wrapping around my middle. “You okay?”
His nod is accompanied by a grimace. I glance around, wondering if I should look for aspirin. For a bachelor who’s out fighting fires and taking on myriad volunteer projects and other adventures, his house looks well lived-in. Loved, even. A picture of Josh and his parents wearing their Sunday best rests on a butcher-block end table. His furniture is neither ultramodern nor ancient history, but overstuffed and comfortable, in manly beiges—best not to mention that to my color-obsessed sisters. On the coffee table a bar of Irish Spring has been transformed into a baby chick.
He tries to pull himself up and I stop him by sitting next to him. His scent swirls around me. “You shouldn’t be up. What can I get you? Aspirin? Some water?
Our eyes meet and we both lean back against the overstuffed couch. “I have what I need. I’m fine. This is normal.”
Normal? This is anything but normal for me and yet I know what he means. My body sinks deeper into the cushion as I relax. Being here feels good and right and . . . natural. How could it be that just a few months ago I’d been planning my wedding to another man? Okay, only in my mind, but so what?
A cooing sound escapes me as I daydream, causing Josh to laugh. “I’m glad we kissed and made up.”
A shadow falls across us and my eyes flicker toward the door. A tall lump of a man presses his nose against the screen. “Josh. You in there?”
I rouse and Josh shushes me with a whisper. “Maybe he’ll go away.”
“We have to get it.”
Josh’s body stays still, but he lifts his chin and twists his face toward the door. “Scram! We don’t need any.”
The guy scoffs and pulls open the door. When he enters, I recognize him as Billy, the firefighter who’s been in the diner lately. “A little bump on the head and you think that . . . oh.” He whistles. “Sorry. Didn’t realize you weren’t alone—that your ’stang out there?”
I extricate myself from Josh’s side and stand. “I’m Tara. Yes, that’s my car.”
He nods, appraising me. “Sweet. Hey, didn’t I see you over at the RAG?”
“With my sisters, yes.”
We’re smiling and nodding and completely awkward. Billy speaks first. “Well, I just came by to check up on Joshy-boy, but I can see that he’s being well taken care of.”
Josh stays put. “Thanks for stopping in.”
Billy walks backward to the door. “But don’t let the door smack me on the behind on my way out, right?” He laughs at his own joke. “Between you and Beth, I got nowhere else to go.”
Sweet Waters Page 15
