Fallling for the Prodigal Son (16 page)

"What's going on?"

Lucy could barely get the words out. "... fired ..."

"Fired you?" Gina repeated. "Who?"

Lucy shrugged, as if to say "who else?"

Gina jumped up to her feet. "Oh my
god.
Sterling fired you?" She paced around Lucy's office, a swirl of anger. "He doesn't have the authority ..."

"Apparently he does," Lucy said quietly. She really did not want to be discussing this with Gina at the moment, but there was probably no way out of it now.

Why?"

"Derrick's article."

"That? Derrick does an article every year. That's not your fault."

Lucy shot her friend a look. "Not an article like this one. This wasn't exactly the usual warm and fuzzy, help the kids piece. I knew what Derrick was planning to do. I knew about the concert and the reunion and all that, and I didn't let Sterling know. That's a fire-able offense at most places."

Gina strode over and grabbed Lucy's shoulders. "Lucy! You aren't going to just let him do this. Have you called Sarah?"

Lucy shook her head sadly. "Sarah wants the Inn to survive and to stay in the family. Sterling is how she's doing that."

"She's always treated you like a daughter. You have to fight this."

"But I'm not her daughter. Sterling is her son. And as much as I want to work for the Chesapeake Inn, I
'm not sure I can work for him."

"But the camp. Does Douglas know yet?"

Lucy shook her head again. "No, I haven't told anyone yet. The grapevine will take care of that." The grapevine, meaning Gina. "I might be more useful to the camp if I'm not working here. I don't know." Lucy ran her hand through her hair.

"You need to talk to a lawyer—""I don't really have a case, Gina. I wouldn't want to work for a company that doesn't want me anyway. And Sterling Matthew doesn't want me here."

At lunch time, Sterling finally gave in and walked down the hall that led to Lucy's office. He'd been fighting the urge to go check all morning. He'd told her to turn in her receipts by ten, but it might take her longer, he'd reasoned. He wanted her out of there today, but he didn't want to be pressuring her to leave by a certain time.

As he approached her door his step slowed and he tried to glance casually through the open door. The lights were off. He stopped and slowly poked his head through the doorway. The room was empty. Lucy was gone.

He stepped into the room and looked around. She was thorough, he noted.
Her wire inbox was empty and lined up precisely with the edge of the desk. Two pens lay neatly atop a small yellow notepad, next to the phone. The top page was blank. Even the waste basket beneath her desk was empty. Two unused cardboard boxes, still crisply folded, leaned against the back wall.

Sterling sat down in her office chair and immediately the upholstery released a puff of Lucy's perfume.

Of course, she's gone.  You fired her. Told her to be out of here this morning. And so she is. The one time she has to follow directions to the letter ...

He spun around in her chair and noticed her overgrown spider ferns along the back window. The tips were dry and browning. He uncapped the bottle of water he was carrying and poured what remained into the pots. He made a mental note to have his assistant come in and water them again. 

He looked out the window, gazing into a far-off distance. She screwed you, he told himself. Screwed you twice and then proceeded to screw you in the media. She must have had this in the works before they went to San Francisco, he had realized last night on the drive home from the airport. She knew this was coming and she had slept with him anyway. Cold. That was really cold. Lucy Wyndham had more moxie than Elle had given her credit for.

Not that Sterling had ever been inclined to attach more significance to mere sex than was necessary. He'd even been known to feign significance if it meant getting into a woman's bed again. But to sleep with someone and blackmail them simultaneously? He had never done that. Maybe Lucy should consider a new career in undercover intelligence. He'd be glad to give a glowing job reference to the CIA for her.

He was trying to muster up more anger toward Lucy. It wasn't working.
I'm tired.
That had to be it. The woman had instigated some seriously bad publicity for the Inn—and for him. And it wasn't as though he was exactly well-liked in St. Caroline to begin with. A
Washington Post
article, fine. He could deal with that. In fact, Elle was dealing with that right now. But a fundraising concert? A reunion in St. Caroline? That was too close to home.

And who the hell would have thought that
some famous singer was a Kids Kamp alumni? Shawn Whitney, he knew about, because his mother had mentioned it to him a few years ago when the Whitneys bought their estate in St. Caroline. And The Hiptones? To think that a week ago, he had considered Lucy and that damn Douglas to be the only former campers he needed to worry about.

But the anger wasn't coming. He had spent all night in a fitful sleep, waking every hour or so. And every time, he opened his eyes he realized he'd been dreaming about Lucy again. Lucy pulling his lips down onto hers outside her hotel room in San Francisco. Lucy lying on the bed, her blouse on the carpet, her breasts naked and offered up to him for his pleasure. Her nipples dark and tight, her breathing ragged and out of control, her hips tilted up at him. Her eyes, pleading silently for him to touch her, kiss her, take her.

Every time he awoke, he immediately closed his eyes, willing himself to go back to that dream.

Lucy spent the next week going back and forth between wallowing in pity and feeling proud of herself for not giving in on the Kids Kamp. But neither pity nor pride was going to pay the bills. She halfheartedly tried to update her resume. She'd spend a few minutes online scanning for jobs before losing interest. The idea of another job, necessary as it was, simply didn't appeal to her. She'd had her dream job. And now it was gone.

She snuck down to the camp a few times. She watched the Fourth of July fireworks with the campers. It was beyond her willpower to stay away.

"We're going to pound him," Douglas said. "For real this time. Me and Derrick and Shawn Whitney."

Lucy leaned into Douglas and gave him a big, tight hug. Douglas would do anything for her. She knew that. He was that kind of friend. She felt his strong arms around her, the lean chiseled muscles beneath his shirt. Why couldn't she fall in love with him? With the kind of steady, stable guy who would do anything for her? Douglas knew where she came from, and he was okay with that. He liked her anyway. He was the sort of man she could take back to southwestern Virginia to meet her mother and cousins and the folks who had known her when she was an unruly teenager. She had taken Josh there once and hadn't that been a disaster? He couldn't get out of there fast enough. That should have been a sign, but it was a sign Lucy hadn't wanted to see.

"Penny for your thoughts," said Douglas, unwinding his arms from around her.

Douglas could have her thoughts for a penny, unlike Sterling. But Lucy just shook her head. "Just daydreaming."

The look on Douglas' face said he wasn't buying that explanation. "Do you need any help ... You know, rent ...," he offered awkwardly. "Gina and I can help you."

Lucy shook her head. "Thanks, but I'm fine. I have some money saved up."

In truth, it wasn't the money that worried Lucy. She would be okay for a few months, if she had to be. It was the starting over again that was taking her breath away. She'd done it after Josh and here she was, faced with doing it again.

Chapter 18

Two days later, Lucy was hosing off her kayak after a paddle around the bay when she heard the phone ring inside. She tripped and stumbled up the stairs to answer it, lunging for it on the fifth ring.

"Hello?" she said breathlessly.

"Lucy." It was Sarah Matthew.

Lucy was surprised to hear Sarah's voice. Lucy hadn't heard from Sarah since she got home from San Francisco, since she was fired—a fact that had hurt Lucy's feelings terribly. She'd thought they had a closer relationship than that. But apparently not.

"Sarah, how are you—" Lucy replied. She was quickly cut off by Sarah.

"Lucy, John passed away early this morning. In his sleep."

"Oh Sarah, I am so sorry—"

"The service is on Sunday. You're invited to the reception at the house after." And with that, Sarah Matthew hung up.

Lucy sank onto her knees. John Matthew was gone. A part of her hadn't ever truly believed he would die. He was too much a part of St. Caroline to just not be here anymore. She sat on the floor for thirty minutes and cried. She sobbed her eyes out until her knees were stiff and she was too tired to cry anymore. She crawled into bed, pulled the covers up to her chin and slept until after dinnertime.

Later, it occurred to her to call Sterling with her condolences. Or perhaps just email him—no actual contact that way. She brushed the idea away. Sterling certainly would not want to hear from her. He probably wouldn't be happy to see her at his father's funeral either. But Lucy had no intention of missing that.

Sunday dawned overcast and rainy. A light mist covered all of St. Caroline. Appropriate, thought Lucy. She couldn't imagine the sun ever shining again on the town, not without John Matthew for it to shine on. She did not want to see Sterling or Sarah at the funeral, something that turned out to be easy to accomplish. If there was someone in St. Caroline not in attendance, Lucy didn't know them. The church was standing room only. The line of cars parked along the road at the cemetery stretched on for over a mile.

The reception at the Matthew house was smaller. As far as Lucy could tell, the guests consisted of family, close friends, and long-time employees of the Inn. A month ago, Lucy would have counted herself in both categories two and three. Today, she was only a three.

Gina handed her a glass of sparkling water. "How is Sarah holding up?"

"I don't know. I guess we're not really speaking anymore."

"You're not? She's taken Sterling's side?"

"Things are going to be different here without John," Douglas chimed in.

"Well sure," Gina replied. "But what has that to do with
Lucy and Sarah's friendship?"

Douglas shrugged. "She is his mother. Blood is thicker and all that."

It wasn't until Sarah's terse and to-the-point phone call that Lucy realized that Sterling was really and truly in charge of the Inn now. She wondered whether he was preventing his mother from speaking to Lucy more casually, as the friend she had always been. Could he be that callous?

"Speaking of the golden boy," Douglas said.

Lucy looked across the parlor at Sterling, standing with family. She spotted his Uncle Frederick and Great-aunt Elizabeth. Sterling didn't look so golden today. He looked positively exhausted. His face was drawn and gray. He looked older all of a sudden, in a dark, sharply-cut suit and with more of his father in his face and jaw than Lucy had ever noticed before. He looked over at her suddenly. Their eyes caught and then he turned away.

Douglas was looking at her, an expression of consternation on his face, but he said nothing. Instead, he moved closer to her and draped his arm heavily across her shoulder. Douglas had been extraordinarily protective of Lucy since the firing. He called her every day—sometimes more than once a day—
and showed up on her doorstep with dinner or groceries to make sure she was eating properly.

L
ucy spent the reception in the company of Inn employees. She picked at a plate of food, drank too much coffee. She spotted Elle Scott-Thomas, Edward and Sreenivas Balakrishnan at one point. They were standing in the foyer between the parlor and the grand dining hall. Elle glared at her and Lucy involuntarily stepped back. She was on the verge of stumbling backward until Douglas reached a hand out and righted her balance. Sreenivas tipped his glass to her and smiled. Well, no hard feelings there at least. Lucy smiled back.

Sterling leaned against a column and watched Lucy discreetly from just outside the dining room. She was wearing a simple black dress and matching black heels. Her arms looked tanner than they'd been in San Francisco and her hair glowed with reddish highlights. He knew she'd been spending a lot of time in the sun lately. He had spotted her several times over the past week in her kayak, paddling around the bay. Clearly, she wasn't missing her job.