Authors: Julie Carobini
Sweet Waters (6 page)
Then again, maybe Nigel runs an Internet business and needs someone to work behind a computer. I can do that from anywhere.
He folds his hands on the table in front of him like a polite young man asking for a favor. “An employee of mine is about to go out on maternity leave, and I believe you would quite competently handle her job at my inn.”
His declaration hits me like a splash of sea water. “Your inn? I've never met anyone who owns an inn before.”
He nods. “It has been in my mother's family for many years. I am the last, I'm afraid. My sister Judy operated it until just a few years ago when she took ill and passed on. I returned to Otter Bay after many years away to become the proprietor. I can only hope to continue running it for many years to come.”
“No children, then?”
“I'm afraid not.”
“Where is your inn, Nigel?
“It's the one you and your sister are staying inâThe Bayside.”
“Really? It's lovely.”
And cheap.
And cheap.
“It's old.”
I laugh lightly. “Well, it's weathered, and there's something poetic about that.”
Camille quirks a brow. Her lips are coated with shiny syrup. Silently I beg her not to open her crêpe-filled mouth, but I've little hope that my soundless warning will reach her. Old habits are the hardest to break.
“What are you talking about, Tara?”
I glance at my cousin. Is she ready to hear about some of my long-held, hidden desires? Am I ready to let them out of their box? I exhale.
“I've always been drawn to the idea of staying along the coast in a time-worn inn that holds a secret past, you know that.” At least, I think she knows that. I laugh at the daft look on Camille's face, and it feels good to let my emotions ride high. It's been a long time. “Not that the Bayside has any secrets, mind you. But the idea of it feels very romantic and otherworldly. So many people have come and stayed and gone again, and you have to wonder what some of their stories might have been. What kind of baggage did they come with, that disappeared with the waves? Does that make sense? Do you know what I mean?”
Camille sets down her fork. “What I think is that you needed this vacation more than we all thought.”
My face heats and I avoid Nigel's stare. “What do you mean, âmore than we all thought'? Who's
we?”
we?”
She shrugs. “Mel and me. And Trent.”
I stand. “Trent? You've been talking to him behind . . . behind my back? Why would you do that?”
Her eyes widen, and her gaze escapes toward the window. “He says he broke up with you for your own good. He says he really cares about you, but that you needed some, um, shaking up.” Camille's eyes come back to mine. “I told him I thought that was meanâif that helps any. Don't be mad, Tare-tare.”
A thick ball of emotion lodges in my throat, and even Camille's term of endearment for me won't dissolve it. “I can't believe my family betrayed me. You all did, talking with him. He's been promising me a ring for how many years now? I believed in him and . . .” I glance over at Nigel, and drop down again next to Camille. “I'm so sorry to be talking about this in front of you, Nigel. So much for secrets. My sister and I will finish this conversation later, but I do want to thank you for your offer of employment. I'm flattered.”
He nods again. “Well then, I hope you will consider it.”
“Well, no, I'm sorry, but that won't be possible. We're just on vacation.” I say the word through gritted teeth, because this is hardly the respite I'd planned. What else have my sisters said about me? And do I really want to know? “Besides, I've never done the books for an inn.”
“Oh, I hadn't planned to ask you to work with my accounting.”
“No? Of course not. How could you have known what kind of work I'm qualified for? I suppose perhaps you wanted me to clean rooms then, but I've no experâ”
Camille squeaks. “A maid?”
I turn to growl at her. “It's honest work. And I put a high price on honesty.”
“Ladies.” We both look at Nigel. “Tara, I think you'd be a welcome addition to my front desk staff. I watched you serving the customers here just a half hour ago, and you have a marvelous way with people.”
He stuns me with his gracious assessment. I've been in the background longer than the backup singers on
American Idol.
Like them, I've known that this was my place, and I've held that knowledge as my own badge of honor. There's nothing wrong with working behind the scenes. Somebody has to do it, or else those at the front will suffer, and then the entire production will fall apart. Not that working the front desk of an inn is any great triumph. I've just never had anyone pluck me out of a crowd and put me in a spot where customers could see me first. Doesn't he know the danger in that?
American Idol.
Like them, I've known that this was my place, and I've held that knowledge as my own badge of honor. There's nothing wrong with working behind the scenes. Somebody has to do it, or else those at the front will suffer, and then the entire production will fall apart. Not that working the front desk of an inn is any great triumph. I've just never had anyone pluck me out of a crowd and put me in a spot where customers could see me first. Doesn't he know the danger in that?
He continues. “I noticed that your reservation was open-ended, causing me to wonder if perhaps you and your sister might be in town for an extended time. I do hope you will reconsider.”
I open my mouth to end this conversation, when Camille reaches for my hand. “Take the job.” Something fierce forms in her expression, as if any resistance from me will be pushed back. She suddenly looks very much the adult she is becoming.
This, however, won't keep me from trying. “Oh, Camille, I'm not in the market for a new job.”
Yet.
Yet.
Her brows arch. “I know you think I'm flighty, but I'm not stupid, Tara. I know how much you want to stay here.”
“You mean how much you and Mel and
Trent
think I need to stay here.”
Trent
think I need to stay here.”
She rustles her curls with a quick shake of her head. “None of 'em think you need more than a vacation. Trent'll be the most surprised, because he even figured you'd come running back after seeing that there really wasn't anything all that special here.” She glances out the window to watch as the two paramedics who came in earlierâone with a particularly deep tanâstroll in, probably on break. Camille glances back at me with a curvy smile. “I don't agree with them.”
Had I not been so self-absorbed, I might have smiled back at my flirty cousin, but all I could think of was that Trent expected me to come home a changed woman. As if planning my life around his for the past five years hadn't convinced him that he should love me as I am.
I straighten my shoulders and meet Nigel's gaze. “When would you need me to start?”
Chapter Six
Nigel very kindly allowed me a week to kick around Otter Bay before I'd need to report for my new part-time duties as front-desk clerk for his inn. In that time, we picked up an old red Mustang cheap, solely because Camille campaigned for something cute and colorfulâin this case, apple redâand a far cry from the four-door gray Nissan I sold to our former neighbor's mother before moving out here. What I've noticed most about our new ride is the way it boisterously announces our presence even before we reach our destination.
Also this week we found plenty of time to wet our toes in our new, old hometown. Camille and I wandered along the foot-worn paths that led to cliffs so battered by waves that natural stairways have been created in the rock. I missed Mel more than I let on to Camille, but I knew how much she'd hate all this frolicking in the great outdoors.
Until today. Today we came upon a cove protected by overhanging rock and shallow tides, and so brimming with vibrant purple urchins and golden sea stars that goose bumps alighted across my skin. I have the unmistakable sense that I've been here before. And if so, then Mel has surely been here too.
I check my watch. Her first interview is in an hour. The sure sound of a door slamming pulls my attention to the top of the cliff, and I glance up. Will the deserted spot I covet soon be invaded? No one appears, although it is tough to tell from beneath the bill of my baseball cap. All this sun is a new phenomenon, so I've been careful all week to shield my light skin from its assault.
Camille has removed her flip-flops, and now wades in a tide pool one rock formation over from me where rolling waves lap. I try, again, to remember this place, but all I can conjure are vague images, as if the pictures in my mind are veiled by sheens of running water. The briny smell of the ocean fills my senses, and I allow my eyes to flop shut in an effort to pull memories from my subconscious.
“The tide's rolling in, ladies.”
My eyes jerk open, and I tip my head up just as a man lands not two feet from me in the thick sand.
So much for using the nature-made stairs.
From beneath my cap I can see that he appears to be ready for a hike in the nearby redwood forest with his battered hiking boots, scarred denims, and long-sleeved tee. His eyes crinkle as he narrows them, staring out after Camille. “Can she swim?”
So much for using the nature-made stairs.
From beneath my cap I can see that he appears to be ready for a hike in the nearby redwood forest with his battered hiking boots, scarred denims, and long-sleeved tee. His eyes crinkle as he narrows them, staring out after Camille. “Can she swim?”
There's a familiar smoothness to his voice. It's the firefighter who hopped the counter at the Red Abalone Grill last week to rescue the fallen owner.
“Y-yes, of course.”
Why
am I stammering? “We all learned how when we were very young.”
Why
am I stammering? “We all learned how when we were very young.”
He doesn't look at me but stands with arms crossed and feet apart, much like a security guard might if he was, say, protecting the stage door for one Eliza Carlton. I almost expect him to turn his head to one side and whisper into a mic.
“It's a good thing,” he says. “Although this isn't the kiddie pool at the Y. That water may look calm, but it can be unforgiving. You might want to tell . . .”
“My sister.”
“You might want to caution your sister about the tides. They can be dangerous if you're not used to them.”
Do we look like country bumpkins?
“She's good. I know, because I taught her myself.”
“She's good. I know, because I taught her myself.”
He's unimpressed, still standing there like he's keeping watch. The only thing missing is a pair of red lifeguard trunks. His presence has set my relaxed beach walk on edge and resentment settles in my back, its rigid tension crawling up my spine. Trent always seemed to know what was best for me too.
“Watch for algae that spreads over the rocks. Green, slippery stuff. She wouldn't be the first young woman to need stitches after a fall off the rocks.”
“Mm-hm. Okay, thanks, but she'll be fine.”
You can go now.
“When we lived in Missouri, we swam in the Lake of the Ozarks often. More miles of shoreline at the lake than the entire state of Californiaâand I'm not kidding.”
You can go now.
“When we lived in Missouri, we swam in the Lake of the Ozarks often. More miles of shoreline at the lake than the entire state of Californiaâand I'm not kidding.”
“And does the lake have swells like that?” He flicks his well-defined chin upward and out toward an east-facing wave that's gaining height and speed as it moves toward us.
I pry my lips apart. “Camille! Tide's coming in!”
She swishes her face in my direction and in a flash, her expression changes from annoyance to open delight. Apparently she's noticed who has joined us on the sand. I only wish I could express the same emotion about Josh's looming presence. We watch her stepping gingerly across the uneven surface, and I try to say something to break the silence. However, the annoying sensation of butterflies careening inside my stomach forces me to keep my mouth closed, lest one escape in the form of an awkward moment.
Camille hops down from the rock in front of us, her bare legs encrusted with wet sand. “Hey there, Mr. Fireman,” she says, casual as a long time friend. “Thank you for saving my life.”
Oh, Camille.
A dark shadow flows over Josh's face, his smile thin and strained. “Enjoy your day, ladies.” He turns to go, but Camille stops him.
“Leaving so soon?” She gives me a smile filled with innocence, though I know better. “My sister and I could really use a tour guide. We've seen just about all we could of this dinky town on our own. Isn't that right, Tare-Tare?”
He takes up his security guard stance again. “Have you been up to the castle yet?”
He's talking about the famed Hearst Castle, built by newspaper magnate William Randolph Hearst. My only brush with the tourist attraction is the tattered stack of cards my father and I once played with. Cards that have stayed cold, on my dresser back in Missouri, since his death.
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