Walking on Sea Glass

by Julie Carobini

  “Yes?” Although she hated the thought of having to undergo the test which stirred up claustrophobic nightmares in her, she was ready to hear the doctor tell her that, without a doubt, all was well.

  “Unfortunately, the machine is in need of repair so we are going to have to reschedule your appointment.”

  She shut her eyes momentarily and held her tongue, the only way to hold back a knee-jerk response. In her most professional and pleasant voice she asked, “How long will it take to be fixed?”

  “Oh, we expect it to be up by the end of the week.”

  “Great. I think I can rearrange my schedule.”

  “So our next opening is … three weeks from tomorrow. Ten a.m. okay?”

  “Three … weeks? I thought you said the machine would be fixed this week?”

  “Unfortunately, we are all booked up this week.”

  Liddy shut her eyes again, and bit her bottom lip. She’d already loaded music onto her phone and mentally prepared herself to be stuffed into that metal tube for the duration. But this was beyond her control.

  She nodded once. “Fine. Three weeks. I’ll make a note of it.”

  “See you then,” the woman said in a sing-song voice.

  Trace reappeared after her break. “What’s got you in a snit? Boy troubles?”

  Liddy grimaced at her, then allowed herself one exasperated laugh. So she’d had to change her appointment? In some ways she was relieved not to have to face it anyway.

  Trace squinted toward the front desk. “What’s going on over there?”

  They both turned. Hans, Meg, and now Clarice, were huddled around a computer.

  “Apparently the VP is on his way in.”

  Trace’s hand flew to her face. “No!” She grabbed her purse after just setting it down. “I have to take a break.”

  “But you just took—” Liddy watched as Trace speed-walked to the nearest restroom.

  When she returned, her hair had been twisted into an up-do and evidence of fresh blush tinged her cheeks.

  Calmly, Trace sat, keeping her eyes downcast. “Is he here yet?”

  Liddy shook her head. “For heaven’s sake, you’d think the president was on his way in.”

  “Jackson is better. Powerful and hot.” Trace began to fan herself. “I forgot you hadn’t met him yet. Trust me, Liddy, you’ll be shaking like a fan girl when you get a load of the chiseled awesomeness of that man’s face.”

  As if on cue, the sliding glass doors parted open, and in strolled a man wearing a European-cut black suit and a decidedly determined grin on his face. His brown hair was combed in waves, and the I-don’t-care stubble on his face somehow solidified his rightful place as boss.

  Poor Meg.

  Ignoring the crew that waited for him at the front desk, he strode right up to the concierge with laser-like precision. He held out a hand. “Jackson Riley.”

  She took his hand. “Liddy Buckle. Pleased to meet you.”

  Trace rushed forward and thrust out her hand, too, her expression unmasked and swooning. “Oh, Mr. Riley, it’s wonderful to see you again. You look marvelous. Have you been vacationing? Time off really looks good on you.” After a second’s delay, she added, “Sir.”

  He nodded to them both and spun around to make his way to the front desk where the others stood at stick-straight attention.

  Liddy hoped her face did not reflect how ridiculous the staff looked to her.

  Then again, how must Meg be feeling? Despite the frenzy in the air, a heaviness began tugging at her heart and she felt for her friend. Why hadn’t she known more about this man in her life—for however short a time it was? Maybe she had been far too caught up with her marriage problems and health issues to notice the pain Meg was in.

  Later that night after work, she thought about this as she curled up on the couch and pulled a throw around her. Her fatigue from the morning had only gotten worse during the day. No second wind ever appeared. And so, as she drifted off for an evening nap, she tried to think of ways to make it up to Meg.

  * * *

  The ring of Liddy’s cell phone startled her. She answered it, dazed.

  “Did I wake you?” Beau asked.

  “No.” She looked around, her vision blurred from slumber. “What time is it?”

  “It’s six-thirty.” He paused. “Were you really asleep?”

  She lay back, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. The hitch in his voice, like he was surprised, rattled her. “I must’ve dozed off.”

  “Guess I wore you out yesterday.” He lowered his voice now, the sound of it smooth and inviting, like dark chocolate. “It won’t happen again.”

  Liddy swung her legs around and planted her feet on the ground. “It had better happen again.”

  “How about now?” he broached.

  She frowned. She’d slept more than the recommended twenty-minute power nap and now her mind felt murkier than a backed-up sink.

  “Unless you have other plans …”

  “No other plans, but I’ll need a few minutes to pull myself together.”

  “You got it.”

  She threw off the blanket and padded upstairs to her bedroom where she had strewn her work clothes every which way. Shucking off her sweats, she wriggled herself into a pair of jeans and threw on a lacy empire blouse with three-quarter sleeves.

  What she saw in the bathroom mirror pleased her. She didn’t look as haggard as she had felt much of the day, so the nap must’ve done her some good. Liddy ran a brush through her hair and added a bit of liner to her eyes.

  Downstairs, she slipped into a pair of flat sandals she’d left there the night before just in time to answer the door when Beau knocked.

  “I come bearing a gift.” He strode in, planted a kiss on her cheek, and stuck a cup of coffee into her hands, watching her with eyes that held a question.

  The warmth of the cup soothed her nerves and she gave him a small smile. “Just my size, too.”

  “Listen,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I was hoping you’d take a little drive with me—not far—but if you’re too tired, we can do it another time.”

  She waved him off. “I’m fine. Long day at work is all it was.”

  “Sure?”

  She smiled into those attentive eyes of his. “I am.”

  “Great. Grab a sweater and I’ll take you by the neighborhood I’m thinking of moving into. It’s not oceanfront, but it’s not far from here either. If you’re feeling up to it, we can grab a bite afterward. Sound okay?”

  Liddy took a sip of the hot coffee laced with cream, gathering strength from the liquid as it traveled through her body. “Sounds perfect.”

  * * *

  Beau had met Taylor for lunch countless times, but not ever in an official capacity like this. And it felt odd. Not because he had any qualms about divulging his personal financial secrets to his longtime friend—he knew he was in good hands—but because he was doing it as a single guy.

  He’d been married to Anne for five years, and though he had accepted her death as well as could be expected, a guy didn’t forget a fact like that in a blink.

  Beau pushed the door open to the offices of Sky Mortgage.

  The receptionist smiled at him. “Hi there, Beau. I didn’t realize you were coming in. Are you here to meet Taylor for lunch?”

  “Amanda. Hello. Actually, I’m here in an official capacity.”

  She furrowed her forehead and glanced down at her calendar. She looked up again with a slight raise of one brow. “I don’t suppose you are also known as Bob Clemente? Because if you are, you’re right on time.”

  He threw his head back in laughter. “I believe so.”

  She smirked and led him to Taylor’s office, all the while shaking her head. “I won’t even ask.”

  Taylor stood to greet them. “Hey, Beau. C’mon in.”

  Beau took a seat, while Taylor sat behind a monstrous desk and leaned back.

  “Bob Clemente?” Beau said.

/>   Taylor smiled wide and folded his hands behind his head. “Roberto … Bob … it worked, didn’t it? Kept your secret safe all morning, didn’t I?”

  Beau shook his head. “Apparently no one else around here watches old pro-baseball footage. Besides, I don’t have any secrets. I’m an open book.”

  “Yes, well, you can’t be too careful with your information. What if some other mortgage guy happened to hear you were coming in and snagged your business right out from under me?”

  “That would only happen if he gave me a better deal.”

  Taylor unlocked his hands. “Not going to happen.” He slid a letter on company stationery over to Beau. “This is all you’ll need to buy the house of your dreams. Guard it with your life.”

  Beau peered at the letter, which stated the amount of loan he qualified for. “This is all I need, huh?”

  “That and a down payment, of course. But you’re golden, Beau. I ran this through several lenders and they’re beating down my door trying to get your loan. All you need to do is find the right property.”

  He nodded. “Great. Appreciate it.”

  “So … you find the place yet?”

  “Maybe. Liddy and I drove around last evening to look at a few available homes for sale.”

  “Liddy? That’s great. Did she help you?”

  Taylor was perceptive enough not to question him about taking his new girlfriend to look at houses. “It was eye-opening. She saw all kinds of things that I didn’t, like bedrooms in the front of the house instead of the back—she doesn’t love that—and lack of big windows. I’d been planning to drive around and check out the neighborhood, but she encouraged me to park the car and walk around.”

  “And?”

  “And we had a nice time together.”

  Taylor squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, a goofy grin on his face. “But did you find a house?”

  “Right. Yes, I think I did. Narrowed it down to two and now that I have your official letter”—he picked up the mortgage document—“I will likely make an offer on one of them soon. Maybe even tomorrow.”

  “Wow. That’s fast for you.”

  Beau shrugged. “My accountant tells me I’d better do something or Uncle Sam will be making more money off of me than I will.”

  “And that, my friend, is why I’m in business.”

  Later, as he walked out of Sky Lending, gratefulness settled in his gut. This was the right thing to do. He’d started this business with two dimes to spare and had finally reached a point in it where investing wasn’t just recommended—it was required. It gave him hope to think of all that he’d accomplished, even as he and Anne fought against her illness, and that, somehow, he’d managed not to be swallowed up by the deep tide.

  He drove away with a lingering contentedness, yet oddly aware of thunder rolling in the distance.

  Chapter 17

  “Tell me about him.”

  Liddy and Meg had snuck away from work to Skipper’s Brew, a place in the harbor preferred by old sea salts and tank-and-flip-flop-wearing locals. Despite Meg’s short grey coat and black skirt combo with knee-length boots, and Liddy’s plain resort uniform, they were left alone to sit on an overstuffed couch toward the back of the store. To the scruffy crew scattered around in various corners of the well-weathered place, they might have well been invisible, which was fine by them.

  “He’s old news, Lid—very old news,” Meg replied.

  Liddy touched her friend on the wrist. “Meg.”

  “Fine. There really isn’t much to tell, but we went out several times last year, and then it was over. Unfortunately, I still work for the company, so that means that, on occasion, we have to see each other.”

  “What was it like, I mean, seeing him on a more personal basis?”

  “He was shyer than I thought he’d be.” She blew out a breath, looking off into the distance. “I’ve worked with him in various locales, and his confidence could shake even some of our most experienced crew.”

  “But not you.”

  “Not really. I’ve always respected him. I’ve seen him sell the world to corporate heads, and do it without being arrogant. People would come in thinking they were going to put on the best dessert social their little company had ever seen, and he’d talk them into quarterly events topped off with a yearly five-course meal extravaganza.” She laughed, albeit a small one. “I’d always walk out of those meetings exhausted.”

  “Do you ever talk?”

  Meg held her cup of coffee close to her chin with both hands. She shook her head. “Only by email.”

  Just like the rest of the world.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Meg wrinkled her brow. “Why? You didn’t do anything.”

  “I’m sorry for not being there for you when all this went down.”

  Her friend twisted her mouth into a rueful smile. “You’ve had enough to deal with, girl. I really am fine. You know that.”

  “How was the meeting yesterday?”

  Meg shrugged. “Oh, you know. He was cordial, even charming at times. Has all kinds of big ideas to make this place a world class resort.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, and if anyone can make that happen, it’s Jackson.”

  “He does seem bigger than life.”

  Meg leaned her head against the leather cushion and seemed to stare off into space.

  “I hate to ask this but … any chance …?”

  “Then don’t. Like I said, he was charming and cordial, but completely professional. We talked about what it would take to add a spa to the premises, and he wanted my opinion on whether such an addition would make a difference for me as I solicit conferences for this property. I told him it would, of course.”

  “But no small talk.”

  “None.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Although … at one point, he seemed to lose track of his thoughts in the meeting. I’ve never seen him do that. In fact, he’s always been frighteningly en pointe with his ideas—and his criticisms, I might add.”

  “Hence the staff running around this morning like the Secret Service.”

  “He doesn’t really scare me, you know. I just wish I could read him better.”

  “For personal reasons? Or as a boss?”

  Meg’s eyes grew wide, but she looked away, a tell-tale sign that she’d been hurt more deeply than she would admit.

  Liddy was sorry she had asked.

  * * *

  That night, as she sautéed peppers in a pan on the stove and sipped her wine, Liddy relayed her thoughts to Beau. “I met him, and he was both handsome and quite whimsical, really. He was wearing this amazing suit—the kind a Londoner might wear, with tapered pants—but his shirt pattern was this crazy red plaid and the tie was just as colorful.”

  Beau pressed his lips together, as if thinking hard about what she could possibly mean.

  She waved a spoon at him. “Don’t give me that look. He strolled into the hotel like royalty, ignored all those who were waiting for him, and instead approached the concierge desk and introduced himself to me and to Trace.” She stopped. “Although, come to think of it, he’d already met Trace. But he didn’t act like it.”

  She continued, “It just really bugs me that he went out with Meg—and she’s obviously not over him, but pretending like she is—and he goes about his day all business-like. What’s his problem anyway?”

  “Maybe he’s just not—”

  “Into her? I mean, shouldn’t he at least acknowledge that they’d gone out a couple of times? He could have asked about her cat or something.”

  “With all her traveling, she has a cat?”

  “I’m just saying—if she had a cat!”

  “Well, I don’t really know—”

  Liddy set down the spoon, peering at him. “Sorry. I’ve been dominating this conversation, haven’t I?”

  He smiled at her.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” She sighed and gave her head a tight shake
. “You talk now.”

  “You were doing fine. I don’t have any complaints.”

  She leaned her forearms on her kitchen island and looked at him sitting across from her. So handsome. A thrill shivered through her. They hadn’t known each other that long, and though there were no guarantees, she would miss this if he chose to end it.

  Reflexively, she pressed her eyes shut at such an unwelcome thought.

  “Are you all right?”

  Her eyes popped open and she straightened. “Yes, of course,” she said. “You were going to tell me about your day.”

  He breathed in deeply. “Well, actually, I met with Taylor today and he provided me with a mortgage letter.”

  “For a loan, you mean?”

  “Yes, exactly. Now all I have to do is wait.”

  “Wait? I don’t understand. You mean to find the perfect house?”

  “To see if my offer has been accepted.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “You made an offer already?”

  Beau nodded, and though he smiled, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “Which one?”

  “The blue one with the large picture window.”

  The one she had told him was her favorite. Not that she would mention that. Instead, she walked around the island and pulled him into a hug. “Congratulations.”

  He melted into her, whispering “thanks” into her hair, but there was something melancholy in his voice.

  She leaned back and took in his face. “Aren’t you happy?”

  This time he was the one to press his eyelids together. He sighed. “Of course. I’ve wanted my own place for a long time—and now it looks like I’m about to realize that goal. It’s just …”

  She leaned her head to one side, still holding onto him, waiting. When he didn’t continued, she prodded him. “What is it?”

  His lips twisted. He didn’t look at her.

  “Beau?”

  His eyes grew cloudy. He looked at her, blinking away the tears. “It’s Anne.”

  She nodded, although not quite sure what he meant. “Anne,” she repeated.

  “She’d always wanted us to have a house of our own, especially one with a garden.”