The Runaway

by Jennifer Bernard

  But it wasn’t until she’d reached the town of Ocean Shores, located just north of San Diego, with its dilapidated waterfront dotted with high-end condos, and the charming little marina with its cheerful navy-blue window trim and bristling crop of sailboat masts, that she’d felt any desire to stick around.

  And it wasn’t just because the ocean was right there, lapping against the wooden pilings, making the boats’ riggings chime, steel cables clinking against masts.

  It was more than that. It was because of the chance that Mark might be the boy in her memory.

  But it wasn’t until that moment with the sunflowers that something else had occurred to her.

  What if Mark was her brother?

  None of the articles had mentioned a baby, nor had the Castellanis’ neighbor. But maybe there was a good reason for that, something she couldn’t figure out.

  She didn’t know yet exactly how she and Mark ended up in the woods together, but her gut instinct—and her excellent investigative work, not to brag—told her they had. It also told her that Mark didn’t seem like a brother, or a cousin, or any kind of family member.

  But could she really trust her intuition anymore? She needed facts to back it up.

  After finishing the floor and locking the office, she took a moment to lean over the railing on the deck. She soaked in the sounds of the marina after dark. The low voices of the people spending the night on their yachts, laughter carrying across the water, the jostle of boats against piers, the whisper of the night breeze picking up.

  As soon as she was sure that no one was looking, she could sneak into her “bedroom.”

  She’d promised Mark that she would have a real address by the time she’d started working. And she did. Granted, that address was in the back storeroom of the marina, where she’d made a nest for herself in between pallets of coffee cans and marine-grade paint. It was very comfortable and warm, with its only downside being that the marina opened early, and she had to make sure to be somewhere else by the time Mark or one of the other workers showed up. Generally, she set her alarm for five and tiptoed outside while it was still dark.

  At that point, she either went for a morning walk along the beach or waited for the nearest coffee shop, The Drip, to open at six.

  It was a strange life, but she loved it. It was the first time she’d ever been on her own, with no one to answer to. Here, she could be anyone because no one knew her.

  In fact, she literally could be anyone, because she had no idea anymore what was real about her and what wasn’t.

  She yawned and watched the lights wink out in the fancy two-masted schooner from San Pedro. That was her cue.

  After making sure the coast was clear, she tiptoed to the service door of the marina office and pushed it open. She bent down to snag the sugar packet she used to keep it from locking completely. Using just the muted light from her phone, she stepped carefully through the utility room into the cozy stockroom.

  The big yellow cat—she’d named him Mellow to rhyme with yellow—sauntered in after her. Even though it was a risk, when she was especially lonely, she let him sleep with her.

  She’d stashed her sleeping bag behind the spar finish piled in the far corner. Customers rarely bought spar finish, luckily. Her foam mat was just where she’d hidden it—flattened against the wall behind some framed posters of past local regattas. From her backpack, she produced her blowup travel pillow and voila! Bedroom accomplished.

  She wondered what Mad Max would think of this arrangement.

  “I’m not homeless, Mellow,” she told the cat as she curled up in her sleeping bag. “But it doesn’t make sense to spend money on an apartment when I have no idea how long I’ll be here. What if Mark is a dead end? Or a red herring? Or a dead herring?”

  Mellow blinked at her, probably hoping she actually had a dead herring. She took a break to blow up her pillow, then continued.

  “He’s definitely not a dead herring, because that would make him a cold fish, and he’s not that at all. He’s…well, it’s funny, Mellow. I’m very good at sensing things about people. With Mark, I sense—I don’t know what. Wounds. That’s what I sense. Something hidden that he doesn’t want to talk about. You know Mark from a cat’s perspective, but even you can tell that he’s very kind and solicitous. He’s a strict boss, but he also watches out for his workers. For instance, I can tell that some of the fishermen would like to flirt or maybe even ask me out. But they’re afraid to, thanks to Mark.”

  Mellow curled up at the foot of her sleeping bag.

  “And before you ask, Mellow, it’s not because he’s interested in me. He’s very professional when it comes to his business. This place means a lot to him. Honestly, I’ve been trying everything to get to know him better, but I’m getting nowhere. Maybe this whole thing is silly. It’s such a wild goose chase, you know? Do wild geese like dead herring?”

  Smiling at that ridiculous thought, she started to drift off. Maybe tonight she’d remember something else about the boy, or about the scary person chasing them, or the woods, the bassinet, Amanda, or her true origins. It was surprising that she hadn’t already. Why just that one flash of memory? Why not more?

  Before she could fall sleep, the scrape of the door prodded her like an electric shock.

  Mellow lifted his head, ears twitching.

  Someone was coming into the storeroom.

  She’d locked the door, hadn’t she? She couldn’t remember. Crap. Could anyone see her huddled back here next to the spar finish? What if a burglar was breaking in to steal some polyurethane? That stuff was expensive! Was it her job to defend the stockroom or should she keep hiding?

  Crouching, she reached for a small can of finish and hefted it in her hand. She could easily knock someone out with it.

  Maybe it would win her some points with Mark. He loved his marina more than anything, and if she did something to protect it, maybe he’d start to trust her more. If he trusted her, maybe he’d talk more about his past.

  Or maybe she could come out and ask him if he remembered anything about a baby in a bassinet in the woods.

  As the door continued to swing open, she clutched the can, her heart hammering hard. When the silhouette of a man loomed in the doorway, outlined against the backup fluorescents of the utility room, panic surged through her.

  And just like that, another flash of memory hit.

  A man. A terrifying, strange, mumbling man who did things she couldn’t understand, like push her mother out of the car. One minute her mother was there, the next she was gone, and in her place was a stranger, and then they were moving, with that soothing, rumbly engine noise that always put her to sleep, but not this time. This time she cried and cried and…

  The can flew out of her hand. It landed with a thud against the wall next to the storeroom door.

  “What the fuck?” Mark’s indignant voice rang out. Light blasted her eyeballs as he hit the switch. “Gracie?”

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry!” She jumped to her feet. The can had left a mark on the wall, but at least it hadn’t hit Mark. “I thought you were a burglar. I mean, I realized at the last second that you weren’t, so luckily I changed my aim just the tiniest amount. But I’m really sorry about the dent in the wall. I’ll fix it!”

  “What are you doing back here?” His dark eyes quickly scanned the room, landing on the jumble of bedding that was her hiding place. “No fucking way.”

  “Look, don’t get mad. It’s temporary.”

  “You said you had a place to stay.”

  “And… Voila!” She gestured grandly at the storeroom. Crap, he was probably going to fire her now, and if he did, all hope of getting to the truth would be gone. Change the subject. “How did it go with Sophie?”

  “We’re not talking about that,” he growled. He ran one hand through his dark curls. “We’re talking about you right now.”

  “I’m really a very boring topic of conversation—”

  “I doubt that,” he interrupted. “
I’m pretty sure the last word I’d use is boring. But come on, Gracie. What’s the real story here? What are you even doing in SoCal?”

  “What do you mean? Why shouldn’t I be here? I think I fit in just fine.”

  “Of course you do. That’s not what I—” Again, he scrubbed a hand through his hair. For the first time, the phrase “tear your hair out” made sense to her. She hoped he didn’t tear too much out, because it was thick and curly and made her want to touch it.

  Stop. What if he’s your brother?

  We look nothing alike.

  That’s irrelevant.

  “What are you doing here, anyway? This seems like a strange place to come after a date. I mean, unless you’re me and happen to be living here. Temporarily, I mean.”

  “What am I going to do with you?” He shoved his hands in his pockets and glowered at her foam mat and sleeping bag. “Is that a cat?”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t speak for him.”

  He blinked at her in total confusion.

  “I know this all looks a little sketchy, but I hope you can focus on the good job I’m doing here at Ocean Shores. If you take everything into account, I think you’ll agree that I’m an asset to this organization.”

  His frown relaxed into something more like a chuckle. “This organization?”

  “Everyone loved my sunflowers, and I offered to babysit for the family in berth thirty-two tomorrow. It’s their anniversary. I’ve been working with Dwayne on his fear of crowds, and today he managed to talk with three—”

  “I’m not going to fire you, Gracie.”

  She slumped with relief.

  “Though I should. If the city knew someone was sleeping back here, they could shut me down. And you lied to me. You said you had a place.”

  “It was, at most, a fudging of the truth. I’m sorry. I didn’t have enough money for a hotel, and I’m not ready to commit to an apartment.”

  “Good to know that my new cashier isn’t ready to sign any kind of lease or long-term commitment to stick around,” he said dryly.

  He looked extra handsome tonight in a white open-collar shirt with a vintage flair and a pair of black trousers. Better not tell him so, though. That kind of thing made him uncomfortable.

  “So far, I’m quite happy with the job,” she assured him. “I promise I’ll let you know if that changes. And of course, I’ll give you plenty of notice if I leave.”

  A smile played across his lips. He looked much more cheerful than when he’d first turned on the light—although that could be because no cans of spar finish were winging toward his head.

  “I have an idea. Grab your stuff and come with me.”

  “I’m in my pajamas.”

  A quick glance down her body, with the slightest hesitation at her legs. Luckily, she was dressed in her old high school gym shorts and a t-shirt. If she’d slept naked, the way she did at home, this would be even more awkward. Then he turned away—so quickly, she thought maybe she’d imagined that scrutiny.

  He muttered something on his way out, possibly including the word “sunbathing.” True, she wore even less when she was lying out on the ramp. Fine. She shrugged and slipped on her flip-flops, grabbed her sleeping bag, and followed him out of the stockroom.

  4

  Everything about this night had been a disaster. First, Sophie had laughed at Mark’s hint about getting more serious.

  “You want to prove you’re committed? Time to meet the family, bub.”

  “But they’re in Connecticut.”

  “Yes, they are. Is that a problem?”

  “You know I can’t leave the marina. I never leave—”

  “Then can we drop this and pick a movie? I’m feeling chick flick but with robots.”

  Then Mark had remembered that he’d left a present for Sophie in the stockroom. She didn’t like boats, but she loved things with boats on them, like the tote bag he’d ordered for her.

  But when he’d opened the door, he’d nearly gotten knocked out by a flying varnish can.

  And then by the sight of Gracie in her PJs.

  The bunny on her sleep shirt wore glasses. Pink, oval glasses. Also, her shorts were so faded they looked like they might simply disintegrate off her body at any moment. Mark knew perfectly well what Gracie looked like—after all her sunbathing sessions, how could he not, try as he might to ignore her.

  But Gracie in her bed clothes was a completely different matter. It was more intimate, especially with her sleepy eyes and messy hair.

  It blew his mind that she’d been sleeping on that concrete floor all this time. Even with a piece of foam and a sleeping bag, it couldn’t have been very comfortable. He hadn’t known what was going on in his own marina—that might be the most unsettling part. He always knew everything about the marina.

  Except when it came to Gracie. She had a way of upending everything. It was a very annoying quality.

  He led the way outside, into the balmy air of a spring heat wave. The familiar scent of tar and diesel and ocean water made him breathe more easily. He walked down ramp two.

  Gracie caught up to him. “Why are you here so late? Did something go wrong with Sophie?”

  “Of course not. Everything’s great with Sophie.”

  “Really? Congratulations!” With anyone else, he might question their sincerity. Not Gracie. She was the most straightforward person he’d ever known. Aside from lying about having a place to stay, of course.

  “No need for that. I didn’t propose.”

  “Oh. Congratulations!”

  He shot her a sharp glance, noting her wicked smile. Gracie’s teasing sense of humor only came out occasionally, when she wasn’t treating him like a boss. “Cute. I haven’t proposed yet. But we did take a very important step.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m going to meet her parents.”

  “You haven’t met them yet?”

  “No, they live in Connecticut. We’re going to fly there soon so she can introduce me. Everything’s fine. Just like I told you.”

  “You’re leaving the marina? That’s kind of momentous. Everyone says you never leave.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I can leave if I want to.” The more he thought about it, the more he dreaded it. Connecticut. Jesus.

  “Hmm.”

  Her noncommittal murmur irritated him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s just a sound. A ‘hmm.’ Why does it have to mean something?”

  “Because there’s history behind that ‘hmm.’ You said me and Sophie weren’t going to work out, and now you don’t want to admit defeat.”

  She stopped in her tracks, halfway down the ramp, and planted her hands on her hips. “This isn’t a contest, boss. This is your life we’re talking about, not to mention Sophie’s. Your beloved.”

  He opened his mouth once, then shut it again. How had he stepped into that trap? “I could fire you, you know.”

  “You already said you weren’t going to fire me, and I’m the best cashier you’ve had for a while, so you might as well stop threatening to.”

  “Who said you’re the best?”

  “Dutch. And he doesn’t like very many people, so I took that as a huge compliment.”

  Mark grunted and continued down the ramp, with Gracie dashing to catch up with him. “What’s that sound supposed to mean? That grunting noise you just made?”

  “It’s just a sound,” he said, throwing her words back at her. “Why does it have to mean something?”

  She laughed at him. “Okay, you win. In your own mind, anyway.”

  She was so adorable, with the night breeze flirting with her hair, that he couldn’t help grinning back. “I’ll take it, since that’s obviously the only way I’m going to win a round with you.”

  They’d reached their destination. He gestured at the tub of a boat tied up at the very end of ramp two. He’d fallen in love with the Buttercup when Uncle Stu first invited him to work at the marina when he was only seventeen.
He’d brought it back to life one fitting at a time. Hadn’t even changed its silly name. “Why don’t you stay here until you decide if you want to spring for an apartment or not?”

  Gracie’s mouth dropped open, and she looked back and forth from him to the wooden craft. “Seriously? You’ll let me live on your boat?”

  “Well, yes. That’s the point. I stay at Sophie’s condo most of the time, because things are working out so well with us.” He couldn’t help adding that little dig, even though he wasn’t sure it was true. The thought of flying to Connecticut to meet Sophie’s uptight family filled him with dread. She’d probably change his haircut and drag him to her parents’ country club. “I won’t be needing it, and this way it won’t go to waste.”

  “Oh my gosh. I can’t believe it!” Gracie crouched next to the Buttercup and touched the side rail with an expression of awe. “She’s so magnificent.”

  “She’s kind of an old tub.”

  Even though he said it with affection, she glared up at him. “Don’t you dare insult this amazing work of craftsmanship. Is this railing made out of teak?”

  “It is. The entire boat is teak or mahogany. I bought her from an old sea captain who spent years restoring every plank. Unfortunately, she kept springing more leaks, and he decided she wasn’t seaworthy and sold her to me. The one time I took her out, I spent the whole time bailing. She’s better off staying in port. The only thing I ask is that you make sure to turn on the pump every couple of days. Otherwise, you might end up at the bottom of the harbor.”

  “Mark… I mean, Mr. Castellani. Boss.” Apparently she was too overwhelmed to speak coherently. “I’m so grateful. I mean, I’m fine in the storeroom or even my car, but this… I’m speechless.”

  He had to laugh. “You haven’t even been on board yet. The cabin is tiny. The kitchen is one burner and a mini-fridge.”

  “There’s a kitchen?”

  The stunned joy on her face made him wonder just how long she’d been basically homeless. How excited should a person get about a kitchen?

  She rose to her feet and was about to step on board when he stopped her with a hand on her arm.