Hidden Hills

by Jannette Spann

  She collided with a broad male chest.

  As her phone clattered to the ground and the extra-hot latte splashed onto her hand and down the front of the man’s plaid flannel shirt, everything hit at once: the hundred grand she owed, being dropped by her publisher, idiots who didn’t understand her grief, the humiliation of spilling coffee all over a perfect stranger. She burst into tears.

  “Hey, Claire, it’s okay. It’s just a shirt.”

  Something in the timbre of the soothing voice was recognizable, but that was all that registered. As much as she hated to cry in front of anyone else, she simply could not hold back the tears.

  “Look, Claire. It’s really okay.”

  “N-no… it’s no-o-ot…” Her face dripped and her breath came in short huffs and puffs, barely supplying oxygen between her sobs.

  “My place is right down there.” An arm gestured toward the harbor, but her vision was too blurred to see anything else. “Come with me.”

  She felt herself being gently pulled down the street. That got her attention. Whoever this man was, he was not taking her to his place. She locked her knees and pulled away.

  “Stop!” Yanking her arm free, she brushed her sleeve across her eyes, drying them somewhat. She tilted her head back to take a good look at the man and gasped.

  She was staring into the face of the man responsible for her misery.

  The shock of the realization took any words from Claire. She simply continued to stare. Adam Lambright. The last year had added lines around his eyes and salted his brown hair with gray, and the day-old growth of beard did nothing to hide the tense set of his mouth. Her brows came together. Why was she analyzing this man’s looks when she should be nurturing her hatred?

  A searing pain drew her attention from his face to her hand. It had turned an angry shade of red.

  “That’s going to be a nasty burn if you don’t get something on it fast. I’ve got cold water and ointment on my boat.” He gestured down the nearby dock.

  Still in shock, she didn’t resist when he took her elbow and escorted her to a sleek motorboat. He confidently stepped onto the small back deck then put out a hand to assist her aboard. He opened the door to the cabin and gestured for her to go before him, cautioning her with a “Watch your head.”

  She ducked and headed down the short steps to a cozy sitting area and galley.

  “Have a seat.” He pointed to a built-in eating area. She sat, knowing her wet jeans would leave a big ol’ wet spot on the cushion. Good.

  Adam grabbed a bottle of water from a small refrigerator and poured it into a bowl. He placed it on the table in front of her.

  “Put your hand in that. I’ll get some ointment. Oh, and here. You dropped this.” He pulled her phone out of his jeans pocket and set it on the table then headed through another small door that she suspected led to a sleeping area. She slowly lowered her hand into the cold water, sighing at the immediate relief from pain. She looked down at her phone, still damp from its fall. At least the screen hadn’t cracked. She unzipped her fleece with her free hand and wiped the phone on the dry shirt underneath then set it on the table.

  While her hand soaked, Claire looked around the compact space, noting the slightly-dated upholstery, the neatly-stacked pilot magazines, the tidy galley.

  Not a single sign of Jen. But then, Claire knew how painful memories of a loved one could be.

  Thanks to Adam.

  She yanked her hand from the water, noting the immediate return of pain, and stood to leave. Adam entered at that moment wearing a dry shirt and carrying a small tube. He grabbed a cotton towel hanging from the tiny oven door and held out his hand.

  “Let me see your hand.” It wasn’t a request.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Don’t be stubborn. This will help.” He held up the tube of burn ointment.

  She huffed and retook her seat, holding out her hand for him. He sat across the table from her and took her hand gently, blotting it dry with the towel. Then he unscrewed the cap off the tube and gently rubbed the ointment onto the burn. It felt good. Well, the ointment did, anyway. The brush of his thumb, the way he tenderly held her hand, that was… incredibly awkward.

  She wished he wouldn’t be so annoyingly kind.

  She searched for something to say to break the uncomfortable silence. “When did you get a boat?” It was the first neutral topic she could think of.

  “’Bout a year ago. I still have the house, but there are too many memories there.”

  Neutral. Right.

  “They're brutal, aren’t they?” she said. “But, I live on them, too.” And her chin started to wobble.

  He noticed, and alarm crossed his features. He stopped rubbing the ointment. “Am I hurting you?”

  She shook her head, but the wobble persisted. The ends of her mouth pulled down, as if magnetized. Her eyes filled. And overflowed.

  He seemed truly concerned now. “What’s wrong, Claire?”

  “Ev…ery…thing.” She couldn’t stop the tears — blast it — and she spilled the whole story. She must have blubbered for a full ten minutes, at least. At some point, a box of tissues appeared before her. Eventually, she had nothing more to say, and her world came back into focus. There was a mountain of used tissues on the table in front of her. And he stood there, leaning against the galley counter, his arms crossed, watching her.

  How in the world had she come to this? Crying out her woes to Adam Lambright, of all people?

  “I gotta go.” She bolted from her seat and up the stairs to the deck, forgetting to duck on her way up.

  “Ow!” Her head smacked into the roof of the boat. The headache was instant, but she didn’t slow down.

  He followed her onto the deck. “Why don’t you let me give you a ride home?”

  “I can walk.”

  He rushed to her side to help navigate the rather large step from the boat to the dock. She didn’t slow and would have tripped, if he hadn’t grabbed her arm just in time.

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She paused, not meeting his eyes. “Thanks for… the ointment.”

  Head throbbing every step of the way, she strode briskly up the dock, hoping to never again lay eyes on the man responsible for her husband's death.

  ****

  Pounding on the door woke Claire from a deep slumber. She covered her head with her pillow, but that wasn’t enough to obliterate the sound. With a groan she rolled over and looked at her bedside clock. 8:45 a.m. Too early for someone to be visiting, in her opinion. She flipped onto her stomach and put the pillow over her head.

  Two minutes later it was ripped out of her hands. “I know where you hide your key.”

  “Go away, Kori. I’m not in the mood.”

  “That’s no way to talk to your best friend.”

  Claire heard the sound of blinds being raised and sensed the room lightening. “Let any more light into this room and you’ll lose the best friend title to Vivian.”

  She heard a soft chuckle then more blinds rising. “I’m not worried.”

  “Have some mercy.” But she knew her days of wallowing were over. This time. Kori was nothing if not persistent. Claire turned and sat up, her eyes squinting momentarily against the gray light.

  Kori stood there, a ring on every finger as usual, but those fingers were curled into fists at her hips. “You avoided my calls all day yesterday, and you weren’t at breakfast this morning.” Claire, Kori, and two other friends made up the “Breakfast Bettys” who met for breakfast every Thursday. It was rare that anyone missed. “What’s wrong?”

  Claire groaned. “It’s a long story. I need coffee.”

  Kori grabbed Claire's arm. “Fine. Let’s go to the kitchen.”

  “You don’t have to pull me out of bed. I’m coming.”

  When they got to the kitchen, Kori pointed to a stool at the counter. “I’ll make coffee. You sit and spill.”

  “Boy, you’re demanding.” But she didn’
t mind, too much. She had been holed up too long. It was nice to have a friend come in and take charge. She watched as Kori got the beans from the refrigerator and loaded them into the grinder, her rings clinking together as she worked.

  “Anytime, now.”

  Claire sighed. “I’m just deciding what to tell first. How my publisher dropped me? The hundred thousand dollar advance they want back? The last-ditch effort to save my career in London? Or, how I humiliated myself in front of Adam Lambright?”

  Kori finished prepping the coffee maker and flipped the “on” switch. “Girl, no wonder you’ve been holed up.” She settled on a stool next to Claire. “Just start at the beginning.”

  A half hour and two cups of coffee later, Claire felt mildly better. They hadn’t solved any of her problems, but Kori’s optimism was contagious. She’d grasped onto the London trip as the perfect thing to get Claire out of her funk. “First of all, it sounds like you have no choice in the matter, so what’s the point of fighting it? Second, maybe a change of scenery is just what you need to break through your writer’s block.”

  “Maybe.” It was the best she was willing to concede at the moment. But, maybe Kori had a point.

  A knock sounded at the front door.

  “Are you expecting someone?” Kori asked.

  “No.” Claire padded to the front hallway, her slippers flapping on the bamboo floors. She froze when she got to the entry and saw who was standing on the other side of her glass-paned door. He was looking out over the front lawn, his back turned to her. She quickly retraced her steps back around the corner out of sight. “Oh, my goodness.”

  “Who is it?”

  She looked at Kori, eyes round. “It’s Adam.”

  Kori’s eyebrows rose. “Well, aren’t you going to answer it?”

  “I don’t know. What’s he doing here?”

  “Open the door and find out.”

  “I don’t want to see him.”

  “So, you had a little breakdown in front of him. Who cares?”

  “That’s not why and you know it.”

  “Claire… it was an accident.”

  Claire clenched her jaw. She didn’t want to talk about it. A different argument was needed. Looking down, she registered the ratty sweatshirt and pants she'd been wearing for two days. They smelled of old perfume and yesterday's burnt grilled cheese. “I’m not dressed.”

  “You’re fine. He won’t care. Open the door.”

  With a dramatic sigh, Claire stomped to the door, threw it open, and greeted Adam with a scowl.

  “Hey.” He glanced over her shoulder. “Hi, Kori.”

  “Hi, Adam. Nice to see you. Come on in.” Kori walked to the door, grabbed the handle from Claire, and opened it wider. Claire glowered at Kori, who responded with wide, innocent eyes.

  Claire was left with two choices: invite Adam in or look like a jerk. “Yeah. Come on in.” The invitation was half-hearted, at best. Okay, so she looked like half a jerk.

  “We were just having some coffee. I’ll get you a cup,” Kori offered over her shoulder as she practically raced to the kitchen.

  Claire closed the door behind Adam and turned to see him watching her. Their eyes locked for a moment in mutual suspicion. Well, it was suspicion on her part. What was he doing here anyway? He wasn’t welcome in her home anymore.

  She wasn’t sure what she read in his eyes.

  “Coffee’s this way.” She broke eye contact and led him into the kitchen, suddenly conscious of how big her butt always looked in her favorite baggy sweats. As soon as she reached the kitchen, she tucked it out of sight by plopping onto a stool.

  “Cream or sugar?” Kori set a steaming mug on the counter in front of Adam.

  “Just black.” He picked up the mug and took a sip. “Thanks.”

  He reached into his pocket and set a cell phone on the counter in front of Claire. “I found this on the boat last night.”

  “Oh. Right.” So she had left her phone on the boat. That’s what she’d figured when she couldn’t find it, but she wasn’t about to track him down and ask. She picked it up, checked the battery, and immediately rose to set it in its charger. “Um, thanks.”

  She grabbed her mug and forced another sip of coffee. Adam did the same, aimlessly looking around her kitchen, the corners of his mouth drawn down. Claire suddenly remembered the last time he’d been in her home. The day he’d come to pick up his friend for a motorcycle ride. She shoved the thought away.

  “So… is that all you wanted? To return my phone?”

  “No.”

  Puzzled, she raised an eyebrow.

  He set his cup down. “I mean, yes. I should—”

  “Don’t leave,” Kori interrupted, gesturing to a vacant stool. “Finish your coffee and tell me what you’ve been up to. I haven’t seen you in ages. How are the kids?”

  He sat, but stayed on the edge of his seat as if he would bolt any moment.

  “Scott’s good. Taking a break from school and working the music scene in Seattle. He’s actually gotten really good.” Claire recognized the parental pride in his face as he discussed his son.

  “What’s he play, again?” Kori asked. “Clarinet?”

  “Sax. He’s got his own jazz band and he sits in with a few other bands too.”

  “Good for him. And what about Summer?”

  “She’s great. Working for an architect downtown. And…” Claire noticed a slight cringe, “…she just moved in with her boyfriend of two years.”

  “And you don’t like that?” Claire asked.

  “I don’t have much say in the matter. She’s twenty-three, after all.”

  “I forgot she’s three years older than Anna.”

  “Yep. Anna and Scott are the same age.”

  “Right.” It felt like another life, back when the kids hung out together and their families were so close. Back when her husband and daughter were home and the house wasn’t so lonely.

  “Well, the kids all stay in touch. I see that whole group chatting on social media sometimes,” he said.

  Adam shifted on his stool. He hadn’t smiled the whole time he’d been there. Claire thought back to the times he and Mark used to spend together. Sure, they’d had their serious moments, but they were always laughing and thinking up some new adventure for the families. Back before Jen had gotten sick. And then Mark… Her memory of Adam was very different from the stiff man in front of her today. She sighed. He’d had his share of loss as well.

  “Are you still flying? I didn’t get to ask the other day.” A sudden image of herself blubbering all over his boat lit the fire in her cheeks again. If he noticed, he was tactful enough not to show it.

  “Yeah, still flying. In fact, last night I got a call from an old Air Force buddy who wants me to take over his charter tours for the summer. That’s kind of why I’m here. Well, that and your phone.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He runs a tour out of London. His wife, who’s English, works for an oil company. She’s being sent to work in Dubai for several months, so I’m going to live in his flat this summer and run his business so he can go with her.”

  “What’s that got to do with me?”

  He fiddled with his coffee mug and stared at the remaining contents. “The flat. It’s in London. Your book tour.” He looked up. She stared at him, uncomprehending. “It’s a two-room flat. You could stay there.” He buried his focus back in his coffee.

  Holy cow. Was he actually offering for her to stay in London? With him? Ha! It would be a cold day down below before she’d—

  “That’s perfect!” Kori squealed, causing both her and Adam to jump. She swiveled Claire to face her and placed a hand on each shoulder as if she were explaining to a small child. “You need to go to London. You know you do. Your career depends on it. Adam is offering you a free place to stay…” At this she turned to look at Adam, who nodded his head in agreement. “…for as long as you need. And you could start writing again.”

 
Claire’s head started shaking before Kori even finished. “But, Anna will be home this summer.”

  “Anna’s an adult. And you know Vivian and I will keep an eye on her.”

  She wished Kori wouldn’t be quite so enthusiastic, as if there were no question that this was the answer she needed. She didn’t have the energy this morning to face so much conviction. Stealing a glance at Adam, she saw that even he looked hopeful. It was the most expression she’d seen on his face all morning. Did he really want to help her like this?

  “What’s in it for you?” she asked him.

  “Claire!”

  “Well, Kori, it’s a valid question.” She turned to look Adam squarely in the face. “Why would you even offer this?”

  He looked down at his hands, balled into fists, thumbs rubbing the knuckles. He stared at them a long time, probably figuring out how to make his reason sound good, whatever it was. There had to be something he got out of this — and he better not be thinking it was that! Surely even he wouldn’t stoop that low. He’d have to be pretty desperate to sleep with his best friend’s wife. Hmm. Maybe he needed someone to cook for him. But no, come to think of it, he and Mark had done most of the cooking for any dinner parties they’d had. House cleaning? Wouldn’t it be easier to hire a maid?

  He flexed his hands and met her eyes. “I just think Mark would’ve wanted me to look out for you.”

  Shoot.

  That one was harder to throw back in his face.

  ****

  Adam grabbed a beer from the small refrigerator in his boat and brought it out to the deck, collapsing into a canvas chair. It was cold outside, but the chair was comfortable and it felt good to sit and do nothing after a long day flying and doing paperwork for his business, San Juan Air Charters. The lights from town reflected on the surface of the water, offering a cheeriness that hadn’t been in evidence during the dreary daylight hours.

  She hadn’t called. It didn’t surprise him. He was well aware of how Claire felt about him. How she blamed him. He couldn't fault her. After all, he blamed himself.