Carolina Girl (15 page)

“To talk to Taylor, she said.” Tess moved restlessly. “And to tell me Taylor has one grandmother who can still take care of her.”

“Fuck ’em,” Tom said. “Look, you can’t control what the Simpsons say or do. You can’t change what happened. All we can do is play the cards we’re dealt.”

“As long as the game isn’t rigged,” she muttered. She rubbed her cheek against his hand. “I wish I were going with you on Tuesday.”
Court day.

He touched her hair, stroking her bangs out of her face with calloused fingers. “You’d be bored. Hell, I’ll be bored. That lawyer, Long, said we’ll be hanging all day, waiting. Anyway, only one of us needs to be there.”

“I just want to help.”

“You are helping. You’re taking care of yourself. Getting better, right? Getting some sleep.”

She smiled at his gruff tone. “Is that a hint?”

“Could be. Unless you want to stay up and fool around.”

She huffed, laughter and frustration mixed together. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

He gave her a slow, warm kiss. “Not for another four weeks anyway,” he agreed.

“That’s right, I . . . Wait.” Tess drew back to stare into her husband’s face. “You asked Dr. Glover when we could have sex?”

Tom grunted, which could have been either yes or no, except he would have said
No
straight out.

“Thirty-eight years we’ve been married,” Tess said, “three kids, and you’ve never asked one doctor about anything.”

His gaze met hers. “You mad?”

“No, I’m . . .” Relieved. Reassured. Flattered. “Grateful,” Tess said. She smiled. “And it’s three weeks now.”

* * *

R
ESIDENTS AND LONGTIME
visitors to Dare complained the island wasn’t as remote as it used to be. Clearly, they had never tried to book a flight to LaGuardia in time for a lunch meeting in Manhattan.

The earliest flight out of Jacksonville, with a stop in Atlanta, would require Meg to leave the island at three thirty in the morning. Or she could leave two hours later and drive herself three and a half hours to Raleigh-Durham Airport for a nonstop flight to New York. She’d opted for Raleigh.

At least she could work on the plane.

“Mom, do you think it would be okay for me to ask Matt to give me a ride into Morehead City tomorrow?” Meg asked Tess the following morning. “I hate to dump any more work on him, but I need to pick up a rental car.”

Soft, gray light penetrated the kitchen windows. Outside, birds tuned up against a chorus of insects. Tom sat at the kitchen table, mopping the last of his breakfast egg with a piece of toast. Tess stood at the counter with Taylor, supervising the packing of her lunch for school.

“What time?” Tess asked.

Meg headed for the coffeepot. “Five thirty?” she said, a note of apology lifting her voice. Matt was on the water some mornings by five. She still hated imposing on him.

“In the morning?” Tess asked.

“Kind of early for you, city girl,” Tom remarked.

“One or two?” Taylor asked, digging her hand into her Halloween candy.

“One,” Tess said.

“Two,” Tom said at the same time.

Meg poured her coffee. “How about one large, one small?”

“Cool.” Taylor deliberated, finally choosing a large Milky Way and a small peanut butter cup. “Where are you going?”

“I have a meeting,” Meg said. “In New York.”

“I’m sure we can get you a ride,” Tess said. “It’s good that you’re getting back to work.”

“Yeah.” Meg took a deep breath, setting down her coffee cup. “Actually, Mom . . .”

“Are you coming back?” Taylor asked.

It had never been Meg’s plan to stay on the island. But something in the child’s expression, the closed face, the hopeful eyes, tugged at Meg’s heart. What had Sam said last night?
That’s a lot of changes for the kid to have to deal with.
Too many people were coming and going in Taylor’s life.

“It’s just an interview,” Meg assured her gently. “I’ll see you Sunday.”

The back door burst open to admit Josh. “Hey, shorty. Time for school.”

Taylor nodded and grabbed her lunch. Fezzik lurched from under the table and followed her to the door, his thick tail sweeping from side to side.

Josh grinned down at her affectionately. “You got candy for me?”

Taylor jammed Luke’s Marine cap onto her short blond hair. “Maybe.”

“You need another piece, then,” Tom said.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, thanks, Grandpa.”

And they were gone.

In the quiet they left behind, Tess turned to her daughter and raised her eyebrows. “Did you say an interview?”

Meg blew out her breath.
Here goes.

“A sort of job interview.” She met her mother’s gaze, her chest hollowed out. “I was let go. Franklin let me go. Fired me.”

“They what?” Tom growled.

“Oh, honey.” Tess started forward, banging into her walker.

“Easy, Mom. It’s okay. I’m okay.” Meg crossed the kitchen, steadying the walker, folding her arms carefully around her mother, trying to give and receive comfort without putting any weight on Tess’s slim shoulders.

Trying not to be a burden.

Meg swallowed.
What a laugh.

“Do you need any help?” Tom asked, his weathered face creased in lines of concern.
Financial help
, he meant.

Meg’s heart swelled. Her throat cinched. She made more in bonuses than her parents earned in a year. “Oh, Dad. No, I’m fine. I got six months’ severance.”

“Is that enough?” Tess asked. “With your mortgage . . .”

“It’s fine. And Derek is willing to help out until I find something else.”

Tom grunted. “Least he can do. You can stay here, you know. As long as you want.”

“We love having you,” Tess added.

They were trying to help her, Meg realized. Emotion welled inside her. To take care of her the way they always had. All this time, she had been worried about helping and taking care of
them,
protecting them, and their first thought was for
her
. Their concern made her want to weep. She didn’t deserve it.

The kitchen blurred in a rush of love and tears.

“Hey, now,” her father said, alarmed.

She sniffled.

“It’s okay.” He put his arms around her—long, bony arms, comforting and familiar—and she burst into tears.

“It’s all right, sweetie,” her mother said. The same words, the same tone, that had soothed scrapes and feelings throughout Meg’s childhood. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Meg wept. “Damn it.”

Tom patted her back awkwardly. He smelled of laundry detergent and aftershave, strong, clean smells. “What the hell are you sorry for? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“No-o. I thought . . .” Her voice hitched on another sob. “You’d be disappointed in me.”

“Disappointed? In you?” The genuine astonishment in her mother’s voice nearly set Meg off again.

“That’s stupid,” Tom said. “We’re proud of you, Meggie. Always have been.”

“But I lost my
job
.”

“So? You’re not the first or the only one in this economy to get fired. You’re a smart girl. You’ll come about. They’re fucking idiots.”

She closed her eyes, letting herself go back to a time when her father’s arms could protect her from anything. She was awash with embarrassment, floating in relief, filled to the brim with love. Leaving the office in the cab that day, she’d felt as if she’d lost everything. But she’d been wrong, she realized. She’d never lost this. “I love you, Daddy.”

He kissed the top of her head. “We love you, too, baby,” he said gruffly.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Tess asked.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Meg mumbled. “I was afraid to let you down.”

“You’ve never let us down,” Tom said. “You were a big help when your mom was in the hospital.”

“And here, too,” Tess said. “All we want is for you to be happy.”

Meg sniffed. “Will you be all right this weekend?”

Tom patted her shoulder. “Of course. You go take care of business.”

“What about Derek?” Tess asked. “Was he let go, too?”

“No, Derek was on the transition team. His job’s safe.”

Meg saw her parents exchange glances.

“What does he say about all this?” Tess asked.

Meg drew a deep breath. “He thinks it’s time I came home.”

She had called him at bedtime, their regular time, hoping that hearing his cool, considered voice would remind her of all the ways he was perfect for her.

Or maybe she’d hoped he would say something stupid and hurtful to erase her guilt over Sam. He could offer to buy her out of their condo again, for example.

Instead, Derek had surprised her.
Bruce told me they were bringing you up. I think it’s great. You know, your job search would be a lot easier if you stayed in New York. It’s time for you to come home
, he’d said, as if he wasn’t the one who had sent her away in the first place.

What about stepping back to gain perspective
? she had reminded him a little bitterly.
What about examining our priorities?

That’s exactly what I’ve been doing
, Derek had responded. A pause.
I miss you, Meg.

His admission had gratified a small corner of her heart, soothed the bruise to her pride. And left her vaguely uncomfortable. She missed him, too. Of course she did. But . . .

Meg met her mother’s eyes. “He said this could be the opportunity we need to figure out where we’re going. To assess our priorities.”

Tom gave another grunt that could have meant anything.

“Well, I never thought I’d say this, but I agree with him. Maybe this is your chance to think about what you really want.” Tess tipped her head to one side. Smiled. “And who you really want, too.”

“
Ma
.” She wouldn’t call it panic, that quick staccato beat of her heart. “I’m looking for a job, not another boyfriend. I hate to disappoint you, but there’s no way I’m going to end up living on the island married to . . .”
Sam Grady.
“Anybody,” Meg sputtered. “I love what I do. I love New York.”

“And Derek? Do you love him, too?”

Meg opened her mouth, feeling the ground shift suddenly beneath her feet. She wasn’t used to examining her feelings for Derek. She certainly wasn’t used to discussing their relationship in front of her father.

“If you can’t say yes, the answer’s no,” Tom said.

She flushed. “It’s not that simple, Dad. Maybe that’s what I have to go to New York to figure out. I’m comfortable with Derek. We’ve been together six years. I can be myself when I’m with him.”

“You mean he doesn’t challenge you,” Tess said.

“Of course he does. We challenge each other. That’s why we make such a good team. We both work hard, we’re both career oriented. We don’t have to make excuses to each other if one of us is stressed out or working late.”

“In other words, neither one of you has to carve out time for a relationship. He’s convenient.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Meg asked. “Why should I sacrifice my job or compromise who I am to be with someone?”

“You shouldn’t,” Tess said. “Unless . . .”

“Unless what?” Meg demanded.

“Unless compromising who you think you are actually helps you become the person you were meant to be.”

Thirteen

“Y
OU,”
M
EG SAID
when she opened the back door the next morning.

Sam stood in the yellow glow of the porch light in jeans and a blue work shirt with the sleeves pushed back. For one second, before her brain engaged and started flashing little red warning signs, her heart skipped.
You
. Her eyes drank him in,
rangy and relaxed and looking way better than anybody had a right to at five twenty-seven in the morning.

Automatically, her hand went to her diamond studs, her Pucci scarf, the line of her skirt, checking, smoothing, taking silent, reassuring inventory. She looked fine, all traces of nerves and her sleepless night carefully concealed with makeup and the right clothes.

Sam leveled that gotta-love-me Grady grin at her, all teeth and charm. “Me,” he confirmed. “Heard you needed a lift.”

“But . . . But . . .” She was sputtering. She pressed her lips together. She wouldn’t have such a hard time controlling her emotional response to Sam if she didn’t find him so physically attractive. Or maybe she wouldn’t find him so attractive physically if they didn’t have this emotional history. Either way was no excuse for letting him tie her tongue into knots. “Matt said he would drive me to pick up my rental car this morning.”

“No, Matt said he’d take care of it. And he did.”

“By asking you.” She kept her voice down, aware of her parents still asleep in the master suite off the kitchen.

“I asked him, but yeah. Basically.” He reached for Meg’s red Tumi carry-on. “We should roll. Is this all you’ve got?”

She resented the casual way he took charge of her schedule and her luggage, friendly, insistent, too used to getting his own way. But what good would it do to object? She needed her car. He was doing her a favor. She could be civil in return. “Thank you. Do you want some coffee before we go?”

“That would be great.”

She had already brewed a pot, figuring she would need the caffeine for the long drive to Raleigh. Now she poured coffee into two of the paper travel cups stocked by the inn and offered him one. “Black, one sugar.”

Their eyes met. Her stomach did a slow roll as he took the cup, his long fingers brushing hers. “Thanks.”

She cleared her throat and grabbed her own cup, her bag, her trench, reaching desperately for a neutral topic of conversation. “When did you see Matt?”

“Yesterday.” Sam opened the kitchen door and gestured for her to precede him onto the porch. She locked up and then followed him down the flagstone walk, hurrying to keep pace with his long-limbed, confident stride.

He opened her door, always the gentleman. “I wanted to get his opinion on who to approach about forming a watermen’s association.” He held her coffee as she settled into her seat, conscious of his eyes on her legs, his warmth, temptingly close. “And I wanted the chance to see you before you go.”

She swallowed, wrapping her hands around her cup as he stowed her rollaway in back. She had too little sleep, too much at stake, to deal with him right now. When he slid in beside her, she said, “Look, I appreciate you taking me to pick up my car. But frankly, I said everything I had to say the other night. I have a really long, full day today. I don’t need the distraction.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just listen.”

“Sam . . .”

“Meggie, let me say this. I kept quiet before. We never talked, I never told you how I felt.” He met her gaze, his face set in the glow of the dashboard. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

Her heart hammered. The conversation was going places she had left behind eighteen years ago. She was afraid to go back, reluctant to revisit the girl she’d been back then.

The girl who had loved Sam.

Or been infatuated with him anyway.

“Sam, we don’t need to have this discussion. We were kids.”

“Yeah, that’s what I told myself back then,” he said. “I thought if I pretended hard enough, if I ignored what happened long enough, it would be like it never happened.”

She ignored the pang his words caused. “It was ages ago. Why drag up the past?”

“Because it’s not past. We can’t go forward until we go back. I hurt you, Meggie, and I’m sorry.”

His words touched a long-healed scar, soothed an almost forgotten ache. But she had spent too many tears on Sam when she was sixteen. She wasn’t wasting any more regrets on something that had happened back in high school. “You don’t have to apologize because you didn’t like me, Sam. It’s okay.”

He scowled in obvious frustration. “I did like you. That was the damn problem. I liked you all too much. You meant . . . God, your family meant everything to me. And because I was drunk, because you were . . .”

“Available,” she said dryly.

He turned his head. Met her eyes. “Irresistible.”

Oh, God
. Her body flushed. She could feel herself tightening, softening, inside.

“I fucked up,” he continued.

She’d blamed him then. She was older now. Old enough to understand and forgive. “We both did. Face it, Sam, I threw myself at you.”

His smile gleamed. “And I was grateful. But I put everything that mattered at risk, your parents’ trust, Matt’s friendship. You. I didn’t know how to face them afterward. I didn’t have the balls to face you. Christ, you were still in high school.”

“And you were a freshman in college. Only a couple years older than Josh.” Wow, she was old. And they had both been so very young. “Neither one of us knew what we were doing. Us, together? It was a stupid mistake.”

“Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it didn’t have to be.” His voice was low, urgent. It was absurd how much she loved his voice, the baritone drawl as smooth and seductive as Irish coffee with whipped cream. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Meggie. About us. I thought, maybe when I came home for the summer, I’d give you a call. Or I’d come over and you’d, you know, just be there.”

She remembered that summer, the summer before her senior year. She’d been working two jobs, saving every dime for college, tackling the AP English reading list, determined to apply early decision to Harvard and UNC. Not Duke. She wouldn’t have followed Sam to Duke if they’d offered her a full scholarship and courtside seats to every basketball game. What would it have meant, what would she have done, if Sam had come home, if he’d called her then?

“Why didn’t you?” she whispered.

“Matt called me.”

Her head whipped around. “Oh, God. What did he say?”

“He told me,” Sam said with grim deliberation, “that Kimberly was pregnant. Scared the hell out of me. What if it had been me? What if it had been you?”

“But . . . You used a condom.” Something else she hadn’t fully appreciated at the time.

“So did Matt. Most of the time anyway. I watched him trying to hold it all together after that. I saw what he gave up. I wasn’t ready for that. I wasn’t ready for you.” Another of those sideways looks, dark and intent. “Then.”

Her mouth was dry. She sipped her cooling coffee, welcoming the jolt of reality, the acrid flavor. “Don’t tell me you’ve been nursing a crush on me for eighteen years. Because that’s a load of crap.”

He laughed. “You know that’s the guy fantasy, right? The one that got away. Most times the reality doesn’t come close. You see her again, ten, twenty years later, and you think,
Thank God. Dodged that bullet.
But when I heard you were coming back to the island, I wanted to see you again. I wanted to find out if you were still the girl I remembered.”

“So, now you know. I can’t be that girl anymore, Sam. I’m grown up. I have places to go, things to do. I have a
life
.”

“You always did. That’s part of what attracted me. And intimidated me.”

She snorted. “Please. You were never intimidated.”

“Was, too. Why do you think I didn’t make the first move?”

It was ridiculous how much she wanted to believe him. “Well, it doesn’t make any difference now.”

“It makes all the difference. The timing was wrong for us. But we . . .” He reached out, taking her hand for emphasis. “We were right.”

She looked at his hand covering hers on her lap and felt her breath go. “The timing isn’t any better now.”

“Because of the interview.”

She was grateful for his understanding. This opportunity was important to her. But he still didn’t get it. “Because I’m in a relationship.”

“So end it.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

She glared at him. “You don’t just break off a six-year relationship without talking things over. At least, I don’t. I have too much respect for Derek, too much respect for myself, to treat him that way.”

“What about the way he treats you?”

“There’s nothing wrong with the way Derek treats me. Maybe things haven’t been perfect lately, but—”

“Does he make you happy?”

She stared at him, stricken. “That’s a stupid question.”

“So, no,” Sam said.

A sound, half laugh, half groan, broke from her throat. “I cannot believe we are having this discussion on my way to the airport.”

His gaze fixed on her face before he nodded slowly. “Bad timing.”

His words ran through her head.
The timing was wrong for us. But we . . .we were right.

Her breath backed up in her lungs. “The worst.”

She saw his white grin flash, reflected in the dark windshield. “Later for us, then.”

Well, that was easy, she thought. She breathed out, torn between relief and regret that he was letting it go. Letting her go.

Again.

* * *

T
WELVE HOURS LATER,
Meg emerged from the subway into the bustle of rush hour, barely refraining from breaking into a victory boogie right there on the sidewalk.

Her firing had shaken her confidence more than she wanted to admit. All her experience was in financial services, almost all of it on the corporate side. Her long professional friendship with Bruce didn’t mean that his partners would like her. She had been concerned about how she would be perceived, how she would fit in.

Meg grinned like a fool as her red rollaway bumped over the curb. She had nailed the meetings with the PR management team and the author client. Meg had focused on the need for niche marketing, for appealing to a new audience of readers who might not otherwise think of picking up the book. Over lunch, they’d discussed angles and tangible take-aways, with the result that the writer was now sharpening her talking points . . . and Meg had a job.

She was back, baby.

She was back. The smell of sweat, cement, sewers, and dying leaves rose from the gritty sidewalk. Energy swirled from the street. Meg pressed forward against the blinking light, part of a stream of swarming schoolchildren, office workers rushing home, joggers and pedestrians racing to get in their daily allotment of exercise. She’d always enjoyed the walk home along the railings of Central Park, the elegant architecture on one side of the street, the bright pushcarts and horse-drawn carriages on the other. The city was noisier, dirtier, more frenzied than she remembered, even in the shadow of the fading trees. Taxis blared. Busses billowed exhaust. Snatches of conversation punctuated the air.

“. . . had a urinary tract infection . . .”

“Your
face
is ridiculous.”

“. . . hammer out a restructuring plan.”

“So I told her . . .”

“Don’t lick your brother.”

The rollaway wheels rattled on pavement. The tall limestone façade of Meg’s building rose like a refuge across the street, the green awning extending a welcome. The doorman, Luis, was the first person to make eye contact with her in blocks.

A smile broke his broad face. “Miss Fletcher. It’s good to have you back.”

“Thanks, Luis.” She smiled as he opened the door for her, his jacket parting over his barrel-like torso. “Anything exciting happen while I was away?”

“We’ve been very quiet.” Smoothly, Luis relieved her of the rollaway and pressed the button for the elevator. “Except for a little visit from Mr. Chapman’s sister.”

Sister?

Meg stopped, grasping the handle of her suitcase. “Derek doesn’t have a sister.”

Luis’s face assumed the impervious stone stare common to Aztec gods and New York doormen. “I must have been mistaken,” he said.

The elevator dinged. The doors slid open.

“You have a nice evening, Miss Fletcher,” Luis said.

“You, too,” she said and wondered why his good wishes didn’t produce a greater sense of anticipation.

She expected to feel better—she expected to feel
more
—as she unlocked the door to the condo. Relief. Welcome. Homecoming. The mushroom carpet was spotless, the granite and wood surfaces gleamed, but the air smelled faintly stale as if housekeeping hadn’t been by in days. Derek must have let things slide in her absence. Well, he was working hard, she thought, struggling to be fair. He was barely home enough to mess the place up anyway. She wasn’t expecting to see him tonight until seven at least.