The Girls of Mischief Bay

by Susan Mallery

  She understood the power of visualization. She’d been a dancer for years and knew that seeing the performance as she wanted it to be was vital to making it happen. But this seemed different. Or maybe she was simply being critical.

  She clicked the icon for his browser, then tried to log on to his email account. She was surprised when his old password still worked.

  His pending emails came up. She scanned the names of who had sent them and saw a lot of names she recognized. Names of people Eric had mentioned from his classes and critique groups. She opened a couple at random and they were all about writing. Comments about revisions he’d made or changes they were making in their own work.

  Relief mingled with confusion. So he wasn’t cheating. Or if he was, he was doing it brilliantly. So what exactly was going on?

  She closed the email and opened his Facebook page. The news feed loaded automatically—the password saved by the program. Which meant he wasn’t hiding anything there, either.

  Nicole didn’t bother scanning the posts or comments. She had access to them from her own account. Not that she spent much time on Facebook these days. She was too swamped with work.

  She logged out of everything. The computer returned to the main screen. She leaned back in the chair and stared at the pictures rotating through on the computer screen. Eric laughing between Cameron Diaz and Robert DeNiro. Eric with Steven Spielberg. Ridiculous images, yet ultimately harmless. And if they helped him focus on what he wanted most in life, then who was she to say anything?

  She logged off his computer without bothering to open the file for his screenplay. She’d offered to read it and he’d always said no. She wasn’t going to look at it behind his back. Which was a fascinating moral line to draw in the sand considering she’d just gone snooping on his computer.

  When the computer screen was dark, she stood and walked to the door, then turned and glanced back at the office itself. Sadness tightened her chest, even as resolve straightened her spine.

  Slowly but surely, they were drifting apart. The marriage she’d wanted was no more. As for this new version, she couldn’t say where it was going or even if they were on the journey together. She only knew that she hadn’t been the one to chart the course.

  * * *

  Latte-Da, a local coffee place by the Pacific Ocean Park, or POP, celebrated the arrival of spring with a big poster announcing they were now serving their homemade ice cream. It was the first Saturday after that illustrious event—the ice cream, not the changing of the season—and Shannon stood in line with Adam and his two kids.

  Adam frowned. “I don’t know, guys. It’s going to be a long wait. Maybe it’s not worth it.”

  Char—not Charlotte—as Shannon had been informed that morning, sighed. “Dad, it’s totally worth it. You always do this, and then you taste the ice cream and you get it.”

  “I want ice cream,” Oliver added.

  The adorable six-year-old leaned against Shannon and smiled winningly up at her. His small, pudgy hand was in hers. Shannon knew it was exceedingly shallow of her to have a favorite, but she couldn’t help it. Oliver was like a puppy. He couldn’t begin to hide his emotions and when it came to Shannon, he was smitten. Char, on the other hand, was a little wary. She was still friendly enough, but there was always a distance between them.

  No doubt the eight-year-old was protective of her mother and cautious about sharing her dad with another woman. Shannon could both understand and respect that. She wished she could simply take the girl aside and tell her she had no ill intentions. That she would never try to replace her mother. But assuming she could figure out how to say that, would Char even believe her?

  They moved up in line.

  Char looked up at her dad. “Did you talk to Mom about my birthday party?”

  “I did.”

  “And?”

  Instead of answering, he turned to Shannon. “My daughter is turning nine. She wants a…” He glanced down. “What is it called?”

  “A spa party.” Char’s face brightened with excitement. “It’s going to be at Epic. All my friends are having spa parties. They do mani-pedis.” She pressed her palms together and locked her fingers. “And there’s a new service called the skin care facial. We get a facial and they talk to us about how to take care of our skin. I’m dying for that.”

  Shannon thought about Tyler’s party with the bouncy fort and balloon animals. Boys, it seemed, were a little easier to entertain.

  “Do you even know what a mani-pedi is?” Adam asked, his tone rueful.

  “A manicure and pedicure,” his daughter informed him. “Everybody knows that.”

  “Do they.” He ruffled her hair. “You’re growing up too fast.”

  Char’s impatient look said it was all happening too slowly. Shannon wished there was a way to explain that she really needed to enjoy being a kid while she could. That once adulthood was reached, there was no going back.

  “Are you going to talk to Mom?” Char asked.

  “I will.” He looked at Shannon. “I have Char for her birthday weekend this year, so I’m in charge of the party. There will be ten girls and a day to fill.”

  “I know the spa she’s talking about,” Shannon told him. “It’s not too far from my office. Want me to check it out this week?”

  “You wouldn’t mind?” he asked.

  “That would be so great!” Char said, interrupting them. “Two of my friends have had parties there but not the skin care facial. Can you ask about that, please? It would be the best.”

  Shannon nodded. “I don’t mind. I’ve seen the, ah, parties they do.” She had almost added the word kids to the sentence. Fortunately she’d stopped herself. She had a feeling Char didn’t see herself as being a child. “There’s usually food and cupcakes. It might be one-stop shopping, on the party front.”

  “And you wouldn’t have to be there,” Char added, beaming at her father.

  “But it’s your birthday. I want to be there.”

  Char’s brown eyes widened in horror. “Da-ad.”

  “I want to go, too,” Oliver said, smiling at Shannon. “Are you going to be there?”

  Adam’s phone chirped. He grabbed it. “This may be work.”

  Shannon tried not to smile at the pleading tone in his voice. She had a feeling he was hoping for some kind of emergency so he could have something other than Char’s party to talk about.

  “It’s Grandma,” he said as he glanced at his screen. “We’re still on for dinner tonight and…” He looked at Shannon, then away. “Some other stuff.”

  “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  The word sounded right, but Adam didn’t look at her as he put his phone back in his pocket.

  The line moved again and they were nearly at the front.

  “What kind of ice cream do you like?” Oliver asked her.

  “I like the fresh strawberry. What about you?”

  “Chocolate. You can share mine.”

  “That’s so sweet. Thank you.”

  His hand in hers was reassuring, even if everyone else in the family was acting weird.

  They got to the front of the line and placed their orders. Adam asked for two empty cups to go with their cones, then they found an empty picnic table by the carousel. Shannon quickly discovered that Oliver could make a mess faster than she thought possible. In about three licks, he had ice cream all over his face. Thirty seconds later, the scoop was tottering prec
ariously. Adam moved the empty cup into place and caught the scoop as it fell.

  “You’ve done this before,” she said with a laugh.

  “I have.” He whipped a spoon out of his front shirt pocket and handed it to his son.

  As she studied father and son together, she felt a twinge of something in her chest. Longing, she thought. Need. Not so much her biological clock as a sense of possibility. For so long she’d told herself she couldn’t have it all. That the men she met were intimidated by her career, or if they weren’t, they also weren’t anything close to father material.

  But Adam was different. He admired her success, thought she was beautiful and sexy, and he was the kind of man she would want to have kids with. When she was with him, she dared to hope that this could be real. That finally she’d found the one.

  “I don’t need a cup,” Char said proudly.

  “You obviously don’t.” Shannon put her hand on Oliver’s shoulder. It couldn’t have been easy to be Char’s baby brother, she thought. But he seemed to be handling it well.

  After finishing the ice cream, Adam suggested the kids ride the carousel before they all walked over to the aquarium. When they were both in place and the music had started, he stepped back to stand next to Shannon.

  “My mother texted me,” he began, his gaze locked on Oliver.

  “You mentioned that.”

  “Easter’s coming up. It’s a big thing in my family. I don’t have the kids. Tabitha’s taking them over spring break to visit her folks in Arizona. It’s her week, so that works.”

  She couldn’t figure out what the problem was. He still wouldn’t look at her and he seemed to be shifting from foot to foot.

  “It’s okay to tell me you’re going to be with your family for Easter,” she murmured.

  He swung around to face her. “My mom would like you to be there, too.”

  “Oh.” Talk about unexpected.

  “It’s the fifth,” he added, speaking quickly. “We have a big dinner and everyone is there. Siblings, in-laws, grandkids. It’s big and loud and you’ll be asked a lot of questions. Personal questions. Members of my family don’t always filter well.”

  Understanding dawned. She tucked her arm around the crook of his elbow. “I get it. You’re afraid they’ll scare me off.”

  “No. I’m terrified. My family can be overwhelming. The more they like you, the less they worry about being strange. And trust me, they’re going to like you a lot.” He closed his eyes and winced. “My dad is going to want to talk about how good you look, while my mom will be so impressed by your job. It’s going to be one long, humiliating lovefest.”

  “Sounds like fun. The only thing I can’t figure out is if you want me to be there or if you don’t.”

  “Oh, I want you to be there. I’m also concerned about the consequences.”

  She grinned. “What if I promise that no matter what happens, I’ll see you at least one more time?”

  He wasn’t smiling as he looked at her. “I need you to swear that whatever happens, you won’t break up with me. I like you, Shannon. A lot. I don’t want that to change because of my family.”

  His words warmed her in places that hadn’t been warm in a very long time. This wasn’t about sex, it was about connecting. It was about caring and wanting to be with her. Adam was a conventional man. Taking a woman home to meet his family was an important step. And not one he would take lightly.

  She stepped in front of him and took both his hands in hers. “Whatever happens with your family, I will still like you,” she promised. “I swear.”

  “I don’t want to lose you.”

  “You won’t.”

  He lightly kissed her mouth. “Okay, then. It’s a date.”

  Fourteen

  Pam parked in the lot for The Original Seafood Restaurant. She felt vaguely guilty as she got out of her SUV. She and John never ate here. They were firmly Team Pescadores.

  There were dozens of restaurant choices in town, but only two upscale seafood restaurants. The Original Seafood Restaurant and Pescadores. The story went that back in the day, The Original Seafood Restaurant had been started by two friends who had known each other from birth. Their fathers had been fishermen together, they lived on the same block and they’d always known they wanted to go into business together. And they had—opening their restaurant nearly twenty-five years ago.

  Everything had been fine. They’d been an overnight success, had married and started their families. Then something had happened. No one knew what, although there were whispers of an affair. One day the restaurant had been open, the next it was closed—the partnership dissolved.

  Everyone thought that was the end of it. The building had stood empty for months. Then one day, just down the street, Pescadores had opened. Nearly the same menu, certainly the same excellent quality. Locals had been thrilled and had flocked to the place. Six months later, The Original Seafood Restaurant had been back in business.

  Residents had been torn. Who to support? Could you go to both? Discussions were heated. Some families were torn apart by the tussle. For Pam, the decision had been easy. John was friends with the owner of Pescadores, so that was where they ate. She couldn’t remember being inside the rival restaurant even once in the past fifteen years.

  That was all about to change.

  She walked into the building and found two forty­something women waiting in the open foyer.

  “Hello, Pam,” Bea Gentry said warmly and shook her hand. She was a petite woman with graying hair and warm, blue eyes. “Thank you so much for coming today. This is my friend Violet.”

  Violet was a tall, willowy blonde. Pam shook hands with the other woman, all the while wondering what on earth they could want with her. She’d known Bea back in the day, through various sports events at the high school. Brandon, her youngest, had been friends with Bea’s oldest. The two women had spent long hours on hard benches watching baseball games. But they hadn’t spoken in several years. The invitation to lunch had come out of the blue.

  They wore pants, shirts and jackets. Business casual in Mischief Bay. Pam had been nervous enough to eschew her usual jeans or cropped pants in favor of a simple green dress with a black blazer and low-heeled pumps. Looking at the well-groomed women as they walked to their table, she was grateful she’d taken a little extra time with her makeup.

  After they were seated, there was plenty of friendly chitchat. Violet mentioned the annual wheelbarrow auctions were coming up.

  Back in the late 1800s, when the town had been founded, the police had often transported drunks and criminals to jail in wheelbarrows. Over the years, several of the old pieces had been found and saved. They’d become something of a point of pride in the town. Now new and restored wheelbarrows were placed all around—in front of businesses, in parks. They were decorated. Some were used as planters, others had been converted into outdoor seating.

  While the wheelbarrows were owned by the city, every year the rights to them—to decorate, name or brag about—were auctioned off. Proceeds went to everything from refurbishing older buildings to bringing the carousel to the POP. Pam and John had “bought” a wheelbarrow a few times.

  “The proceeds this year are going to spruce up The Barkwalk,” Violet was saying. “There are a couple of lots coming available on the east side. If they can raise the money, they want to buy the lots, tear down the houses and expand the park.”

  The Barkwalk was the town’s dog park. The space was long and
skinny—it started on the beach, then headed inland. “I’d heard that, too,” Pam said. “They want to put in an area for smaller dogs and puppies.”

  “A worthy cause.” Bea smiled at Pam. “But not why we asked you out to lunch. You must be wondering.”

  “I am,” she admitted.

  “Then let me explain it all to you.” She smiled at her friend, then turned her attention back to Pam. “Violet and I are part of a group called Moving Women Forward. We’re based here in town. Our group is an angel network.”

  “In the business sense, I assume,” Pam murmured.

  They both smiled. “Exactly.”

  Pam knew about different kinds of funding for start-ups. An entrepreneur could have his or her own funding, get it from family and friends, get a small business loan or even approach a bank. There were also angel funds. Often they were grants or small loans given when the entrepreneur needed them most. An angel fund helped a company get to the next level.

  Bea smiled. “We work with women who are starting businesses or have one that’s a couple of years old. We provide funding but also mentoring. We’re careful about who we take on, but once we’ve made a commitment to a business, we’re all in. We’ll discuss anything from a business plan to marketing ideas to how to hire and fire. We become a silent partner, in a way. Our success rate is impressive. We’ve made a difference and we want to keep on doing that.”

  Pam glanced between them. “I don’t have a business.”

  “We know. We want you to join us as an angel.”

  Pam couldn’t have been more surprised. “What? I don’t have any experience. I don’t know how to write a business plan.” She held up her hand. “I never went to college. Not seriously. I took a few classes here and there, but I never got my degree. I’m in no way qualified.”

  “You’re exactly who we need,” Bea told her. “You worked with John for over a decade. You juggled children and helped your husband grow his business.”