“Sorry for disturbing you,” she said, speaking quickly. “I had a break in my schedule, so I came home. Only with all the construction, I didn’t want to go into the house.”
She also hadn’t wanted to face Wade, but telling the truth and being brutally honest weren’t the same thing.
“My yard is a disaster and yours is so beautiful. I was admiring it and then suddenly I was walking over and here I am.” She held out both hands, palms up. “As for the talking, somehow I started thinking about my ex-fiancé and I realized he’s a complete jerk. He tried to change everything about me and I let him. I guess I thought he was right.”
TMI, she told herself, and cleared her throat. “Anyway, that’s the conversation I was having. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t.” Deanna’s slight distant expression softened. “It sounds like you’re better off without him.”
“I am.”
“At least you didn’t have children with him. That makes a breakup easier.”
Andie thought about what Lucy had said before—that her mother had been crying. She took an instinctive step forward.
“All relationships have their rough patches,” she said softly. “If there’s anything I can—”
Deanna’s expression iced over. “There isn’t. If you’ll excuse me.” She stepped back and firmly closed the door.
* * *
Late that afternoon, Andi drove to her house, determined to erase memories from her emotional meltdown the day before. She was going to be mature, professional and poised. If that didn’t work, she would deny her previous meeting with Wade had ever occurred. As far as she was concerned, denial was a perfectly sound coping device.
She got out of her car and squared her shoulders. Before she could figure out a charming, sophisticated opening line, the front door to her house opened and a tall, gangly girl bounced onto the porch.
Wade’s daughter, Andi thought, taking in the same dark hair and eyes. But what was sexy and intriguing on him was innocent and beautiful on his daughter. She would guess the girl was twelve or thirteen. If boys weren’t lining up, they would be soon.
“I’m Carrie,” the girl said with a happy wave. “My dad’s been keeping me away because he says that some clients don’t want a kid around. I told him you’re a pediatrician and that you must like children or you made a seriously bad career choice.”
Andi laughed. “You’re exactly right and I love my job. Nice to meet you, Carrie.”
“Nice to meet you, too. Are you excited about the house? I’ve seen the plans and it’s going to be so cool. My dad does excellent work. I know you’re thinking I have to say that, but he really does.”
“I have every confidence in him.” She moved toward the stairs.
“Good. You should.” Carrie waited on the porch. “Are you loving the island? It’s pretty cool here. Sometimes my friends and I wish for a mall and more places to go, but it’s really okay the way it is.” She wrinkled her pert nose. “That’s not really cool, so you can’t tell anyone I said that.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” She climbed the stairs and stood next to Carrie.
“Being a doctor is hard,” Carrie said. “I asked my science teacher about it and he said you went to school for a really long time. After college, I mean.”
“I did, but I started college early. That helped. After a bachelor’s degree, I had to go to medical school, then study more in my specialty. Pediatrics.”
Carrie’s eyes widened. “That’s a lot of studying. I should probably stop complaining about my social studies report, huh?”
“I might not be as sympathetic as you’d like.”
Carried nodded. “You don’t have any kids, right?”
“No. Someday, I’d like to.”
“Kids are really great. Especially twelve-year-old girls. We’re actually the best.”
Andi grinned. “I’ve heard that, but I appreciate the reminder.”
Carrie laughed. “I’m going to go see my friend Madison. She lives next door. It was nice to meet you.”
“You, too.”
Carrie started down the stairs. When she reached the walkway, she turned back. “Oh, my dad has this idea for storage space. He’s really excited about it. I don’t know if it’s what you need or not, but maybe you could pretend to be excited, too? Because he’s really into what he does, you know?”
“You’re a very good daughter, and I promise to be thrilled.”
“Thanks.”
Carrie waved, then walked toward Deanna’s house.
Andi watched her go. What a great kid, she thought. Losing her mother explained the emotional maturity. She would automatically step into the emptiness the void created. But her personality was pure charm. Some of that was genetics, but a lot came from her environment. Apparently Wade was more than just a pretty face.
News she so didn’t need, she thought as she walked inside. The man was tempting enough without finding out he was a great dad.
“You’re here,” Wade said as she entered. “I have this idea I want to talk to you about. For storage.”
She thought of Carrie and grinned. “How amazing. It’s like you read my mind. I was thinking we’re going to have some storage issues.”
“Not anymore. Let me sketch out what I had in mind.”
* * *
Deanna turned left and then drove over Getaway Bridge. Five miles inland, charming suburban neighborhoods gave way to strip malls and big box-store plazas. She circled around the brand-new Costco and drove into what had been a run-down neighborhood dotted with tiny, broken houses decorated with graffiti.
She’d grown up here, in a one-bedroom shack on a street with cracked sidewalks and abandoned cars. She pulled in front of a newer condo complex, grateful the blight of her childhood had been replaced with something so normal.
But time and new construction couldn’t erase the memories. Of the way her mother smelled after days without bathing. Of the clink of liquor bottles in the trash. Of the knot that always formed in her stomach when she knew a beating was coming.
Deanna tightened her grip on the steering wheel, ignoring the pain in her cracked and peeling fingers. Even without closing her eyes, she could see everything about that filthy house. She remembered telling herself not to be afraid of the rats and getting to school early so she could secretly wash in the sink in the girls’ bathroom.
There had been days that weren’t so bad. When her mother had been younger and managed to capture the attention of a man. The place was cleaner, there was food and the beatings were less frequent. But the men always left and then things got bad.
The worst had come when Deanna was ten. Lucy’s age, she thought absently. Her mother had gone on a bender that had lasted two days before she’d passed out. She’d come to in a rage fueled by a hangover and hopelessness. She’d gone after her daughter with all she’d had, finally blackening both eyes and breaking her arm. She’d screamed so much the police had shown up.
Drunk and smelly and ugly as she was, her mother had tried to flirt with the officer. He’d ignored her and taken Deanna into his car. From there she’d gone to the hospital. She still recalled how clean everything had been. How she’d been terrified the nurse would yell at her for dirtying the sheets.
Then Aunt Lauren had shown up. Her mother’s older sister. It was as if Deanna’s mother was the image in a warped mirror and Lauren was the real-life person. They were so alike, yet so different.
Lauren had stood at the end of the bed, her blue eyes dark with concern. “I heard what happened. I’m sorry for all you went through, Deanna. Your uncle and I are willing to have you live with us. But you’re going to have to promise to be good. Do you understand?”
Good. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but she told herself she would figure it
out. She’d vowed to be all they wanted, because if she didn’t mess up, they wouldn’t send her back.
There had been rules, but rules were easy, especially when they didn’t change every other day. Deanna had done her best and she’d learned quickly. Lauren had praised her, allowing Deanna to relax a little, but never fully let down her guard.
The house on the hill had become her home. She’d treasured every corner of the beautiful home, had learned its history, had taken pride in its appearance. Lauren often told friends that Deanna was the perfect daughter.
Perfection—that was the goal. Being perfect meant she could stay. Being perfect meant having nice things.
Being perfect meant people cared about her. At least it had before, Deanna thought, squeezing her eyes shut.
Chapter Twelve
THE WHINE OF saws cut through the afternoon. Andi sat propped up against a tree in her front yard, catching up on her journal reading. Every now and then her gaze slid toward the house. The windows were being replaced this week, which meant a view inside. Every now and then Wade walked by.
May had rolled into June, and the weather had changed accordingly. Mornings were cool and foggy, but the afternoons stayed sunny. Men who did physical labor often wore shorts and T-shirts with no sleeves. As a medical professional, she could appreciate the honed muscles of a healthy man. As a woman who thought her contractor was hot, she found herself licking her lips in a slightly predatory manner.
She returned her attention to the article on whooping cough—a serious illness, especially for infants. Last year there’d been a significant increase in the number of local cases. Several Washington counties had offered special vaccination clinics to prevent the spread. As a practicing physician, Dr. Harrington received updates from the CDC on outbreaks. Andi had already signed up herself to get them, as well. Thinking about keeping her patients safe was a lot better use of her time, she told herself, than staring at Wade King.
The saws kicked on again. The high-pitched scream of the wood made her shudder.
“Having trouble concentrating?”
She looked up and saw Boston standing in front of her. Andi grinned. “It’s not exactly a restful noise.”
“Tell me about it. Come on and take a break at my place.”
Andi scrambled to her feet and followed her neighbor across two lawns and around to the back of the house. Boston wore a loose sundress that fluttered with each step. The sun caught the dark red streaks in her hair. They went into the mudroom and then on to the kitchen, which was just as eclectic and homey as she remembered.
Boston took a pitcher of tea out of the refrigerator, then filled two glasses with ice. There was already a plate of cookies on the marble countertop at the bar.
“I’ll warn you, I’m experimenting with gluten-free,” Boston told her. “Don’t get too excited about the cookies.”
Andi picked one up. “You or your husband have celiac disease?”
“No, I’m being trendy. Shouldn’t I avoid gluten?”
“If you think you have a sensitivity, there are good diets to try. They eliminate gluten triggers. Then you add foods back slowly. You could also try a cleanse and then start adding back food.” She grinned. “You want to do a cleanse when you don’t plan to go anywhere and have lots of free time for the bathroom.”
Boston laughed. “Thanks for the warning. I’m not exactly disciplined enough to do a cleanse.” She grabbed the plate of cookies and moved them to the far side of the kitchen, then pulled out a plastic container. When she popped the top, the delicious scent of chocolate drifted to Andi.
She inhaled. “What are those?”
“Brownies.”
“You’re my hero.”
Boston set down the iced tea, then took a seat next to Andi. She reached for a brownie. “I don’t usually see you at home in the middle of the week.”
Andi picked up a brownie. It was moist and heavy. She could see the walnuts poking through the thick layer of frosting. Her mouth began to water.
“I haven’t been fired, if that’s what you’re politely trying to ask. I want to start a Saturday clinic once a month. For a lot of parents, weekday appointments are a challenge. I can do vaccinations and well-care visits.”
Boston nodded. “That’s thoughtful. I’m sure the parents will appreciate it. I’m spoiled with my work hours. I do what I want on my own schedule.” She paused. “I’m going to have something to show you in the next few days. It’s not a lot, just a few jungle animals and some ideas I have for the foliage.”
“I look forward to it. As I said—I appreciate you sharing your talent with me. I’m not a very worthy client.”
“Would you feel better if I said I was doing it for your kids?”
“Yes, I would.”
Andi waited. Boston looked as though she was going to say more. Finally she shrugged.
“It’s good to have a project,” she admitted. “I’ve been in a rut lately, and this has forced me to take a look at how I’m spending my time. That’s a good thing. Oh, that reminds me. Wait here a second.”
Boston slid off the stool and hurried out of the kitchen. She was back quickly, a painting in her hands.
The frame was a simple whitewash. The picture itself showed all three houses nestled together. The details on the outside two were perfect. Deanna’s seemed stiffer somehow, more proud. Tiny brushstrokes captured the curl of the railings, the texture of the siding. Boston’s house was just as beautiful, but in a more relaxed way. The yard sculpture was front and center.
Andi’s gaze settled on her house. The artist had been kind, filling in the lawn, adding windows where there had only been boards, brightening the paint.
“On the days when the construction starts to get to you,” Boston said, “this will inspire you to hang on.”
“I love it,” Andi admitted. “And your timing. Because it’s only week four and I’m so over the remodeling.”
Boston laughed and settled onto a stool. “Sorry to tell you, there are many more weeks to come.”
“Thank you so much for the painting.”
“If not the news?”
Andi squirmed on her seat. “That’s a little harder to get excited about.”
“Do the hunky guys help?”
Andi picked up her iced tea. “They add to the ambiance,” she admitted. “There is something about male muscles that gets my heart beating faster. But as I’m sure they’re all married, I’m keeping my heaving bosom to myself.”
Boston raised her eyebrows. “Wade is single.”
Andi told herself to stay calm. Blushing and stuttering wouldn’t inspire confidence or friendship. “I’ve heard that, and while he’s the prettiest of the group, I get the impression he sees me as a client rather than a woman.” She gave what she hoped was a casual shrug. “We’re working together. It makes the most sense.”
Boston tilted her head. Her hair tumbled over her shoulder in a cascade of browns and blacks and reds. “Wade’s a good guy. Cautious with women, because of Carrie. He doesn’t want her hurt.”
“Of course not. Any single parent would be wary, but with her mom gone, it’s even more complicated. When parents are divorced, there’s usually still a role model in place. Not always, but...” She trailed off as she realized Boston was smiling.
“I didn’t say anything funny,” she said, feeling the awkward come back.
“You’re perceptive. Most of the time you hide it in regular conversation, but your mind is always working things through.”
“I’m less intuitive about people than you’d think.” Matt was proof of that.
“I’m not convinced. Is it a family trait?”
“I’m not sure. My relatives are more into education than intuition. Everyone’s a doctor plus.”
“Plus what
?”
Andi picked up her glass. “My mother’s a famous heart surgeon. My father is even more specialized. Let’s just say in my world, being merely a pediatrician is a waste. My mother constantly hounds me for administering to skinned knees and vaccinations.”
Boston winced. “I’m so sorry. That’s horrible. You’re a wonderful doctor.”
“Kind of you to say, but you have no way of knowing if that’s true.”
“You’re wrong. I’ve seen you in action. With Lucy and the twins. You were perfect with them. You talk to kids like they’re people, not a subspecies. They love that. I’ll bet your patients adore you. They trust you.”
Andi felt herself flush with pleasure. “Thanks. You’re very kind.”
“I’m an artist,” Boston said with a sniff. “My job is to observe the world. I know what I’m talking about.”
Andi grinned. “Okay, then. You’re the expert. So tell me why, after dating for ten years and then his leaving me at the altar, I only just figured out I’m better off without my ex-fiancé.”
The words spilled out with no warning. Andi tried to suck them back, but there was no way.
Boston stared at her. “Oh, Andi. Is that what happened?”
She nodded, the humor long gone. “He didn’t warn me. I thought everything was fine, right until my mother came to tell me that he wasn’t there. He never showed, never sent a note. Later, when I finally talked to him, he said he wasn’t ready. We’d been together a decade and he wasn’t ready?” Her voice rose with the telling. “I was angry and humiliated. How could he not be sure? What was there left to know? And if he didn’t want me, why didn’t he just say so?”
She swallowed against the tightness in her throat. “He ran off with his receptionist a couple of weeks later. They got married in Las Vegas. He’d known her three months. The worst part is I’ve only just figured out he was always trying to change me. He didn’t like my clothes or my condo. He hated my hair.”
“I love your hair.”
“Thanks. Why did he bother? Why did I? I’m glad we didn’t get married, but why didn’t I see all this before?”
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