That Last Summer (Whispering Pines Island Book 1)

by Sara LaFontain

  “Use those.” Without looking directly at him, Cara pointed towards some photo albums on a shelf beneath the desk. “Amy’s been digitizing them for Paddy. Maybe you can find something there, a staff picture or something.”

  “Cara . . .” Something about the sorrow in her eyes made him want to reach out to her, to comfort her. Why didn’t she draw anymore? There had to be a reason. But before he could do or say anything, the lobby doors opened and a family entered.

  Cara greeted them, and he sat back and flipped through the nearest album. The photos were almost a decade old, but there was Cara, with short hair and shorter shorts. Nice. He turned a few more pages. Apparently, Matteo used to work at the inn, and apparently, he had a bowl haircut. Poor guy. But why were he and Cara always standing so close together? Sam studied the pictures intently, trying to see what they might have been like back then.

  Chapter Thirty

  “Welcome back to Whispering Pines,” Cara greeted the guests walking through the lobby doors. She was relieved when they arrived, cutting off a conversation with Sam she didn’t wish to have. The smile she turned towards the incoming guests was genuine—PrideFest week was one of her favorite times on the island. Most of the families staying at the inn had been coming there for years, and she had gotten to know many of them pretty well. This particular group, the Anderson-Samora family, had vacationed here every summer for nearly a decade.

  “Cara, so good to see you,” one of the men said with a grin. “Come over here and give us some hugs.” She walked around the desk to oblige, and then spent the next several minutes squatting down and chatting with their six-year-old daughter, Destiny, who was proud to show off her nail polish.

  “I look forward to this week every year,” she told them as she returned to the desk to swipe their credit card and give them their keys. “It’s like a family reunion. Don’t forget we have a wine and cheese social in the ballroom tonight. Paddy says he has a Pinot Grigio that you’re going to love. Destiny, if you want to skip the social, Amy said you can hang out at the desk with some of the other kids. She’ll teach you all how to make friendship bracelets.”

  The child looked to her fathers for permission then nodded with excitement.

  “Oh, believe me, this is our favorite week too,” Eric Anderson told her. “Though I do wish it was scheduled for later this summer, like maybe after the first of August.” He waved his left hand at her, showing off a ring.

  “Engaged? Congratulations! Oh, I’m so happy for you.” Cara beamed at him.

  Engagements seemed to be the theme this weekend. Same-sex marriage had been signed into Minnesota law and would be legal in August. In anticipation of that, many of their returning guests were walking around with fancy jewelry, and there were at least three proposals planned in the restaurant. Amy usually took care of helping with those. She made sure they took place at different seatings, so nobody’s thunder was stolen, and she made arrangements for a photographer (most often disguised as a busboy) to capture the moment on film.

  “By the way, Gentlemen,” Cara added, “I don’t want you to think I’m only saying this to sell you something, but you did hear we’re going to be open on weekends this winter, right? Imagine how beautiful your wedding photos would be with a snowy backdrop.”

  “Oh, that would be lovely.” Rodrigo nudged Eric. “See, honey, I told you we could have the wedding here. Did you have your ceremony here, Cara?”

  “Me? No.” She glanced down at her ring-less hand. This was one of the hardest parts of her job. She gave them a professional smile. “I didn’t get married after all.”

  “Oh, that’s so sad,” both men said simultaneously, and then they looked at each other and laughed.

  “Did he cheat on you?” Eric asked.

  Rodrigo elbowed him in the ribs. “You can’t ask such things.”

  “Actually, he passed away in November,” Cara admitted, which was always the quickest way to shut down questioning.

  Embarrassed, they offered the usual condolences, just like everybody else. This was the third time this week she’d been asked about her engagement. That was the problem with friendly recurring guests—they remembered details she wanted to forget. We belong together, Cara, Phil’s voice whispered in her head. You can’t get rid of me.

  After the family took their keys and went off to their room, she put her head down on the desk and sighed. Last summer had been just as bad. Everyone who saw the diamond on her hand wanted to talk about it. She repeated the story of how Phil proposed so many times it almost started to sound nice. Nobody ever interpreted his words the way he meant them, when he told her he couldn’t live without her and that he’d never let her go. You’re mine now, he said when he slipped the ring on her finger, and how could she say anything when there were so many people staring and such a warning in his eyes?

  “You okay?”

  The hand on her shoulder made her jump. She had been so focused on not letting herself think about Phil’s death that she completely forgot Sam was hanging out behind the desk. She looked up into his concerned face, but she couldn’t meet his eyes, not when Phil was still on her mind.

  “You’re still here looking pretty? It’s not working, you haven’t gotten a single phone number yet,” she told him jokingly, trying to lighten the mood.

  “I got distracted by these albums. Do you know if you go far enough back, Sato actually has hair? You can flip through and watch it recede.” He studied her face, searching. “Are you sure you’re okay? It must be difficult getting asked about Phil.”

  She tried to shrug it off. “It’s no big deal. It just seems to come up a lot more right now because I’ve known most of this week’s guests for a long time. They’re like family, or distant relatives at least.”

  “I can tell it’s bothering you,” Sam said. “C’mon, Cara, I’m your friend. You can talk to me.”

  She shook her head. “I’d rather not talk about it. Give me that photo album. There’s a hilarious picture of Matteo from when we were kids. He had a mullet long after they were popular.”

  She didn’t want to discuss Phil with guests, and she certainly didn’t want to discuss how she felt about his death with Sam. How would he feel if he knew the truth? What would he think of her if he knew that all of her tears had been not due to sorrow but relief?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Whispering Pines, July 2013

  Email from Amy O’Connell to Fabio Basile:

  You will not believe the morning we’ve had! It’s cold and damp and rainy, so I had to move my 9:00 a.m. yoga class indoors to the ballroom, but nobody showed up. I didn’t want to walk back up to the staff house, and I didn’t feel like doing yoga by myself, so I grabbed some breakfast and decided to hang out with Cara behind the reception desk.

  While I was sitting there, I saw two scruffy looking guys come up on the porch and take off their backpacks—big camping packs with sleeping bags, so we knew they were coming from one of the campgrounds. They left their packs outside and came sauntering through the lobby straight into the dining room, like they belonged there. They helped themselves to massive plates of food and multiple cups of coffee. They even had Sam make them some omelets. Right after he made them, he came out and asked if we’d seen the guys because, although he’s kind of dumb, even he was able to tell they didn’t belong.

  When they finished their breakfast, they walked out and headed straight for the door. So Cara very politely called them to the desk and asked them to pay for their meals. “We thought it was included with the room,” one of them smirked. She told them, yes, it was . . . for guests of the inn. But as they were not guests of the inn, they needed to pay $19.95 each, and she was happy to take a credit card. First, they tried to flirt a little and get her to let them have the meal for free because “nobody’s going to know.” But when she told them no, they got mean.

  Seriously, oh my god, these guys turned into such rude assholes, and they laughed at Cara and said, and I quote, “You stupid
bitch, we’re not paying for anything, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” And they just walked out laughing because, clearly, those idiots thought they got away with something.

  Cara was on the phone with Vivian down at the ferry before the lobby door even shut. Meanwhile, I was on the computer pulling stills from our security cameras. These jackasses had no idea who they were messing with.

  Here’s what happened when they reached the ferry docks (according to Viv): They tried to buy two passages back to the mainland, and Viv told them that it would be $75. They got really pissy because the fare is only $8 each way. Then Viv says, “Well, yes, it’s $8 each, so $16 for that. But you also owe another $40 for the breakfasts you stole from the inn. Plus, I charge a convenience fee of $19 for collecting the money on your behalf and transmitting it to them.” She said they started yelling nonsense about how they hadn’t stolen anything and she’d mixed them up with someone else, so she showed them the picture I emailed her. Then one of them (probably the same one who said it to Cara) said, “Nice try, you stupid bitch. Here’s the money for the ferry, and that’s all we’re paying,” and he threw some cash down on the counter.

  Vivian didn’t touch the money. She just looked at them and said, “Well, if that’s the way you want it.” And then she waved Johnny over—he’s the deputy who lives on the island full time. “Deputy Mills,” she called, “these are the young men who stole from the inn and were verbally abusive to the employees. Cara said she wants to file charges.”

  This is the point when Sam and I pulled up in one of the inn’s carts. I had changed into my inn polo shirt, which was exactly what Cara was wearing at the desk, so they thought I was her. Sam’s a big guy, at least six two (that’s almost 1.9 meters, for your metric brain), and he has really broad shoulders. When he’s cooking he wears a bandana tied around his head like a pirate, and he still wore that, but he had taken off his chef’s coat, so he was in a tight T-shirt that showed off his muscles. He looked tough and mean. I jumped out of the cart and shouted, “That’s them right there!” and pointed dramatically (you know how I am). Sam got out slowly and kind of flexed his muscles and said, “Hey Deputy Mills, it looks like these guys are gonna resist arrest. Need some help subduing them?” And then, I kid you not, he cracked his knuckles.

  Johnny looked at them and put his hand on his metal crowd-whacking thingee (that I had never until that very moment noticed he carried!!), looked at Sam and kind of nodded and said, “Yeah, that sounds like how this is about to go down.” Then Vivian got into it and said in a completely deadpan voice, “Oh no, my security cameras appear to be on the fritz again,” and reached back and turned off the TV monitors. (Incidentally, the cameras were still recording. She sent us a copy, and we’ve all watched the video like ten times.)

  I swear, these obnoxious shits who thought they were so tough not five minutes earlier suddenly turned into sniveling little babies who acted so apologetic about the ‘misunderstanding’ and said of course they were going to pay. Then Vivian interjected, “It’s nice you’ve had a change of heart, but I believe you called both me and the manager of the inn stupid bitches. I think you owe us some apologies.”

  The one guy turned to me and said, “I’m so very sorry. You’re not a stupid bitch. I shouldn’t have called you that.” I told him he was apologizing to the wrong person and that he had said it to my cousin. Then Sam totally exploded. “What? What did you call Cara?” And even though he is usually quite passive, he started moving toward the guy like he was going to break his face, and Johnny actually had to step in front of him and hold him back. I thought the stupid thief was going to wet himself. Vivian made him write an apology note to Cara. (It’s now hanging up in the staff office, next to a picture of the guy looking terrified—Vivian’s security camera is amazingly high quality). I collected the money for the breakfast in cash, so they couldn’t do a credit card chargeback, and made them give Sam a tip for making their omelets. (He doesn’t usually get tips, but I thought it was important in this case.) And then Viv let them buy their tickets, and they left to sit quietly in the boarding area and think about what they’d done. Vivian told me she was going to make one of her sons keep an eye on them during the voyage, and that he’d be obvious and intimidating about it. (Her boys are huge. Even Sam looks small next to them.)

  Awesome, right? We islanders stick together.

  Email from Amy O’Connell to Fabio Basile:

  Nightstick. Thank you. How did you know that word and I didn’t?

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “Why are you up so early?” Cara seemed surprised to see him in the staff kitchen.

  “I was making you coffee,” he replied, offering her a mug. “I’m always up this early, remember?”

  “Well, yes, but it’s the Fourth of July. I thought one of your line cooks was covering breakfast for you since you’ll be working the barbecue all day.” She accepted the coffee and smiled as she sipped it. “I expected you to sleep in.”

  “If I slept in, who would make your coffee? Or this?” He set a plate in front of her, and she looked down at it and clapped her hands in delight.

  “You made me an American flag pancake?”

  “Of course. It’s a holiday.” The happiness on her face gave him courage. Today was the day. He was finally going to do it.

  He sat down at the table across from her and took a deep breath. “Hey, I was thinking,” he began, trying to sound casual. Was it too soon? Why did she make him have all these doubts? “Are you going to watch the fireworks tonight?”

  She nodded, and he took that as both affirmation and encouragement to continue. “I was thinking, um, I’m done at the barbecue around eight thirty, and sunset is at nine o’clock, so I guess the fireworks show starts after that. Do you maybe want to watch them together?” There, he’d done it. He’d asked her out.

  She looked surprised, then bit her lip and smiled. “Yeah, I’d like that. That’d be fun. I’ll be on desk duty since Amy’s going to be running the main event, so I’ll come down there when I lock up. Paddy told me to close it all down at nine, since everyone’s going to be watching the show.”

  “Perfect, I’ll wait for you.” He grinned and then, embarrassed, looked down at his tea. He didn’t want to seem too excited, but he was. Finally, this was going to happen. A date. Their first date.

  ....................

  True to his word, Sam did wait for her. All day, he waited, thinking of nothing but his evening plans. The fireworks were always spectacular, so they’d be a fitting backdrop when he made his move. He had everything he needed: he had brought a picnic blanket and a good bottle of wine—not the cheap five-dollar-a-glass house red Cara usually drank at The Digs. He knew exactly where to take her, a semi-secluded spot with a great view of the lake.

  In his imagination, nobody else would find that particular location, so they would have complete privacy. He would spread out the blanket and pour her some wine (shit, he forgot glasses! Okay, they’d share the bottle. At least he remembered a corkscrew), and he would sit with his arm around her. They would toast to something, maybe the fact that they were finally together? Cara, my feelings have never changed. I’m still in love with you, he would say, and as fireworks exploded overhead, she would smile and tell him she felt the same way, and he would finally really kiss her, firmly and deeply, and maybe afterward they’d make their way back to the staff house before their roommates got home, so they could spend some time exploring the physical side of their new relationship. Not that he expected that right away, but he was certainly willing if she was. That was his fantasy.

  The reality, though, was very different.

  In reality, he stood behind a hot grill all day, sweating and making small talk with countless tourists. Putting up with the public was why he preferred working in the kitchen, nobody in there was likely to give him unsolicited advice on his meat. He stopped counting the number of balding middle-aged men who offered to come back there and show him, ‘how it’s suppos
ed to be done.’ Amazing how many grilling experts managed to make their way to this barbecue, he thought. But despite it all, he kept a smile on his face and a friendly tone throughout, because no matter how annoyed he got, this evening promised to be the best evening of his life.

  Finally, food service ended. He packed everything away, and Tyrell came with a cart to take the supplies and equipment back to the inn. Sam walked over to a bench at the edge of the square and waited for Cara. He sat waiting for her long after sunset, long after the fireworks started.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Cara was almost finished with her shift. She was planning on changing clothes before meeting with Sam, wearing something a little nicer, maybe even putting on makeup, just in case. She wasn’t entirely sure if they were going on a date or watching the fireworks as friends. She had done a little scouting earlier, asking her other coworkers their plans to find out if it was intended to be a group thing. But Tyrell was meeting Tim and watching from the bar, and Sato was going to enjoy the evening with his wife, so it seemed that it really would be just her and Sam.

  It was exciting, but she felt a little nervous, too. She had fantasized about Sam sometimes (many times, if she was honest), and she wondered how the reality would measure up. Would he make a move right away? Should she? Would they even watch the fireworks? She knew a secluded place they could go for privacy and a great view of the lake—but was she reading too much into this? He kept harping on being friends, but he had gotten up early today when he didn’t have to, just to make her breakfast and ask her out (on a date, right?). And was she really ready to date again?