Barefoot Season (17 page)

“We were ambushed,” she said, not sure why she was saying these words. Even as she told herself to stop, she couldn’t seem to stop them from spilling out.

“There were several shooters and an IED. The Humvee went flying, then exploded. A few of us were tossed out. Not that it mattered if we survived that, because they were firing from everywhere.”

She studied the pages in front of her as she spoke, looking at the neat handwriting, seeing the contrast of ink and paper rather than the history she re-created.

“We got all of them but one. I was the last man standing. Literally.” Involuntarily, she looked at Carly. “He got me in the hip and I went down. I could still fire, but he was faster. Then his weapon jammed or his clip was empty.”

She could feel the heat, the blood on her leg, hear the sounds of fire and screams. Dust filled the air and clogged her lungs.

She spoke of the small girl who had clung to her father. How her M16-A2 had felt heavy in her arms—probably the result of the blood loss. The moment when she knew she’d been given a chance to survive. A chance to take a shot.

“I killed him, with his daughter still clinging to him. I shot him and he died.”

She stopped the telling there, mostly because the rest of it was a blur. The little girl had cried out, then run off. There had been a space of time when Michelle had tried to get to the others, to help where she could. It might have been a minute or two, it could have been hours.

The next thing she remembered was the medic bending over her, telling her she was damned lucky. As she was carried away, she’d glanced back at the fallen man. He was still there, his eyes open, his stare glassy.

“Is that why you can’t sleep?” Carly asked.

“It’s some of it. Trust me. When they say war is hell, they’re not kidding.”

“I’m sorry.”

Michelle shrugged. “I’m the one who signed up. I’m the one who slept with Allen.”

“You still blame me.”

Michelle allowed herself a slight smile. “Crazy, huh? I slept with your fiancé and you’re the bad guy. Even I don’t get that one.”

Carly fumbled with the bracelet, then unfastened it and dropped it onto the desk. “You should have this.”

“No, thanks.”

“She was your mother.”

“She left her things to you for a reason.”

“No.” Carly stood. “I’ll get you the rest of her jewelry later.”

“Keep it. You had a better relationship with her than I ever did. I have the inn. That’s enough.”

“The inn was always yours.”

“I know.”

Carly nodded and left. Michelle was very aware that she carefully left the charm bracelet behind. She picked it up and studied the various charms, then dropped it in the top drawer of her desk.

Fifteen

C
arly kept busy through the rest of the morning. She liked that she didn’t have a whole lot of time to think about her conversation with Michelle—mostly because she couldn’t decide what she felt about it. Talk about a complicated relationship.

On the one hand, her former friend had been nothing but bitchy since her arrival. Carly had busted her butt, working at the inn, doing her best, dealing with Brenda. On the other hand, Michelle had grown up with Brenda’s difficult and emotionally abusive ways. She’d learned to thrive in impossible circumstances.

Michelle had slept with Allen—something that fell in the “inexcusable” category. But Carly was willing to admit that Allen had probably been as much to blame. And maybe she’d had a hand in it, too. After all, they’d both wanted to go out with him. She’d won him over by sleeping with him when Michelle wouldn’t. Then, after the engagement, she’d flaunted her ring, her plans, all the while insisting Michelle be happy for her.

The latter had been more about the thrill of finally finding someone who would love her, but a little of it had been about rubbing Michelle’s nose in it. Not her finest moment.

And now? Now they were grown-ups and she needed to decide what mattered and what didn’t.

Carly finished checking the clean rooms—then returned to the front desk. Pauline and Seth had left welcome packages for the three couples who would be checking in that afternoon. She put them in a stack, along with their room keys.

Life would be easier if Michelle could just be mean all the time, she thought, walking to her office. Then she could cheerfully hate her and feel smug about doing her job. As it was, they were both stuck figuring out the present. Carly didn’t even have righteous indignation on her side. After all, Michelle might have slept with Allen and then left town, but she’d kind of made up for it by joining the army and risking her life.

Carly stepped into the small space that was her office only to stop when she saw two boxes sitting on her desk. The first was for a laptop, the second, a printer.

She’d left her meeting with Michelle less than three hours ago. Had the other woman run right out and bought her a computer? She must have. It wasn’t something Michelle would have hanging around in her back pocket.

On top of the computer box was a package of software for Microsoft Office, along with a note. “I hope you weren’t lying about knowing Excel.”

“I wasn’t,” Carly murmured, not sure if she should laugh or throw something.

She sat in her chair and stared at the packages. Why did she have to go and be nice?

She reached for the laptop box, prepared to open it. But before she could lift the top, she saw a business-size envelope with her name on the front.

She lifted the flap, then stared at the check inside.

Thank God she was sitting, she thought, staring at the writing. Otherwise, she would have passed out, fallen and hit her head. As it was, she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t blink or speak or do anything but stare.

“I…”

Her body was numb, her brain spun, stopped, then lurched.

The check, drawn on a personal account belonging to Michelle Sanderson, was for ten thousand dollars.

Ten thousand.

Ten.

Thousand.

Carly started to stand, only to realize her legs were shaking too hard. She managed to suck in a breath, then another.

Was it real or a cruel trick? Because if it was real it gave her the kind of financial security she’d never had in her life. She could have a real emergency fund. If she got fired or left her job, she could afford to move and put down a deposit on an apartment in Seattle. She could take classes at the community college. She could afford the co-pays on her insurance.

Her eyes burned and it took her a second to realize she was fighting tears. What was this and why?

She managed to stand. Still clutching the check, she stumbled to Michelle’s office and pushed open the door.

“I don’t understand.”

Michelle looked up from her computer. “It’s all I can afford right now.”

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“No, but you’re owed it. My mother took advantage of you for the past ten years. Even with you living here, getting free housing and some meals, she barely paid you minimum wage. It was wrong. I’m sorry. This is to make up for your back pay. Like I said, it’s all I can afford.”

Carly let the words wash over her. Was it possible they were true?

“Just like that?” she asked.

Michelle shrugged. “Guilt is a powerful motivator. I don’t like what she did to people.”

What she did to you.
She didn’t say those words, but Carly heard them.

“Thank you,” Carly whispered.

“You’re welcome.”

She started to leave. She turned back. “And for the computer.” Now her lips curved. “I really do know how to use Excel.”

“You’d better.”

* * *

Per the new schedule, Tuesday afternoon Michelle was supposed to work the reception desk. Michelle leaned on the stool she’d dragged in from the kitchen and wondered if she was ready to face the public. After all, she wasn’t feeling especially friendly these days.

Exhaustion didn’t help. She still wasn’t sleeping very much. When she did sleep, she found herself remembering things she would just as soon forget. While she was at it, she could also complain about the pain, but to what end? Eventually her hip would get better.

She saw a car pull up and nervously smoothed the front of her shirt. Since she’d been back, she’d avoided the guests in the inn. She’d forgotten what to say to them, how to interact. Carly should never have assigned her to front-desk duty. Only this was
her
inn, and if she expected to make it a success again, she was going to have to do a lot of things that made her uncomfortable.

She eyed the expensive sedan and the couple getting out. The woman was in her late thirties, maybe early forties, with stylishly cropped blond hair. Michelle hadn’t bothered to look at a fashion magazine in years, but she remembered enough to know the outfit alone would cost an easy four figures—not counting the shoes or the bag. The man had a sweater tied over his shoulders, which made her want to roll her eyes. Talk about an affectation.

She stifled a snort, then typed on the keyboard, pulling up the list of guests due to arrive that afternoon. The therapy group, she realized, reading the notes by the three sets of names.

Michelle glanced back out the window, seeing what she hadn’t before. That the couple didn’t speak or touch as they climbed the stairs. That the woman’s back was stiff and the man looked both lost and unbearably sad. Suddenly their expensive clothes and fancy car didn’t seem nearly as intimidating as they had before.

An SUV pulled in behind the sedan and another couple, about the same age, got out. Michelle braced herself and attempted a smile.

“Hello,” she said as the first couple entered. “Welcome to the Blackberry Island Inn. I’m Michelle. Are you checking in?”

The man nodded. “Doug and Whitney Farmer.”

Michelle found them on the list. “We’ve been expecting you.”

She took the offered credit card and swiped it through the machine. Once it cleared, she handed them their room keys, along with the packages left for them. Then she detailed the hours of operation for the restaurant and the gift shop.

Doug and Whitney listened without speaking either to her or each other. Just watching them, she would say they didn’t have a prayer of making their marriage work. Not that she knew anything about relationship therapy. It must help some people, although she wasn’t sure every marriage should be saved. Hers had been a disaster from the beginning, not to mention a huge mistake. They’d both been caught in the idea of being in love more than the reality of it. At least they hadn’t had any kids to worry about. Less than four months after taking impulsive vows, they’d been signing divorce papers.

The second couple entered the lobby. The woman, a petite redhead, smiled broadly.

“Isn’t this charming? I think it’s charming. I love the daisies. Did you see the gardens? They’re so beautiful. This is going to be wonderful.”

Hers was a level of perky that made Michelle’s teeth hurt. Good thing she wasn’t in their therapy session, she thought. She would be forced to deck the woman. And wouldn’t that be a springboard for discussion.

“Welcome,” she said, starting her greeting again.

The Robbinses were from Bellevue, and
so
excited to be here. At least Fay was. Michelle checked them in.

Carly joined them then and offered to usher all the guests to their rooms.

“Each of your rooms has a fireplace,” she said, leading the way to the stairs. “They’re gas, so you only need to flip a switch. We have extra pillows and blankets in the armoire and anything you forgot is just a phone call away. I understand you’ll be joining Pauline and Seth for dinner tonight. We’ve already printed out directions.”

Carly’s voice faded as she climbed the stairs.

Fay and her husband hung back a second. The petite redhead stared at the man beside her.

“What?” he asked, sounding defensive.

“You were staring at her boobs! How could you?”

With that, Fay flounced after Carly, her shoulders shaking, as if she were in tears. Her husband stood there a second, head bowed, before he followed his wife.

They’d barely left before the third couple arrived. Michelle took care of them and sent them up the stairs to meet Carly.

A few minutes later, Carly walked into the foyer.

“That was strange,” she murmured, glancing toward the stairs as if concerned about not being overheard. “Is it just me or were all those people sad?”

“Their marriages are in trouble.”

“I know. I’m glad they’re getting help, but it’s…”

“Upsetting?” Michelle asked.

“Yes, and I can’t figure out why.”

Neither of them had grown up in especially happy homes, Michelle thought, but she wasn’t sure if they were reacting to a broken marriage or the possibility of one being fixed.

“Maybe these few days will help them.”

“I hope so,” Carly murmured, staring at the stairs.

“They can come back every year to celebrate.”

Carly laughed. “Okay, I like that ending. It seems happy. Marriage sure isn’t easy.”

Michelle would agree with that.

Carly’s marriage had failed, as well, she realized. Only there’d been a child who’d been affected. A little girl who was growing up without a father. Something Michelle could relate to.