Stranger on the Shore (Mirabelle Harbor, Book 4) (22 page)

“Oh, I can bring her a pretty assortment of veggies,” Joy informed me. “The fudge—that’ll be for
you
.”

After I hung up with her, I texted Gil. I didn’t know how early he’d planned to get to Castaways, but I was pretty sure Carter was the one opening the shop this morning, and I didn’t want to wake Gil unnecessarily. Last night, he and I had made tentative plans to grab a drink together after we were all done with work for the day. Clearly, that wasn’t going to happen.

I briefly explained the situation to him, too, and was surprised to get an immediate text in reply.

“This isn’t some awkward morning-after avoidance thing, is it?????? ;)” he texted, complete with half a dozen question marks and a goofy winking emoji.

“LOL. No!” I immediately typed in return.

He didn’t text back. He called.

“You sure, Marianna?” he asked, his voice joking, but there was a hint of concern beneath the humor.

“Oh, Gil. I am
very
sure.” I told him a few more details about my sister than I’d told Joy, but not any of Ellen’s comments about us. Still, he seemed to guess that my late return to the bungalow had been an issue.

“I’m sorry I kept you out ‘til the wee hours.” He paused. “Well, I’m not, really, but I’m sorry if that created discord between you and Ellen. Once your sister recovers—and quickly, I hope—I’d love it if we could take a full day off, just the two of us, and go down to Sanibel Island. I’d like to show it to you, and—” He hesitated.

“Yes?”

“I know our time together is limited. I want to make the most of it.”

“Me, too,” I said, and I meant it with my whole heart.

The past twenty-four hours had been a rollercoaster of thoughts and feelings, but just about the only thing I knew with absolute certainty was that I was going to miss Gil like crazy when I went back home. And Joy and Lorelei and Abby, too. Mostly, I was going to miss the
me
I’d become when I was with them.

Gil and I said our goodbyes, and I glanced at the clock—it was just after nine a.m. Time to go back to the hospital and find out where things stood with my sister today. She’d been so intent on unearthing the secrets of our family’s past that, I had to confess, I was nervous to be alone with her. I didn’t want to relive all of that crap.

But, no doubt about it, it was partially (maybe even primarily) my fault we were dealing with all of this now. I needed to face it.

So, I splashed some water on my eyes, brushed my teeth, got dressed, and tried to make myself look less like a human zombie. One glance at the mirror told me I hadn’t come close to succeeding. Nevertheless, I grabbed my keys and a granola bar for the road and got in the car.

When I walked in to Ellen’s hospital room, her cheeks were streaked with fresh tears and a nurse I hadn’t met yet was standing next to her, handing her a box of tissues. I felt my anxiety spiking. Oh, no. Now what?

“Did the tests come back?” I blurted. “Was there a problem?”

The nurse glanced at Ellen first, then at me. “No. Dr. Sutterfield will be in with the results in a couple of hours. Your sister is just, uh... ”

“Sad,” Ellen said. “And moody. Like I have a bad case of PMS. Got any chocolate?”

“Um, not with me.” I thought about Joy’s fudge offer. “But it could be arranged.”

My sister smiled wanly. “Good. I may need some later.”

“Have you talked with Jared yet?”

She nodded. “Briefly. But we’ll be talking for longer later in the day. He’s in a big meeting right now, so we’ve got a phone date planned for four-ish this afternoon.”

A meeting on a Sunday morning?

But I knew Jared was a workaholic, just like my sister, so all I said was, “Okay. Hopefully, you’ll be back at the bungalow by then and can take the call from your favorite spot on the sofa.”

She almost laughed. “Thanks, Sis. We’ll see what the doc says.”

As it turned out, the doctor said the tests didn’t show any other problems and that the panic-attack diagnosis seemed to be right on. Dr. Sutterfield requested a few minutes to talk privately with my sister, so I stood outside the room while they had their discussion. I had no idea what they were saying in there, but I was more than a little surprised to see Ellen actually give the doctor a hug before she was discharged. Since when had my sister become so weirdly emotional? Was there something more to this panic-attack thing than she was telling me?

Probably. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t kept secrets from me before.

By lunchtime, we’d return to the bungalow, and I’d gotten Ellen set up like the queen bee she was in the middle of her floral command post. I handed her a cup of green tea, which she sniffed at in mild disgust (“This doesn’t have caffeine, Marianna. What’s the point?”), along with the remote control to the TV, a stack of magazines, and some extra pillows for the sofa.

“You can watch a show, read an article, or just take a nap, if you’d like,” I told her. “I’ll figure out something to make us for lunch, okay?”

“Sure,” she said, apathetically flipping through the magazine on the top of the pile. “Thanks.”

To be honest, I would’ve given her whatever form of entertainment might keep her occupied and not interested in rehashing the past today. But, despite how she’d professed her desire to talk about our parents in the early morning hours at the hospital, Ellen seemed unusually tightlipped this afternoon. I couldn’t account for the change, but I was grateful.

Before I had a chance to even look through the refrigerator and pantry for food options, I got a text from Lorelei.

“Are you and your sister back home now?” she asked.

When I replied that, yes, we were, she wrote, “Excellent. Expect us in about 20 minutes. Joy already ordered the meal, so there will be no arguments.”

Standing in the kitchen, holding my cell phone, I actually laughed aloud at the words on the screen. No, there was no point in arguing with Joy. Or with Lorelei and Abby, for that matter.

“Looks like we’re going to have some company soon,” I warned my sister.

When the ladies arrived at our door less than a half hour later, it was like inviting a funnel cloud of love and delight into the bungalow, and it swept both Ellen and me into its whirlwind. I’d gotten used to their energy and enthusiasm—more or less—over these past few weeks. But Ellen, who was usually so imposing and commanding herself, looked comically railroaded by my new friends and the way they simply took over the place.

Joy bounded in first with a platter of seafood skewers. “Shrimp and veggie kabobs from On the Barbie,” she informed us. “Very healthy!” She put the platter down on the kitchen counter, skipped over to Ellen, and thrust out her hand. “It’s so great to finally meet Marianna’s sister. I’m Joy.”

Ellen, staring wide-eyed at her from behind a large sofa pillow, slowly reached out to shake it. “And I’m Ellen.”

Joy pumped her hand. “I know!” Then, to me, “Wow. You two have seriously different auras, though.” She waved her palm in Ellen’s direction. “So much orange. Who knew?”

Ellen squinted at her in confusion, and I couldn’t help but laugh. But I didn’t have even a second to explain before Lorelei plunked two wine bottles onto the coffee table in front of my sister, and Abby came into the room, too, bearing a Fudge Fantasia bag and a devilish grin.

“Joy’s seafood and Lorelei’s wine might be heart healthy,” Abby said to Ellen, “but I got you covered on the dessert.”

My sister grinned back, and I could sense Ellen finally giving in to what I knew would be a lively introductory lunch with my Sarasota friends.

“We’re taking the afternoon off to spend it with you two,” Lorelei said.

“Yep,” Joy concurred. “We closed the shop for the next few hours, and we’re taking a break from the bracelets. This is more important.” She shot me a significant look, and my heart soared at their kindness.

When I explained to Ellen that these were the women I was working with on the B.E.A.D.S. project, I saw the light of understanding dawn on my sister’s face. She could hardly help but notice how vivacious and spirited they were. And if she’d been lost in pensive thoughts and on the verge of glumness prior to their arrival, she didn’t have the opportunity to dwell long in that mood. Not in the presence of such dynamic company.

Soon, she was laughing just as loudly as the rest of us at the stories that were being shared, and even contributing several of her own.

In the midst of this, the phone rang. Olivia Michaelsen’s number. I picked it up.

“Hi, Olivia!”

Across the room, Abby twisted her head in my direction.

“I heard through the grapevine that your sister was in the hospital,” my lovely Mirabelle Harbor friend said. “How is she doing?”

“You heard through the grapevine?” I repeated.

Abby’s gaze caught mine, and she winced. “Guilty,” she mouthed at me.

Ohhh
. I nodded.

“Just because I’m not a few blocks away this summer doesn’t mean that I don’t still keep tabs on you,” Olivia said lightly.

I laughed and let her know that Ellen was definitely doing better and back at the bungalow now. While Olivia and I were busy catching up on the phone, I could overhear Ellen asking Abby about how she knew the Michaelsens. (Because, even though Ellen hadn’t resided in Mirabelle Harbor for years,
everyone
who’d ever lived on Chicago’s North Shore seemed to know the Michaelsens.) Abby explained that she’d grown up in the area, too, and she gave my sister an abbreviated account of her relationship with Chandler. Soon, the two of them were comparing notes on all of the families in town and giggling like schoolgirls, along with Lorelei and Joy, with the help of several glasses of wine. It allowed me to slip into the bedroom for a few minutes, so I could answer the questions Olivia was asking me.

“What’s been happening with that hot man you met at the beach?” she asked me. “Gil, right? Have you seen him again?”

When last we’d spoken, I’d only just been formally introduced to Gil. He’d walked me to my car and we’d chatted by the shops. But that was all before the Craft Festival. Before our growing friendship. Before he’d kissed me. Before the beach drumming... or the visit to Venice Beach... or making love at his place. I suddenly realized there’s been a
lot
of things I hadn’t told my good friend.

“I’m crazy about him,” I admitted to her, after giving her a quick but still fairly comprehensive rundown of the highlights. “He’s just a wonderful man, Olivia. And these weeks here are going by so fast.”

There was a long pause as she took in everything I’d been telling her. Then she said, “For purely selfish reasons, I’m really looking forward to you coming back to Mirabelle Harbor. But I know how rare love is. How hard it can be to find. Do you think your relationship with Gil could be special like that? Or is this just an exciting, life-affirming summer fling that you’ll always cherish? Because that’s a good thing, too. It’s just—” She paused.

“It’s just what?”

“Well, with a fling, you take a bunch of pictures and make a lot of memories, but then you pack them up, go home, and get on with things. With love, Marianna, you move heaven and earth to keep it in your life.”

I closed my eyes and felt tears forming behind my lids, but I didn’t try to fight them. Olivia was asking me something both valuable and wise, and I needed to let myself feel my real emotions when thinking about this. She was being a true friend and forcing me to look honestly at my relationship with Gil. At who we both were, where we belonged, and what we truly wanted from our lives.

Nothing he’d ever said in all of our conversations—or even in the heat of our lovemaking—indicated that a long-term love story was part of our future. We’d both gone into this relationship insisting that commitment wasn’t going to be a factor. Knowing that our connection was intended to be, at most, for a passionate few weeks. Maybe a month. I fully expected us to go our separate ways after I left Sarasota at the end of July.

Sure, we’d probably call each other a handful of times after I was back in Mirabelle Harbor. Exchange Christmas cards for a year or two. “Like” some random posts on the other person’s Facebook page. Or catch up on each other’s lives through emails Joy would send us.

But even if I extended my stay by a few weeks so Gil and I could be together for a bit longer, once I left Florida for good, he and I would drift apart. It was inevitable.

“Thanks, Olivia,” I whispered. “You’re right. There
is
a distinction between the two, and I appreciate that you reminded me of it. This thing with Gil... it’s a fling. It’s gotta be. But it’s a really fabulous one. It’s going to be hard to let him go.”

“All right,” she said. “That’s important to know. But, don’t forget, I’m here for you. I might be a thousand miles away at the moment, but I’ve always got your back. And if you need to talk any of this out—at
any
time—please call me.”

“I will.”

There was another knock at the front door, but I was in the bedroom, so I couldn’t see who was outside.

“Hey, I’ve got to go,” I told her. “We’ll talk soon, okay?”

“We’d better,” she said, before she rang off.

I went back into the living room and—
Ohhh!

“Gil?” I said, my heart fluttering at the mere sight of him standing in the doorway, dressed in a brightly patterned Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts.

Joy had let him in, and he was holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a CD in the other.

“Marianna.” He grinned at me with a look that left me utterly breathless. We both just stood there for a second and stared at each other.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my sister grimace and narrow her eyes at Gil. And then I saw
his
sister glance between Gil, Ellen, and me with her mouth agape. Joy’s face was so expressive, she couldn’t hide her surprise.

“Ellen, I see you’ve met my big brother.” She turned toward Gil. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked him, incredulous.

He cleared his throat and quickly thrust the floral arrangement at my sister. “Uh, it was a very brief meeting.” Then, to Ellen, “These are for you. Glad to see you’re doing better.”