Tidal Patterns (Golden Shores Book 1) (18 page)

“I don’t blame her for that. Pretty words mean nothing. Our actions define us and you screwed up.”

Mark needed air. He pushed back his chair from the table and got up to pace in front of the refrigerator. With his hands in his pockets, he sighed again.

“I know I did. But how do I fix this?” Mark asked.

“I’d think getting her a raise would be a start.”

Yeah. He agreed. She’d more than proved her worth to Mark. But Frank held the salaries in his hands.
And according to Samantha, spending money on Lizzie and an assistant wouldn’t be happening.
Mark swallowed.

“But what if I’m not sure I can do that?”

“Then I’d say you have a problem.”

Lizzie put in her ear buds, turned on her playlist, and hopped on her giant cruiser bike. She carefully rode out of her driveway and turned towards the road. She only had a few yards to traverse in open traffic before she’d hit the path.

Biking with Rose had become one of her favorite past times. Half way along their eight-mile trek, she’d start complaining loudly. Lizzie chuckled thinking of some of Rose’s excuses. But she’d been sure to leave at midday when she knew Rose would be out to lunch.
I don’t think I’m fit company for anyone today. Not even myself.
Too bad Patrick’s arrival was imminent.

Bright blue sky full of fluffy clouds shone overhead through the towering pines. The constant breeze on her face kept her cool despite the humidity and her thoughts.
I’m not going to sit around inside and wait for him.
It was too perfect of a day to waste.

He’d be annoyed if she wasn’t home, but that wasn’t enough motivation to turn around and head back straight away. Instead, she continued on through narrower, twisted streets, until the Fort Frederica parking lot opened up. She parked her bike on the rack and walked through to the grounds behind. The only remnants of the fort and town that had stood there over a hundred years before were the remaining tabby foundations and one small tabby battery with a few cannons. The live oaks shaded the former boulevards, maintaining the city grid long after it had disappeared, that led to the marsh.

Reaching the battery, Lizzie walked along the remnants to sit on the hill. Only a few families and couples walked through the grounds that day, but Lizzie had no wish for company. She had enough to consider for herself. What had that revelation from Mark meant? He’d caught her completely off-guard, startling her with his sad history. She couldn’t begin to fathom what he must feel at being so used and discarded. He’d been with her for nearly a decade? Lizzie hadn’t dated anyone seriously, not in college and certainly not after.

She had nothing to compare the betrayal to but that didn’t make her any less empathetic for him and his situation.
What did it mean for…
She stopped herself. They didn’t have a personal relationship.
We don’t even have a great working relationship.
She needed to distance herself. He didn’t value her as a partner, not like she thought or wanted. He used her as means to an end. And apologizing for his behavior later didn’t take any of the sting away.

Turning to the marsh, a heron soared through the tall grass. She envied their elegance as they flew and their purpose. As far as she could tell, she had yet to find her direction. Lizzie sighed and meandered back towards the parking lot. She turned her bike around and retraced her route, this time the wind working against her making the return trip much harder. Reaching the driveway, she stopped. Her foot slipped on the ground and she crashed to the pavement, the bike landing on top of her.

“Frizz? Are you okay? What are you doing?” Patrick glared down at her, as he offered her a hand.

“Yes, I’m just lounging around here,” she bit out.

Patrick rolled his eyes and grabbed her and the bike, pulling Lizzie to her feet. Wheeling the bike inside the garage, past dad’s remaining workout equipment and mom’s neatly stacked planters, Lizzie dusted her hands on the front of her shorts and shook each leg.
At least nothing’s broken. But then maybe a trip to the hospital could have bought me a day off work.

“Where were you? Why was the garage door open?” he peppered her with questions, as she walked into the garage. He stood between in front of the staircase, blocking her.

“Yeah, I took the bike out. I needed some air,” Lizzie replied between gasping breaths.

Patrick didn’t reply and he didn’t move. He stood in her way and narrowed his eyes. Had this expression ever worked on anyone? It had ceased to affect Lizzie when she’d turned nine. She’d lived too long with her brother to fear him, because she knew that his stocky, scruffy appearance belied the tender, caring, loyal heart underneath.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” Lizzie apologized.

“I rearranged my schedule to be here on a Monday to accommodate you.”

“You’re a good brother. I’m sorry. Do you want to get inside? I put on some coffee before I left.”

“Sure,” Patrick agreed and stepped aside to let her pass.

Walking up the staircase, Lizzie put her hand on the knob and hesitated before turning it. She hadn’t thought about what the house would look like to an outsider. In seven months, she hadn’t changed anything. She’d been careful to keep to the rooms she used and never ever opened any other door.

“Come on Frizz, open the door. It’s getting hot out here,” Patrick said.

With a deep shuddering breath, she squared her shoulders, and swung open the door, letting Patrick pass by her. Lizzie closed the door behind them and followed him into the kitchen. She filled two mugs with coffee and handed one to her brother.

The air smelled old, stale, like she hadn’t opened a window in months. Dust floated in the air, visible in the light streaming in through the kitchen windows, illuminating the pile of condolence cards stacked high on the table.

“Have you even looked at any of this?” he asked, tilting his head.

“No.” Lizzie pressed her lips into a firm line and looked down.

A loud sneeze suddenly punctuated the moment. Glancing up she watched as he rubbed his eyes and scrunched up his nose.

“Sorry, I’ve been busy at work.” Lizzie apologized. The cluttered room didn’t quite recommend her for one of the hoarding shows she’d loved watching with mom. But she did need to sort through everything.
It’s been easy to ignore what this house looks like when I’m barely home.

Following Patrick out of the kitchen and into to the large family room, Lizzie held her breath. She hadn’t stepped foot in the room since the accident. Patrick rubbed his eyes and sneezed several more times. Lizzie bit her lip and noticed the accumulation of dust on every surface. She hadn’t even thought about dusting or vacuuming the rooms she never stepped foot in.

“You are starting to live like an old woman,” Patrick began. His shoulders hunched as he continued to rub his eyes with his left hand.

“Can I at least finish my coffee before you start badgering me?”

Straightening, Patrick shot her his most intimidating look. But it’s tough to scare off or threaten the person who knew he still kept his childhood blankie. Lizzie nudged her brother playfully and then pushed past him, to walk back into the kitchen.
I need more coffee, I don’t care if it’s past lunch.
After a minute of leaning against the granite countertop, sipping the nutty, dark roast coffee, he joined her.

“Look, Patrick, I’m doing my best.”

“No Liz, you’re doing your best to avoid dealing with this.” He waved his hands around to indicate the whole house. 

“What about their room?” he pressed. “How bad of shape is that room in?”

“I don’t go in there.”

“You live here. It’s the biggest bedroom. Why wouldn’t you go in there?”

“I just don’t,” Lizzie said with a shrug. Drinking the last of her luke warm coffee, she walked across the tile floor to drop the mug in the sink.
I don’t want to talk about this house. I’m probably leaving anyways, right?

“Okay, what about upstairs?” Patrick asked from just behind her shoulder. He pushed her out of the way to put his own mug in the sink.

“I stick to the kitchen, the upstairs bathroom, and my room.”

“That’s it?”

“Yep.”

“This is like a haunted house. You’re living in a shrine to them. This is not a healthy way to live.”

Lizzie shrugged but offered no defense.

Patrick rolled his eyes.

“Hey, how I live in this house is not your concern. It doesn’t matter. I’m only here for a little while longer. Right? I have to move soon.”

Keeping the bitterness out of her tone was impossible. She didn’t even want to try.
Why do I feel like I’m losing them all over again?

“Frizz, I don’t…”

“I know you don’t mean to insult me,” she finished for him, not objecting over the use of her childhood nickname.

Patrick came over and put an arm around her shoulders.

Lizzie took in a deep shuddering breath, but she didn’t cry. “I guess I keep hoping they’ll just walk in the front door.”

“Me too. But they aren’t. This situation isn’t healthy for you. I know you miss them, I do too, but it’s not okay. None of this is what they wanted for you and they’d be pissed at
me
for letting you hide out here.”

“I know,” she replied. “I’m looking at grad schools and I’m working on applications. But there’s the potential that I wouldn’t be accepted for fall. I might have to wait until winter. Could I stay here and work until then?”

“I’m sure the lawyers will say yes. But I don’t want to keep coming to visit you here. It’s painful to walk in and be surrounded by their things. I want to come and visit, and see my sister. Could we at least clean out this house and talk logistics after we know what you’re next step is?”

Lizzie nodded. She understood his position about the house. Acknowledging that she’d feel the same if their positions were reversed. 

“We’ve nearly made it through the first year. This,” he broke away to gesture to the house, “will be easy compared to that, okay?”

“I don’t want to sift through everything. I don’t want to start crying again. I don’t think I’ll be able to stop if I do.”

“You will and you know what? We both have to stop focusing on the loss. Because we’re blocking out everything and not remembering all the good times. We had a great childhood. Let’s focus on getting back to enjoying our memories again.”

Lizzie nodded. She liked that.  He had a point. By not dealing with getting rid of the stuff, she’d made it almost impossible

“And if we clear this all out tonight? I promise I’ll help you paint. You can pick the colors, then it’ll be ready when we do list it.”

“Then what am I waiting for?”

Lizzie walked back to the hall and opened up the first hall closet, stacked with coats and hats and boxes upon boxes of pictures. “Let’s start here.”

Patrick nodded and kneeled down to pull out a box and join her.

* * * * *

Sitting cross legged on the floor of the family room facing each other, they’d spread out boxes of old photographs and school artwork. Sorting through photo albums, old toys, and stacks of projects they’d long forgotten about, the hours had slipped past in laughter and a few tears. The sun dipped behind the pines just past the house, making the shadows long on the hardwood floor.

“Do you think we could go get pizza and beer?” Lizzie asked.

“Now we’re talking,” Patrick agreed.

Holding out a hand to her, Lizzie grabbed Patrick’s and they both pulled the other up to standing. Lizzie raced down the stairs, feeling lighter and somewhat carefree. She hated that leaving had become an inevitability. But accepting the hard choice, freed her too. She happily rode shot gun while Patrick drove down to the Pier Village. They drove in silence, each too exhausted by the physical exertions of the day. Neither spoke until pizza had been ordered and a pitcher appeared at their table. Patrick poured a pint for each of them and passed one over to her.

“It’s easy now that we’re both here. I think I can actually finish up on my own,” Lizzie said. “But only if you come back to help me paint.”

“Of course,” Patrick agreed.

He sipped his beer and looked at her intently. He opened his mouth and then quickly shut it. Lizzie frowned. He’d never been one to hold back from saying whatever was on his mind. She didn’t know why he would start now.

“Spit it out Patrick,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest, steeling herself against what fight might come next.

“I don’t get it Liz. You never wanted to be here. Why are you here? Why won’t you leave?”

“Because…” she began.

Sighing and shaking her head, she hadn’t figured out how else to explain her feelings to Patrick.
Because I think I could have a future here with someone…
Lizzie swallowed hard. Did she really think that? Even after the event?

“I don’t get it. You didn’t get that promotion, right? So you’re still here, doing the same job and where is it going to go next?”

Lizzie shook her head, but didn’t reply.
The job isn’t going anywhere
.

“Go back to school. Get your degree. Go get a job in a museum. That’s what you always talked about,” Patrick ranted, his frustration spilling over onto her.

“I know but. . . Things changed for me and I’m not just talking about their deaths. I like this job. It’s just…” Lizzie let the thought trail off.

Her work and the recital had taken away from her preparation time. Nothing Patrick said or asked came as a surprise. And yet, she didn’t have any ready answers.

“Why are you hesitating?” Patrick asked.

“I got passed over for the promotion that I wanted. But I don’t know if I can go back to the academic world. What I do is stressful and a huge time commitment. But I love working events. I’m used to a fast pace now. I don’t think I can slow down and study again.”