by Amelia Wilde
She was wrong.
I didn’t want to pin her down. I wanted to make something new with her, out of the base I’d already built. I wanted her to put her own spin on it. I had ideas for a gallery, for a studio—I had so many ideas. The only thing I wouldn’t budge on was Bliss.
My father spent too many years of his life building it, and I’d pitched in with my own two hands. Years in the office, years on the beach, and I wanted that for myself.
Leta didn’t.
She left me behind.
I turn around to make another trip down the beach at the same time a kayak bumps up onto the shore. Huck hops out and drags it farther up, and I run toward him, arriving just in time to stop the paddle from tumbling out of the boat and into the water.
He stands up and puts his hands on his hips, looking out over Ruby Bay.
“Hell of a lake,” he says.
I look at it—really look at it—for the first time all morning. There’s cloud cover, so the water is a silvery grey, but it still sings of home.
“Is that why you came back?” I ask him, trying to catch my breath. My lungs burn. I’ve been running for at least two hours.
“Yeah. That, and the guaranteed job. Unless, you know, you’ve fucked that up for all of us.”
I glare at him. “I don’t know if you’ve been back long enough to make that joke.”
“I’ve been back long enough to know you’re losing your mind.”
“I’m not losing my mind. I’m exercising.”
“I’ve been out in the kayak for almost an hour, and you’ve been here, running up and down the beach and scowling like somebody stabbed you in the back.”
“Nobody smiles when they’re running, Huck.”
“Nobody runs on the beach like that. It’s more of a Baywatch thing.” He imitates the movement and I can’t help but laugh, even though yes, there are several knives piercing my heart at this moment.
“Is that how Katie does it?” I ask.
“Touché. Two-fucking-che.”
I put my hands on my hips, the fatigue setting in fast now that I’ve stopped moving. It’s an awful, aching thing. I had plans to spend the day hunting down Asher, a task that should be easy given that he is our brother but will undoubtedly be very difficult because he’s always gone. “Things didn’t work out with Leta.” I tell this mostly to the sand.
“Shit.” Huck looks down at the sand with me. “I thought she moved here for you.”
This time, it’s a belly laugh that punches right through my sore abs. “Moved here for me? What gave you that idea?”
“I saw you walking with her one day. I was going up to look at some potential houses.” Huck makes a face. “I don’t know if I want to be tied down to a house here, though.”
“You should go talk to Leta about that. She knows exactly what you mean.”
“She’s got buyers’ remorse?”
“She inherited. The house at the club fell into her lap.” I huff a laugh. “She normally takes these things to be signs from the universe, but I guess she got a job offer. Not a job offer. A…partnership offer. From someone out in California.”
“Oh, please. Like the Internet doesn’t exist.”
I pick my head up and look at him. “What do you mean?”
“If she really liked you, she’d hang around. You can do partnerships with anyone, from anywhere.” Huck snorts. “Driver being out on the road all that time was such bullshit. You can pretty much do anything you need via email now. I don’t know how you guys all fail to understand this.”
“We understand it.”
Huck shoots me a skeptical look. “Sure you do.”
“I understand it.”
“Then why haven’t you set up a video call with Asher and all of us and whoever it is that gives us access to the trust stuff?”
“Because Asher won’t answer his phone, genius. I’m supposed to spend today tracking him down. So are you.”
“I’ve got boats,” Huck says.
“Right. Katie can’t handle it by herself.”
“It would be a dick move, to put myself on the schedule and then leave her hanging.” A smile quirks the corner of his mouth.
“Are you into her?”
“Are you into Leta?”
I look him in the eye. “I was.”
“Okay, then.”
“That’s not an answer.” The waves wash up beneath the kayak, tipping it from side to side.
“I never promised you an answer,” Huck says haughtily.
“Of course you didn’t.”
“Just stop her, man.”
“That’s what you kayaked over here to say? Just stop her? I don’t want to stop her. That’s what nobody gets. Even she doesn’t get that. I want her to be happy. Even if it fucking kills me.”
Huck looks at me in silence for several breaths. “That’s dope,” he says.
“God, don’t ever say that again.”
“True love,” he says.
“That’s worse.”
“I’ve got boats.” He hops back into the kayak and uses the paddle to push off. “Stop running like that, okay? You’re going to freak out the guests.”
18
Leta
The movers come early.
I called Margot Piazzi as soon as it was late enough in the day for it to be reasonable and I scheduled a meeting and then, fuck it, I hired a bunch of movers to pack up Mari’s things. I don’t need them shipped, just packed, so that whatever happens next can happen without a lot of drag from a home full of her things.
They come so early that I’m still wearing the bathrobe, and I have to run upstairs and get changed while they’re parking the truck in the driveway. Boxes included. What a deal.
The first thing out of the closet is the yellow jumpsuit Charlie sent. My heart skips a beat at the sight of it. I want something else—anything else—but the movers knock at the door and instead of digging for more clothes I put the damn thing on and go to face the day.
My carryon is packed.
I have a tote bag with some of Mari’s personal notebooks, the most promising ones, tucked inside. Reading material for the plane and something to give my mom.
I press the house keys into the first mover’s hand at the front door. “Give these to Charlie Bliss.”
His face lights up at the name. “Oh, I will. I thought Mr. Bliss might be here today. He’s always on the lookout for jobs.”
I turn a grimace into a smile. I did name-drop the Bliss brothers when I called to book the movers. No doubt that’s why they came so fast—and four of them. I’ve already put a generous tip into an envelope, and that’s the next thing that goes into his hand. “Thank you. Just…just be sure to lock up, and give those keys to Charlie. Do you need an address?”
“Nah, we’ve got it,” the guy says. “We’re here whenever there’s a move-in or move-out. They’re loyal, the brothers.”
“They are.”
I take one last look around at the living room.
I was supposed to spend two weeks holed up in this house, going through everything and making it into my own place. Or at least preparing it to sell. Now I’m leaving it a loose end. The thought doesn’t sit well, but when you get a sign like a call from Margot Piazzi, you take it.
Even if you have a terrible lump in your throat while you do it.
I go down the steps and load my things into my rental car. Can you blame me for looking down the street once, then again, to see if Charlie’s coming? No. Nobody can blame me for that. But the street is empty, except for a guy who looks a bit younger than Charlie striding purposefully up the street.
Oh—he’s coming to talk to me.
“Hey,” he calls, waving. “Are you Leta?”
“Yeah,” I call back. “Leta Quinn.”
He comes closer. “Huck Bliss.” We shake hands. I don’t think I’ve shaken this many hands in a single week since college. I haven’t done a lot of things this many times in a single week since
college.
“Huck. One of Charlie’s brothers. I think we met once, a long time ago.”
He squints at me. “I don’t remember, but honestly, it’s not because of you. It’s because I was a self-absorbed asshole in high school when my brothers were bringing their girlfriends around.”
“We only came the one time in college.”
“Oh, well, I would hardly have seen you then.” Huck grins. “Not to be gross. Charlie just…he usually has a schedule. A plan. Limited time, and all that.”
“Yeah. Limited time.”
“I just…” He rubs his hand across the back of his neck, the gesture so like Charlie that it almost brings me to my knees. “I wanted to say, don’t stay away too long. I don’t know what your plans are for this…” He waves at the house. “But you’ve got a good guy here waiting for you.”
A bitter laugh bubbles up and escapes. “He won’t be waiting for me this time. I don’t think you get to flee to California twice and get let off the hook for it.”
“I’m not super sure about that. It’s not really…I mean, he’d be pissed if he knew I was here, so I won’t go into his pathetic emotional state on the beach this morning, but—” He shuts his mouth and takes a deep breath. “I think if you ever came back, he’d want you to look him up. Or…do whatever else, since I’m pretty sure you know where he lives.”
“I do. That’s true. He’s got a nice place. In college, I imagined him living in a hotel room for the rest of his life, but that’s not how it turned out at all. This one time…”
No. As easy as it is to talk to one of Charlie’s brothers, I have a plane to catch.
“It was nice to meet you,” I say finally. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again sometime.”
“Maybe.” He gives me a cocky salute. “Have a good trip, Leta. I’ve got to get back on the water.”
The plane picks up speed on the runway, the acceleration pushing me back agains the seat. The main thing now is to survive takeoff. I read somewhere that most crashes happen on takeoff and landing, so that’s the part that freaks me out about air travel. Not so much being suspended thousands of feet above the earth in a tiny metal tube, though…that’s not great either.
My ears pop. I look out the window at New York tilting away beneath us. A week ago I was landing. A week ago, I ran into Charlie Bliss on the sidewalk. A week ago, a wild hope sprang up in me—a second chance!
Now it’s over.
There are no third chances.
I saw his face when I told him I was going to California. I saw that stupid, heartbreaking look on his smart, handsome face.
The plane levels out.
“We’ve now reached cruising altitude,” the flight attendant says over the intercom. “We’ll begin drink service momentarily.”
Now’s a good a time as any to check out Mari’s journals, though my chest goes tight and hot as I pull out the tote bag and pick one out at random. The red one, with gold.
Maybe I’ll find out what it meant by reading these—that last entry on her list by the door. Will is all it said. I’m assuming it was a reference to her actual will, which gave me the house.
The first page of the journal is blank. I flip to the second.
I don’t know, it begins. The whole thing could be a really fucking stupid mistake, but I miss him like crazy and I’ve only known him a week. It’s even more pathetic to be writing this in a journal like I’m thirteen years old. How long has it been since I kept one of these? Years and years, but I need to make up my mind. It can’t have been an accident that he’s the one who hit my rental downtown outside Bellissimo. Though it was actually an accident, ha. Oh, god. This is so stupid.
Next entry.
Will called tonight. I didn’t give in and text him first, even though I’ve been back in California almost thirty-six hours. I’ve thought about getting on a plane to go back so many times since I landed her, but that’s INSANE. Nobody moves across the country for a person they’ve never met. I still have work here, and my job is here. Not that I couldn’t move. I’ve been a psycho about saving for retirement to the point that…I could go early. I could, if I wanted to. Help me, journal, you’re my only hope.
Will was a person.
I miss the drink service entirely, because right here in my hands is the story of why my aunt bought a house in Ruby Bay. Why she bought an expensive house at the Bliss Resort. All of it is right here.
She fell in love with a man who ran into her parked car because was swerving to miss a dog. He didn’t want to give up his job at the local high school to move across the country. She didn’t want to give up her job and retire too early, but a year in, she caved. She bought the house. She’d vacation and summer there for five years, then they’d move in permanently.
She got one summer, then she got cancer.
I appear in the journal once or twice as her “only good niece or nephew,” which makes me feel great. But the rest breaks my heart wide open.
Last entry.
I have to make it through one last spring, and then it’s time to announce the big move. Everybody’s going to be shocked, but that’s okay. People need a little shock in their lives. I’m scared as shit to leave my job behind, but like my mom would say, it’s just a job. The rest is your life. I only wish this rash would go away. It doesn’t really itch—just obnoxious when I look in the mirror. I have an appointment with my dermatologist next week. Here’s hoping they can just laser it off, or whatever they do.
“Miss? Are you all right?”
It’s only then I feel the hot tears running down my cheeks.
“Yes,” I tell the flight attendant hoarsely. “Just a sad book.” I lift the journal so she can see, not that it makes any difference.
But it’s not just a book. It’s a sign.
19
Charlie
The moment Craig hands me the keys to Leta’s house, I’m done for.
I stare down at them for so long that he finally has to get my attention. “—anything else you need done?”
I looked back up at him, in his baseball cap and polo shirt, and could not for the life of me figure out what he was asking.
“Any other houses?” he presses. “I figured you were the one who was behind this. Nobody calls with Bliss business like you do.”
“We need a more powerful property manager,” I say.
Craig laughs like this is a hilarious joke. “Good one.”
“I actually have to go. Thanks for the keys.”
“No work, then?” He cranes his neck around my rapidly closing door.
“I’ll call you,” I shout, and then I’m tearing for the bedroom.
I need a backpack, I need some clothes, and I need my phone. Oh—and a charger. That’s it. That’s all I need.
And my wallet. I stop myself halfway down the stairs and go back for it. When Craig came by with the keys I was barely out of the shower from a crippling run. Every step up and down makes me hiss. It’s a blessing to be able to throw myself behind the wheel of the car and go.
The car, I discover, is actually a curse in disguise.
When I get to the airport thirty minutes away—the one with direct flights to California—every muscle in my legs and abs has seized up. I always thought stretching was bullshit. Maybe it’s not. I get out of the car, lock it, and hobble over to the ticketing desk.
Leta hasn’t been gone long.
She hates takeoff and landing, so she would have been on a direct flight. One of two direct flights from here to San Francisco—she told me once she always flies into and out of SFO—left thirty minutes ago. The second one leaves in another fifteen. If I can get on the ground before she leaves the airport, I’ll…
I don’t know what I’ll do. Hobble through the airport, I guess.
The man behind the counter takes a thousand years to charge my card and issue my ticket, and then it takes another millennium to get myself to security. Thank god I don’t have baggage.
Ha. That’s
hilarious. I have so much baggage it almost prevented me from saying what I should have said to her all along, which is: I love you. I miss you. I missed you every day, and I always hoped you come back to me. When you did come back I blew it.
I’m so in my head about it that when the flight attendant at the gate scans my ticket, I tell her I love her, too.
“Sweet,” she says, batting her eyelashes.
I get my ass into the seat. The plane gets my ass into the air.
All there is to do is wait.
In the air, I don’t know what to do with myself.
I don’t have a paperback shoved into the backpack. I don’t have anything but my phone, and this plane has no wifi—so I can’t even send a message to Leta on the ground, begging her not to leave the airport. I’m not even sure I’d want to send that message.
It basically leaves me three hours to waffle about whether I’m doing the right thing.
Getting on a plane to follow a woman to California seems romantic. If she hates me, she will not think it’s romantic. She’ll think I’m a fucking stalker. So I’ll have to approach carefully, when and if I do find her. The odds of running into her in the airport are slim. Then again, the odds of her running into me at Ruby Bay because her aunt bequeathed her a house that happened to be on my resort were astronomical. I browse through my phone as much as I can without running down the battery.
It’s a long fucking three hours.
On the ground, I can barely walk.
Huck was right—I shouldn’t have been running around like that, especially on the sand. I’m reduced to the slowest walk imaginable, a mincing caricature of a walk, so on the jetway I press myself as close to the side as possible to stay out of the way.
Despair sets in.
If I can’t walk very fast, how am I ever going to chase her out of here? She’s probably long gone anyway.