Barefoot Season (4 page)

The paper bag stood on the nightstand. She crossed to it and removed the bottle of vodka.

“Hello, you,” she murmured, undoing the top. “I’m not looking for anything long term. How about just spending the night together?”

The counselor at the hospital had warned her that using humor as a defense mechanism would get in the way of her healing fully. She’d told him she could live with the flaw.

The night was quiet. The steady rumble of cars was practically a lullaby compared to what she’d heard just a few months ago. There was no threat of explosions, no roar of heavy equipment, no jets overhead. The night was cool instead of warm, the sky cloudy instead of clear.

Decisions would have to be made. She couldn’t avoid the inn. She belonged there, or she had. There was also the issue of Carly. Saying she was fired had felt good. Maybe she should keep her around so she could fire her over and over again. A little gift to herself.

“That’s bad, even for you,” she told herself, still staring at the vodka.

Exhaustion pulled at her, making her want to lie down, to close her eyes. She resisted, despite the need to heal. Because sleep came at a price. Sleep brought dreams and the dreams were a new level of hell.

“Not with you,” she said, lifting the bottle. “With you, there’s just a real good time.”

She drank deeply, letting the liquor burn down her throat and swirl into her empty belly. She drank until she was sure there wouldn’t be dreams, until she was sure that for one more night she got to forget.

Four

T
he knock on the back door of the kitchen had Gabby scrambling out of her chair and racing toward the sound.

“I’ll get it! I’ll get it!” she yelled.

There was no point in telling her to be quiet, Carly thought. Gabby was a morning person. Most days Carly didn’t mind, but after a night of tossing and turning, her daughter’s high-pitched voice pierced her brain like glass.

Gabby fumbled with the lock, then threw open the door.

“Uncle Robert!”

She flung herself toward the man in the doorway, arms open, her entire being expectant. Robert caught her and swung her high in the air.

“How’s my best girl?” he asked before kissing her cheek.

“Good. We’re having blackberries on our pancakes.”

Robert chuckled. “And that’s news why?”

They laughed together, then he lowered her to the ground. Gabby returned to the table and Robert closed the door.

“How was it?” he asked, walking into the kitchen.

Carly knew what he meant and didn’t know how to answer. She shrugged, then busied herself getting him coffee. Robert took his usual seat—he was a regular at their breakfast table, joining them a couple of times a week.

“Thanks,” he said, taking the cup of coffee. He turned to Gabby. “Ready for school?”

She nodded eagerly, her blond hair bouncing with the movement. Gabby adored school, both the classes and her friends. At least there she was happily social.

“So what are you studying this week?” he asked. “Calculus? You’re in college, right?”

Gabby giggled. “Uncle Robert, I’m nine.”

“Really? You look older. I would have thought you were twenty.”

The conversation was familiar. Gabby adored her uncle and the feelings between them ran deep. Family was good, Carly told herself. Although it had taken having Gabby to convince herself of that. Her daughter was a blessing she wasn’t sure she deserved, but the rest of the familial relationships were iffy at best.

Robert had been more than kind, more than giving with his time and attention. Some of his actions were fueled by guilt, she knew. Robert was a good man, someone who took commitments seriously. Someone who expected the same of others. His brother, Allen, hadn’t shared Robert’s sense of obligation, walking out on Carly long before Gabby was born.

The leaving had been shocking enough, but having him clean out her bank account, taking every penny she had, had been worse.

Robert had stepped in, offering to let Carly live with him. She’d refused and instead had come to work at the inn. Robert had tracked his brother down, but Allen had refused to return and he’d already blown all the money. Their divorce had followed. He’d never paid child support, but he’d signed away his rights to his daughter. While Carly could use the money, she figured having him gone was a good exchange. He was one of those men who created trouble, then walked away without bothering to think about the shattered lives in his wake.

Gabby finished her breakfast and carried her bowl to the counter. She set it in place.

“I’m going to brush my teeth,” she announced before dashing from the room.

Robert’s gaze followed her. “I can’t believe how big she’s getting.”

“She’ll be ten soon.” Collecting her own coffee, Carly sat at the table.

“You saw her yesterday?” he asked.

There was no reason to ask who “she” was. Carly had confessed her concerns about Michelle’s return to Robert. He’d also been witness to the trouble between them ten years ago.

“Yes,” she admitted. “Briefly. She’s…different. Thinner. She walks with a limp, which isn’t a surprise.”

“She was shot in the hip, right? That’s what I heard.”

Carly nodded.

“Did you talk?” he asked.

“Not really. She was tired.”

Or so Carly had assumed. She wasn’t going to admit what Michelle had said. Wasn’t even going to think about it until she had to. Then she would make plans.

The panic returned, but she ignored it. Time enough to lose it later, she told herself. When she was alone. To give in to the fear now, to worry in front of Robert, was to invite something she didn’t want.

He looked enough like Allen to be both intriguing and to make her want to bolt. Medium height, dark hair and eyes, with broad shoulders. Allen, younger by nearly six years, had the allure and easy smile of a man who lived on charm. Him leaving was as inevitable as the tide that lapped against the rocky shore of the island.

Robert was nearly as good-looking, but without the destructive bent. He owned an auto shop on the far edge of town. He was a good man who wanted to take care of her and Gabby, and she’d let him. Because it was easy. Because he didn’t demand a real relationship and she didn’t want one.

But she was starting to wonder if easy had a higher price than she’d realized. If they were using each other to avoid having to find what they really wanted with someone else. Of course, if Michelle really did fire her, it would be less of an issue. She had a feeling that being homeless would make her less attractive on the dating scene.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I knew she was coming, but it was still a shock to see her.”

“I’m sorry. About all of this.”

“Stop saying that. It was never your fault.”

“He’s my brother.”

“I’m the one who married him. I knew what he was and I married him, anyway.”

Married him after finding him with her best friend two days before the wedding. It didn’t matter that Allen had blamed Michelle, had claimed she’d seduced him and it wasn’t his fault.

Carly remembered everything about the moment. She’d finally bought a topper for the cake. She’d found it in an antiques store in Aberdeen. The porcelain was delicate, the couple a little old-fashioned. But there had been something about the way they’d faced each other, the tiny hands clasping, that had called out to her. She’d bought it and brought it to her small house and had cleaned it so carefully. Then she’d taken it over to show Michelle.

There were so many things she remembered about that afternoon. The cranes had been everywhere. They were loudest in spring, no doubt dealing with bird hormones and nest-building. She remembered it had been sunny—a rare event in the Pacific Northwest.

She’d walked into the inn, still feeling strange about being there. She and Michelle had only recently reconciled. Their friendship, solid for so many years, had been tentative. She’d walked into the owner’s apartment, her eyes slow to adjust to the sudden shadows, and she’d stumbled as she’d made her way through the living room and into Michelle’s bedroom. She’d entered without thinking, without knocking. They’d still been in bed, both naked, in a tangle of arms and legs.

At first she hadn’t believed what she was seeing. She’d stood there, holding the cake topper in her hands, feeling as if something was terribly wrong but unable to figure out what. Like a dream, where chairs were on the ceiling.

The out-of-focus blurring had sharpened as she’d realized what had happened. That the person she should have been able to trust more than anyone had betrayed her. With Michelle—the woman already responsible for destroying most of what she had.

Allen had jumped to his feet and run to her. He was still hard from the lovemaking, his penis damp, his hair mussed.

“Carly, please. It was an accident.”

She was sure he’d said more, pleaded, begged. Blamed Michelle, who had sat in the bed, her eyes as blank as her face. Carly had waited—not for Allen to convince her but for Michelle to say something. Eventually she had.

“You should go now.”

That was it. Four words. No explanation, no apology. Just “you should go now.”

Carly had run.

Two days later, she’d walked down the aisle and married Allen. Because it had been easier than facing the truth. Because she’d been afraid of being alone. Funny how she’d ended up alone, anyway.

“You’ll figure it out,” Robert told her. “You and Michelle were friends. Once you talk, you’ll be friends again.”

She nodded because it was easier than telling the truth. That while Carly was the injured party, Michelle seemed to be the one who had come home looking for revenge.

* * *

Michelle stepped into the kitchen at the inn and breathed deeply. The fragrance of cinnamon mingled with bacon and coffee. Her mouth watered and for the first time in months she was hungry.

The room was different—bigger, with longer counters and more windows, but the heart was the same. Damaris still ruled from her eight-burner stove, and servers and helpers jumped when she barked their names.

Michelle watched as the cook flavored eggs with her secret spices and flipped pancakes. Diced vegetables and cheese were added to omelets, blackberries added as a side to everything. Toast popped, the juicer whirred and the ever-present slap of plates was accompanied by the call of “order up.”

Her head hurt nearly as much as her hip. A testament to the aftereffects of too much vodka and too little food. But as she watched Damaris, the pain faded to the background. Here, in the chaos, she was finally home.

“Last order,” Damaris called, slapping down another plate.

Michelle glanced at the clock. It was nearly nine. This time of year the breakfast crowd faded early with most of the customers heading off to work. Midweek inn visitors were usually purposeful, with plans and itineraries to be followed.

“Morning,” she said as Damaris turned off burners.

The cook spun and pressed a hand to her heart. “When did you get here?”

“A few minutes ago.”

Damaris hurried toward her, wiping her hands on her white apron. “It’s so good to see you,” she said, pulling Michelle close and hugging her. “You’re hungry.” Damaris released her. “You must be. I’ll make your favorite.”

“You don’t have to.”

Dark eyebrows rose over the frame of her glasses. “You think I don’t know that? Sit.”

Michelle limped over to the stools by the counter and sat. Damaris poured her coffee and passed it over, then studied the ingredients on the counter.

“You didn’t stay here last night,” she said, slicing cinnamon bread. “I asked.”

“I didn’t want to.” An almost-truth. “It’s strange being back.”

“That’s because you waited too long. What were you thinking? Ten years? In all that time you couldn’t come back once to see me?”

Michelle didn’t answer. Her reasons for not visiting had nothing to do with Damaris and everything to do with Carly and Brenda.