by Amy DeLuca
“Of course. I’ll have a check brought to your office this afternoon, or if you prefer, I’ll wire the money directly to your bank account right now.”
“A check will do fine.” Just to be safe she added, “I’ll be out of the office for much of the afternoon and my receptionist isn’t in today, so just have the courier slide the envelope through the slot on the door.”
There. All her bases were covered. She’d go to Block Island tomorrow, get the job done, and get back home as quickly as possible.
She’d shore up her struggling business while successfully eluding Alex and keeping her secret.
Easy as pie.
Eight
Slime Day
The next morning, the skies were ominous.
A quick check of the day’s forecast showed rain as well as increased winds, but the approaching hurricane seemed to be turning inland as it marched up the coast, so it looked like Rhode Island might be spared the brunt of the storm.
Since Cinda wouldn’t be seeing any clients today, she dressed in casual clothes—jeans and sneakers—and grabbed raincoats for herself and AJ as they left the house.
“I don’t want you to go on the boat today,” her young son whined from the back seat.
AJ wasn’t a fan of storms, especially the kind that involved thunder and lightning. Some of his friends at the preschool had told him they were going to get a “hurricane that will blow your roof off,” so he was extra spooked today.
The look on his face in the rearview mirror plucked at Cinda’s heartstrings. She did her best to sound cheerful. “I’ll be back this afternoon—maybe even before you get out of school.”
“Will you pick me up?”
“You’ll probably get to stay and play a little longer in the after-care program today, and Kristal might be picking you up.”
She had offered just in case, and since Cinda was desperate, she accepted, vowing Kristal and Hunter would have free house-cleaning for the next year. Kristal had laughed it off, but Cinda was seriously going to arrange it.
AJ nodded, placated a bit. “Matteo and Rick stay for after-care every day. I only stay sometimes. I like the trucks there.”
Cinda had thought they were over the rough patch, but when she walked AJ through the front door of his school, he burst into tears, wrapping his arms around her knees.
“I want to stay with you.”
His favorite teacher Angelina rushed over and kneeled to help AJ out of his coat.
“Hey buddy. I’m so glad to see you. Guess what we’re going to do today?”
An adorable young woman in her early twenties, Angelina embodied all the qualities of her angelic name. She was only a part-time teacher’s assistant, but Cinda couldn’t imagine anyone more suited to the job of teaching pre-school. If Angelina didn’t make it her career, the three and four-year-olds of the world would definitely be missing out.
AJ sniffled and gave her a look of guarded interest, still clinging to Cinda, his lips puckered in a pout. “What?”
“We’re making slime.” The teacher waggled her eyebrows and gave him a wrinkle-nosed grin. “It’s going to be really ooey-gooey and gross and green.”
AJ laughed.
“And for a slime-day snack, we’ll have some gummy worms,” she added.
“Can the gummy worms go in the slime?” he asked, completely intrigued now by Angelina’s brilliant distraction tactic.
“They can, but those we can’t eat. Because their wormy tummies will be filled with slime.”
As she said the last word, Angelina tickled AJ’s belly. He released Cinda’s legs and giggled.
Cinda mouthed a silent “thank you” over his head as she bent over and hugged him goodbye. Then he ran off toward a corner where several boys were moving rubber rocks around with yellow plastic diggers and dump trucks.
Stopping in place, he turned around and waved, “Bye Mommy!” before resuming his headlong dash for the truck corner.
Angelina still stood beside Cinda, watching with a smile.
“He’ll be okay. Lots of the kids are on edge today because of the storm. They’re like little barometers. Approaching storms and the full moon.” She chuckled. “It’s going to be an interesting day.”
“Thank you again,” Cinda said. “Really. You’re a miracle worker.”
Angelina’s cheeks pinkened in an instant blush. “Nah. I’ve just learned a few tricks since I’ve been here. It’s you moms who are amazing.”
“Well, you’ll make a good one someday.”
Her gaze swung from the children to Cinda, and she blinked several times, blushing even more deeply.
“I’m uh… going to be a nun.”
“Really?” Cinda probably shouldn’t have said it in such a shocked tone, but she was… shocked.
Rhode Island was the most Catholic state in the nation, but Cinda had been under the impression most nuns were much older. Angelina seemed really young to have made a binding lifelong decision like that one.
And, not that this had anything to do with it, she was the kind of girl who could have her pick of men—sweet, beautiful, smart—the whole package. Cinda also happened to know she came from money.
Angelina’s mother owned one of the older Bellevue Avenue mansions, which had been passed down through generations of her old-money family.
Cinda had heard Angelina’s mom had enjoyed quite a reputation as a wild child in the 80’s, but in recent years she’d been more of a recluse, rarely seen in public.
“Really,” Angelina confirmed. “Right now, I’m considered an affiliate, which lasts for several months, but I’m sure I’ll go on to the postulancy phase where I’ll be isolated with the other candidates at the monastery before becoming a novice and then, later, taking my vows. It’s what my mom has always wanted.”
“I see.” Cinda nodded, a bit troubled. “And you too, I suppose.”
The pre-school teacher hesitated a beat too long, looking away at the children again before answering.
“Oh sure. Sure. I’ve always known it was going to be my life—as far back as I can remember. Mom used to buy me these miniature habits for my Halloween costumes.”
When Cinda looked into her own memory, she remembered wanting to be an ice skater, a singer, an archeologist. She couldn’t imagine a little girl dreaming of growing up and becoming a nun, but it wasn’t really her business.
“Well, it’s a worthy occupation. The kids will miss you when you go into full-time religious service.”
Angelina’s expression fell. “I’ll miss them too. But some nuns teach in parochial schools. I’m hoping someday to do that—when my religious order says it’s time.”
“Speaking of time… I’d better get going. I need to catch the nine a.m. ferry out of Point Judith.”
“Hope you brought along some Dramamine,” Angelina said, holding her stomach in an imitation of motion sickness. “The water’s probably choppy as heck today.”
Cinda laughed. “I’ve got an iron stomach. See you later. Have a good day.”
“You too, Miss Brown.”
Nine
Luxury Waterfront Accommodations
Cinda lied.
Well, she’d thought she was telling the truth at the time, but the “iron stomach” turned out to be made of something far more malleable and prone to nausea.
Though she’d never had an issue on the ferry before, the waters of the Block Island Sound were putting on a rock-and-roll show during the hour and a half trip from the port at Pt. Judith to downtown Old Harbor on Block Island. There were a few moments Cinda truly feared she’d lose what little breakfast she’d had time to eat that morning.
As she debarked along with a surprisingly small number of other passengers, the ferry’s captain gave her a friendly smile. “Have a nice long weekend and stay safe.”
“Oh, I’m not staying over. I’m heading back home today.”
His thick gray brows creased in concern. “The meteorologist at Right Weather is saying it’
s gonna be some pretty rough seas come afternoon.”
“Those weren’t rough seas?”
He chuckled. “It gets much worse, believe me. If you’re planning to head back to the mainland today, best catch one of the earlier runs. If the wind picks up too much, they’ll cancel us for safety’s sake.”
“Do you think I’ll be okay catching the three p.m.?”
The man looked up and around, as if the answer might be written in the gathering clouds.
“Most likely. Two p.m. would be a safer bet though.”
“Okay, thank you.”
Cinda hurried down the gangway and started looking for a taxi. She’d been planning to walk to the address Alex had given her, but now she felt the time pressure more keenly.
Several cabs waited near the terminal, and she climbed into the back of one, giving the driver the address of the Wessex cottage.
There was no traffic to speak of. Though fall was normally a beautiful time to be in New England, it was well past peak tourist season here on the island.
Many of the restaurants in town and all the hotels they passed displayed signs that read: “Closed for the season. Thank you for your business.” One was painted with a palm tree motif and said, “Gone to Florida.”
Once Cinda had gone out to the island for the day with Kristal, having lunch on the front porch restaurant of a charming inn.
Their waiter had explained the inns and restaurants on Block Island frequently hired seasonal workers from western Europe and even Russia and Australia. The young workers would spend the summer there and then travel down south to work during the winter months.
Cinda wondered briefly what the Wessexes planned to do during their off-season visit to their home there—play Scrabble? Maybe that was what they wanted, peace and quiet and privacy. They’d have it in abundance at this location.
“You sure are dedicated to your job,” the driver said, smiling at her in the rearview mirror. “I saw your carry-all there. You a maid?”
Cinda smiled back at him. “Something like that. I’ve got a very demanding client who just couldn’t wait to have his toilets scrubbed.”
She couldn’t wait to deposit the obscene check someone had dropped off in her office’s mail slot yesterday afternoon. It was the only thing making her feel marginally better about this entire ridiculous escapade.
“Well, I hope it don’t take you long—not if you plan on going back today,” the cabbie said.
“Oh, I do. On the three o’clock ferry if not the two. I have a little boy. I need to get home this evening. It’s just a cottage,” she assured him.
The Wessex house was about two and a half miles out from the town center, high atop Mohegan Bluffs on a six-acre plot of land with sweeping views of the ocean.
As the car pulled down the drive and Cinda got a look at the classic New England wood-shingled structure itself, her heart sank in dismay.
The “cottage” was huge.
It had to be at least five thousand square feet. It would take her forever to get the place cleaned alone.
Well, she was getting on that afternoon ferry no matter what. She’d get done what she could get done, and if Mr. Alexander Wessex wanted to dock her pay for the unfinished job, he could just try it.
Thanking the cab driver, Cinda paid for the ride and asked him to be back at 1:30 to take her to the ferry terminal unless he heard otherwise from her beforehand.
She climbed the stairs to the home’s wraparound porch and used the key that had been delivered along with her paycheck to open the front door.
The interior of the house was beautiful, with plentiful windows admitting natural light and overlooking the sensational water views.
White slip-covered furniture and honey-toned wood floors grounded the classic beach house décor, but the tasteful art and modern kitchen with its professional grade appliances reminded her this was the vacation home of an immensely wealthy family.
Case in point, a spectacular transparent baby grand sat in front of one ocean-facing window wall.
Cinda recognized it as a Bluthner lucid piano. Owning one was a fantasy for most pianists. They were constructed of reinforced Lucite strong enough to support a small SUV but as fragile looking as Cinderella’s crystal slipper.
The instrument was at once ultra-modern and traditional, an unexpected contemporary touch in the classic interior.
It was obvious the piano—and the whole house—hadn’t been used in a long time. While perfectly neat, it was stale and dusty. Cinda had her work cut out for her.
Setting down her caddy of cleaning supplies, she took off her jacket and got busy.
As she moved from room to room, dusting and cleaning floors and changing sheets, the rain increased steadily. Its pattering on the roof and windows served as a constant reminder she needed to keep up her pace if she wanted to make that early ferry home.
By one-thirty, she was basically finished. There were a few baseboards she hadn’t gotten to, but she’d done her best in the time she had.
Gathering her things, she locked the door and stood on the porch waiting for the taxi to return.
It pulled into the driveway right on time, and she ran to it, climbing into the back seat, smiling at the driver. “Thank you so much for remembering.”
He didn’t return her smile. “I didn’t forget, but I have some bad news for you.”
“What is it?”
“The ferry has shut down service. All the other cab drivers went home to prepare for the storm. I’d be at my own house if I hadn’t promised to come back for you. Is there somewhere else I can take you? Maybe you’ve got a friend who lives here on the island?”
Cinda shook her head. “Are you absolutely certain the ferries aren’t running? The captain told me there would at least be a two p.m. run. I have to get back to the mainland today.”
“I can take you to the docks if you like, let you see for yourself.”
“Would you mind terribly? That way I can get a look at the hotels too and see if any of them are still open. I don’t know anyone I could stay with.”
The driver made his way down the steeply declining road toward the town center.
It was deserted when they reached it. Rain lashed across the street in waves, sheets of it blowing sideways in the high winds.
All the hotels were dark and obviously closed. As he’d said, there was a sign outside the ferry terminal announcing service had been suspended. Cinda’s heart dropped, and her mind scrambled for what to do next.
“Do you happen to know anyone who rents out rooms?” she asked the driver.
He turned around, sympathy evident on his face. “I’m afraid I don’t. I haven’t lived here for long. I’d invite you to stay with my family, but we’ve got four kids in a three-bedroom house. We don’t have a guest room or even a pull-out sofa. What about the house you were cleaning? It’s pretty big. Maybe they’ve got an extra room tonight?”
“Oh, I couldn’t stay there. I…” Her words drifted into silence as she considered it.
The house was empty. None of the Wessexes would be coming over to the island with the ferry service cancelled. She had the key. She could spend the night there, wash the sheets afterward, clean the bathroom again. It made sense.
Besides, it was Alex’s fault she was stuck there in the first place. He owed her a free stay in luxury waterfront accommodations.
“Okay, you’re right. Take me back there please. And I’m so sorry I made you get out in this awful weather for nothing. Your wife must be eager to have you home.”
“Oh yeah. She’s gonna hand me a honey-do list as soon as I walk in the door. It’ll just be a different kind of workday. That is, if we don’t lose power. You see any candles and matches up there in that big house?”
“I didn’t run across any matches, but there are some candles. I’m sure they must have matches or a candle lighter there somewhere in a kitchen drawer or something.”
He fished a cigarette lighter out of the car’s
center console and handed it back to her.
“Just in case. Give me a call after the storm, and I’ll take you back to the ferry—no charge.”
“You’re too kind. I couldn’t accept that. This is your job. But I will call you tomorrow when the storm ends.”
“Hate to tell you this, but it’s not gonna be tomorrow. Don’t know if you’ve ever ridden out a hurricane or tropical storm here on the island, but those ferries aren’t gonna be running until at least Friday.”
Two days? Here?
Cinda’s ire with Alexander Wessex was growing by the minute. “Okay, well thank you. See you soon.”
Pulling up the hood of her rain jacket, she got out of the back seat and made a dash for the porch. The wind at this point was so strong she felt like it was fighting her, trying to prevent her from getting into the house.
It had been hours since she’d checked the weather forecast. As soon as she got inside, she’d do that, gather up the candles, and then call Kristal and AJ and let them know what was going on—namely that she wouldn’t be coming home for a couple of days.
Ten
So Close and Still So Far
Earlier that day
Taxiing his jet from the Block Island airport’s single runway to the tarmac, Alex worked to calm his thundering heart and steady his shaking hands.
That had been by far the scariest flight of his life, and he’d made many.
He probably should have listened to the air traffic controller who’d advised him not to fly today. The Gulfstream—not a light aircraft—had been buffeted by high winds, and the rain and clouds had gotten so bad he’d had to rely on his instrumentation instead of his eyes for much of the flight.
There were a few moments when Alex had started to wonder if poor Cameron might wind up as heir to the throne after all.
But he’d made it. That was all that mattered now.
And very soon he’d finally have what he’d been craving since he’d first laid eyes on Cinda again—time with her. Uninterrupted time to talk, to listen, to finally find out what happened that night five years ago.