The Girls of Mischief Bay

by Susan Mallery

  A reasonable request, she told herself. Because there was nothing she could do about Char. Char wasn’t her business. He had Tabitha for that. A circumstance that was never going to change.

  There was no instant family here. No way for her to step in and play at belonging. Adam, Oliver, Char and Tabitha already were a family. They might live in different places, but they were a unit. They had a history. No matter what, for the rest of her life, she would never be a part of that. If she and Adam stayed together, she would always feel like in some ways, she was on the outside, looking in.

  She could make her own memories with the kids. She could love Adam, even marry him. But they would always be two separate circles with only a small area that intersected. A large part of who he was wouldn’t belong to her.

  “No,” he said firmly, grabbing both her hands this time. “Don’t do it, Shannon. Don’t disappear on me.”

  “I’m right here.”

  “You’re going away. I can feel it. I screwed up, okay? I’m going to make mistakes. But I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” she admitted. “But loving each other didn’t prevent the problem. It didn’t make things go easier with Char.”

  “She did some things wrong. We all did. That has to be something we can survive. I want to talk about it. I want to set up some strategies so this doesn’t happen again.”

  He held her gaze with his own. She could feel him willing her to understand. The thing was, she did understand. Even more than he did. Because she saw all the places where they could fail.

  “I’m not going away,” she told him, feeling her way as she spoke. “But I need to think this through. Your kids change things between us.”

  “For the better?” he asked hopefully.

  She pulled a hand free and touched his face. “I really want this to work.”

  “I really want to believe you.”

  She kissed him. The pressure of his mouth against hers felt good. Right. She did love him, but the kid thing confused her.

  “We’re new at this,” she said. “Give us some time to get better at it.”

  “I’m not worried about me running away. I’m worried about you.”

  “I won’t run.”

  “You promise?”

  “Yes.”

  She wasn’t going to run, but she, like him, was going to take a little time to figure out exactly what she wanted. Adam was a package deal. She couldn’t pick and choose the parts she liked. It was all or nothing.

  She had thought the only question mark was whether he would be willing to have another child, and what she would do if he said no. But there was more to it than that. And while in the past she’d been the kind of woman who simply went for it, now she knew there was more on the line. Care was required. Not just to protect Adam and his children, but to protect herself, as well.

  Twenty-Three

  Nicole was surprised to find her husband up and sipping coffee. Normally Eric was in bed long after she’d left for her morning classes, but for some reason today he was awake and sitting at the kitchen table.

  “Morning,” she said. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “It was late. I was going over the revised script with Jacob. He says we’re a go.”

  “That’s great. You must be excited. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.”

  She put her travel mug on the counter. She would fill it right before she left and drink it on the way to the studio. It was early—barely five thirty. She had ten minutes to eat her breakfast and pour her coffee. Then she had a ten-­minute drive to the studio and ten more minutes to get ready for class. One day she promised herself she would graduate to the place where she could live her life in fifteen-minute increments. Or even twenty.

  Ah, the dreams we dream, she thought with a chuckle.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  She got a Greek yogurt out of the refrigerator and sprinkled on some of her organic granola. “Just thinking about how I live my day. Speaking of which, what do you have going on now that you’ve finished with the script?”

  “Going back to the next one.”

  “Impressive dedication.”

  She told herself it was enough that they were having a conversation. That it didn’t matter that they could have been commuters, exchanging pleasantries about the weather, for all the depth in their conversation.

  “There’s a party next weekend,” he said. “I’d like you to go with me.”

  She walked over and sat across from him. “Really?” He hadn’t asked her to attend anything. This was progress, she thought happily. “I’d like that.”

  “I’m glad. It’s Saturday. Can you talk to Greta about working that night? Or get a sitter?”

  “Sure.”

  He smiled. “I’m glad you’re excited. This party is going to be so great. It’s all industry, so you’ll recognize some faces. You’ll need to act cool. No staring.”

  Her good mood had been like bubbles filling the spaces in her heart. A few of them popped.

  “Cool it is,” she said, determined to find the good in this moment. “So what kind of party? Cocktail? Meet and mingle?”

  The smile widened. “Both. There’s going to be a water bar. Can you believe it?”

  “A what?”

  “A water bar.” He stared at her like she was an idiot. “With water?”

  “Okay,” she said slowly. “That’s interesting.”

  “There will be different types of water, from all over the world. You can do a tasting.”

  Of water? This was why it was probably for the best that she’d never gotten famous. There was no way she would appreciate all the glorious things that went with it.

  “Sounds like fun.”

  He looked away. “You just don’t get it.”

  “Eric, come on. It’s water. But I’ll be excited if that makes you happy.”

  “Just don’t embarrass me.”

  “I’d never do that.”

  “You need to wear something nice. Not like how you usually dress. I hope you can manage that.” He stood and walked out of the kitchen.

  She rose as well and tossed out her yogurt, then filled her to-go mug and walked out of the house.

  * * *

  Pam stood in front of the ship terminal, waiting for her turn to register, or whatever it was called, before she could get on the ship. She’d arrived in Fort Lauderdale the evening before and after she’d collected her luggage, she’d been met by an older woman with a Princess Cruises clipboard.

  More people had joined them and they’d eventually been whisked to a nice hotel. This morning she’d had a tour of the town and then been taken to the terminal.

  While she and John had vacationed, they’d never taken a cruise. She’d underestimated how incredibly large the ships were. The Caribbean Princess rose like a beautiful, gliding superbuilding. There were rows and rows of balconies and windows and what felt like an entire village of people trying to board within a few hours of each other.

  The line moved forward. She had her passport in hand. Her luggage was being handled for her, so she only had her carry-on bags. Around her happy couples and families laughed and talked. She didn’t see anyone else who was alone. She was the only one.

  For a second she thought about turning back. She still could. She could get a cab back to the airport and then buy a ticket home. She could figure out the luggage problem later. She could return to her life an
d go on, hoping one day she would heal. Or at least be able to breathe without feeling that she was being ripped apart by grief.

  Behind her a man laughed. The sound was so familiar, so wonderful, she turned. John! There’d been a miracle. A reprieve. A—

  Her gaze settled on an older couple. The man was short and heavy, with dark hair and glasses. He laughed again. Pain squeezed her heart in a vicious grip that would never let go. She faced front and moved forward a few steps.

  This was the answer, she reminded herself. Only a few more days and she was never going to hurt again.

  The lines moved quickly. Check-in turned out to be a template of efficiency. She handed over her credit card for any additional charges, got her room key and a map, then paused to get her picture taken with several other happy people.

  Proof, she told herself as she smiled broadly. Proof she’d been here, proof she was excited. Later, her children would see that picture and tell themselves that she’d been having fun. They would be fooled and that was the greatest kindness she could give them.

  Even as the thought formed, a small, quiet voice whispered the greatest kindness might be to return home. To slog through the swamp that was her life without John. To be a mother and grandmother. To go when it was her time.

  She shook her head and walked more quickly toward the ship. She’d made up her mind. She wasn’t going to change it now.

  * * *

  John had booked them into a minisuite. Pam explored the efficient and comfortable space. There was a bathroom and nice-size closet, a king-size bed and beyond that a small desk and a sofa. She opened the door that led to the balcony and stepped into the warm, tropical air.

  She lived in Southern California, only a few blocks from the beach. Yet somehow being on the water in Florida was completely different. Something to do with the more shallow water, she thought. Or just one of those things that nonscientific types couldn’t explain.

  She went back inside and quickly unpacked. There was a schedule of events for the evening, and information about their first stop at Princess Cays in the Bahamas, the next day.

  She scanned what there was to do that night and decided she would go to the welcome reception and the live entertainment. In the meantime, there was a ship to explore.

  Pam took her handbag with her and tucked the ship’s map in the back pocket of her white cropped pants. She walked along the narrow passageway until she found her way to a bank of elevators.

  She went down to the sixth floor—Plaza Deck. People filled the open space. She circled around the elevators and found herself in a huge atrium that went up several stories. There was a woman playing piano, a small café, a bar, a wine bar and a gallery with paintings and sculptures.

  She wandered around, smiling and nodding as she explored. A display of pastries caught her attention.

  “The éclairs are heavenly,” an older woman said, then wiped her mouth with a small napkin. “I’ve already had two.”

  “Okay, then. Éclairs it is.” Pam nodded at the young woman behind the counter. “An éclair.”

  She put it on a small plate and handed it to Pam. “Anything else?”

  “I think this is plenty to ruin my dinner.”

  Pam paused a second, expecting the server to ask for money, then remembered that she was on a cruise. Nearly everything was included. She took a bite of the éclair and savored the sweet flavors. The crispy lightness of the pastry, along with the sweet, creamy filling, all surrounded by a whisper of chocolate.

  Definitely something to have again, she thought.

  She went up a couple of decks and did some window shopping. A sign said the shops would open after the ship sailed. She noted several familiar cosmetic brands and some jewelry that looked interesting. She would make sure to get everyone a souvenir, she thought. Her things would be returned to her family. Which made her think she had to make sure to send chatty emails over the next few days. Happy notes so her children would think she was having a great time.

  She went back to the elevator, then up to Deck 16, the Sun Deck. She stepped into a party in progress. As the ship pulled away, live music played and people cheered. Pam sipped a tropical Mai Tai and smiled until her face hurt.

  The sun was warm, the breeze gentle and all around her people laughed and waved and talked about the start of their vacation of a lifetime. Pam tried to join in. She spoke for a few minutes to a young couple from Great Britain and reunited an overly excited toddler with his mother. But it all seemed to happen from a great distance. She was there, but not there. As the moments ticked along, she felt her strength fading.

  The crowd was too much, she thought. The noise. All of it.

  She set her drink on an empty table, then hurried forward. She found a bank of elevators and took one down to her floor, then ran to her stateroom and ducked inside.

  The thick plastic covering that had protected the bedspread from her suitcase was gone. Her room had been tidied and on the table in front of the sofa was a beautiful arrangement of pink roses.

  Her legs started to give way. Pam had to hang on to the wall to stay upright. She staggered to the sofa and sank down, then reached for the card tucked into the flowers. Her fingers trembled as she opened the small envelope.

  Beautiful flowers for my beautiful bride. I love you more every day. J

  Not a message from the great beyond, she thought sadly. He would have ordered them when he booked the cruise. Because that was the kind of man he was.

  She touched one of the rose petals, then dropped her chin to her chest and gave in to the emotion. Missing him hurt, she thought as she cried. Being without him was torture.

  She collapsed onto her side and sobbed out her pain. Soon, she promised herself as she gasped for breath. Soon.

  * * *

  Nicole wasn’t sure which shocked her more. How much her dress had cost or how little there was to it. The style was beautiful—she could easily admit that. The Alexander McQueen pleated leaf crepe dress was the most beautiful thing she’d ever worn, and that included her wedding gown. The squared-off sweetheart neckline was cut low enough to be supersexy without showing too much. The dress itself was fitted to her hips, then flared out before it ended well above her knee. But the dress had cost over twenty-three hundred dollars! You could get a used car for that.

  She studied herself in the mirror for another second, before shrugging. Eric had rejected the first two dresses she’d brought home as not being special enough. He’d finally insisted on accompanying her to the store where she’d tried on over a dozen cocktail dresses until they’d settled on this one. When he’d gone to pay for it, she’d half expected to hear their credit card shriek in protest. Of course, when compared to what he’d been spending on clothes, the dress was completely reasonable. Which only went to show how their world had changed in the past few weeks.

  She picked up the tiny clutch and then joined Eric in the living room.

  Tyler smiled at her. “Mommy, you’re beautiful!”

  “Thank you, sweetie.”

  “I will have him in bed by eight,” Greta promised. “You do look lovely.”

  “Thanks.” Nicole turned to Eric. “Ready?”

  “Uh-huh. Let’s go.”

  She hugged Tyler and then followed her husband out of the house. For a second, she thought about pleading a headache. Nothing about this party sounded appealing. But she’d promised to go. Besides, she and Eric needed some time together. Not just the
party, she thought. But after.

  Because they weren’t sure how late they were going to be, Greta was staying the night. Nicole had spent part of the afternoon tidying the guest bedroom and washing the sheets. She and Eric had booked a room at the Beverly Hills Hotel. They would be going there after the party. Their overnight bags were already in the trunk.

  She wondered about their sleeping arrangements that night. She and Eric hadn’t shared a bed in months. Obviously that was going to change. Would they make love, as well? She missed their intimacy, their connection. Maybe tonight would be when all that shifted back.

  They went directly to the hotel and checked in. Nicole kind of wanted to see the room, but Eric was anxious to get to the party.

  They drove through Beverly Hills. She lost track of where they were going, but Eric had been to the house before. It was owned by a friend of Jacob’s.

  They pulled into a wide, long driveway, flanked by open gates. A valet took their car and handed Eric a ticket. A second valet opened Nicole’s door for her.

  She got out and stared up at the three-story house. The style was Southern California Spanish, with a tiled roof and plenty of wrought iron. Floodlights illuminated the lush garden and the scent of night-blooming jasmine filled the air.

  “Ready?” Eric asked as he put his hand on the small of her back.

  She nodded.

  They went up the front steps and into the big, open two-story foyer. Music spilled from hidden speakers. Guests mingled and servers walked around with trays of appetizers and glasses of champagne.

  Everyone was above average in the looks department, she thought uneasily. Talk about a gathering of the beautiful people. She saw several stars from TV she recognized and a couple of members of One Direction. To the left, in the living room, she would swear Sandra Bullock was talking to Eric’s producer friend, Jacob.