The absence of a response still hurt. She knew he had been angry and felt rejected by her, but the least he could do for an old friend was reach out. He didn’t have to still be in love with her, but she wished he still cared. It made her feel as though her connection to Sam had been permanently severed.
“Honestly?” Sam hesitated. There must have been something fascinating in his tea leaves, the way he was staring down into them. “Cara, I was really upset last summer, and I didn’t react very well. You know that. And I guess I was being a little immature. I didn’t want to hear about your stupid wedding, so I set up some filters on my email. I never got the news about Phil at all. I didn’t even find out he died until Sato told me three days ago. I’m sorry.”
Cara couldn’t help herself. She laughed. It wasn’t supposed to be funny, she was sure, but the idea of Sam being petty enough to filter her emails made her giggle. Relief washed over her. He hadn’t been ignoring her; he was just being childish. All those months she had suffered from the bitter sting of rejection, but it was false. He’d never received her message, so maybe there was still a chance. He had come back, after all, when she knew more money and a better job awaited him elsewhere.
“When did you create the filters?” she asked. Had he done it while he was still here on the island? How long had he been mulling over their last conversation?
“October, I think. Maybe the beginning of November? I don’t know. But it was poor timing, I guess.”
Poor timing indeed. He looked embarrassed, and she couldn’t help but laugh harder.
“I’m sorry.” He sounded a bit defensive. “It’s not funny. Look, I know I was being selfish and stupid. It’s just, you know . . . at the end of last summer things were so bad between us, and I overreacted. It’s my fault. I was putting pressure on you, and I shouldn’t have. I said things I shouldn’t have said, and I acted like a jackass. I promise you, I’m going to be different now. I’ve moved on from my mistakes, and I really want to be your friend again. Can’t we go back to the way we were, back when we were just friends, before I ruined everything?”
She did stop laughing then, and not only because of the aggrieved expression on his face. He wanted to reset the clock and go back to the way it was before he confessed his love. Was it because he didn’t feel anything for her anymore? She supposed it didn’t matter. She didn’t deserve him anyway.
No one will ever love you like I do, Phil’s voice whispered in her head, as though she needed the reminder.
Chapter Thirteen
Whispering Pines, September 2012
The end of the season is near, and everything is getting ready to close down. There are fewer tourists on the island, especially since the school year has started and most families can only come on weekends.
Cara is sitting in the staff office using the computer. It is her day off, and she is idly shopping for her upcoming job. She will be helping Paddy close up the inn for the winter, then she will spend a few weeks with her family in Texas. Amy will be there too, otherwise she wouldn’t even consider going and putting up with her stepmother. In December, she will head to Canada to work at an ice hotel for one of Paddy’s old friends. The ice hotel, when built, will only be open for three months, making it the perfect winter position for her, timing-wise. She is dreading living in a place cold enough to maintain ice buildings. Right now, she is looking at thick coats and wondering how many layers she’s going to need underneath them.
Her fiancé is still angry with her for taking the job. Phil lives in Chicago and expected her to spend the winter with him as she did last year. They’ve been arguing over it lately, fortunately just over the phone. The fights would be worse in person. Maybe he’ll eventually see her reluctance to live with him this winter as a sign that they shouldn’t get married? That’s what she’s been hoping, but she knows it won’t be that easy.
She is about to add an enormous down parka to her online shopping cart when she hears a radio call from Sato. “Amy, Cara, someone, can you hear me? We’ve got a situation up at Lesser Lake.”
Amy is at the desk and she asks what is going on. There is worry in Sato’s voice as he tells her that a child is missing. He has taken some of the inn guests up for a picnic and a frantic woman has come running up asking for help. The woman keeps insisting that she just turned her back for a minute and her son, a six-year-old, disappeared from the blanket where he was napping. The child is autistic and non-verbal, which will make the search much harder. On this chilly end-of-tourist-season day, the family were the only people at the lake.
Cara immediately springs into action. She directs Amy to call the sheriff’s department and to start contacting potential volunteer searchers. Cara herself grabs a backpack, several extra radios, whistles, and some rain ponchos, so she can run up to meet with Sato and start getting things organized. She also takes a large flashlight, just in case. The inn is the closest business to Lesser Lake, just a half mile of well-used hiking trails away, so Cara arrives there about fifteen minutes after the call comes in.
Sato is already directing people to start a search. A group of other tourists fortuitously arrived soon after he made his radio call, and they, along with the inn guests, have volunteered to assist. Two small groups are walking slowly around the lake’s perimeter in each direction looking for any evidence of the boy’s passage. Cara hands Sato the backpack with supplies, but she pulls out a radio, a whistle, and the flashlight for herself. She shows it to him and tries to be discreet because the mother of the missing boy is standing right next to him and she doesn’t want her to know what she’s about to do.
“I’m going to go check the Blackhauer property real quick,” she tells Sato, trying to sound casual.
He looks at the flashlight in her hand and nods, expression unchanged, but she can tell he has already thought of the property. He suggests she take two people with her. The Waverlys, a couple who stay with them at the inn every summer, immediately volunteer. Cara gives them each a whistle, and she leads them up the trail.
“What’s the Blackhauer property?” the missing child’s mother asks as they walk away.
Cara trusts that Sato will be careful not to alarm her.
The hike is short and easy, only a few minutes from the lake, though the path is partially overgrown. On the way, they look for any signs of a child. Cara tells them where they are going: an old farm that burned down over fifty years ago. According to island legend, Mr. Blackhauer set the fire himself for the insurance money while Mrs. Blackhauer was out and his children were at school. Unfortunately, he was unaware that his oldest boy had stayed home with the flu, and his wife, who he thought was running errands, had come back from the village with medicine for the child. They both died in the fire, and the property was abandoned. Nobody seems to own it now, and even the island children avoid it because of the rumors that it is haunted.
While the charred remains of the house are dangerous, the main reason Cara and Sato are both concerned is the old well. It’s been boarded over, but the covering is almost flush with the ground, so the danger isn’t apparent until it’s almost too late. The makeshift lid, which is just splintery old two-by-fours, rots away every once in a while due to the harsh weather here. In the past, Paddy has told Cara that he occasionally hikes out and replaces them, and she knows he hasn’t done it this year.
The well is still covered, and, although a piece of wood is broken, there isn’t room for anyone to have fallen through. Cara examines the splintered end anyway. No hairs, no threads. No reason to believe the boy is in the well. Cara lets out a breath she was not aware she was holding.
The three of them decide that the tourists will stay by the house for a little while, on the off chance the boy finds one of the numerous trails leading to it. The surrounding area is heavily forested state park, and there are few clearings, so hopefully the boy stumbles upon a path. If so, he will eventually come out of the woods either on the Blackhauer property, at Lesser Lake, or at one of the many trail ac
cess points on the road around the island. If he finds a trail, they can find him.
Cara updates Sato and then leaves the radio behind. By the time she makes it down to the lake, Deputy Saunders and Deputy Mills have arrived and taken over. She tells them that volunteers are at the Blackhauer property with a radio, and they decide that a team of people should stay there, patrolling the area so they don’t have to keep checking the well.
The next thirty hours are intense. Cara manages to grab a little bit of sleep, but she mostly devotes her time to doing whatever she can to help out. They have set up a way station at the inn, and the restaurant has been turned into a regrouping area for volunteers. Sam makes batch after batch of hot soup, and is constantly filling thermoses and sending them up to the searchers near the lake. Some inn guests complain that the fine-dining experience they expected is not available, but Paddy thinks (and the staffers all agree) that it is better to commit their resources to finding little Donovan.
Margaux brings loaves of bread from the bakery and stops a moment to confide in Cara. “I’m worried about Sato,” she says. “He’s been going nonstop because he thinks it’s his fault. He was supposed to take the guests up earlier, but he was the one who decided to delay their hike. He thinks if only he had left on time, the boy would have still been napping, and they would have seen him when he woke up.”
It’s not Sato’s fault, of course. Cara—and probably everybody else—secretly blames the child’s parents for leaving the boy alone. The mother even admitted that she hadn’t just turned her back; rather, she and her husband snuck off into the woods for some alone time and were gone for at least twenty minutes. The parents are complete wrecks right now. They haven’t slept at all. They’re spending all their time up at the staging area by Lesser Lake. They need to be close so if the boy is found alive (which is becoming less and less likely with each passing moment), they can rush to him. There is a concern that if and when Donovan is located, he will try to evade his rescuers because he is uncomfortable with strangers and is unable to communicate.
Margaux offers to take over for Sam in the kitchen so that he can participate in the search. It is late afternoon, and the boy has been missing for over a day. Rain is coming down in a cold drizzle, dampening everyone’s hopes and spirits.
Cara hikes up to the command center with Sam, and they are immediately assigned to relieve the volunteers at the Blackhauer property. That area has been staffed throughout the search, with Sato even spending the previous night there, constantly shining a searchlight into the woods around the edges of the clearing and hoping the boy would see it and follow the light to safety.
Cara and Sam walk around the clearing to keep warm during their vigil. Talk between them is strained. It’s been like that a lot lately, and she misses the ease they used to have between them. It doesn’t help that when he looks at her she feels a strange yearning and a sort of urgency in her jaw like she needs to grab him and kiss him and dissolve into him. It’s not fair of her to think this way. It’s not fair of her to imagine running her fingers through his dark curls and pulling him towards her, to imagine his hands touching her body, his lips . . . she can’t. She can’t think about these sorts of things at all. She is engaged to Phil, and Phil will never let her go.
“How’s the wedding planning going?” Sam asks suddenly, and she is embarrassed because wedding planning has not been on her mind at all.
“Haven’t done anything,” she admits. The soft drizzle intensifies, and she shivers.
“My brother Nathan got married a few years ago. They told me about the engagement the day after he proposed, and by then Iris had already investigated several venues, picked the colors for her bridesmaid dresses, and had a list of questions for me about my ideas for catering.”
Cara does not respond to this statement, so he continues.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that you don’t seem excited about getting married. Amy tells me you haven’t set a date or anything. You’ve been engaged for six months. Don’t you want to marry the guy?”
The question hangs in the air between them, almost tangibly, and Cara turns away. She can’t bring herself to answer, at least not honestly. She walks to the edge of the property to stand under the branches of an enormous pine tree. Is it a whispering pine? She wonders, for the first time, if Whispering Pines Island is named after an actual pine species. Wow, her mind really must be trying to avoid his question.
Sam follows and stands far too close to her. It makes her breath catch in her throat. She can’t be this close to him. She just can’t.
“Seriously, why are you marrying him?” he asks. “He’s not the right man for you. You know that as well as I do.”
There is an intensity in his face that she has not seen before, and it scares her because it makes her pulse quicken and makes her feel warmer somehow, like a fire is kindling in her blood. She pushes back her hood and looks him right in the eyes. She’s not sure what she’s going to say. I love him? No, those are the wrong words. He wouldn’t let me say ‘no’? She can’t admit that; she can’t tell the truth about her relationship. Before she can formulate a response, a welcome call comes over the radio.
“We’ve got the boy! He’s alive! We’re bringing him back now! Volunteers, please return to the Inn.”
Exuberant radio chatter follows as people all over the island express their relief.
“They found him!” Cara is so happy she forgets the tension in the air and hugs Sam, and he hugs her back tightly. He is so warm despite the rain, and she fits so perfectly in his arms, but she can’t let herself think about that now. She can’t think about the firmness of his body, and the great need that is rising within her, making her heart race and her nerve endings tingle.
She starts to step back, but somehow, his palms find her face, his fingers tangle in her damp hair, and his thumbs caress her cheeks so very gently. He brings his forehead down to hers and stares into her eyes. It is terrifying, this feeling, because he seems to be looking directly into her, past all her barriers, to everything she tries so hard to keep hidden. The intimacy of the moment makes her dizzy and she grasps at his chest, wrapping her hands in his jacket and holding him close. They stand unmoving maybe for a second, maybe a minute, maybe a hundred lifetimes.
“Oh, Cara, you know we belong together. I am so in love with you,” he whispers in a voice so tender and soft it sounds like a prayer.
Slowly, he angles his face down and just before his lips can touch hers she pushes him away. The world is suddenly colder and emptier, and there is a strange sense of loss and longing deep in her heart.
“Cara, please,” he says, but now he sounds like he’s in pain, and she wants to slap him or cry or maybe do both.
“I’m engaged.” The words catch in her throat, and she’s not sure why she’s telling him that, if it’s meant to be a warning or regret. “We need to go back.”
And she turns and races back down the trail, and he does not follow. A week later, Sam leaves on the ferry, and she doesn’t know if she’ll ever see him again. And Cara is left with a sick sense of emptiness and despair.
Chapter Fourteen
Whispering Pines Island, June 2013
Email from Amy O’Connell to Fabio Basile:
If I had the connectivity, I’d take you on a tour of the island and then you’d see what I’ve been talking about. But I can’t, so I’ve attached some pics. Maybe I’ll try and make a video later. (Oh, and maybe I can charge the village council for it, and they can use it in tourism promos. Good idea or bad idea?) I promise, you would love it here, even if it’s not a fancy Mediterranean island like you’re used to.
The first few pics are just some exterior shots of the inn. Beautiful, right? We painted the shutters and porch that bright blue color a couple of years ago. (Totally my idea no matter what Cara says.) This is my seventh summer working here. Cara’s been here for ten—that’s because she started in college. I did summer internships elsewhere and then I got hi
red on at a marketing firm in Dallas when I graduated. I thought it was my dream job. I mean, that’s what I went to school for and there I was living in the big city (ok, you can laugh, it’s no Milan or Naples, but it felt like the big city to me). I thought I had everything. And it turns out I didn’t. My coworkers were all men, and they called me ‘sweetie’ and expected me to take all the notes in meetings. If I offered an idea, it was ignored. But if one of the men made the same suggestion thirty seconds later, it was suddenly brilliant. I tried to work harder. I asked for more responsibilities, and I was told there was more work for me on top of the desk rather than behind it. I was demoralized and depressed and miserable, and I felt like I couldn’t tell anyone because when I got hired I made such a huge deal out of how amazing my life was going to be.
It was Cara that convinced me to quit there (after filing a human resources complaint and taking a severance package, of course) and come work with her at her uncle’s inn for a few months while I got things sorted out. And you know, as soon as I stepped off the ferry I felt a lot better about everything. Like I had been thinking my life was in shambles, but it actually wasn’t. Have you ever gone somewhere and realized that even though you didn’t live there, you were home? That’s how I felt.
I mean, it wasn’t my first trip to the island. I’ll never forget the first time I got to fly on a plane all by myself. I was ten and my parents let me come visit Cara and Aunt Cynthia for a couple of weeks. I remember being so jealous of her. We spent all our time riding bikes and running around the woods, and her friend Matteo tried to teach me how to kayak (and I had a horrible drowning scare and haven’t gotten into one of those floating deathtraps since). It was the best life.
I also came out here with Cara during Christmas break our senior year of high school. Aunt Cynthia had been killed by a drunk driver that April, and Uncle Alan was still living in a rehab facility learning how to walk again. He was pretty checked out emotionally, so Cara lived with us. Paddy invited Cara out to spend the holidays with him, and she asked me to come along. I was shocked when my mother agreed to it, but I think mom understood the importance of letting me go. Cara’s never been just my cousin, she’s always been my best friend, and she needed me.
That Last Summer (Whispering Pines Island Book 1) Page 7