by Gayle Roper
No more than the sky could tell the sea to go away could he tell Carrie he didn’t want her, especially when, miracle of miracles, she chose him.
He didn’t hear any Ginny voices or find any encoded messages, but he knew what he had to do. He had to go back and tell her how he felt. He had to ask her forgiveness for the pain he’d caused. He would hold her and tell her how sorry he was about her wrist and his withdrawal and her mother coming, and oh, yeah, he loved her so much it hurt.
“I can’t promise I’ll always be your knight in shining armor,” he’d say. “But I’ll try. And I can promise you that I will always love you.”
Please God, that would be enough.
He felt his blood fizz in anticipation and his spirits rise like a great colored balloon soaring into the sky. He stood, turned to go, and there she was.
44
Soon after Greg left the café, I went upstairs, my spirits dragging. I couldn’t tell which hurt more, my wrist or my heart. Well, I might not be able to do much about the heart, at least in the short term, but I could do something about the wrist. I slugged down an oxycodone, lay on the couch, and waited for it to take effect.
I woke up about forty-five minutes later, edgy and restless, but at least the wrist wasn’t throbbing as much.
Lindsay sat across the room in her favorite chair, reading her latest mystery novel. “How you feeling?”
I shrugged as I sat up. “Blurry.”
She nodded. “Naps and pain pills will do that.”
I stood and glanced out the window. The sun was still shining, and a brisk ocean breeze might be just what I needed to whisk the cobwebs from my head. “I think I’ll take a walk.”
Lindsay laid her book aside. “I’ll come with you.”
In spite of my heavy heart, I smiled at my sister. She was a wonder—true-blue, smart, gifted, and beautiful—even if she did look just like our mother.
“I think I’d like to go alone.” I wasn’t up to conversation, even with one of my favorite people in the world. “Do you mind?”
Her smile was sweet. “Not at all. I was just trying to be a good sister. I’d rather not leave my book. I’m about to find out who the bad guy is, and the hero and heroine are about to declare their undying love.”
At the thought of undying love, I thought of “to everything there is a season” and Clooney’s watch lying on my bureau. And I thought of “Wait for the LORD; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the LORD!”
I went to the closet, grabbed my fleece jacket, pulled it over my head, and thrust my good arm in a sleeve. I walked slowly down the street. I passed Cilla’s house, a three-story clapboard place where she rented the first and third floors and lived on the second.
“The ground floor’d be easier with my scooter,” she told me one day at the café, “but if there’s a hurricane or a nor’easter, the second floor is drier.”
I thought of the lovely e-card she’d sent me yesterday, all beautiful flowers being painted by a brush that moved across the screen with no visible hand to guide it. Ah, the wonders of technology.
“Posted about you on Twitter,” she wrote on the card. “You’ve got lots of people praying for you.”
I looked up at her front window and waved. I didn’t know if she was looking out or not, but it felt friendly to do so. For all I knew, she’d post about me again.
I walked by the Sand and Sea and was surprised to see that the hole Chaz had made was still boarded over with the plywood Greg and I had bought. So much had happened this week that our trip to Home Depot seemed ages ago rather than just four days. I wondered how soon someone was coming to make the repairs and if the new owners were giving Greg a hard time over the delay. Not that it was his fault, but did they realize it wasn’t?
I trudged up the ramp to the boardwalk. It seemed extra steep, a sign of how depleted I was after my surgery. Never having had anesthesia before, I hadn’t realized how it sapped you, even when the surgery wasn’t serious. I mean, a broken wrist. What’s that in comparison to cancer surgery or heart surgery or something truly life threatening? But there were still aftereffects, even for not-ill me.
Pushing myself became worth it when the ocean came into view, looking placid and peaceful. The westering sun burnished the foam-flocked waves with a touch of gold, and the sandpipers on their little legs were running in and out of the water’s edge as if they feared getting their belly feathers wet.
A man rose from a nearby bench, drawing my eye. For an instant I couldn’t move, couldn’t even draw a breath. His delighted smile when he saw me confused me. Just over an hour ago he’d rejected me and run.
He lifted a hand and beckoned. “Come here, Carrie.” He reached to me, palm up, welcoming. “I need to talk to you.”
Again? How much more pain did I feel like inflicting on myself today? If I turned and walked away, it would be no less than he deserved. If I went to him, it might prove to be the emotional equivalent of taking up a razor blade and cutting myself for the fun of watching the blood flow.
“Please,” he said.
I took a deep breath and studied him. The glacial chill that had given me emotional frostbite seemed gone from his manner, and he appeared relaxed, more like the old Greg. The Greg I had fallen in love with.
I slid onto the end of his bench and waited, my good hand clenched, my knuckles white. My heart thundered in my ears so loudly it didn’t matter what he said. I wouldn’t be able to hear it.
He caught my hand, rubbing along the knuckles until my fist opened. Then he laced our fingers. I looked at him and tried to squash the hope that insisted on stirring to life.
Be strong, Carrie. Be realistic. Hope can be so hurtful when it doesn’t pan out.
“Greg, I can’t deal with another go-round of attention, then withdrawal. I don’t have the emotional strength. Weak heart, you know?” I managed a small half smile.
He made a noise of regret deep in his throat and slid his arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his side. I ought to push away, but he felt warm and comforting and right. We sat there in silence for a few minutes, both studying Tennyson’s wrinkled sea with a calm we didn’t feel, or at least I didn’t.
“I’m an idiot,” he finally said. “Can you live with that?”
I frowned at a gull flying by. What did that mean? Not the idiot part. I understood that very well and even agreed. Only an idiot would throw away what had begun between us. It was the can-you-live-with-it part that threw me. Did he mean live with it as in he and I living together as in marriage? Or was I reading my heart’s yearning into his words that in actuality meant nothing more than he was going to be hanging around Carrie’s and could I put up with him as a customer?
Because I didn’t know what he meant, I said nothing.
He put a hand under my chin and turned my face to his. “I’m sorry, Carrie. I was wrong.”
I studied his expression and saw only sincerity, but I was still afraid to believe. I stomped on my burgeoning hope, Army boots crushing a grape. “For what? About what? You mean for not calling to see how I was after my surgery?”
His face twisted and he nodded.
“That hurt a lot.” I blinked against tears as I remembered the loneliness, the bewilderment.
He dropped his forehead to mine. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
His obvious regret made me feel a little better, a little more hopeful, but I sniffed dramatically. “Or do you mean for telling me you weren’t interested in me after all? ‘You deserve better.’ ” I snorted. “Talk about a bad breakup line.”
“You do deserve better.”
But I didn’t want better, so I pushed. “I should forget the heated looks and the amazing kisses? It was all a sham?”
“That’s just the thing.” He sounded almost desperate. “It wasn’t a sham. It was as real as anything has ever been in my life.”
I shrugged and stared at the sandpipers. Advance, retreat. Advance, retreat. I would not accept a sandpiper kind of love. I
would not, could not settle. “Right. And guys brush their girls off every day.”
He grabbed me by the shoulders. “But not girls they love.”
I went still all over. Even my pulse paused as I took in the monumental thing he’d just said. “You love me?” I whispered. Dared I believe him?
“With all my heart.”
He gave me a soft kiss, little more than a brushing of lips, but I went soft and gooey inside, not that I was ready to let him know. It wouldn’t hurt him to squirm a bit after the agony he’d put me through. I was not a pushover, never would be, and he needed to know that.
Besides, petty as it was of me, I liked having the power for a change.
He leaned back and looked me in the eye. “I’m a very flawed man, Carrie.”
Like this was a secret. “An idiot,” I agreed solemnly, quoting his own word.
He looked a bit grumpy. “You don’t have to agree.”
“Why not, if you’re right?”
His frown intensified as I looked blandly back. I think he must have expected a quick capitulation on my part with my immediate forgiveness and my arms thrown around his neck as I kissed him in gratitude that he’d taken me back. After all, my hurt had been obvious.
I just continued to look at him.
“What do you want me to say? That I was an idiot to think I could walk away from you? I already said that.”
“Feel free to repeat,” I said primly. Then I ruined my cool stance by touching a finger to the frown lines in his forehead and smoothing them away.
His eyes narrowed. “You’re playing me. Making me sweat.”
I tried to look innocent. “Me?”
“You.” He swallowed me in a great hug.
I gave a yelp. “My arm!”
He let go so fast I almost lost my balance. His face had gone pale. “I’m so sorry! Did I hurt you a lot?”
I lowered the zipper on my jacket and looked inside as if I expected my arm to have disappeared. Everything looked fine inside the sling, and I zipped up again. “I’ll be fine,” I said, as brave as a pioneer woman about to have her baby on the Oregon Trail.
He looked at me as if he wasn’t certain whether I was still playing him. He must have decided I was because he said, “Can I expect you to make me get on my metaphorical knees every time we have an argument?”
“Yes, if you ever try to throw me over again.” I was serious now, and he was smart enough to realize it.
“Never again, Carrie. I can’t promise I’ll always be the man you want me to be, but I can promise I’ll always try.”
I put my hand against his cheek and looked right into his eyes. “I’m holding you to it, champ.”
His shoulders relaxed and he grinned.
“A time for every season,” I said.
“A time to dance.”
“A time to laugh.”
We sat cuddled close and watched the sun disappear.
45
The ringing of Greg’s cell phone was an unwelcome intrusion into our private rosy world. I straightened to give him room to move and immediately missed the warmth of his embrace.
As he pulled his phone off his waist, he glanced at the caller ID readout. He made an uh-oh face, looked at his watch, and rolled his eyes. He slid the phone open.
“Hey, Josh,” he said with a marked lack of enthusiasm.
Josh, his boss, or I should say former boss since Josh’s properties were now owned by Fred Durning’s people.
“Right, dinner.” Greg looked at me with regret. “I’m on my way. Sorry for being so late. I-I got held up.”
Yes, he did. I grinned at him and he grinned back.
He stood. “I’ve got to go, babe. Duty calls. Our final meeting. It’s been on the calendar for a while.”
“Go,” I said, though I wanted him to stay.
“I’ll stop at your place when I’m finished.” He was already backing away, preparing to run.
“Don’t forget.” I blew him a kiss.
He paused, gave a heart-stopping smile, and came back to me in a rush. He drew me close, taking care not to squish my bad arm, and kissed me thoroughly. “I could never forget.”
His voice, all hoarse and husky, gave me the shivers in a really good way. As I watched him jog down the ramp, I gave myself a one-armed hug. Thank You, Lord! It was definitely my time. My wrist might be starting to throb again, but my heart was singing.
It had gotten almost full dark while we sat, but with the boardwalk’s streetlights, I hadn’t realized just how dark until I started down the ramp. Windows up and down the street threw golden ribbons of light into the night. I glanced at the Sand and Sea as I passed and saw Chaz’s unit was the only one where the windows were black.
A sliver of light caught my eye. I squinted, thinking I couldn’t be seeing what I saw. The slice of dull illumination gleamed at the side edge of one of the plywood sheets tacked over the hole in the building. Granted, it wasn’t very bright compared to the light streaming from the occupied units, but it was still light where there should be none.
I glanced again at the windows of Chaz’s unit. No light. Of course that could be because they were covered by blinds or shades or curtains, though I doubted Chaz had had something as sophisticated as window treatments. Of course the renters before him might have left some.
I crossed the parking lot to the boarded-up wall. I hadn’t been mistaken. Light seeped out along the vertical edge of the horizontal sheet of plywood. I touched the wood and swallowed a little gulp of surprise as it moved under my hand.
How could that be? Greg and I had nailed the sheets, both sheets, firmly in place. One panel was on the vertical and the other horizontal because of the configuration of the hole. I pushed on the vertical sheet, but it remained just as snug as it should.
I stared at the horizontal sheet. There was no way the nails Greg had pounded into place could have popped out on their own. As I felt along the edge, sure enough, all the nails were missing. If it were light enough to see the ground, I’d probably see them lying there.
I remembered asking Greg about someone prying the plywood loose to gain access to the apartment. I smirked as I remembered he’d said there was no reason for someone to want to get into a place where there was nothing worth taking.
But what if you didn’t want to take? What if you just wanted to hide? What if you were a scared, confused, and lonely sixteen-year-old?
I pushed at the plywood with my good hand, attempting to slide it sideways, wishing for a healthy second hand. I tried to be quiet, but there was a grinding, scrunching sound as one sheet slid with reluctance behind the other.
Finally I had an opening I could squeeze through sideways. With my good hand, I protected my throbbing wrist, still snug in my jacket. When I got inside, I turned back to the plywood sheet and began the tedious job of sliding it back in place. I wrapped my fingers around the edge and pulled. Since I couldn’t get much purchase on the board, my hand kept slipping. If I could reach the piece’s far side, I could wrap my hand over the edge and pull toward me, so much easier, but no such luck. That area was hidden between the vertical sheet and the outside of the building.
The flickering illumination inside the apartment, which I thought came from the bedroom or the bathroom, disappeared, and I was left standing in complete darkness.
Lord, I sure hope I’m right about who’s in here.
“Andi,” I called softly as I tugged on the plywood. “Andi, it’s me. Don’t be afraid.”
I felt the air move behind me, heard the faintest whisper of cloth rubbing on cloth. The kitchen light flicked on, and there stood Andi, a hammer in her raised hand.
“Carrie?” It was a whisper of disbelief. She lowered her arm, and the hammer dangled against her leg.
“Yep. It’s me. No need for a weapon.”
She looked at the hammer. “I stole it from Clooney and used it to pry the board loose.” She gestured toward the opening. “I had to wait to break in until it was late en
ough to be sure Cyber Cilla was in bed, or she’d have me all over Twitter.”
True enough. “What did you do while you waited for night? I mean you left the café around ten.”
“I went to the little store near our house and bought some food because I didn’t know how long I’d have to hide. Then I hid behind the Dumpster at the store until it was safe to come here.”
My heart ached to think of her crouching there, alone, terrified. “You should have told me you were so afraid of Bill. I’d have helped you. Greg would have helped you, and your uncle certainly would have.”
“I’m not afraid of Bill.” She looked at me as if I were slow-witted. “I keep telling you he’s okay.”
I frowned. “But your puzzle. Bill killed Jase.”
“Not Bill. B-I-L, texting shorthand for brother-in-law. My brother-in-law killed Jase.”
Her brother-in-law? How did he get involved in this puzzle?
“And he killed someone before?”
“Or at least helped with the cleanup.”
I heard one hiccup, another, and Andi’s face collapsed as she started to cry. “I’m s-so s-scared.”
I reached for the weeping girl. “Come here, honey.”
She stumbled toward me, the hammer falling to the floor with a thud. We met in a clumsy hug, her whole body shaking as she wept. Her hard embrace pressed against my wrist, and pain shot up my arm. An involuntary gasp slipped out before I could swallow it.
She pulled back. “What’s wrong?”
“I broke my wrist.”
“Oh, Carrie! How? When? I’m away for two days and look what happens! Oh, and I hurt you when I squeezed, didn’t I? I can’t do anything right.” More tears.
I pulled her back into a hug, taking care she was touching the left side of my body. “Shh. I just slipped on a jetty. I’m okay.” If I didn’t count the throbbing pain that brought tears to my eyes. “At least now that I’ve found you I am. Do you have any idea how upset we’ve been?”
She wrapped her arms around my waist and held on. “I c-couldn’t put you at risk.”
