Tidal Patterns (Golden Shores Book 1)

by Rachelle Paige

  “Not for you either, right?” she asked.

  “E tu,” he agreed.

  “Were you guys in college together?”

  “Cynthia you mean?” Mark asked.

  Lizzie nodded.

  “I met her in our college town. But I’d dropped out by then.”

  “You dropped out of college? Why?”

  “I had to support myself, I couldn’t see how it was worth it.”

  Lizzie nodded but didn’t look convinced.

  “I never had family to count on,” Mark told her.

  She turned her head away. “My brother wants me to go back to school.”

  “You didn’t finish?”

  “No, I did. I have a bachelor’s, I got it in three years actually. But I couldn’t get a job in my field. That’s kind of how I ended up here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I had an internship at a museum and it was paying nothing. My parents were essentially paying for me to volunteer to get experience on my resume. If you’d ever met my dad… Let’s just say he pulled himself up by his bootstraps. He hadn’t worked to give my brother and me every advantage, to watch us not reach our potential. And after a year, both my parents had had enough.”

  “I can understand.”

  “Oh I do too. But you see, in art history, there are so many rich kids in the field. . . It’s expected that you’ll support yourself and work for free in some ridiculously overpriced location.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Crazy, but true. I’ve never heard of anyone having a paid internship, not unless you’re in a doctoral program or something. And it killed my parents. Well, not literally, that was… But my parents had been working hard their whole lives and they hated to see me pushed to sell myself short. So they told me to come back here and look for a job or start applying to grad schools.”

  “Why grad school?”

  “They figured if I was serious enough to want this career, then I’d better get specialized.”

  “And were you?”

  Lizzie shrugged. “I started looking at grad programs, but then I stumbled onto the events department at the resort. And…I kind of love it. I like the work, I like bossing people around, I like planning every single detail, and I like working with budgets.”

  “That pretty much sums up the job,” Mark said.

  “Yeah, it does. But…I don’t know. I think… Well, I’m looking at grad schools again. Patrick wants me to go back to school and I see his point.”

  “Why? Why go back to school?”

  With a shrug, she turned away. His right hand itched on the steering wheel. I could turn the wheel sharply, pull off onto the shoulder, and make her look me in the eyes. Why would she leave? Because of me? He couldn’t shake what she’d let slip the night before in the car. Something about ruining her life. What am I doing? Tying myself up in knots about some girl who doesn’t even know what she wants?

  He didn’t have time to go saving some girl. But then, that wasn’t fair. She knew what she wanted and he was in the way. Had throwing herself at him been some kind of game? Did she intend to use his reaction against him to get him pushed out? No that seemed too nefarious and sneaky and underhanded. The girl he’d gotten to know was none of those things. She was kind and ambitious and never asked more of someone than she would take on herself.

  “I’m the next turn,” Lizzie said, interrupting his thoughts.

  Mark nodded.

  “That house there,” Lizzie said, leaning across him to point out a house on the left past an empty lot.

  “It’s cute,” Mark said as he approached. He pulled into the driveway. Did he have to hand in his man card for calling something cute?

  Lizzie giggled. “It is cute. My mom thought of it as a 1930s beach house.”

  “Pretty grand for a beach house,” Mark said, looking up at the four-story home

  “The first floor can’t be livable space, the backyard sits on the marsh. Thanks for the ride,” she said and paused.

  Keeping his eyes focused straight ahead, he hoped to dissuade her. He didn’t want to engage her in some kind of conversation about last night. He didn’t want to hear any apologies or excuses. He was done with both and he didn’t want to be forced to offer false promises himself. Things had changed between them; even if she didn’t know it yet. He watched from the corner of his eye as she turned away. She unbuckled her seat belt and hopped out of the car. She paused and opened her mouth.

  Mark bit his lip to keep from groaning. He didn’t want to hear it. But instead she shut her mouth, waved him off, and walked up her front stairs to her house. He grabbed his Bluetooth headset and called Phil the moment the door shut behind her.

  “Phil, what are you doing?” Mark asked, pulling out of the driveway.

  “Nothing. I’m home. Charlie’s at school and Trish is out. Why?”

  “I’m on my back. I’m coming over,” Mark told him.

  “Your way back? From work?” Phil asked.

  “No, I didn’t make it in.”

  “Ooooohhhhh…” Phil said, stringing out the word to three times its usual length and significance.

  “Don’t,” Mark bit out.

  “Don’t what?” Phil asked, feigning ignorance.

  “Don’t say anything, don’t think anything, and wipe that stupid smirk off your face. I can hear it through the phone. I’ll be over in ten minutes,” Mark told him, punctuating each word.

  “And in that time I’m allowed to…?”

  “Breath and blink. That’s it.”

  Phil chuckled. “Fine. Bye.”

  Mark hung up the phone and turned back towards town. The biggest problem he found with where she lived was that the drive gave him too much time to himself. Why had he promised her brother he’d take her home? Why was he a good guy? Why would a brother trust him?

  I need to punch something. If he hadn’t been a good guy last night, he’d have taken advantage of her. He’d have taken everything she offered him and more without any regret. He deserved something easy and fun after everything he’d been through with Cynthia. But something easy wasn’t what it would come down to between him and Lizzie. If he wanted that, if he wasn’t ready for what being with her would mean, then he only had one choice. He had to leave.

  Pulling into the alley behind the bar, he let himself inside, taking the stairs at a jog and opening the door to the apartment without knocking. Phil sat with his back to the door at the kitchen counter. Mark walked over to him and sat down.

  “You look like you had a fun night,” Phil said.

  Mark grunted and leaned on his arms on the counter. A rich, nutty smell tickled his nose. He sniffed the air.

  “Coffee?” Phil asked as Mark practically salivated.

  “Please.”

  Phil got up from his seat and started making coffee in the French press opposite Mark. Even before he’d been a bartender, Phil always had been Mark’s bartender. They’d only had a handful of serious conversations that didn’t involve Phil standing opposite, pouring a drink, wiping down a counter or drying dishes, and nodding along as Mark spoke. Phil finished his work, poured Mark a mug of coffee, slid it across the smooth counter and waited for Mark to begin.

  “I just took her home,” Mark said.

  “Good for you,” Phil replied, smirking.

  “I’m going to jump over this counter and punch you if you don’t cut it out. It’s not like that.”

  “What? Why not? She’s not tied to anyone. You’re not tied to anyone and you could probably use it…”

  “Shut up now,” Mark growled.

  Phil put up his hands in surrender and took a few steps back.

  “She’s a good girl. She’s not easy. She’s smart, she works hard, and she’s driven. Don’t ever belittle her like that again,” Mark said, narrowing his eyes at his best friend.

  “Fine, my bad,” Phil muttered.

  “No, not your bad. What are you getting at?” Mark asked.

 
“Nothing,” Phil replied, sighing as he did.

  “No, not nothing,” Mark said, persisting. “What?”

  “You like this girl. Why aren’t you making a move? You’re telling me nothing happened last night?” Phil asked in disbelief.

  Mark opened his mouth and then shut it. Did he want to tell Phil what happened? He’d been so confused first by her confession last night and attempt at making a move. Then this morning by her shock and embarrassment when he recalled what happened. Would telling Phil about any of that, before he had a chance to think and stew about the events himself, help him?

  “She kissed me,” Mark told him, relenting.

  “And?” Phil asked.

  “That’s it. I didn’t kiss her back,” Mark said, defending himself. Phil’s nonchalance at the news surprised him. Had he been expecting this? Mark couldn’t make sense of it.

  “I didn’t want… I want to know she knows what’s happening. I’m not going to start anything with someone who’s drunk and can deny what happened the next day,” Mark explained. “And I don’t want to start something like that. She’s different.”

  “Okay, so you like her,” Phil said, breaking down his monologue into its simplest form.

  “Yeah,” Mark replied, exhaling on the word.

  “And she likes you.”

  “I don’t know, she said she likes me,” Mark muttered.

  “What? She kissed you and tells you she likes you. And you don’t know? Phil slammed his fist on the table for emphasis.

  “And then this morning when she woke up in my bed she freaked out,”

  “What?”

  The emphasis on what made him cringe.

  “I wasn’t in the bed,” Mark rushed to add. “I slept on the couch downstairs.”

  “Why didn’t you take her home last night?” Phil asked.

  “I didn’t know how much she’d had to drink and I didn’t want her to be alone,” Mark explained.

  Mark watched Phil consider his words. He could almost see the wheels in his mind turning, trying to understand Mark’s actions. Maybe he had had an ulterior motive for taking her to his house last night. But it hadn’t been to sleep with her. Mark wanted to spend more time with her.

  “So she freaked out? What do you mean?” Phil asked.

  “She was just… I don’t know,” Mark began, unsure how much clarity he could provide. “But I think she doesn’t… I don’t know why she tried to make a move last night but I don’t think it was sincere.”

  “Wow, that sucks. I’m sorry man.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Mark agreed.

  He held the mug between his hands. The coffee had gone cold. He swirled the dark liquid, watching the tiny whirlpool form and then disappear.

  “I think it’s time to move on,” Mark said, his eyes on the mug.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I think I’m done here. I think I’m ready to change everything.”

  “You’ve been here forever. I thought you loved it here,” Phil pleaded. Mark looked up to see the strain in the tight lines around his friend’s mouth, his white-knuckle grip on the mug.

  “I don’t love what my life has become. I don’t love being alone. I don’t love this job.”

  “I’d hate to see you go. I…. You’re my family.”

  Mark didn’t acknowledge the word. He’d never had family but knew enough from observation that letting them down ached. He’d never wanted to cause pain to anyone. But he couldn’t seem to avoid hurting someone. Too bad Phil is the victim. But better him than Lizzie.

  “It’s time to move on. I thought… I never wanted this job and now I think… No, I know I can’t stay here. I need to leave. I need a break,” Mark replied.

  He got up from his stool. He still had time today; it was barely noon. He didn’t have a second to waste.

  “Thanks for the coffee,” Mark said, sliding the mug over to Phil.

  “Of course. But Mark, don’t make any rash decisions here. This is your life. Don’t uproot it all because of one…”

  “No, this is the right thing to do. It’s time. It’s been time. She’s just pushing me. I’ll talk to you later.”

  He turned his back on his friend and walked out the door.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Loud, insistent knocking on the front door woke Lizzie up from an early afternoon nap. She’d fallen asleep on the couch in her family room after a lazy morning. Stretching her arms over her head, she vigorously rubbed the right awake and sat up. She hadn’t stepped foot in the room, let alone relaxed on the couch or watched TV, since the funeral. But Patrick had helped her clean out the room of the framed snapshots grouped by decade and rearrange the furniture. For the first time in months, the ghosts of the mourners who’d sat and cried with her had been banished. And she hadn’t been able to resist a reality TV marathon. I should call and thank him for his help.

  Or I should call him and find out how everyone’s doing. A sickly, sweet taste filled her mouth, she swallowed but the bitterness remained. Her brother raced home to welcome his new daughter, and other than a quick text message, she hadn’t tried to talk to him.

  The pounding on the door continued even more forceful.

  Whoever’s out there is going to knock that stupid door down. Lizzie bit her lip. What if it’s someone from the resort? When she’d decided to play hooky from work, she hadn’t thought anyone would track her down. The world won’t end because I’m not there. But reasoning didn’t ease the knot forming between her shoulders. Getting to her feet, she pulled the tie out of her ponytail and let her wavy hair swish across her upper back. She padded down the hall, her steps muffled by the long textured beige runner. The plantation shutters on either side of the door were closed but the open curtains from the wall of windows in the great room behind her illuminated her path.

  Lizzie unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door a tiny crack to peek her head out. On the other side of her door, Rose stood dressed in a pressed pastel blazer with a floral maxi skirt. She’d had her hair done, the loose curls forming a halo around her head. She dresses like she’s in a 1990s romantic comedy. But is Rose the lead or the sidekick?

  Both options suited her. The scowl on her face, the flaring nostrils, and the tapping of her pink polished nails against her crossed arms, however, did not fit. Lizzie’s annoyance at the knocking had swiftly been replaced with confusion and worry.

  “Where have you been?” Rose demanded, pushing the door open. Lizzie took a few quick steps back into the hall, to avoid Rose running her down.

  “And why are you still in pajamas?” she continued, fuming as she stood on the carpet runner.

  “I’m sorry. What are you talking about?”

  Eyeing Rose closely, she tried to figure out a clue as to why her friend was so upset. But she’d been so preoccupied over the last month with work, she couldn’t remember anything else. Lizzie bit her lip. She’d been only thinking about herself. The realization hit her like a wave. I haven’t been a good friend to Rose or a good sister to Patrick lately.

  “We’re supposed to be out to lunch,” Rose exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “It’s our monthly date. But you didn’t show. I sat at the resort for forty minutes before I drove back.”

  Lizzie’s mouth gaped and her palms turned clammy. She’d never forgotten an appointment, ever. Had she let Mark throw her off her game first with the event on Saturday and then again last night?

  “I’m sorry, I completely forgot,” Lizzie apologized, shutting the door behind Rose and wiping her damp hands on her pajama pants. “Can I get you something? I don’t have any sweet tea but I have soda.”

  Rose arched an eyebrow.

  “It’s Coke, of course,” Lizzie replied. She’d learned better than to offer anyone in the south anything else.

  “That’ll be fine,” Rose agreed.

  “Come out to the porch.”

  She led the way through the kitchen, grabbing a couple of Cokes and glasses as she went.
Rose opened the French doors in the dining room and Lizzie stepped past her onto the screened in porch. A hint of Wisteria hung in the air, the scent more potent in the midday sun. Geez, how late is it?

  “Why are you home? Are you sick?” Rose asked, taking the Coke Lizzie poured into a glass and sipping it.

  Lizzie shook her head no. She grabbed her Coke off the coffee table, her hand slipping down the side of the glass, wet with condensation. She had the urge to press the cool beverage against her neck, to feel the refreshing damp on her sticky skin.

  “What’s going on?” Rose asked, the agitation leaving her voice.

  Lizzie shifted uneasily in her chair. Rose reached a hand out to still Lizzie, lightly grabbing her knee. Looking up, Lizzie saw only concern in the lines around Rose’s eyes.

  “Why did I see you get dropped off by Mark yesterday? Did you spend the night at his house?”

  “You saw that?” Lizzie gasped.

  Taking a sip to cover her reaction, fizz and bubbles tickled her throat. She scrunched up her nose, willing the sneeze to ease.

  “Of course I saw it. I’m your next-door neighbor. And it’s hardly like he was sneaking you in. You pulled into the driveway when I was out getting my paper.”

  “I didn’t see you.”

  “I understand discretion, my dear,” Rose replied, pulling her hand away, and winking for good measure.

  Overhead, the fan spun in a desperate attempt to alleviate the humidity on the porch. Lizzie fanned herself with one hand, needing more of a breeze. Should I tell her? Will she judge me?

  “I did spend the night at his place but nothing happened. Believe me,” Lizzie stopped herself and reddened. “Although. . . ” At least I think nothing happened.

  “What?” Rose asked, putting her Coke on the table and scooting to the edge of the couch to hear Lizzie better.

  “I had been out with Patrick and we’d been drinking…a lot. I guess not a lot for Patrick, but it was a lot for me,” Lizzie rambled. She shook her head and started again. “Patrick had to run back home—Jennifer went into labor—so he left me in Mark’s care. And I guess I threw myself at him.”

  “Really?”

  Lizzie looked to her friend, ready to see shock, concern, or even disgust. She’d been trying to process how she felt about everything. She’d admit to feeling a little of each of those three things herself. But when she looked up and caught Rose’s eye she didn’t see any of that. She saw kindness and empathy and understanding.