Windswept

by Julie Carobini

  Maybe he hadn't wanted her to go.

  But instead of just telling her that, he drank.

  And he wrote her an angry letter.

  Then he tossed it in the trash ... only for Gia, her one-and-only sister, to find it.

  Sophia pressed a hand to her forehead, a sob escaping. Her shoulders shook as she cried it out, allowing the wind to sweep away her tears. Could it be that she had been focusing on her stepfather's one major slip so long that it had become her mantra?

  The more she emptied herself of built-up tears, the more the truth became clear as crystal: Her stepfather had not wanted to lose her—but he told her so in one very bad and imperfect way.

  It was said that, in the days of old, when a sailor would be lost at sea, the mermaids would cry — and their tears would surface in the form of sea glass.

  By the looks of the piles of sea glass refined by agitation and coughed up by the ocean, emotions had been running high among the mermaids along this lolling stretch of the coast.

  Christian skipped the quarter-shaped green sea glass across the surface of a wave, watching it jump three times. He may have exaggerated that last jump.

  Living away from the shoreline wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be. He had rented a Shangri-la thirty miles up the coast from Sea Glass Inn, staying for the past two weeks about a mile inland in the back house of a property. Ever since, he'd kept his head down until he'd finished the book. Once he got rolling, it hadn't taken long.

  The entire process both worried and startled him. Worried him because he feared leaving the Sea Glass Inn within full view of his muse would stunt his writing progress and startled him because it hadn't.

  When he'd finally lifted his head from his sprint-filled writing days, he'd realized with a start how little he'd eaten in the previous weeks—though the coffee had been plentiful. But he could not stop himself from forging on. He'd sent the manuscript to his editor and checked in with Marci about the changes they'd discussed regarding the cover. He'd also hired a virtual assistant named Grace to help him with social media, advertisements, and swag.

  Add to all that the fact that Burns hadn't backed off much from his assertion that he was entitled to a slice of CJ's pie, Christian had done something that made his skin crawl—he and Grace planned a full-out social media blitz.

  In essence, CJ Capra had taken the leap from the traditionally published world and into the independently published one with every part of his life.

  Now he found himself here on the beach, barefoot with his pant legs rolled up, walking through soft and wet clay-like sand. He ran a hand across his overgrown beard, planted his feet in that wet sand, and allowed his body to sink into it. He expected that any moment sand crabs would nip his toes to protest the invasion of their dwelling. He didn't care. The past weeks were hard fought.

  He missed her.

  But her heart was elsewhere. He had seen it on her face when she received those roses in New York, her expression lit with hope. He picked up a rock this time and pitched it, with force, into a wave. Sophia had already had enough upheaval in her young life anyway—even without Jackson's promise of a sound pummeling if he were to get in Wade's way.

  This morning, Christian had clicked the lock on his daily rental shack, driven downtown, and rented an RV. The man at the RV rental counter told him he could park at a famous surf spot and miss the crowds of the weekend. So he'd found a place to park on this breezy and somewhat lonely length of the sea where he could get away.

  Though he'd enjoyed the privacy and solace of his inland home, he had missed the smell of the sea. He trudged along, the wind tousling his beard, the sea spray refreshing his skin, and inhaled, the salt air clearing away the gray matter that had settled in his brain.

  Other than a couple of old guys with bald heads and goatees jogging by with surfboards under their arms, the beach was deserted. And he liked it that way. He'd gotten used to the quiet, the new frontier of reaching readers from behind screens instead of at book signing tables in the center of a busy bookstore. Along with his bed on wheels, he had brought food, and basics, and a stack of books he'd been avoiding until all his writing was done. As far as Christian was concerned, he was set for the entire week.

  He walked another ten yards or so, noting the precision of pelicans torpedoing the ocean, and realized—he didn't have anywhere to be. Nor anyone to meet. He was free to walk or not walk, to plunk down on the sand…or not.

  With another cleansing breath, he continued on his walk. Up ahead, two brown-skinned men hopped out of a pickup truck. Carbon copies of each other, except for their heights. The taller one climbed into a wetsuit and helped the younger one into his. Then the pair scrambled down the rocks with their surfboards fastened to their ankles with Velcro. He watched them, father and son, ride into the surf.

  A flock of gulls flew overhead forming a "v." Always wondered how they knew who to follow—and how the leader knew to be in the lead. He watched them a good long time, till they were nearly out of his line of vision.

  A wave rolled in harder, engulfing his feet on landing. The water cooled his toes, the wave pulling away the tension from his body on its retreat. If he were not upright, he might have fallen asleep right there on the beach ... and he might still yet.

  And then ...

  His phone rang.

  Christian fought the urge to curse. He pulled the wailing hour-stealer from his pocket, his hands holding it nimbly. The only way he'd ever truly break free of the phone's constant nagging would be to hurl it into the surf.

  But it was his editor calling.

  "Hey, Christian. It's Bette. Got a minute?"

  "I've got all day."

  She chuckled. “Well, I won't keep you that long. I wanted to let you know that I've read through your novel and it's amazing. Truly." She cleared her throat.

  The added "truly" had him wondering. "But?"

  She let out a small but exasperated sigh. "The end!"

  "What about it?" He started up his walk through the surf again.

  "The mermaid just leaves ... what's with that?"

  "Not sure I understand the question."

  "For one, there's too much unsaid between her and the hero."

  "I don't write romance."

  Her sigh like running water filled the earpiece. "Well, you sure have a strange way of showing it."

  "Anything else?"

  "I'm serious about the ending. You'll have your readers slinging the book across the room if you just leave it like that. What happens to her? Why does she just swim off to oblivion? Almost makes it sound like the Avengers lost this one."

  The Avengers were the victims who had risen up in the face of oppression. He stopped. "Really?"

  "Now I've got your attention. The Agitators wanted her gone—and though they were mostly annihilated, a remnant remained."

  "Yes, but that's so I can bring them back in book two."

  "But you let them get away with too much. This ends like a cliffhanger, and you know your readers'll hate that!"

  "So you're saying Nickolas ... should go after her?"

  "Yes. I am recommending this for more than getting your readers to buy book two. It's because it's the right and natural thing to do. Look at their story. Two lost beings coming together despite their scars? The ugly and the beautiful all wrapped up in one?"

  He knew he didn't have to take Bette's advice. But she had been his editor for several years, his no-nonsense, no-feelings-spared editor. She was tough enough to leave Median Publishing before the last layoffs and start her own gig. She had not steered him wrong in the past, so why would she now? He had to believe she knew what she was talking about.

  "I'll take it under submission," he said.

  She didn't say a thing for a good long half-minute. Then, "That's all I ask."

  He hung up, the glow of his "staycation" duller now. Instead of celebrating, it appeared that he had one more push to give the story. He had no one but himself to blame. In some ways,
he had known all along that he'd allowed his muse to intertwine with his feelings for Sophia. And when his quest for her had turned elusive, so had his muse.

  But that was a mistake.

  He'd confused fantasy with reality, and when he couldn't bend one, he was at a loss to shape the other.

  Christian fought off a second very real urge to curse—this time at himself.

  He exhaled, scanning the horizon. The blue of the water stretched into variations of itself. He needed this break, some time to get back in touch with himself—not just the part of him that churned out stories nearly nonstop.

  He was, he noticed, becoming quite belligerent about his quest for a break.

  After he'd walked as far as his strength would take him, Christian turned back. By now, evening had come, along with a scattering of beachgoers. They walked in pairs or groups, paying no attention to him as he passed, some holding hands, others moving in a free-wheeling pattern, freed from the shackles of their day.

  He finally made it back to where he'd parked his rented RV, climbed up the rocks, and went inside to grab a beer. Outside he sat in his lone beach chair, took a sip, and wondered at the view.

  A group had gathered outside of the RV parked in the space next to his. An older couple with several young adults sat around an old washing machine drum filled with driftwood that they'd used to start a fire. As soon as that sun left them, that heat would come in handy.

  Christian scanned the beach. From his vantage point, he could see small fires had begun to pop up with groups lingering. Night surfers converged on the inky waves, and lovers strolled in the coming twilight.

  He downed his last swig of beer and took one last lingering glance out to sea. Though he searched for her between each crest of a wave, Christian spotted nothing.

  Chapter 16

  Many weeks had passed and Sophia had never been so busy. Not even when she had sold her first couple of designs to a string of boutiques in upstate New York. After her new line's debut at Fashion Week, Sophia decided to stay with the mom-and-pop manufacturer that had been with her since the beginning—and they'd been on the phone almost daily since. This meant early mornings for her, which worked out well since she hardly slept anymore anyway.

  "Another macchiato, Sophia?" Jenny had become accustomed to Sophia's daily routine.

  "Absolutely."

  The inn had begun to pursue more much-needed upgrades, thanks in part to the pending sale of Sea Castle, but also for a reason that none of them foresaw: CJ Capra had written a book there. Once word got out via social media that Christian had written his newest novel from a suite at Sea Glass Inn, the hotel had been booked. Fresh calls came in daily. Journalists scheduled interviews. Even mermaid gazers showed up to peer from the trail overlooking the sea at the edge of the property.

  She had made a decision for a change of her own but had yet to find the time to tell her brother. Or anyone else, for that matter.

  Sophia sipped her espresso and answered her phone when it rang.

  "Good morning, Wade."

  "Is it as sunny there as it is here?"

  She gazed out the window, the day's early sunlight dappling the water. "It's another gorgeous day, even in late fall. I take it Florida is as well."

  "The sun's out, of course, but the view is nowhere near as beautiful as it would be if I were sitting across from you."

  She smiled. “Oh, I don't know about that. I'm wearing sponge rollers and a chartreuse terry-cloth robe right now."

  "You are stunning no matter what you wear."

  She laughed at this. "And you are good for my ego."

  "Speaking of being good for each other, I wanted to let you know that I will be flying back tomorrow, Sophia. You've been busy, so I wanted to give you time to clear your calendar." He paused. "We have a lot of catching up to do."

  This was good news. She had missed talking with him, discussing some of her business issues that seemed to crop up every day. It would be good to fall back into a routine where they could meet for coffee or perhaps a glass of wine whenever the mood struck.

  Liddy pulled out a chair and sat down just as Sophia hung up. She put her iPad on the table. "I hope I didn't rush you off your call."

  "No, no. We were finished."

  "Wade?"

  "How did you know?"

  Liddy gave her a little shrug. "It's a look on your face that I've seen before."

  "What look?"

  "I don't know exactly ... like you're happy. But also a little, how do I put this, melancholy? Are you missing him right now?"

  "Of course. Yes. That's it."

  "I see you're finished with your coffee. Do you mind if I order something to eat? I'm famished." She laughed. "It's a workout having a baby, I tell you."

  "Please. Order whatever you like." She surveyed the dining room. "Is Meg coming?"

  One of Liddy's eyebrows shot up. "Didn't you hear? The famous Priscilla is on her way so Meg was picking up some special flowers for her room."

  "She's coming here? To stay?"

  Liddy nodded. "I believe she'll be vacationing for a few weeks." She leaned forward, a sly smile on her face. "Meg said something about Priscilla being a CJ Capra groupie. So I'm guessing they'll be looking for mermaid sightings while she's here."

  "Oh!" Sophia forced a smile to her face. While the news about Chris's stay at the inn had boosted their visibility, it had also created an uncomfortable reality for her: daily mentions, questions, and all-around comments about the elusive CJ Capra.

  Elusive because he'd left the inn, and their friendship, with no forwarding address.

  Liddy laughed and held up her iPad. "There's an interview with Christian online. Would you like to read it?"

  She hesitated.

  Liddy waved a hand. "I'll just send you the link to read later."

  "Okay,"

  Liddy's eyes lit in recognition "You're here!" She stood and hugged Meg, who was beginning to thicken in the middle, albeit slightly.

  Meg gave Liddy a hug, then leaned over to kiss Sophia on the cheek, all while carrying an enormous vase full of sunflowers.

  "For heaven’s sake, Meg, give those to a bellman to deliver," Liddy said.

  Meg set the vase on the table. "Oh no, I'm fine. I want to deliver them myself, you know, so I can make sure everything's perfect for her arrival."

  Sophia smiled. "And you haven't seen her since Italy, right?"

  Meg shook her head. "No. So much has happened since our serendipitous meeting. Feels like a lifetime ago, really. I'm excited to see what she's up to. You will both love her!"

  Jenny stopped by the table. "What can I get you?"

  Meg ordered an omelet, bacon, two slices of toast, a side of avocado, and a bowl of fruit.

  Liddy leaned forward and stage whispered, "She's eating for two."

  Jenny giggled. "I got that. And you?"

  "I'm trying to get rid of my baby fat, so just a bowl of fruit." She nodded at Meg. "And her leftovers."

  Sophia leaned over and squeezed Meg's wrist. "You are simply glowing."

  "I'll say." Liddy reached into her purse. "Here is a bottle of those prenatal vitamins I told you about. Throw out that garbage you're taking. Trust me."

  "Yes, ma'am." Still laughing, Meg said to Sophia, "Did Wade tell you the transfer is almost finalized?"

  "He called this morning, actually. It's a relief, isn't it."

  Meg nodded. "Really, it is."

  For the next half hour, they ate their breakfasts and caught up on life. After weeks of business calls, some for the inn and many for Agli Designs, Sophia needed this casual banter. Even more so with an impending change she had decided to make.

  "Meg! Oh my goodness, it's really you!"

  All three of the women turned around.

  Meg was the first to get up from the table and rush over to the woman with a long slim nose, pale skin, full lips, and red hair. "Priscilla!" She hugged her tight and then slipped an arm around her waist and introduced her to Sophia
and Liddy.

  They were all seated at the table, and Priscilla ordered a mimosa with just a splash of orange juice. She glanced around, taking in the wide ocean view. "It's just like we're back in Cinque Terre, isn't it, Meg?"

  She threw back a laugh. "Oh, yes, exactly like that."

  Priscilla's eyes grew wide in mock surprise. "You find it so very different out here on the West Coast?"

  Liddy spoke up. "You should ask Sophia. She grew up in Italy."

  Priscilla turned to her. "You don't say! That's marvelous." Jenny delivered the mimosa, and Priscilla picked up her glass in a toast. "To living the exotic life."

  Here, here!

  She continued, "And to finding mermaids at Sea Glass Inn."

  Liddy sat back, dissolving into laughter. "Word really has traveled far and fast!"

  Priscilla gave a fun little shrug and wink. She took another sip of her mimosa. "I was already determined to come out here and see Meg again, but when I read about the mermaids in Mr. Capra's interview, oh! I knew I absolutely must make my plans soon. Who knows? Now that I have finally received a well-deserved settlement from my ex, the scoundrel, maybe I will discover that California is more to my liking than Virginia."

  Meg nodded. "I'm so glad to hear this, Priscilla. Great news!"

  "Now." Priscilla turned in her chair so she could see Meg more fully. "Let me see that belly!"

  Meg's face turned pink, but she proudly patted her middle, which hadn't grown much yet.

  Priscilla smiled with every part of her face. "You will make a wonderful mother."

  "Thank you," Meg said.

  Slowly, Sophia pushed back her chair. "I am very sorry to have to leave you all, but it's about time for a conference call." She turned to Priscilla. "It has been a pleasure."

  Sophia hated to leave the party, but with Wade flying home tomorrow and expecting some of her time, she had to get moving. As she strode through the lobby, she ticked through the to-do list she'd made earlier: conference call for her design company, view initial mockups of the ballroom remodel, sign the lease on the apartment she'd just rented ...