Homecoming in November (The Calendar Girls Book 3) (18 page)

A million questions buzzed in my brain, and I shook my head to dislodge them. “That doesn’t make sense. You grew up here. You were still the same person you’d always been.”

He chuckled. “No, I wasn’t. I left here a naïve kid and came back a wounded warrior. People were never sure how to treat me, in either persona. The thing is, the locals who grew up in Snug Harbor like to believe they know
everything
about each other. It’s one of the consequences of small town life. When perception about someone conflicts with who they turn out to be, it shakes up the foundation these people have built.”

“That much I get. I grew up in a small town, too. Small town people often have small minds.”

“Not necessarily. Take a step back and think about your situation as a small town resident would. Suppose you have a new cupcake baker who moved to your town from Brooklyn, New York. And you love her cupcakes! You go there several times a week. You get to be friends. Then, one day, you learn that your cupcake baker friend isn’t actually from Brooklyn. She’s from a small town on Long Island called Snug Harbor, and she left there because of some unpleasantness in her personal life that now has the press badgering her.”

“You mean,” I added, “like, because her husband died under circumstances that form a cloud of suspicion over her?”

He nodded. “What do you do? If you truly believe your cupcake baker friend is innocent, even though she lied to you about where she came from, you’re going to use every opportunity to make sure she knows you’re standing with her. And if a part of you wonders if you misjudged the sweet lady—because if she lied to you about where she’s from, what else did she lie about?—you might distance yourself until you’re more sure of where you both stand.”

I took a moment to digest the scenario he’d cooked up. “So, how do I get them to stop treating me like the town pariah?”

“Like I said, give them time. Don’t give up on them. The more they see the real you, the faster they’ll accept you.”

“How long did it take them to accept the real you?”

“For my real friends, no time at all.” He shrugged. “Some others are still working on it. But the ones who don’t really know me or refuse to accept me don’t matter. Those are the ones who make up stories to excuse their distrust or why we’re not as close as they’d like to be to the local celebrity. You know what? There’s a bonfire party tonight down at Dawes Beach. A lot of my real friends will be there. How’d you like to be my date?”

A nervous laugh escaped, and I struggled to make light of the emotions warring within me. “Another date? You’re relentless.”

“Only when I see something I want.”

I inched closer to my car door, my keys dangling in my fist, ready to dive into my Jeep and make a clean getaway. “Please don’t say things like that.”

“Why not? It’s true. Like it or not, Jayne, you bring me peace.”

I snorted. “Peace. Right. ‘Cuz my life is a world of tranquility.”

“I didn’t say your world had anything to do with it. I said
you
.
You
bring me peace, and that’s a feeling I haven’t felt since before my first tour in Iraq. I don’t care if you’ve got unresolved issues in your past that crop up every November. I don’t care if you believe me or not. Simply by being around you, I’m a better man, a better person, because you bring out the best in me. Does that scare you?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good. ‘Cuz it scares me, too. In a good way. Like I’m excited to see what will happen next.”

“Oh, come on,” I scoffed. “Surely, you can do better than me. All the women in this town go ga-ga over you. I’ve got so much baggage—”

“And I don’t? Do you know I haven’t had a nightmare since that night at your house? Not one. Years of therapy couldn’t accomplish what twenty minutes sitting on your stairs in the dark did. What
you
do to me. You…” He took a step closer; I took a step back. “…give…” Another step closer, another back. “…me…” One giant step that put my back against my car door and brought him a breath away from me. “…peace.”

His thumbs brushed my cheeks, caging my face in his hands. His lips captured mine, and I was caught in a whirlwind. My heartbeat accelerated, pounding against my ribs in a staccato rhythm. My head spun, and I swear my feet left the ground.

“Stay with me,” he murmured against my cheek. “Be my peace. Please.”

Funny how I was his peace when being around him roused a riot in me. “Okay.”

Terri

As it turned out, the gash in my palm required six stitches. Francesca came by with Josh, sewed me up, watched me swallow two ibuprofens, and left, promising to check on me in two days.

She came to my tea shop after hours for the follow-up,
sans
Josh.

“So,” she said while unwrapping the bandage around my palm, “you and Gary the Scary Bartender, huh? I’d like to say I’m surprised, but I’m not. You two always threw off enough sparks to set The Lookout on fire.”

Flames whooshed into my cheeks at her not so subtle innuendo. “It’s not like that.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We’re business partners.”

She glanced up from the slice in my hand, her dark eyes dancing with amusement. “Really? Correct me if I’m wrong, but this business of yours closes at three, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. So?”

“So, how does that translate into being at his house at eight the other night?”

“He was…” I had to consider carefully how to explain this without revealing anything too personal. “He was helping me through...a…crisis.”

The light of understanding flared in her eyes. “Ah. Got it. Say no more.”

“Thanks.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She returned her focus to my hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“I know.” I wondered if Francesca knew anything about Gary’s past. And if so, how much? Not that I planned to share what I knew. In fact, I preferred to change the subject. “So, you and Josh Candolero.”

Her head shot up and her smile glittered brighter than a glass bowl of diamonds. “That’s old news.”

“Not to me.”

“That’s true. This all happened while you were away.”

Away. Yeah, that was a pleasant way of describing my stint in rehab. But enough about me. “Josh makes you happy?”

“Delirious!”

“Good. That’s really good. I’m happy for you.” And I was. I remembered when Francesca’s former fiancé dropped the bomb he planned for them to up and move to Idaho or someplace out west right after the wedding. Born and bred in Snug Harbor, Francesca had no intention of taking her doctoring skills elsewhere. She wanted to care for the people she’d grown up with, and she told him so. Two weeks before the big day, Michael, the almost-groom, flew off without her. Now, seeing her so happy did a heart good.

“You know,” she said,
sotto voce
, “Gary’s a real sweetheart in disguise. He’s not the scary bartender persona at all, once you get to know him.”

I wagged a finger at her. “Oh, no, you don’t. No matchmaking just because you’re happy in your new relationship with the buff and brawny Josh. You know I’m not supposed to begin a new relationship so fast.”

As if to contradict my statement, my phone played a specific ringtone at that moment: the theme song from “Lost in Urbanland.” Max.

Francesca leaned forward to grab the phone and glanced at the screen. “It’s someone named Al.”

“Yeah…umm…he’s just a friend.” I waved her—and Max—off. “I’ll call him back later.”

I must have shown some weird emotion on my face because she cocked her head to study me, sighed, but said nothing. Instead, she placed the phone back on the table, bent, and picked up her bag of tricks. “The hand’s healing nicely so we’re all set here. But do me a favor, okay? Be careful, please. Remember, you’re in a vulnerable state right now.”

I couldn’t look her in her sympathetic eyes just then. Her sincerity and true concern made me want to squirm out of my skin like a snake shedding a layer. “I’m good. Honest. I’ve got a great support system backing me up.”

She squeezed my shoulder, refocusing my gaze directly on her. “You do. And remember to count me in that group.”

I nodded. “I do.”

“Good.” She pointed to the fresh bandage on my palm. “You know the rules. Be sure to keep that bandage dry and clean. You keep healing like you are, I might be able to remove the stitches by the beginning of next week. How’s the pain level? Bearable?”

“Uh-huh. It stings when I forget it’s there and grab something or hit it against something, but other than that, it’s okay.”

She slipped into her coat. “Call me if your hand gets swollen, painful, or discolored in any way. And call me if you just wanna talk. For now, though, I gotta run. Josh is taking me to a bonfire party on the beach tonight, and I’m a little overdressed for the occasion.”

I glanced at her perfect sweater dress with the matching heels. Definitely not autumn beach attire. “Have fun,” I said while I watched her prance out the back door. With everyone gone for the day and the place to myself, I picked up my phone and redialed Max, who answered before the first ring completed. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Go home, get dressed. We’re going out tonight.”

“Where?”

“A bar on the west side. You’ll love it.”

My jaw dropped, and I fumbled the phone. A bar? I couldn’t go to a bar. I didn’t
dare
go to a bar. I was only seventy days sober.

“I’m kidding, Terri. It’s some kind of art exhibit in a gallery in Westhampton. I figure we can hang there for an hour or two, sip ginger ale out of champagne flutes, and talk modern art."

His joke didn’t soothe my nerves at all. “Max, I don’t know squat about modern art.”

“Neither do I. That’ll make it fun. We can spend the evening being clueless together.”

I guess Hollywood people had a different idea of fun than Snuggies. Given the choice, I’d take Francesca’s bonfire party with Josh over some art gallery event any night. A big roaring fire on the soft, chilly beach, huddled in a blanket with the right guy, making s’mores while music played in the background and the stars twinkled above in a black velvet sky? Fun. Pretending to know the difference between a Monet and a Manet while nibbling on overpriced, out of season shrimp-flavored tidbits and withstanding the scrutiny of people who carried more money in their wallet than I saw in a year? Not fun.

“I’ll pick you up at your place at seven.” Click.

Crap. I didn’t even get the chance to say no before he hung up.

“I take it the modern art with Max thing is tonight?”

On a startled gasp, I whirled. Gary stood by the kitchen doors, his arms folded over his chest. “I ran into Dr. Florentino on her way out. She let me in. How’s the hand?”

I waited a beat until my heart rate steadied to a more normal rhythm before answering, “She said she might be able to remove the stitches by the beginning of next week.”

“That’s promising.”

I nodded. “What are you doing here? I thought you left for the night.”

“Two things. First, I wanted to return this to you.” He held out his fist and opened his fingers. A gold chain tumbled out, my medallion swinging at the end.

“My medal! I thought I lost it.”

“I found it in the parking lot. The clasp was broken so I got you a new chain with a good lobster claw to keep it secure.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” I held out my hand, and he placed the piece into the center of my bandaged palm. “Thank you. You have no idea what this necklace means to me.”

“Sure I do. It’s your thirty day sobriety token, right?”

I stared at him, agog, nodding with some hesitation. I’d never told a soul. “I had it plated to remind me what I’d been through. Those first thirty days were a misery I don’t ever want to relive. When I feel myself weakening, I grab the medallion and think about those first few days: the sweating, the shaking, the eternal headache that felt like I was swimming in a fog of pain. A lot of nights, my father came to me in my dreams, a gun in his hand, telling me he was there to finish what he started. I can’t tell you how many nights I woke up screaming, my heart pounding, the sheets twisted around me like a noose.” I cupped my fingers around the round gold chip. “I don’t ever want to forget.”

“Turn around,” he said. “I’ll slip it into place for you.”

“Thank you,” I repeated and did what he said, lifting the hair off my nape so it wouldn’t get tangled.

His cool fingers danced around my neck until the necklace lay perfectly beneath the hollow in my throat. “There you go.”

I grabbed the medal and allowed the simple action to work its magic, relieving some of my stress. “I’m so grateful you found it. How much do I owe you for the chain?”

“Nothing. It’s a gift. And now for reason number two that I’m here. Christian’s at a sleepover at a friend’s tonight. I was hoping you might want to come with me to the local bonfire down at Dawes Beach. But if you have plans with Max for some art gig, I guess I’ll go by myself.”

I stared up at the ceiling. Great. Apparently, the fates chose today to play with me. “God, Gary, I wish I could go. But Max needs me. I’m his sober buddy, you know? I help him stay away from the booze when he’s forced to socialize.”

“Right.” He turned around to leave, and as he pushed through the swinging door, added, “Be careful, Terri. I get a bad vibe about that guy.”

Oh, for cripes’ sake. I waited until I heard the back door close before I replied, “Your bad vibe sounds like ‘jealousy,’ pal. Get over it.”

♥♥♥♥

Jayne

Although the night sky was gray with heavy clouds, the bonfire party wasn’t hard to find. On a darkened beach, the bright orange flames stood out for about a mile. Raucous laughter carried over the soft whoosh of waves tumbling onto shore.

Treading on the uneven sand, my hand in Iggy’s to keep me steady—
ha,
ha
—I second guessed my easy acquiescence to this outing for the thousandth time. Why was I here?

Iggy’s romantic pursuit terrified me. Not because the man himself terrified me, but because the idea of falling in love and then, eventually, having the floor pulled out from under me again, terrified me. I should put a halt to this. Go back to my safe little hidey-hole and re-emerge when my provocative past no longer mattered except as legend. When I was…oh, I don’t know…ninety? Ninety-five?

The thing was, I didn’t want to be alone ‘til I was ninety, ninety-five. I wanted a life—a
real
life. And someone to share it with. I knew, though, that I had to earn that life. I had to recapture the old me, embrace risks, and stand strong against the adversities that had been tossed my way.

I dared a sideways glance at Iggy: solid, dependable, so very different from mercurial, social butterfly David. If I put my trust in Iggy, I knew he’d never betray me. Betrayal wasn’t in his nature. The man was fiercely loyal, fiercely passionate, fiercely protective. In a word, Iggy was
fierce
. And I appreciated that ferocity as much as he appreciated my ability to bring him peace. He hadn’t experienced a nightmare since he’d told me about what happened at As Samawah. My heart opened at the thought, and all my pent-up fears and bitterness flooded out of me.
I’m sorry, David, that I couldn’t be what you needed me to be or that you felt you couldn’t be what I needed.
Now,
I
needed to be what I needed. If Iggy could find his peace in me, so could I.

As we drew nearer to the crowd, I counted at least two dozen people, and half a dozen kids congregating around a circular pit full of burning driftwood. On the edge of the gathering, a man got up from a blanket he shared with another man and two women, one blond, the other brunette.

“Iggy!”

“Hey, Sam.” Iggy clapped him on the shoulder. “You remember Jayne, don’t you? Jayne, you remember Sam Dillon.”

Police Chief Dillon. I knew him, thanks to his greyhound (a patient of Snug Harbor Veterinary), Daisy. Occupational hazard, I often remembered the animals better than the owners. But Sam had also been one of the cavalry outside my office that night the wall of men and dogs allowed me to make my escape from the press hordes.

“Chief Dillon,” I said, holding out my hand. “Nice to see you again.”

“Call me Sam.” He pulled me into a hug. “So glad you came tonight, Jayne. Come meet everybody else.” He walked with me to the blanket where the other three rose. Sam helped the pretty blonde to her feet while the other gentleman assisted the dark-haired woman. Both ladies paused to brush sand off their jeans. “Paige, this is Jayne Herrera. Dom’s new vet.”

Paige was all smiles and bright eyes. “Hi. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Oh, God. Here we go. I forced a smile and held out my hand again, ready to face the past with no apologies or explanations. Let people see the real me and judge for themselves. “Hi, Paige. Nice to meet you.”

Once again, I was pulled into an embrace and hugged, squeezing me tighter than a boa constrictor with abandonment issues. “A handshake’s not gonna do it, Doctor. Is it okay if I call you Jayne?” She didn’t wait for a reply. Good thing, because as I struggled to breathe, uttering words would have been impossible. “Iggy believes in you, Dom believes in you, and Sam believes in you. You couldn’t ask for better character witnesses. You’re among friends here. I promise.” She turned to the other couple standing nearby. “Francesca, Josh, come meet Dr. Herrera.”

“Actually,” the brunette said as she stepped forward, “we’ve already met.”