Plan Overboard (Toronto Series #14)

by Wardell, Heather

  "Then we'll just stay here until you do know. Okay?"

  I nod, and we sit in silence for what seems like several minutes. Austin, who has not been quiet for that long the entire time I've known him, holds me and sits with me without a word, without even shifting with boredom, and his presence calms me. Finally, I take a deep shuddering breath. "Sorry."

  "No reason to be." He rubs my arm. "Do you want to talk? Or keep moving?"

  Those words hit me hard. All I've done since the orchestra is keep moving. I ran from Clay, from my clarinet students, from the instrument to which I gave twenty years of my life. I went straight into a new plan directly from the disaster of the orchestra, making myself so busy I couldn't look back, and even the tons of planning I've been doing for the baby has done its part in keeping me distracted so I couldn't stop and think.

  Well, I'm thinking now. And it hurts like hell.

  "Oh, Austin," I say on a sigh.

  He squeezes my hand but doesn't speak.

  Eventually I do. "When I was nine, my mom's mom taught me how to crochet. She'd wanted my mom to learn but Mom says crafts make her break out in hives."

  Austin smiles. "She and my mom would get along."

  I smile back, but it fades fast. "I learned, and I loved it. And I loved the time I spent with my grandmother. Galen wasn't into crocheting, so it was just me and her." I sigh. "Until..."

  "Until your dad left?"

  I shake my head, then say, "Well, yeah, but it wasn't about that. It was about the clarinet." I give a grim laugh. "Of course. What wasn't?"

  Austin tightens his arm around me. "What happened, Corinne?"

  "I started to play the clarinet at school a few months later, and I loved it too. Then Dad took me to see the Philharmonic perform 'Peter and the Wolf' and I swore blind I'd be in that group some day. I started practicing harder, and then way harder when Dad walked out, for hours at a time, and one day I crocheted a little too long first and my hand was so tired that I dropped my clarinet."

  I shiver, remembering my horror at the sight and awful clunk sound of the instrument, which I knew was expensive because I'd overheard my parents fighting about Dad impulsively buying a professional-quality clarinet for a ten-year-old, bouncing off my bedroom's hardwood floor. "That was it. I couldn't risk it happening again so I quit crocheting right then and I never did it again. I never did anything that could ruin my music. I never did anything but music. And now it's gone and..."

  My throat tightens and I hang my head.

  Austin releases my hand and wraps his now-free arm around me too. "I'm sorry," he says softly.

  "It's stupid," I mutter, but I burrow into him because I need the support of his embrace.

  He pulls me even closer. "It's not. You gave up a lot for your dream. That's got to hurt."

  "It does," I whisper, finally recognizing all the pain I've been ignoring for months. "It makes me want to cry but I can't." I even tried watching sad movies and reading super-mushy novels early on, thinking I probably needed to cry, but the tears never came and it just hurt more so I gave up and put it all behind me. I tried to, anyhow. Now I'm not so sure I succeeded.

  After a few moments, Austin says, "Ready to take one thing back?"

  I raise my head, confused, and he jerks his head toward the sign.

  "I'm too old to learn."

  "Really?"

  We both watch as two women who have to be in their nineties head into the room, then he says, "Unless you look really really good for your age, I doubt it."

  But it's such a huge thing. On the surface it's just yarn and loops but it means so much.

  Austin releases me and gets to his feet. "Well? Shall we go learn?"

  I stare up at him. "You'd do it too?"

  His neck reddens. "Yeah. If you want to."

  I keep staring, because I can't believe what I've heard, and again that confused expression from yesterday crosses his face. But he says, "We could give Mel all the baby booties she could ever need."

  Or I could make them for Georjenna.

  Austin holds out his hand to me. "It's up to you. If you want to take it back, I'm there with you."

  He's being sweeter than I'd ever imagined he could be, and I can't resist. I reach out and take his hand, and together we walk into the room, where he spends the next hour listening to old ladies raving over how cute he is for taking the class and I spend it rediscovering my love of crocheting.

  *****

  After dinner, I meet Austin as we'd arranged by the self-serve beverage area. Galen hadn't been too impressed that I wanted to go off on my own and see him, but Glenn promised to lose a poker hand or two to him in the casino and he backed down although he wanted to know what we'd be doing. I told him we were just going to have a drink and chat, because that's what we'd agreed on, but instead Austin says, "I've got a surprise for you. I'm giving you a massage."

  "What, right here?"

  He laughs. "Only if you insist. And it's not really me giving you the massage. I'm more likely to wreck your muscles than relax them. No, I booked us in at the spa." His neck blotches red. "I hope you're okay with that. I was going to ask you but I don't have your phone number or email address so I couldn't."

  "And my phone's off anyhow. Too expensive to use it here," I say, stalling while I figure out if I am okay with what he's done. I know I'm tense, and my misery this afternoon scared me with its intensity. My doctor said I'd be fine to have a massage and in fact said it'd be good for me. I've never had one, though, and I'm not sure I want to have my first with Austin in the room next door.

  Or not next door, because he says, "You'd be doing me a favor, really. I get so bored during massages but I like how I feel afterwards. It'd be nice to have you to talk to."

  "We'd be in the same room?"

  The red on his neck creeps up to his face. "I booked what they call a couples massage. But you don't have to be a couple to do it. My mom and Mel have gone together a few times to have one."

  His embarrassment makes him even cuter, and I hadn't been sure that was possible. He's so adorable, and what he's done is so sweet, that I can't say anything but, "Then let's go get ours."

  He grins and leads me off to the spa, where the receptionist says, "Welcome. Our couples massage room has a change room connected to it. Austin, why don't you change in there and come out in a towel? Corinne, you can get yourself undressed and settled face-down under the sheet on a table before he shows up."

  The word "undressed" throws me for a loop, but of course it'd be difficult to massage me through my jeans and hot pink t-shirt.

  "Good plan," Austin says. "She's far less likely to sneak peeks at me when I walk in than I am at her."

  The receptionist laughs and escorts us to the dimly lit room, which contains two comfortable-looking massage tables and the soft sounds of an ocean sounds recording. As she leaves, Austin says to me, "I'll stay in the change room until you call for me, so don't worry about me walking in on you. I promise I won't. Deal?"

  I smile, both at his words and at his embarrassed expression. Knowing that he also feels weird about us being naked in the same room somehow soothes me a little. "Deal."

  He leaves, scooping up a towel on the way, and when the door closes behind him I hurry to get my clothes off, piling them neatly on a chair so none of my unmentionables are visible, then take a second before clambering onto a massage table to peer down at my stomach. No bigger than before. I wonder when I'll start showing. Melissa is a few weeks ahead of me and she is now. I hope I won't suddenly pop out like she told me she did, at least not until I'm home and have told my family about Georjenna.

  Once I'm on the table and have checked to be sure I've got my rear end completely covered by the sheet, I say loudly, "Any time, Austin."

  He opens the door a crack and sticks his head out. "You're a quick undresser. I like that in a woman."

  I laugh. "Shut up and lie down."

  He grins at me. "So romantic. Now, are you going to stare at me whe
n I come out? I'm shy."

  "As if. And yes, I am going to stare."

  His grin widens. "Good."

  He comes into the room, and I widen my eyes and leer as rudely as I can because I know he wants that, but it's no hardship because getting another look at his strong chest is anything but painful. I liked seeing him at snorkeling yesterday but the towel he's holding around his hips makes this feel more illicit and a lot more fun.

  "Drool a little more, why don't you?"

  "I'll soak my pillow."

  He laughs and sits on the edge of his table. "Now, I don't want to scare you, but there's nothing under this towel but me. Maybe you should cover your eyes or something."

  I do, with my fingers spread apart so he can see my eyes are wide open.

  We both laugh and I say, "Okay, fine, I'll turn my head. Your modesty's safe with me."

  I turn away, and close my eyes for good measure, and he says, "My what now?" as I hear him climbing onto the bed and the sheet rustling.

  "Modesty. Not familiar with the concept?"

  "I think I read about it once. Okay, you can look now."

  I do, and see him grinning at me from his prone position. "All right," he says. "Our work is done. Now we just lie here and relax. And sip our drinks."

  I blink, and he points beneath the head of my table. "They'll put water under there, with a straw. You can lie with your head on that u-shaped pillow and drink away while you get your massage. It's just about perfect."

  The therapists come in before I can answer, each carrying a tall glass of water with lemon and cucumber slices in it, and after a few moments of introducing themselves and arranging our drinks they start our massages.

  Austin was right, it is just about perfect.

  At least, it is for about five minutes.

  Then my therapist moves from the light strokes she's been giving my back and shoulders to a deeper pressure, and all the sadness I was feeling earlier in the day comes bubbling to the surface as if she's pushing it out of me.

  My throat tightens, and I take several increasingly desperate sips of my water to try to control my emotions, but as she keeps working my muscles the pain inside me gets worse and worse and before long a strangled sob escapes me.

  "Am I hurting you?"

  I shake my head, fighting hard to calm myself. "No, it's not that. It's..." It's everything. It's my life. "I don't know."

  She smoothes her hand over my shoulder like she's calming an upset child. "You don't need to know. You can just let it go. It's okay here."

  That's good, because her touch and her kind words have broken my barriers and I'm crying for real now though I'm trying to stop it. Six months of tears.

  Through my sobs, I hear Austin urgently ask to be rolled over to me, and then I feel him take my hand. "It is okay," he says into my ear, and his grip on my hand tightens. "I'm here."

  "Thank you," I manage, then give up trying to fight.

  I don't know how long we spend there, with the sound of my crying drowning out the soothing ocean sounds, but it's exactly what I need. I lie there with the therapist working out the tightest spots in my back and shoulders, letting the emotional pain out through my tears and occasionally taking a sip of the cool water below my table, and when the therapist eventually pulls my covering sheet up to my shoulders and says, "Are you able to roll over?" I've calmed down enough to joke, "But I'll get tears in my ears."

  Everyone laughs, including me. I feel like I should feel embarrassed, bawling my eyes out in front of two strangers and Austin, but I don't. I can tell they all have concern for me and that makes it okay.

  I look toward Austin, who's still holding my hand, and my heart skips a beat at the compassion and worry in his eyes.

  He gives my fingers a squeeze. "We can both roll over," he suggests, "then you can hold my hand again. If you want."

  I do want, very much. I nod, and he lets me go and rolls over beneath his sheet, exposing his strong chest.

  I roll over too, making sure the top edge of my sheet is high enough not to expose anything, then laugh when my therapist holds up two cotton pads and says, "One in each ear to take care of the tears?"

  Austin chuckles. "Plus you wouldn't have to listen to me if I start mouthing off. Another bonus."

  Their kindness makes my eyes fill up again, but these tears don't hurt. "Good point, but I think I'll be okay."

  "You will," Austin and his therapist say at the same time.

  I shut my eyes and extend my hand blindly toward Austin. He takes it, and we lie in a soothing silence while our therapists work.

  By the end of the massage, I feel relaxed and drained and desperately thirsty. Austin's therapist leaves to refill our water glasses, and mine says, "How are you now, Corinne?"

  I sit up, trapping my sheet under my arms to keep it in place, and smile at her. "Better. Much." I do feel better. I feel cleaned out and open. Open to what, I'm not sure, but open.

  She smiles back. "Glad to hear it."

  The other woman returns and hands us each our glass. "Stay for a few minutes and drink this. Come on out when you're done."

  They leave, and Austin slithers off his table, clutching his sheet around his waist with one hand and his drink in the other, then moves over to me. "Hold this?" He offers me his glass.

  I take it, and he hops up onto the table and wraps his arm around me. "I'm sorry."

  I can't help laughing. "You are?"

  He doesn't laugh. "Melissa always says massages relax her and she gets all her stress out during them, so I thought one might be good for you too. Never thought it would make you cry."

  His clear unhappiness touches me. "I don't mind. I needed it, clearly. I'm just sorry you had to see it."

  His smile contains more of his usual attitude. "I didn't. I was face down on the table, remember?"

  I smile back, and he says, "There, that's what I like to see. Okay. Let's drink this water and then get out of here. Deal?"

  "Deal."

  He cuddles me closer, then takes his glass back with his free hand. We sip our water, sitting close together in peaceful silence, then he heads off to dress and I get my clothes on too. He returns, after first making sure I'm decent, and we leave the room together.

  My therapist is hovering in the hall, and she says, "Everything good?"

  I smile. "Definitely. Thank you."

  She looks relieved. "Excellent. Drink as much water as you can for the rest of today, okay? Not good to be dehydrated."

  No, especially not when I'm pregnant. "Okay. Thank you again." I want to tip her but I can't figure out how to do it without being insulting.

  She smiles and leaves, and I say quietly to Austin, "I have to tip her. She was so nice."

  "I did, beforehand," he says, "but I feel like increasing it too."

  "Let me."

  He shakes his head. "My idea, my treat."

  "My tears all over the place," I remind him.

  "Not all over. I think I saw a dry corner."

  I nudge him. "I'm serious."

  "Me too. They were definitely worth more money."

  I remember him saying earlier that his mom pays for everything he does, but before I can even consider mentioning that he says firmly, "And I paid for this, by the way. Not Mom. In case you were wondering."

  I shake my head. "How'd you know?"

  He winks at me. "I'm in your head. Terrifying thought, eh?"

  I laugh, and though I still feel like I should be the one to increase the tip I watch as he speaks to the receptionist then signs a piece of paper.

  When he's done, we walk to the door together then out into the quiet hallway. "What now? Anything you want, Corinne. I'll hang out with you, leave you alone, even give back your DVDs... whatever you want."

  I'm touched but I pretend shock to lighten the mood. "Wow, you'll give them back? You're being so nice."

  He grins. "It happens once every ten years. Congrats on being here for it. So?"

  I don't want to be l
eft alone. Being with him feels too good for that. An idea hits me. "Hey, what about that place you mentioned? The best view on the ship? Take me there."

  I expect him to be okay with this since he himself suggested it earlier, but he frowns and slows down as if he'd rather run the other way.

  I take a breath to tell him never mind, but he gives his head a little shake, picks up his speed again, and says, "Okay. Sure. Let's go."

  We walk together through the hall and then ride up to the top deck on the elevator. He's gone entirely quiet and I don't understand it. He was able to handle my tears but now can't take me to his self-proclaimed favorite spot on the ship?

  When we emerge from the elevator, I turn to the left as he'd said before and gasp. "You were right, it is gorgeous."

  I move forward to the railing, and look down to see nothing but water then out to see nothing but water and night sky sparkling with stars. "It's like we're the only people on the ship. I can see why you love it here."

  He doesn't join me at the railing, and I turn around, surprised, to see him standing a few feet away looking like being even this close hurts him. "Austin? What's wrong?"

  He takes a step toward me. Just one, though, then he stops again and stands frowning with that 'I'm about to fail a math exam' expression he's had a few times.

  "Austin?"

  He gives his head another shake then says, "Yeah. I... um, can we go over there instead?"

  I look where he's pointing. It doesn't seem anywhere near as nice as where I am, but he's so clearly uncomfortable that I can't do anything but agree.

  I follow him to the new spot, and he positions himself facing me with his back to the other place. Then he puts his hand on my shoulder. "I really didn't mean to make you cry. I'm so sorry about that."

  "It's okay. I feel better, to tell you the truth."

  His grip tightens. "I'm glad."

  "Me too." I swallow hard. I've got so much I want to tell him and no idea how to do it. "I... Austin, thank you. For everything. I didn't know what to expect on this cruise but I definitely didn't expect you."

  It's unintentionally a wide-open invitation to say something sexy or funny, and I find myself tensing because I don't want him to ruin the moment with a smart crack, but he doesn't. Instead, he takes hold of my other shoulder and draws me closer. "Then we're even. Because I didn't expect you either." His solemn eyes, more serious than I've seen them before, are searching my face. "I've never expected you."