by Kristy Tate
He quirked an eyebrow. “That’s it?”
“Well, occasionally you’ll need to hold my hand, or put your arm around me.” She skated a glance at him. “You don’t have to kiss me, but it might look weird if you don’t dance with me.”
“You’re not going to try and pass me off as Brit-Boy, are you?”
“No!” She laughed, but it sounded forced and fake. “That would be ridiculous!”
“They know you broke up with him, right?”
“I’m not sure if he even knows I broke up with him.”
“What?”
She shrugged. “We haven’t spoken. It’s been a few weeks, now. For all I know, he’s gone back to London.”
“I doubt it.”
“So do I.” She shuddered and he couldn’t tell if she was cold or just remorseful. “I can’t believe I was so dumb.” She bumped her shoulder against his. “You can’t tell anyone in my family about how I paid for his plane ticket or how I had to steal my car back.”
“Why would I do that?”
She smiled and leaned against him. “That’s what I like about you.”
He gazed down at her, brushed the top of her head with his lips, and thought of all the things he liked about her but couldn’t say.
He had to talk to Jessica first. He owed her that.
Ninety years without slumbering
(tick, tock, tick, tock)
CHAPTER 8
Unlike most of L.A. County that had been over-run by developers throwing up tract housing in the seventies, eighties, and nineties, Shell Beach still had haphazard streets lined with cottages dating back to the twenties and thirties. Darby’s grandparents had bought the beach house on a quarter of an acre when they were young. Rather than buying their own home, Darby’s parents had added on a separate two-story wing to accommodate their family. Now, her grandmother’s cottage looked like it had a piggy-back passenger.
When Darby pulled into the driveway of her family’s home, she immediately knew that something had gone terribly wrong. Not only did a terrible smoky fog hang in the air but yelling and crying could be heard through the walls, doors, and windows. Darby rested her head on the steering wheel, hating the fact that she still lived at home even though she was almost thirty. As a CPA, she made good money, but with the high cost of housing, living with her family just made sense…most of the time.
But tonight didn’t sound like it was going to be one of those times. Darby grabbed her bag from the backseat, closed and locked her door and headed for bedlam. Her room was the only bedroom on the ground floor. Maybe if she could just slip in the back no one would notice.
But it was impossible to hide from Wheezer. She scratched him behind the ears and peeked in the kitchen at her family clustered around the table. Sloane sat on a chair, her shoulders shaking with sobs, while Mom, Grandma Betty, Meg, Tom, and Henley hovered around her. Darby paused in the doorway, unsure. She didn’t want to be sucked into the family drama, but if something had gone wrong…maybe Blaine had died or called off the wedding.
Grandma Betty looked up and pinned Darby with a hard gaze. “Where’ve you been? Out with the English so and so?”
Darby shook her head. “I went to see a client up near Santa Barbara.”
“Over the weekend?” Tom asked.
She nodded. Curiosity drew her into the kitchen. “What’s up?” She had visions of Blaine lying in a morgue on a cold slab beneath fluorescent lighting.
“They had a pipe leak at the church,” Sloane wailed.
“Oh, is that all?” Relief swept through Darby.
“Is that all?” Sloane bounced to her feet. “Is that all? It’s not your wedding that’s completely ruined, is it?” she spat out.
“Hey, I thought something had happened to Blaine or one of the kids!” Darby said. “You have to admit, a death would have been worse than a leaking pipe!”
Sloane swallowed back a sob and sat down with a shuddering sigh. “I don’t know what we’re going to do.”
“We can have it here,” Mom said. “The backyard just needs a little sprucing up.”
“A little sprucing up?” Tom echoed. “I don’t think so. I’m not getting out there and hacking up those trees.”
Grandma Betty’s head bobbed in agreement. “No one’s been paying any attention to that back-wilderness in twenty years. I’m surprised the dog is able to do his business without getting lost.”
“The weeds are up to my knees,” Tom said.
“Whose fault is that?” Darby asked.
“Not mine,” Tom said.
“If I had a machete, I’d get out there,” Grandma Betty put in.
“Mom, no one is getting a machete,” Darby’s mom said. “We’ll just go and get some weed-killer and—”
“Pesticides?” Meg shrieked. “Around my children? They play out there, you know.”
“You could get your own house with your own yard,” Tom said.
Meg planted her hands on her hips. “So could you!”
“No one is going anywhere,” Mom said in her ultra-patient voice and Darby worried that her mom might be right and she found that thought thoroughly depressing.
“I’m getting married!” Sloane wailed.
“Not in that church you’re not,” Grandma Betty predicted.
“Hey, I know!” An idea struck Darby. “I have the perfect place!”
“Where?” Sloane asked, her eyes slit with suspicion.
“You will love it!”
“How much does it cost?” The tone of her mom’s voice reminded Darby that her parents had been hoping and looking for a reason for Sloane to not marry Blaine. It wasn’t that they disliked him, as much as they disliked the fact he wasn’t Catholic, and that he didn’t have what they considered a real job—even though he’d written and sold three screenplays, one of which had already been made into a movie and the other two were in production.
Darby, who liked Blaine more than she liked her sister, was moved with compassion. “It’s a tiny chapel on my client’s property. It’s perfect! I thought so the moment I saw it.”
Sloan sniffed. “Can I go see it?”
“I’d better check with them first, but I bet they’ll say yes.”
“Why would you think that?” Mom asked.
“Because I saved them oodles of money!” Darby pulled out her phone and shot Chad a text. “There. I asked him.”
Should be fine, but let me check with Grandpa Bern, came the almost instantaneous reply. Although, I can’t imagine him denying you anything.
“What’d you do for him?” Tom asked, glancing over Darby’s shoulder at her phone.
“I told you, I saved him money on his taxes. It’s what I do. I’m an accountant.” Darby fought the urge to kick her brother. “I’m going to bed,” she growled.
“Wait!” Sloane ran after her. “When can I go see it?”
Darby showed her the text again. “Right now, I bet Grandpa Bern is in bed—which is where I want to be, too.” She headed for her room. “I have to work tomorrow,” she said without looking back.
“But do you think Blaine and I could go and look at it?” Sloane tripped after her.
Darby shrugged. “We’ll have to wait and see what Chad says.”
“Who’s this Chad?” Tom asked. “And what’s he to you?”
Darby didn’t bother to answer. Mostly because she wasn’t sure.
#
The next day at work, Darby’s phone buzzed with an incoming text. It sat on her desk on a pile of papers, flashing like a beacon. She glanced at it.
Chad: Grandpa is onboard with the wedding, but he says only if you come and visit first.
Warmth spread through Darby as she picked up her phone.
Mr. Hopper poked his head out of his office door so he could glare at Darby. “Is that a personal message?”
“Um, it’s from Mr. George.”
“Bernard?” Mr. Hopper’s voice squeaked with surprise.
Darby nodded. “He wants
me to come back out.”
“I thought we were done with that assignment,” Mr. Hopper said.
Darby glanced at her phone. “He’d like me to visit,” she tacked on the word, “sir.”
“Find out what’s up.” Mr. Hopper ducked back into his office.
Darby tried to hide her smile as she sent Chad a text.
Darby: When should I come?
Chad: What are you doing now?
Darby: Very important tax-type stuff. Aren’t you in school?
Chad: The girls are lifting weights. Soon they’ll be bigger and stronger than me.
Darby: Are you scared of them?
Chad: They stand in clusters and whisper behind my back. I think they’re planning a mutiny.
Mr. Hopper emerged from his office and glowered at her phone as he passed.
“Mr. George,” Darby explained. “He’s worried about a hostile take-over.”
“Of his ranch?” Mr. Hopper asked.
Darby nodded. “I think I should go as soon as possible.”
“What about Mrs. Green and her nail salon?” Mr. Hopper planted himself in front of Darby’s cubicle and folded his arms.
“Maybe Gavin could handle that,” Darby suggested.
Gavin in the next cube snorted.
Darby kept her gaze on her phone to keep from rolling her eyes.
Chad: When are you coming?
Darby held up her phone for Mr. Hopper to see. “He says it’s urgent.”
Mr. Hopper growled something under his breath and strode away.
Darby: I’ll come as soon as I can, but I’m not sure I can save you.
Chad: These girls are vicious. Come quickly. Bring chocolate. They like that.
#
They agreed to take Darby’s car, but Blaine would drive so that Darby could work on her laptop in the back. She had her earbuds in with white noise blasting, but she still found it hard to tune her sister out.
“But what about my cake and the flowers,” Sloane whined as Blaine exited the freeway and headed up the highway that led to Oak Hollow and nowhere else. “The florist and the bakery aren’t going to want to deliver all the way up here!”
“I know a baker,” Darby said. “And a florist.” She didn’t mention that the two couldn’t stand each other. No sense in stirring up anymore unnecessary drama.
“But do you think we can book them at such late notice?” Sloane said with a sniff.
How am I supposed to know that? Darby didn’t answer and tried to refocus on her work.
“Sweetie, no one cares about the flowers or the cake,” Blaine said without taking his eyes of the road. Which was just as well. If he had looked at Sloane’s evil eyes, they might have scared him off. And scaring off a horror writer would be an accomplishment. Maybe the largest accomplishment of Sloane’s life.
But Blaine didn’t look at Sloane. Maybe he knew better. Maybe he was smarter than Darby had thought. She buried her nose in her work and tried to pretend she wasn’t nervous and shy about seeing Chad again.
They pulled onto Oak Hollow’s Main Street.
“Oh!” Sloane squealed. “Is that the bakery?” She pointed at Magnolia’s shop.
“Yes,” Darby said, looking up from her book.
“Let’s stop!” Sloane slapped Blaine’s arm. “Pull over. I want to taste her cakes!”
“You’re just going to ask for a bite of cake?” Blaine asked.
“No, silly! I’m going to buy a piece of cake.”
“What makes you think she sells cake by the slice?” Blaine asked, but he pulled into a parking space across the street from the bakery.
Sloane didn’t answer him but bounced from the car. Darby plucked out her earbuds, powered off her laptop, and followed her sister across the street.
She stopped short when she spotted Bern George sitting at a picnic table on the town green with a chessboard in front of him. Mrs. Rodrìguez sat directly across from him, frowning as she lifted a pawn from the board.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Bern warned her.
“Are you saying that because you don’t want me to put you in checkmate,” Mrs. Rodrìguez said, “or because you don’t want me to lose?”
“Now, darling,” Bern drawled, “you know you don’t like to lose. I’m just trying to help you out.”
“You’re trying to trick me,” Mrs. Rodrìguez snapped.
“Of course, I am.” Bern chuckled. “It’s all part of the game.”
While Sloane marched across the street and into the bakery and Blaine trailed after her, Darby sat down beside Bern. The park looked differently in the daytime. Birds flitted in the sky. Squirrels chattered in the trees. Children played in the sand and on the swings and monkey bars while their parents read or chatted on the nearby benches. When she’d been here with Chad, the isolation had added to the romance of the moonlight. That quiet intimate setting had disappeared along with Chad and the moon.
“Hey, there,” she said. “How are you?”
The scowl between Bern’s eyebrows faded as his focus on Darby registered. “Why here’s my favorite accountant!” He introduced her to Dot Rodrìguez, the woman Darby had seen at the bakery when she and Chad had picked up the croissants.
“We’ve met,” Darby said.
“Under much more favorable conditions,” Mrs. Rodrìguez grumbled. She dropped the pawn onto the board. “Check!”
Bern chortled and moved his queen. “Checkmate!”
“Well, you dirty old scumbag!” Mrs. Rodrìguez reached across the table and slapped Bern’s hand.
The old man rumbled with barely concealed laughter. “I just love a good win.”
Mrs. Rodrìguez huffed, stood, a strode away.
“I think you made her mad,” Darby said.
“Ah, she’ll get over it and be back for more,” Bern said as he gathered up the chess pieces. “You here to look over our old chapel?”
“I am, and I seriously think you should consider renting it out as a wedding venue.”
“Now why would I bother to do that when I got a crack-shot accountant who can dig up money for me?”
“I can’t make money grow on trees,” Darby told him.
“I’m not sure I believe that.” Bern carefully put the chess pieces into the box and smiled at her. “You’ve shaken things up around my place.”
“Is Chad still at school?”
Bern nodded.
“The girls have got a soccer match.” He glanced at his watch. “Should be ending real soon.”
“Do you need a ride home?” Darby asked.
“Nah, I got a ride here with Cecelia.” He nodded at his ancient Thunderbird. “And I have an apology to make.” He shuffled to his feet, grabbed his cane and scooted after Mrs. Rodrìguez.
Waiting on the sidewalk, Blaine waved her over. “I think this is going to take a while,” he said, motioning at the bakery.
Darby peeked in the window at her sister. She had half a dozen slices of cake lined up on the counter and a fork poised in the air.
“When she’s done in there, we’re going to talk to the florist.” Blaine pulled Darby’s keys out of his pocket. “If you want to go somewhere or do something else, I can call you when we’re done.”
“Great!” Darby snagged the keys. “It’ll give me time to chat with Nora.”
#
Darby pulled into the Canterbury parking lot and knew almost immediately that something was terribly wrong. The parking lot sat on a small hill overlooking the campus and the sports fields. To her right, the campus was nearly deserted, but on her left where a soccer game was supposed to be happening, came an almost eerie, reverent quiet as if the crowd were collectively holding its breath and waiting for someone to tell them it was okay to exhale.
The girls stood clustered around the south end of the field while a referee barked out orders. Darby wasn’t close enough to hear the words, but somehow she knew the person lying on the ground was Chad. She ran as fast as she could in her ballet fl
ats, tripping and sliding on the dew-soaked grass.
She pushed through the girls. “What happened?” Her words escaped her in a breathless rush as she dropped to her knees beside Chad. He lay on the ground, looking like a snipper’s victim.
His black and white referee shirt had no evidence of blood. His face, while peaceful, was dreadfully still. His eyes were closed his lips a faded gray color. Darby, feeling inadequate and helpless, placed her hand against his cheek. His breath grazed her hand and wrist.
“Let me through!” A solid looking woman pushed through the crowd. “I’m a nurse!”
Darby climbed to her feet to make room for the officious acting woman who dropped to her knees and placed two fingers on Chad’s throat, searching for his pulse.
“She’s the music teacher,” one girl whispered to another.
“She’s also the nurse,” another answered in low tones. “How do you not know that?”
“She’s new,” another girl answered. “And if you’re at the end of the alphabet, you haven’t had your yearly physical yet.”
“My last name is Wilson,” the girl whispered. “And you’re right, I am new.”
“Well, in a few weeks, you’ll get to strip down to your nothings so that Mrs. Poole can weigh and measure you and tell you whether or not you need to live on a diet of carrots and celery sticks,” another girl said. “But don’t feel too sorry for yourself, it happens to all of us.”
Mrs. Poole gave the whispering girls an evil eye. “What happened?”
“He fell and hit his head,” a tall girl answered.
“That doesn’t explain his passing out,” Mrs. Poole growled.
“Maybe he’s diabetic or something,” another girl replied.
“Nonsense!” Mrs. Poole lifted Chad’s eyelid and peered into his eye.
Chad blinked, moaned, and struggled to sit up.
Mrs. Poole pushed him back down.
Chad’s eyelids flickered. He caught sight of Mrs. Poole and squeezed his eyes shut. “Now there’s something no one wants to wake up to,” he murmured.
“Be grateful you woke up!” Mrs. Poole snarled in a teasing manner.
Darby bit back a smile as relief swept through her. She leaned over him. “Chad, are you okay?”
