“Thanks for letting me take a look.” Elliott jotted everything down on his notepad, then turned the gurney with Jim and they both rushed Mr. Warbler down the hall. On the way, Elliott almost ran right into the Colonel, whose five-foot-five frame lingered near the doorway. He wrung his gloved hands, waiting to assist with the gurney. He was one of the center’s oldest volunteers at ninety-five—a veteran of World War II who’d lived on the island since the 1940s. He looked as if the wind could blow him over at any second, but he was still strangely intimidating and smart as a whip.
“Sorry Jim had to interrupt you out there,” the Colonel’s gravelly voice drawled. “We didn’t know you had such pretty friends.”
“She’s not a friend.”
“Doris said she was.”
Elliott blinked. “How did Doris get in here and already say that?”
“She came gallivanting up here and told us. We were watching you through the window.”
They pulled the gurney into place, and everyone grabbed a pair of gloves.
“Sorry, Sherm,” Jim said, snapping his on. “I don’t mean to be such a lousy wingman. I was planning on being better at setting you up than my wife.”
Elliott waved off the apology and helped Jim and the Colonel contain Mr. Warbler from his seizure. He took a few more quick notes as Jim drew blood. The three of them held Mr. Warbler down while Jim gave him injections of antiseizure medication. It didn’t work for all the sea lions—about half still died—but it worked on many. It was the best they could do until they figured this out.
Elliott left his hand on the sea lion’s fur as the seizures slowly subsided, offering gentle strokes. He was going to have to work faster.
And stay focused. And stop chasing model-looking women like Natalie Grant down brick walkways.
He was embarrassed he’d told Doris he “knew” her. He simply hoped to know her. He’d hoped she’d return to see the sea lions she’d helped rescue. And when he’d seen her from the window, he’d thought for a second she was some kind of mirage, with her stylish, funky clothes; her braid shimmering in the sunlight; and the menswear fedora that reminded him of something he might wear from the box of hats his granddad had given him.
But he’d been his usual lame self and had bored her away.
Story of his life.
When the animal finally calmed and drifted into a tranquilized state, Elliott helped Jim and the Colonel move Mr. Warbler back to the recovery room.
“Do you think he’s going to be okay?” the Colonel asked, tugging off his gloves.
It was always interesting to see what types of people became attached to the marine mammals. The Colonel was a sharp-tongued, martini-drinking, orders-spitting man, who’d probably been a hard-ass in World War II, but he’d become attached, for whatever reason, to Mr. Warbler, along with several other mammals at the center. He spent every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday there with other senior volunteers, like Doris and Marie and George.
“I think so,” Elliott finally assured him, slowing a little with the gurney so the Colonel could keep up. Mr. Warbler was completely tranquilized now.
The Colonel gave a sharp nod and seemed to slip back into colonel mode. “She’s pretty,” he barked. “Didn’t know you had it in you, kid. You’ve come to every Bars and Barks Event solo, so I thought you weren’t much with the ladies.”
Jim, at the other end of the gurney, laughed. “He isn’t, Colonel. My wife has been torturing him by forcing him out on blind dates all week.”
Elliott shook his head. He was used to the ribbing. He and Jim had known each other since college—they’d gone to the same Ivy League school together and had roomed together for two of the four years, until Jim had gone to veterinary school and Elliott had branched off into microbiology. But they’d stayed best friends. At one of their homecoming parties, Jim met Nell, and it had been love at first sight. At the time, Elliott couldn’t believe it. But it all seemed to make sense as he saw it unfold, and he was pleased to have been the best man at their wedding two years later. It had been Jim who’d told him about the idea for the new center on the island, putting out the word that Elliott was the most brilliant microbiologist there was in marine study, despite the fact that he wasn’t yet thirty. Elliott couldn’t let him down.
“Who does she have lined up for you next?” Jim asked, his voice suddenly taking on a gentleness that seemed laced with pity.
“I think an . . . Alice?”
“I DATED AN ALICE ONCE,” the Colonel shouted in his gravelly voice. He was hard of hearing, too. “Nineteen forty-seven, I think. A real looker.”
They slid Mr. Warbler into one of the recovery rooms, where another volunteer took over and set him up with some of the other sea lions that needed to be watched as they came out from under sedation.
“Who’s your Alice?” The Colonel shot a frown at Elliott.
“I don’t know her yet,” Elliott admitted.
He was already dreading meeting “his Alice.” His sister was arriving at six to help him set up for the new date tonight. Caren had bowed out of a second date—no surprise there. But he’d work harder to comply with Nell’s rules. He’d go through the motions. And not get dragged back into work. He’d meet the teachers, the professors, the scientists, and the fellow introverts who were more in his league.
Jim kept glancing at him with a note of apology on his face. Or maybe it was blame. Maybe he just wanted Elliott to hurry the hell up and figure out what was wrong with these sea lions.
As the three of them sauntered back down the hall, past one of the windows, a figure outside caught his eye. Natalie was still there, hesitating on the periphery of a tour group. He stopped and marveled at the strange sensation in his belly—one he was used to feeling when on the verge of a discovery or on the edge of a major breakthrough, but one he was unaccustomed to feeling in relation to a person. He tugged at his lab coat and stared.
“I say keep your eye on the prize, young man,” the Colonel said.
When Elliott turned toward him, the Colonel winked and continued down the hall.
Elliott nodded to himself. He wasn’t 100 percent sure what that meant, but the Colonel probably meant Alice was the prize—the surer thing, the one in his league.
Stay focused, man.
Stay logical.
He glanced down the hallway where Jim and the Colonel had disappeared and willed himself to follow. He needed to work up some clinical samples.
The world he felt comfortable in.
Alone.
CHAPTER 4
When Lily was finally in bed, Paige broke out the merlot and poured herself and Natalie large goblets. Olivia skipped because of her pregnancy and requested a glass of ice water.
“I’ll pour it in a wineglass so you can pretend,” Paige said. “So, what’s in that box?”
Natalie pushed another of Gram’s boxes toward the end table, then scooted her bottom closer as she finger-combed the ends of her damp hair. She kicked Paige’s duffel bag out of the way, which Paige had arrived with, saying she was staying the whole week.
“I think this box just has some old material and sewing items.”
“We can donate what’s still good,” Olivia said.
Olivia began pulling items out one by one to inspect them while Natalie started on her usual braid.
“Why don’t you wear it down?” Paige asked, taking over the most comfortable chair in the room.
“Tired of it.”
“It’s so pretty, though,” Olivia added.
“Thanks, but I’m still tired of it.”
“We always want what we can’t have, right?” Olivia asked.
“You wanted my hair?”
“Always.”
“Me, too,” chimed in Paige.
Natalie looked at both of them in disbelief. She’d always felt mousy around her ol
der sisters until she hit her teens. The year she was thirteen, she grew taller than both of them, and her mousy brown hair took on a sun-kissed, auburn sheen and shimmied down her back in a glossy waterfall. Which drew lots of compliments from women. And—of course—she got a figure. Which drew lots of stares from men.
Their mother, who’d run a modeling agency in those days, had been putting Olivia and Paige in beauty pageants since they were golden-ringleted tots, but suddenly she abandoned all that when she noticed the dropped jaws Natalie was getting in the grocery store. She decided Natalie was her best hope of passing down a modeling career.
But Natalie, unfortunately, had no interest. Men’s stares unnerved her. When she was thirteen, she told her mother she “quit,” although she’d been to only one group photo shoot. That had been enough. Instead, she began wearing boyish clothes and hats and the most shapeless shoes she could find. Her mom finally acquiesced about not pushing her any further into modeling, but the stares continued, became more leering. Natalie covered up more, wore even more boyish clothing. Her mother would watch her walk out the door in another pair of ripped jeans, Converse sneakers, and a menswear-print fedora, and would let out one of her infamous martyr sighs.
But Natalie’s legs grew longer still, making her taller and even more noticeable over the heads of her peers, and despite the baggy clothes and visored hats, she continued to draw attention from the male species. Mostly it scared her, especially when she was thirteen and fourteen. It scared her how men would follow her, how they’d catcall her when she just wanted to get a soda from the dispenser in front of the grocery store, how they’d back her into corners when she was riding her bike, how they’d let their eyes roam.
The day after the air-conditioning repair guy had lunged at her in the living room, she’d sheared off her long, auburn-highlighted hair. The day after the grocer, Mr. Antonello, had cornered her in a back alley and tried to reach inside her shirt, she’d pulled her baseball cap lower over her face until she could hardly see.
But she never told her mom. Or her sisters. She somehow felt the unwanted attention was her fault.
Finally, by the time she was in her midteens, she’d simply gotten used to it. She adopted the “independent woman” credo their mother liked to tout. She learned how to fend off loudmouthed men with an edgy veneer. She’d planned to get a row of tattoos across her shoulders to look tougher, much to her mother’s dismay, but she couldn’t commit to a design, so she simply collected possibilities in a box on her dresser. She still wore the baseball caps, the snap-brims, the Converse sneakers. She discovered that if she went out with tough-looking boys, leering men wouldn’t mess with her. And she perfected her smart-ass attitude.
She continued this way all through high school and into her twenties. She learned to shoot daggers at men who disrespected her. She learned to swear like a sailor in bars and even how to throw a punch. She dated bikers. She quit jobs if bosses got too handsy, like Simon at the pet photography studio. And life became tolerable.
Except she was tired.
So damned tired.
All the time.
But here, with her sisters, she could just be herself. It felt good to shed the layers of sweatshirts, the hats, the attitude, the armor, the bravado. Each layer came off and made her feel lighter still. She closed her eyes and lay back on the shag rug, her arms out, her braid only half done, the rest of her hair splayed along the floor.
“Look—it’s Gram’s USO cap!” Paige pulled it out of the box.
“Definitely put that in the ‘save’ pile,” Olivia said.
“So what’s this I hear about a mancation?” Paige shot over to Natalie as she dug farther into the box.
Natalie gave Olivia a hard stare.
“What are you looking at me like that for? She asked,” Olivia said. “By the way, do you want me to replace your lost cell phone? I know they’re expensive. I can help with a new one.”
Natalie shook her head. It was tempting. She’d finally had to leave the phone store earlier that day empty-handed and overwhelmed, wondering if she could max out her credit card. But if she didn’t figure out how to stand on her own, she’d stay in the role of the irresponsible, helpless little sister.
“No, thanks,” she said. “I’ll figure something out.”
“I could list it as a job expense for you—I truly need you to have one if you’re going to help with Lily.”
“It’s okay, Olivia. I’m a big girl now.”
Olivia gave her a dubious look, then glanced at Paige. It bothered Natalie to no end that they had no faith in her.
“So spill,” Paige said, coming to the bottom of the box. “What’s a mancation?”
“Olivia has bigger problems,” Natalie said. “Let’s start with her. Ask her about her bed rest.”
Olivia leaned back on the couch cushion and closed her eyes. “Yes. I’ll admit it. It’s bad. I’m never going to make it through three months.”
“We can fix that,” Paige offered. “We’ll find you some projects. How about creating some books for Lily? You know, like ‘You’re a Big Sister Now’ kind of books. You could write them, and we’ll print them out for her.”
Olivia nodded absently. “That’s not a bad idea.”
“Or photo albums. You have all those photos on your laptop. Why don’t you get professional albums made online for all of Lily’s firsts, or all her birthdays, or something like that? Then you’ll have the template set up for the new baby.”
Olivia nodded again. “I like that.”
“And if you show me some ideas for what you like, I can set up the baby’s room,” Natalie offered. “I’ll run around and get whatever you need.”
Olivia nodded but didn’t say anything to that—Natalie was sure her sisters didn’t think she could decorate either. But she was interested in it. She had a good sense of space and arrangement and a decent sense of style. Her mom had been pushing her to get into event planning with her—their mom now ran a famous event-planning company for celebrities—but Natalie wondered if her mom was just placating her. She wanted to do something on her own.
“Let’s take a break from boxes,” Paige said. “We’ve been going at this all night. Come here, Natalie—let me brush your hair.”
Natalie crawled into their typical position from girlhood: Paige leaning against an easy chair, her knees up, and Natalie leaning against Paige’s knees. The scent of baby shampoo wafted with each stroke of the brush and helped spin the cocoon of their past.
“Why don’t you guys move here with me?” Olivia asked.
Paige rolled her eyes. “Because there’s still a shortage of dateables.”
“It’s getting better,” Olivia said.
“I doubt it.”
“There’s John O’Donnell, and that new guy named Tag Tagalieri, and I think another guy they might have just hired for the new bar.”
Paige shook her head. “John-O is arrogant, Tag is too much of a womanizer, and this new guy is probably a figment of your imagination and hopes because I haven’t seen anyone new here in the last six months.”
“What about Garrett?”
“Olivia! Garrett is eighteen!”
“Is he really? Okay, well, there’s Adam.”
“Adam Mason?” Paige’s voice went an octave too high.
“Remember him?”
Paige stalled. Natalie was about to turn around to see what was wrong, but Paige pushed at her shoulders and started to brush again. “Isn’t he at least thirty-five by now? I picture him as some old man already on the top of that hill at the airport.”
“You might be surprised,” Olivia said, a strange smile curving her lips.
The three of them all sat in silence for a minute, sipping their drinks.
“Oh, there’s the new science guy who lives in Dr. Johnson’s old place,” Olivia suddenly said. “Natalie
met him.”
Natalie snapped her head up.
“I don’t know who that is,” Paige said. “Is he young? Cute? Single?”
“What do you say, Natalie?”
Natalie swallowed a gulp of wine and put her glass down carefully on the table. “He’s young,” she said cautiously. “I’m not sure about the single part.”
“Cute?”
Natalie shrugged. For some reason, she wanted to keep her feelings to herself. Somehow she thought they’d tease her. Maybe it was just being back on the island that was stirring old behaviors. Maybe it was the relaxation of having her hair brushed, or the comfort of her sisters’ familiar smells. Or it could have been the one and a half glasses of wine. Whatever the reason, it tempted her to regress. She wanted to prove to all of them that she was an adult now, but being here, like this, in Gram’s old cottage, made it hard.
“Huh.” Paige took a deep swig of her wine and seemed much too lost in daydreams about the new scientist. Natalie almost wanted to tell her to back off. But that was silly. She wasn’t claiming him. Her hyperawareness of Dr. Nerd seemed senseless and strange. Just because a smart-looking man had approached her with a degree of interest rather than with a trail of drool didn’t mean she was necessarily a more valuable person. Plus, he might be married. Plus, she was taking a break from men.
“I finally dumped David,” Natalie announced abruptly.
“Is David the one with the ’67 Harley?” Paige asked.
“No, that was Devlan.”
“David’s the one with the broken motorcycle,” Olivia said from the couch. “And no job. And he makes that weird sound when he’s drinking.”
“And he looks like a troll when he yawns?” Paige asked.
“No, that was Mike,” Olivia said.
“Ah. Mike. I can’t believe you broke up with that guy because of his yawn.”
Natalie shrugged. At least she didn’t try to change the men she was with, like Paige did. She just accepted that everyone had quirks and moved on.
The Kiss on Castle Road (A Lavender Island Novel) Page 4
