Moonstone Beach

by Linda Seed

  Chapter Ten

  The phone did ring at around two p.m., just as she’d expected. As she reached for the phone, the dozens of times she’d rehearsed the conversation in her mind escaped her, her mind went blank, and she had no idea what she was going to say.

  “Swept Away, this is Kate speaking. How may I help you?”

  “Hey, honeybunny.” The voice she was hearing was not the one she’d expected. A feeling of dread replaced her nerves.

  “Dad.”

  “So, how’s my girl?”

  She tried to gauge from his voice what he would need from her this time. Money? Bail? A ridiculously inconvenient favor? As much experience as she’d had with him, she wasn’t good enough to peg the reason for his call this early in the conversation.

  “I’m good, Dad. What’s up?”

  “Why does something have to be up for a father to call his daughter?”

  She rolled her eyes. They went through this routine every time. He always spent a certain amount of time pretending he was just calling out of love before getting to his real purpose. Any attempt to hurry him along would be fruitless.

  “I’m sorry, of course it doesn’t. It’s just that the shop is really busy today, and … ”

  “So, you don’t have time for your dad? Oh. I see. I guess that’s why you haven’t called me in, what is it, two months?”

  Another necessary stop on their usual route: him laying guilt on her so she’d be more receptive to whatever it was he wanted from her.

  “Has it been that long?” She rested her forehead against the wall as she talked. “I guess time got away from me.”

  “I guess it must have. Angela keeps telling me, ‘Don’t worry about her, she’s a grown woman. She’ll call when she’s ready.’ But a father can’t help but worry.”

  About yourself.

  “How is Angela?”

  Besides cold, calculating, and bitchy, that is.

  “Oh, you know. Dealing with some health issues. But she’s hanging in there.”

  Angela was always “dealing with health issues.” It was her method of keeping Thomas Bennet’s attention on her at all times.

  Kate calculated that the pleasantry requirement had been fulfilled. She waited for the inevitable request.

  “So, we were wondering if we could come by for a visit. Stay a few days. Angela and I could set up in that cozy apartment you’ve got downstairs, and we could all spend a little quality family time.”

  The idea of “quality family time” with him and Angela made Kate’s blood pound in her veins. Any chance of “quality family time” had evaporated when her father had left her mother—for Angela.

  “I’m afraid that won’t work,” she said. “I’ve rented out the apartment.”

  “Whaaat?” His expression of surprise was exaggerated. “But I thought you were keeping that free for visits from family.”

  She banged her head softly against the wall. “Nope. It’s been rented for over a year now.” Which he would know if he’d been here even once during that time. Not that she wished he had.

  “Well, that’s okay. We can squeeze in at your place. I’m sure somebody can take the sofa.”

  Okay, that was a good one. If “somebody” took the sofa, that meant two people would be in the bed. And since Kate wasn’t about to sleep with either her father or Angela, that meant he intended to turn her out of her own bedroom.

  “If you really want to visit, there’s a lovely bed and breakfast here in town,” she said, feeling sick already at the thought of him coming to Cambria. “There are several, in fact. I can give you some names and phone numbers.”

  He was silent. Letting the guilt sink in, the fact that his own daughter didn’t want him to stay with her.

  “Dad?”

  “Oh. I see. You’d prefer that we stay elsewhere.”

  A customer walked through the door of the shop, and Kate uttered a silent prayer of thanks. “I’ve got to go, Dad. I have a customer.”

  “But I thought … ”

  “We’ll talk later. Love you. Bye.” She hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and greeted her customer. Less than five minutes later, the phone rang again.

  “Swept Away.”

  “Angela doesn’t see why we can’t just stay with you.”

  Kate closed her eyes, tight. “She’s seen my place. She knows it’s very small.”

  “Maybe your tenant can stay with friends for a few nights. Maybe … ”

  “Dad. I am not turning my tenant out on the street so you can use her apartment. I have to go.”

  “But … ”

  “I’m hanging up now.”

  When the phone rang again five minutes after that, she was out of patience, and dispensed with her usual professional greeting.

  “Look. I told you I can’t talk right now. I’m busy. I have a business to run. If you’ve called to lay on more guilt … ”

  “Actually, I called to see if you wanted to have dinner with me. But if it’s a bad time … ”

  “Oh, God. Jackson.”

  “Women usually say that to me under happier circumstances.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

  She groaned. “I thought you were somebody else.”

  “They usually don’t say that.” He paused. “Look. You were obviously in the middle of something. Why don’t I … ”

  “No, wait.” She held the phone away from herself, took a few deep breaths, and brought the receiver back to her ear. “Okay. Let’s start over. Swept Away, this is Kate speaking. How may I help you today?”

  “Do you have any Stephen King?”

  “Oh, come on.” She found herself smiling, forgetting about the stress she’d been feeling before he called. “You mentioned something about dinner.”

  “Yeah. I just … I was wondering if I could take you out some night. For dinner. That somebody else would cook. You know, like a … a date.”

  He was nervous. It was adorable that he was nervous.

  “We could do that. What night did you have in mind?”

  He cleared his throat. “Ah. Monday? I know Monday is a lousy date night, traditionally not a typical night for that sort of thing, but my schedule … ”

  “Monday is great.”

  “It is?”

  “Sure. I eat on Mondays.”

  “Ha. I do, too.”

  “It works out, then.”

  He was silent for a moment as she enjoyed the charm of his discomfort. “I’d really like a do-over. The other night, the way I rushed off … I think we should do it over. But without the raw pork roast.”

  “What about the kissing? Would there be a do-over of the kissing?”

  “I can always hope.”

  He told her he would pick her up at seven—it would give her just enough time to close the shop, go home, and change clothes, but not enough time to obsess over how the evening would go.

  Though she suspected she would do that anyway.

  As she hung up the phone, Jane Austen, the Swept Away cat, leaped onto the counter, and Kate stroked her smooth back. “Oh, Jane Austen. Do you think I’m ready for Jackson Graham?”

  Jane Austen simply purred.

  On Sunday, Kate knew she had to put thoughts of Jackson aside and figure out what the hell she was going to do for Art Walk. Since a full-scale carnival with a Ferris wheel, cotton candy, and a Tilt-a-Whirl was out of the question, she though she had better focus on what would be practical and doable in less than four weeks’ time.

  An author appearance and book reading was the obvious choice—it was what they’d done every year—but it was boring. A tiny store like hers didn’t attract big-name authors, and the kind of author she could get didn’t bring people in the door.

  Still, this was a bookstore. It had to be an author.

  So, a fun author. An entertaining author. Or at least someone who would arouse curiosity. It also had to be a local author, since she didn’t have the budget to fly someone in from New York—or from anywhere, for
that matter.

  She went to the shop’s Local Authors section and scanned the titles. They leaned heavily toward local history, with a few field guides to Central Coast plants and wildlife thrown in. Kate could feel herself nodding off just thinking about it. Sorting through the books on the shelves, she found a couple of biographies of local bigwigs, and a few things on Hearst Castle. That was interesting, but everything there was to say about William Randolph Hearst and the property up the coast had already been said. And anyone visiting Cambria from elsewhere had probably heard it already on a tour of the wildly popular attraction.

  Kate was just about to give up hope when she came across one nearly forgotten volume tucked in at the far end of the bottom shelf. Wild Woman, the autobiography of Cassidy McLean, a 1980s film star who had opened a refuge for wild animals in Central California.

  Hmm. Cassidy McLean. Kate had forgotten about her.

  The refuge, less than an hour inland over the rolling hills of Highway 41, had at one time housed a number of lions, an alligator, several species of monkey, a potbelly pig, and a Bengal tiger. Kate didn’t know what kinds of animals were there now, but she knew the refuge was still operating. If Kate could get Cassidy McLean to talk about her film career, and maybe bring a small animal, she could attract the adults who remembered the movies and kids who wanted to see whatever creature the woman could coax into a cage and bring out here.

  Inspired, Kate opened her laptop on the shop’s counter and called up the website for the refuge. After confirming the place hadn’t been shut down by local authorities, she composed an email to Cassidy McLean outlining her plan. She promised to stock a good supply of Wild Woman for signing, and offered a small stipend—enough to pay for the gas to drive out here and a good dinner in town. She hit SEND and mentally crossed her fingers.

  This could work. But first she’s got to say yes.