That Last Summer (Whispering Pines Island Book 1)

by Sara LaFontain

  Email from Amy O’Connell to Fabio Basile:

  Stop telling me your English is terrible when you can write such beautiful things! You always know what to say. I love you.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  “Sam, I have a favor to ask.” Cara came into the kitchen while Sam was starting to prep food for dinner.

  “If you want to talk to me, grab a knife and help,” he told her. “No idle hands in my kitchen.” He knew she wouldn’t do it. Actually, no, he knew he’d stop her if she tried. She chopped an onion for him once. It took her at least fifteen minutes and the pieces were all different sizes. The resulting debris had gone straight into the compost.

  She laughed at him, grabbed a towel, and slowly wiped a corner of the prep table. “Will this do? Anyway, a favor. Do you think tomorrow morning you can whip up a couple of nice lunches? I have a . . . lunch meeting with someone.”

  “Maybe. Depends. Is it a date?” He tried to sound like he was joking, but it was a serious question. Things had been slightly awkward between them lately, despite his apology for running away. He was worried that she no longer trusted him, and he had lost any chances with her.

  “No.” She looked down at the invisible spot she was scrubbing on the table. “It’s Phil’s mom. She called and said she’s coming out and would like to meet with me. She’ll be on the one o’clock ferry. I don’t know what she wants to talk about, but I thought it best not to take her down to the diner or anything. I’d rather meet with her here on my territory, so to speak.”

  “Phil’s mom? Why? Does she know what he used to do to you?” Sam felt a sense of protective anger rising up in him. How dare that woman come here? Hadn’t Cara been through enough?

  “I don’t think so. I never told her. I haven’t talked to her since his funeral, when she blamed me for his death, so I don’t know why she’s coming.”

  He watched her for a moment, uncomfortable with the situation. He could cook for them, but he didn’t think it was a good idea. Cara shouldn’t be forced to have any contact with Phil’s family at all. However, if he refused, Phil’s mom would still be here, but somewhere else, somewhere Sam couldn’t keep an eye on things.

  She must have noticed his hesitation. “Nothing fancy, Sam. Just something I can throw in the microwave when she gets here. I’m not asking you to give up your time off for me.”

  The utter horribleness of that statement snapped him out of his discomfort. “Absolutely not! Cara, I will not make something for you to microwave. You know that’s not the kind of food I cook. And I don’t trust you to use a microwave properly.”

  “I know how to microwave food, Sam.”

  “No you don’t! You put everything in for three minutes, regardless of what it is. Cup of water? Three minutes. Frozen burrito? Three minutes. Leftovers that I clearly labeled ‘microwave for sixty seconds’? Three freaking minutes.”

  “Microwaves have sensors. It doesn’t matter how much time you set it for. The computer adjusts the heat levels accordingly.”

  Sam had to take a deep breath and count to ten before he could respond to that. “Microwaves do not have computers in them!” He had to stop himself from permanently banishing her from his kitchen. “Oh my god, Cara, you’re worse than Amy, and I once saw her microwave a piece of raw chicken!”

  “Hey, with ketchup that chicken didn’t taste half bad.”

  He stared at her for a second, unable to formulate a response. In the past, he had expressed an appreciation that the O’Connell cousins would eat anything, but there should be limits. Then he noticed the quirk of her lips as she suppressed a grin. He shook his head ruefully.

  “Cara, you’re making me ill, and I refuse to discuss this anymore. I’ll cook the two of you something fresh and delicious, and I’ll even serve you. But tell Paddy so I can get overtime.” He was kidding about the overtime, of course, and he could tell she knew it.

  “Thanks, Sam,” she said, and she looked at him a long moment. It seemed like she was on the verge of saying something else, but the words didn’t come. That was okay. He was patient.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  “You’re nervous, aren’t you?” Amy asked from behind the reception desk. She had agreed to work an hour early so Cara could join Elaine, though she also demanded that Cara buy her pizza for dinner, so she wasn’t being totally altruistic.

  “Of course.” Cara had neither seen nor spoken to the woman who would have been her mother-in-law since her fiancé’s funeral, and she still had no idea why Elaine wanted to talk to her. What if she asked what Cara did with Phil’s ashes?

  “I can tell. You’re wearing a hole in the lobby carpet with all that pacing. Did you hear Sato on the radio? He picked her up.”

  In fact, Cara had not noticed the radio call. She was lost in her own head. If she had married Phil, having Elaine for a mother-in-law would have made it almost bearable. She loved Elaine, and they used to get along so well. When Cara had lived in Chicago, they lunched together weekly. It was almost like having a real mother again.

  Without Phil though, what kind of relationship could they have? Yesterday’s phone call had been the first time she spoke with Elaine Holloway since the awful day of the funeral when Cara was supposed to eulogize Phil, but instead Amy did. Afterwards, everyone offered their condolences to Amy as though she had been the fiancée. Cara just couldn’t handle it. She couldn’t handle the pain, or the guilt, or the truly terrible, awful sense of relief.

  “Does she know what a monster her son was?” Amy interrupted her musings.

  Cara leaned against the desk and rested her head on her hand. “I never told her. And I doubt he ever admitted to anything. It would have messed up his perfect image.” She started to go through some of the worst incidents in her mind, wondering if she had ever given Elaine cause to suspect what Phil had been doing to her.

  “Hey, they’re here.” Amy snapped her fingers, breaking her out of her reverie. “Be strong. You can do it, Cara.”

  When Elaine walked into the lobby and removed her sunglasses, Cara was a bit shocked to see how much she had aged in nine months. Phil’s mother had always taken care of herself so well, but gray streaks showed in her hair now, and sorrow carved deep lines in her face.

  She still smiled though, when she saw Cara, and hugged her just as tightly as always. “Oh, my darling girl, I’ve missed you so much!”

  The greeting made Cara feel a little better. If Elaine was starting out with a hug, it must mean she didn’t intend an acrimonious meeting.

  After a brief tour of the rest of the property, Cara led her to the dining room. “Our chef has offered to make us lunch today,” she said as she gestured towards a table already set with ice tea and salads. “We’re normally closed at this time, but since you came all this way, I wanted to treat you to a nice meal.”

  True to his word, Sam arrived to serve them pan seared whitefish in a wine sauce over angel hair pasta. “Your meals, ladies,” he said, and bowed with a flourish. “There’s going to be dessert as well, so ring the bell when you’re ready.”

  “The bell?” Cara glanced down at the table. “Oh, Sam, that belongs on the reception desk. Amy’s going to kill you.”

  “No, she won’t. I made dessert for her, too.” Sam winked and returned to the kitchen. Cara watched him walk away with a faint smile on her face. He really was trying hard to be there for her.

  “I see you’ve moved on already,” Elaine murmured, with a hint of sadness in her voice.

  “What? Are you talking about Sam? We’re not together.”

  “Really? Maybe not yet, but I saw how you looked at each other. It’s fine, Cara, truly it is. You’re an amazing young woman. You deserve happiness.”

  They ate in silence for a moment. Cara collected her thoughts and said, “Can I ask you—”

  Elaine stopped her. “You must be wondering why I called after all this time. I owe you an apology. Lots of apologies, actually. There were some things I wasn’t honest with you about.”
She paused and dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. “Cara, darling, I love you. You’re the daughter I always wanted, and so I hid some things from you because I didn’t want to lose you. Oh, my sweetheart, I know you think I blamed you for Phil’s death, but I don’t anymore.”

  “Anymore? But you did though.” Cara knew that from the funeral. That was expected. It was, after all, Cara’s fault. She didn’t like to dig too deeply into the emotions of that terrible night, but she had made the decision to ignore the texts, pretending that as long as she didn’t respond, he wouldn’t do anything, lying to herself that he required a witness.

  “Of course I did, you ended the engagement. But what he did afterward, that wasn’t your fault.”

  Cara’s heart stopped. “You knew I broke up with him?”

  “He left me a voicemail. I’ve listened to it a thousand times, just to hear his voice again. He said you called off the wedding, he didn’t deserve to live anymore, and he was sorry. I had gone to bed early that night, and my phone was in my purse, so I didn’t get his message until it was too late. I’ve been beating myself up over that for months.”

  “Elaine, I . . .” Cara didn’t know what to say, what kind of apology would work. She’d pretended they were still engaged and had begged the police officers not to tell Phil’s parents the reason that they’d fought. She was trying to protect herself, to deflect the blame. Perhaps that was the wrong decision.

  “No, Cara, it’s alright.” Elaine sighed heavily. “I need to be honest: I always knew Phillip would make you a widow; I just hoped you would have a baby first. I’m so very sorry. I thought if I told you about his suicidal tendencies you might leave him. Please forgive me, he was my only child, and I wanted to be a grandmother so badly.”

  “His suicidal tendencies?” she repeated in disbelief. Elaine knew about them? Every time he ended up in the hospital, Phil begged her not to tell his mother the real reason. He wanted to protect her, he said, and Cara always went along with it because it was too painful to tell the truth.

  “Oh, Cara, I’m so sorry I never told you. It must have been quite a shock, him doing what he did. He’d tried before, and he always insisted that you not know. Do you remember that awful car accident? I hate to tell you this, darling, I truly do, but that was a suicide attempt. He hit the tree on purpose. He didn’t want me to tell you, and I didn’t want to burden you with that knowledge.”

  “I knew,” she told Elaine quietly. “I also knew when he was in for an overdose and told you it was the flu.”

  “He told you it was the flu . . . oh, no.” They both realized they had been played. “Oh, Cara, you knew all along. I thought I was protecting you. I was afraid you’d blame yourself, but it was something inside of him, some terrible darkness that was always there.”

  Then Elaine began to talk, weaving a story of Phil’s teenage years, and his first suicide attempt at age thirteen when his mother wouldn’t let him go to a co-ed sleepover and he swallowed a bottle of pills.

  “After that, it was like I became his hostage. He always held his death over my head. You won’t buy me a PlayStation game? I might as well kill myself. You won’t let me go on Spring Break with my friends? Then I should just die. He made several attempts. When he was nineteen, he tried carbon monoxide in the garage because a girlfriend dumped him. I still remember the doctor telling us that the reason he failed was because newer cars have catalytic converters and don’t put out as much carbon monoxide as the older models. Phil must have overheard and remembered.”

  This new revelation stunned Cara. Not the use of the same manipulation tactics as a teenager, she should have suspected as much. No, the fact that he committed suicide in her father’s classic car, knowing full well it would work. She had assumed it was another of his carefully calculated but inevitably non-lethal manipulations, and she’d as good as murdered him by not responding to his texts in time. But no. He knew. There were two cars in the garage that night, and he intentionally chose the one most likely to kill him. Was it possible his death wasn’t entirely her fault?

  “I got him help, of course,” Elaine continued. “Therapists, psychologists, medication. The thing was, Phil acted so charming, and seemed happy and well-adjusted. He fooled a lot of people into thinking he was fine, but he made at least four attempts on his own life in high school alone, and I don’t know how many later. I never knew if he seriously wanted to die or if he only latched on to it as a method of getting what he wanted. I think he enjoyed the attention and the worry that he caused. You know, Cara, when he found you, I had such hopes . . .”

  “We met because I stopped him from stepping in front of a bus. Was that a suicide attempt? Did he step off the curb on purpose?” As the realization dawned on her, she felt foolish. Had she really fallen for his tricks even before they knew each other? Had their whole relationship been based on him tricking her into saving him over and over again?

  “I never wanted to admit it, but I think so,” Elaine confessed. “He broke up with a long-term girlfriend before the trip and told her he probably wasn’t coming back. I hoped it meant he planned to move to Spain, but I suspect he decided to go out in a dramatic way, and you stopped him.”

  “I guess all I did was delay him,” Cara said slowly. She bought Phil two more years of life. Was it worth it? Was it worth the price she paid? Was it worth the suffering she’d been through ever since?

  “Cara, honey, I want you to forgive yourself,” Elaine told her, and her voice sounded firmer, stronger than it had been. “His suicide was not your fault. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I’ve let you shoulder any of the blame.”

  “I understand,” Cara said, wiping tears from her eyes. “And I’m working on it, I promise.” Even though her heart broke for Elaine, she herself felt suddenly free. Phil’s death was not her fault. He knew exactly what he was doing and merely followed through with the threats he had made for years. The cloud of guilt that had hung over her for so long started to dissipate, and she already felt lighter, happier.

  “Good.” Elaine blinked a few times and managed to compose herself. “Now ring the bell and have your gentleman friend bring us our desserts. Do you think he could fetch us some martinis as well? I have something else to talk to you about, and you may want a drink.”

  Cara rang the bell though she didn’t need to. She could see the kitchen door was propped open, and Sam was pretending to work but was actually keeping an eye on them. That was sweet, but not necessary. Elaine was nothing like her son.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Long after Elaine left, Cara still felt weak with shock. She kept pulling out the envelope, looking at the contents, and closing the flap again. It still looked real.

  “I didn’t think life insurance paid out on suicides,” she had thoughtlessly said when Elaine first gave her the paperwork.

  “All policies are different. He purchased it through his employer, and the suicide payout prohibition was only in effect the first twenty-four months. There was some back-and-forth about Phil’s mental health problems, but they dug up his original application, and he did disclose his depression, so it was valid. You were listed as the beneficiary.” Elaine smiled sadly at her. “I know nothing can make up for losing your fiancé, and all the plans for your future that the two of you made, but I hope it helps a little bit.”

  After driving Elaine back down to the ferry and hugging her good-bye with a promise to stay in touch, Cara hurried back to talk to Amy. She wanted her cousin to verify that she wasn’t imagining things. She handed Amy the letter from the insurance agency, without explanation, and watched her eyes widen in surprise as she skimmed it.

  “Does this seem legit?” Cara asked, showing her the check.

  “Damn, that’s a lot of zeros! You just tripled your life savings.” Amy examined the document carefully. “Yep, definitely real. Congratulations! What are you going to do now, Ms. Moneybags?”

  “I don’t know,” Cara replied slowly. “Can I keep this? Do I really deserve it? It’
s blood money.”

  “Cara, don’t be a dumbass. Phil was a terrible abusive asshole. Consider this his apology for everything you put up with. Most domestic violence survivors get nothing.”

  “Maybe I’ll give it to a shelter or something,” Cara mused.

  “Remember five seconds ago when I said ‘don’t be a dumbass’? Donate some if it will make you feel better, but keep most of it. Think of it like the proceeds from a lawsuit. Like what if you sued him for assaulting you? This is what he would have had to pay. It’s your money. I hate to say it like this, but you kinda earned it.”

  “Perhaps you’re right.” The money could be life changing. And he did owe her something. She bought him two years of life with her blood and pain. This was the least he could do to make up for it.

  “I’m always right. So I vote you take a big chunk of that cash and take your favorite cousin on a trip this spring, maybe Australia? And with the rest, you can finally buy that investment property you and Matteo have been talking about forever. See, it’s a win for everyone.”

  “That would be one way of turning Phil’s death into something positive. But I don’t know if Nikki wants to go to Australia with me.” She ducked away as Amy tried to hit her shoulder.

  “Not funny, Cara. But I’ll forgive you if you buy everybody drinks tonight. I’m off at nine, and Ty’s off anyway, so call Matteo and we can all get wasted on your tab. We can even invite Sam.”

  Chapter Sixty

  Sam tried to make it to The Digs, he really did. When Cara came into the kitchen with a smile on her face and invited him to join the rest of the housemates for drinks after work, he agreed enthusiastically. There was something about the way she looked at him, something in her eyes that made him think that this might be a very good night for them.

  But this was the night the big walk-in freezer finally died. He’d been having problems with it all summer, and Sato had repaired it a few times with the hope that the compressor would last to the end of the season, but no such luck. Almost immediately after he sent all his kitchen staff home and started to walk out the door himself—his hand was actually on the light switch—he heard the alarm. Not tonight, please, not tonight. He checked, hoping for an alarm malfunction rather than a freezer malfunction. Damn it.