Josh’s forehead wrinkles. “What about Beth? Things not working out so well with her? I thought you two were together.”
Faint pink trails across Billy’s face. His grin fades and his eyes dart between Josh and me. “We’re getting there. She’s having a bad day, though, so I, uh, told her we’d try again tomorrow.”
Josh nods and it’s obvious to me that he’s drawing some kind of conclusion. He purses his lips, his focus on Billy intense, as if trying to decipher what’s on his friend’s mind. Billy glances at me, then settles a small grin on his face, as if everything’s just dandy. He begins walking backward toward the door again before halting. “Wait. I forgot to ask. Junior wants to know if you’re bringing a date to his wedding. Luanna’s been asking.”
From awkward to where’s-the-door-and-how-fast-can-I-get-out-of-here? I hold myself still, as if this will somehow dissipate the sudden pin-drop silence. Josh reaches for my hand and gives it a tug. “Haven’t had a chance to find out.”
I meet his gaze and notice the quirk in his mouth. His expression tells me he’s asking me to be his date, but I wait for a more formal invitation. Trent had this irrational belief that I somehow suckered him into asking me out that very first time. The “legend” as it became known, was one of his favorite stories to tell at parties. I got tired and stopped denying it.
Josh’s fingers play with mine, but I just cock my head and continue to wait.
Billy laughs and it sounds like he really means it this time. His face has become bright and animated. “Looks like you’re gonna have to try harder, my man.”
Josh rubs the back of my hand with his fingers, eyes unwavering. “Go with me?”
My reaction reminds me of one of those dreams where you try to say something, but your mouth gets stuck in some kind of warped slow motion. I respond, but it comes out sounding more like a string of half words.
Billy doesn’t wait for my official answer. “A week from Saturday,” he calls out, his tone light and teasing. “I’ll give him your RSVP for two. See ya.” His feet pound quickly down the steps.
Josh sits up with a question in his smile. Concussion, my foot. He’s as healthy as I am. “Sorry to put you on the spot like that,” he says. “Would you really like to come with me?”
“Sure.”
His smile breaks out further, but his eyes weigh my answer. “So that was playing hard to get back there, then?”
Hard to get? Like some drama queen? The headiness of these moments with Josh comes to a screeching stop as the reality of my life looms before me. I lower myself into the cushiony couch. I’ve only known about Daddy’s indiscretion—a second one—for about a day, and Mel tore into me when she found out. Then there was last night. I breathe in, trying not to relive the scene with Camille and Shane yet again. Tempting as Josh might be, is this the best time to be risking my heart again?
“What’s wrong?”
I kick off my sandals and pull my knees up to my chest. Suddenly I’ve got no words.
Josh stares. “I haven’t forgotten what you said in my hospital room . . . about moving too fast. Is that what you’re scared of? I meant it when I said I was sorry . . .”
“I’m not scared. Not really. Just overwhelmed.” I glance down at my toes, the need for a pedicure more than a little evident. So much to do . . . to think about. I mentally push aside my worries. “And I wasn’t playing hard to get. I just wanted to make sure you were actually asking me.” I give him a sideways look. “Don’t want to be accused of inviting myself.”
“I’d never do that.”
My gaze lingers on him. “No, I don’t believe you would.”
“I want you to be with me. Besides, it’s never fun to disco by yourself.”
My snort takes us both by surprise. “Disco? I’m so not doing the Hustle. What is this, 1976?”
Josh shrugs one bruised shoulder. “DJs always seem to think so.” He groans, followed by a slight wince. “It’s the conga line I’m really looking forward to, though.”
“Maybe I should’ve checked my calendar firs—”
Josh reaches over and tugs at my elbow, freeing me from my fetal position. “Not a chance. You’ve already agreed, so you’re stuck. I have a witness.”
“He left.”
“Yes, well.” He smiles and begins to pull me into his embrace but slows, as if he’d just thought better of it. Instead, we sit together, listening to the breeze through the pines, as if we’ve known each other forever.
Chapter Twenty-three
Josh’s eyelids keep lulling, the sound of my voice apparently quite the sleeping aid. He wakes for the fourth time with a start and an apology. “S-sorry, Tara. It’s not you.” He slides lower into the couch, hugging a pillow to his chest, while I stand and pull a blanket over him and up to his chin. I move toward him, tentatively, to graze his forehead with my lips, the kind of simple kiss that I will no doubt replay over and over, but he rustles, as if awake. “Stay away from me. Trouble . . .”
He’s trouble? Though barely awake, his words are clear. I change my mind about the peck on his forehead and leave for home.
Only I don’t make it all the way there. Instead, I pull over to the side of the road, where the cliffs meet the beach. After scrambling down chiseled rock, I sink my feet into an infinite pile of moonstones, their flat, smooth surfaces like a massage to my skin.
In the distance elephant seals bark at each other—Nigel says that there’s a rookery not far from here, one that tourists love to visit. I plan to drive up there soon. My feet crunch as I walk along the shore, heading north, with only wind and waves filling my senses. The sounds and breezes flow over and through me, better than the facial Mel talked me into having before Mother’s wedding.
Looking westward, I shade my face with my hand. Giant kelp bob atop the water, their dense bodies and bulbous ends making me do a double take, wondering if they’re really some sort of creature from the sea. I imagine tiny fish swimming through the maze of kelp, in search of dinner and a night’s rest.
The comparison is not lost on me. I too feel like a tiny fish in one big confusing maze. If only I had an inkling of Josh’s meaning behind the “trouble” comment, I’d have one less issue to worry over. My cell rings and I groan. Why didn’t I remember to leave it in the car? “Hello?”
“It’s Mel. How’s lover boy?”
“Asleep.”
Mel clucks her tongue. “Well, then. Just wanted to let you know that Camille’s doing fine. We checked out the school and have been shopping all afternoon in downtown SLO. We’ll catch dinner here, so you don’t have to worry about fixing anything. I know how you are.”
I smile, ruefully. “You don’t know as much as you think.”
“I think I’m offended.”
“Better get used to it.”
Mel gasps. “Does this mean you’re planning to ditch your family and spend more time with hunk o’ burning love?”
I glance off into the infinite sky. “Might.”
“Well. Can I give you some advice?”
She startles me with the question. When has Mel ever asked to give me advice? She usually just delivers it like a poke to a bonfire. That’s how it’s been between Mel and me, for as long as I can remember. Mother put me in charge of a lot of things, and Mel was always close behind, nipping at me, like a puppy jealous over a hound’s rag doll.
“Let him lead on this dance. Camille and I actually like this one.”
“Explain.”
“You’re always so uptight and so in control. Or you want to be. Don’t do that. Let the guy do some of the leading this time.”
“Okay, first, I never do that. In fact, Trent controlled our entire relationship and where did that get me? I’ll tell you, it got me an empty ring finger and a broken heart.”
“Well, then your heart recovered awful quickly, didn’t it. And you only think Trent controlled your relationship, when in fact, you two would never have been together in the first place if you hadn’t s
et that in motion.”
Here we go. The “legend” strikes again. “Five years, Mel. He promised that after college, he’d propose. And then it was after he got his career started. I wasted so much time with him, that I can’t believe you somehow think that I was the one controlling things. What I was doing was waiting.” My hand clenches over and over again at my side.
“Tara.” Mel’s voice becomes pliable and warm. She’s a regular chameleon. “Why did you wait so long? You couldn’t possibly have loved Trent. You just became whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. It may seem like he was the one in control, but by conforming to his every wish, you were saying that you weren’t about to let go—even if he wasn’t really the one for you.”
“Mel, I have to go.” Without waiting for her reply, I power down my phone and stuff it into my back pocket. I pick up a moonstone and flick it into the water, watching it sink rather than skip, as I had hoped. Why does Mel suddenly have to make sense? When Trent left me, I blamed him for being spineless, for being unable to follow through. Why do so many people have trouble with following through on their commitments?
The cool tide washes over my feet and I sink deeper into the coarse sand. Camille’s words come to mind, the ones she spoke in the diner, soon after we arrived. Everyone thought I needed a vacation, they believed that just because I’d wanted to do something outside of my norm, that somehow this meant I was heading over the edge. Trent, apparently, even thought I needed some shaking up, as Camille put it.
My eyes spring open wide, hot tears stinging the corners. Does Trent expect me to change and take him back? Water flows over my feet again, draining between my toes and washing back out to sea. Without a doubt, my relationship with him is dead and has been far longer than the day he finally walked away. There is no turning back.
A lump in my throat threatens to burst, but I deny it. What’s the use of crying away the years given to the wrong man? It bothers me, but Mel was right. Maybe I was the one holding on too long.
Another wave builds in the distance, this one rolling faster toward me than the last. I leap out of its way, then dash up behind a rock, swiping my brimming eyes with the back of my hand. It occurs to me that these budding tears have little in common with those I spilled over a broken engagement. It’s true. I recovered from that faster than anyone expected. I knew we weren’t perfect together, but I had settled because he was comfortable. Like nubby sweats.
Moving here proves that I’m no longer willing to settle and that, like shifting tides, I’m changing too.
“I USED TO BE a rascal.” Nigel lowers his soup spoon into the bowl.
The RAG’s quiet tonight, with Peg home due to a cold and Holly off for the night. Trusty Jorge is behind the stove and Mimi’s got the dining room covered.
“So you never wanted to come back here? What made you take back the inn then?” I push my salad around on my plate, the dry carrot curls and iceberg chunks not overly appetizing. What I wouldn’t do for a toss of Holly’s cranberry bib greens.
“A friend sent me letters, many letters over the years, reminding me of how refreshing it was in Otter Bay.”
“You’d forgotten?”
“Yes, I suppose I had.” He takes a slow sip from his spoon. “Oh, I wanted to be where the action and city night life were. As you know, there is not too much of either in this sleepy town.”
I laugh. It’s difficult to imagine this genteel, beret-wearing man yearning for something other than the unspoiled coastline of Otter Bay. “I bet your sister was glad to see you return.”
Nigel’s face sobers for just a moment, before settling back into his signature, peaceful countenance. “She only knows about my return from heaven’s gate.”
I stop fiddling with my salad. “She passed away before you returned?” He nods and something inside me sinks. How terribly sad for her—and for him. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. I have become aware of how the Father has orchestrated the aspects of my life. It’s been all for my good.”
“Are you saying that God caused you to miss seeing your sister?”
Nigel stops moving toward his soup, as if considering my question. I mean no offense, but it seems to me that God’s more interested in the big picture, like wars and famine.
Nigel sits back, folds his napkin, and slowly wipes his mouth with one small corner. “The Lord did not cause me to miss seeing my sister. My stubbornness did. And yet I know with every ounce of my breath that He has worked all things that have happened in my life for my good.” His smile is infinite kindness. “I have not always known this. That took some time.”
A burst of questions ricochet through my mind. Undeniably, walking into church the past couple of weeks has provided me a sense of grounding, but I’ve thought it’s been because of my family’s past within those walls. I’ve never been able to completely wrap my mind around faith, though. So much of it seems so ethereal and unconfirmed. I want to ask Nigel how he knows what he does, but he’s a private man, and who am I to ask him for more than he’s offering?
The door to the RAG swings open, rattling bells against the glass and announcing the arrival of a large group. There’s laughter and spikes of conversation as the crowd pours in, dragging chairs enough to squeeze them all around two small tables pushed together. The spectacle tugs at me. I was such a loner in high school, one best friend and a second for when my other pal wasn’t around. I was her fallback friend too.
One lanky boy notices us and jerks up from the table. Mikey walks tentatively up to our table. “Hi, Nigel. Hi, Tara.”
“Looks like a whole lot of fun over there.” I keep the wistfulness from my voice. But just barely.
Mikey’s hands dig into his pockets. He swivels around to look back at his friends before returning my gaze. “Um, just wanted to say I’m sorry for saying too much to your sister. She seemed kinda mad. My mom yelled at me later.”
“Apology accepted.”
He stands there awkwardly, pivoting on his toes and glancing around. “Was nice of you to go visit Josh. He seems better.”
My cheeks heat up at the sound of Josh’s name. “He is, I think. I saw him this morning.” I avoid Nigel’s questioning eyes.
“Cool.” Mikey walks backward. “Well, I gotta go eat with my friends.”
Nigel’s smiling at me. “You bring out the joy in him.”
“In Mikey? I don’t think so, Nigel. That kid’s happy almost anytime I see him.”
“No, dear. I was referring to Josh. He’s a different man with you in Otter Bay. I may seem like an old man to you, but I have perfect command of my faculties and there is a definite spark between you and Joshua Adams.”
I giggle and the sound of it makes me want to slap a muzzle on myself. Camille always giggles too, as do teenage girls and old women who eat truffles and watch chick flicks together. But Mom always said I was the serious type, the leader who didn’t need frivolity in her life. Always took a bit of pride in that.
Nigel continues. “And it is very good to see. Very good, indeed. Perhaps you are the answer to the demons that young man fights.”
Nigel’s words shrink the girlish smile on my face. How can I be Josh’s answer when I need one of my own?
Chapter Twenty-four
It’s like déjà vu, except today the diner is bustling with hungry tourists and Peg and Holly are jetting through the place with the intensity of adrenalized puppies. Too bad that underneath Peg’s energetic exterior lives a pit bull.
Camille’s reflective. “Did you know that celebrities often go commando when they walk the red carpet?”
I blink.
“I mean the women. It’s so no one can see their panty lines.”
Mel cuts in. “It’s because their dresses are sewed on so tight that they can’t fit panties or even a thong underneath them.”
Sigh. “Is this pleasant breakfast time conversation?”
Camille continues. “One of the classes at the college is on waxing. I’m intrigued b
y that.”
I take another bite of my poached egg. “As in brow and lip waxing? That sort of thing?”
Camille flips a chunk of curls over one shoulder. “And the Hollywood, the Brazilian, all kinds.”
I look to Mel, who’s wearing a quirky little grin, like she’s got a secret. “Think naked in the nether regions . . . or nearly so.”
I gasp. “No! Why would anyone want to . . . to . . . ? Ugh. And what does this have to do with fashion design?”
Camille giggles. “Isn’t that cool? We designers need to know the different waxing styles we’ll be dealing with when planning our designs. This opens up a whole new world.”
I gulp my juice, trying to wash down the egg that just got stuck in my throat. “Some worlds are better left unknown.”
“What are you girls laughin’ about?” Holly stands next to our table, one hand slung into her waist. “Wish I could just forget about workin’ and sit right down and have some toast with you.”
My back hits the booth. “Believe me, you don’t really want to know.”
Camille slides out of the booth. “Speaking of fashion—” she brushes something from Holly’s shoulder—“these uniforms are pretty, but have you considered changing to a black dress with white apron?”
Holly scrunches her mouth before replying. “You mean not go with white on white anymore?”
Mel gives me a surreptitious glance and whispers, “More like blah on blah.”
“The contrast would be stunning!” Camille proclaims. “Or you could go with a savory sage or earth tone, something to give your outfits contrast and warmth.”
Holly giggles, reminding me of Camille. “Well now, that’s what we need—a little more warmth around this place.” She peeks over her shoulder toward Peg. “She’s still bein’ ornery and it’s gettin’ old, if you ask me.”
“Well, maybe I can talk to her. I’ll tell her about my fashion design classes. That oughta give me some credibility, don’t you think?” A tap on the window makes us all spin around to find a handsome face pressed up against the glass. His dark, thick eyebrows appear Chaplin-esque and he wiggles them at Camille.
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