She had tried to give property to the Inn, too, and been turned down flat. She didn't have the heart to tell Douglas that Sterling's opposition to the camp wasn't purely financial. The camp was tied to his personal childhood demons.
"There'd have to be a lot more fundraising to support a bigger camp, wouldn't there?" Douglas said, rubbing the sole of his shoe against the tiled kitchen floor.
"There would. But Derrick has set you up nicely. A lot more people know about the camp. And more former campers know now how much they need to continue to support it."
"Rumor has it that Sterling offered you your job back."
"Yes. He did."
Douglas looked up, his face brighter.
"But I turned it down."
His face fell. "Why?"
"It's not what I want to do anymore. I'm going to try and re-open the yoga studio in town. Have my own business."
"Oh yeah? Lucy, that's a wonderful idea."
Lucy inclined her head toward George Adams walking back up the lawn toward the house. Their visit was drawing to a close.
"So how are you going to approach Sterling?" she asked.
Douglas was quiet. Lucy waited. Still Douglas said nothing. Slowly it dawned on Lucy why Douglas had brought her here.
"You want me to speak to him," she said.
Douglas had a pleading look on his face. He fidgeted with his hands.
"I can try," Lucy said. "But, contrary to popular opinion, I don't hold much sway over Sterling. Sleeping with him hasn't earned me any brownie points, apparently."
"Thank you, Lucy."
"Don't thank me yet." Don't get your hopes up.
Chapter 24
His mother was thumbing through a stack of marketing reports when Sterling entered the sunroom and took a seat opposite. The round table between them was clad in a yellow linen tablecloth and set with a floral patterned china. He took a sip of water from a sweating water goblet.
"The bankers are on board," he said.
"Well, that's good news," Sarah replied. She placed her hand on top of the stack of reports she had been reading. "However, I think parts of Elle's marketing plans are unrealistic. Lucy's recommendations will pay off sooner, I think." She gestured toward his plate. "Go ahead. Eat."
Sterling dipped a spoon into his gazpacho. His mother, he noticed, was not eating hers.
"You're not hungry?" he asked.
"I had a late breakfast," Sarah replied.
Sterling didn't buy that. His mother had lost weight since his father's death, and she didn't have much weight to spare to begin with. Another thing for him to worry about.
"There's another skipjack race next weekend," Sarah said. "You always loved those races when you were a child."
"I know. I saw something about it in the paper."
He'd seen something else in the St. Caroline newspaper, too. He had been thinking lately about renting a house. It was clear that he was going to be in St. Caroline until next summer at least. He couldn't, in good conscience, leave before it was certain that the Inn's finances could be turned around. The bankers were on board—for now—but that that was only a start. It would take another summer season to determine whether his planned changes would be successful.
He didn't want to live in his parents' house for an entire year. As comfortable as it was, he was too old to be living with his mother. It wasn't good for his standing in St. Caroline either. He needed to establish an authority separate from that of his parents. No one was going to respect him if they viewed him as being under his mother's thumb.
His own place would also give him some privacy, some freedom to entertain. If he was going to be here for a year, he couldn't be expected to live like a monk. Maybe he'd even buy a place. There were worse investments than real estate in St. Caroline.
To that end, he was skimming the paper's classifieds to see what people were asking for summer rentals these days. That's when he saw it. Her name popped off the page. Contact L. Wyndham. He backed up and read the lines above. Charming waterfront cottage for rent. Walk to the water or bike into town. Fully equipped kitchen. All linens provided.
A classified advertising Lucy's cottage for rent. That could mean only one thing. She was definitely leaving St. Caroline.
"Sterling, darling, is there something wrong? You look tired."
His mother's words brought him back to the present, back to the sunroom, back to the fifth day since he'd last seen Lucy.
"I am tired. I'm working a lot, you know."
As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he'd left an opening for his mother that was a mile wide. Not used to working, eh? To Sarah's credit, she didn't take it.
"Is it that terrible, taking over your father's job? You know, I didn't have a choice but to ask you to come back."
Sterling shrugged. "Dad was determined that I take over the business, one way or another."
"Well, yes. He loved running the Inn. He didn't understand why you wouldn't want to," Sarah said. "But I can understand that you might want to do something different, Sterling. As a mother, of course, I like having you nearby. I miss you when you're overseas. Your father did, too. But I know you have to make your own way."
Make his own way. Except that he wasn't making his own way, was he, he thought bitterly. That was part of the problem, too, wasn't it? He was 99 percent certain that had played a role in his mother calling him home. He hadn't exactly been working in Europe.
He'd overheard a conversation at his father's funeral, between three friends of his parents, a conversation about himself.
"Doing nothing with his life."
"Living off John and Sarah's money."
"Too old to be a ski bum."
He was doing nothing with his life. Sterling readily owned up to that. Doing nothing with one's life was fun. Until it wasn't. And when he was honest with himself, he could admit that he was a little tired of the life he'd been living. He knew he should be doing something more with his life. But what? At thirty-one, most people had their careers well underway. Sterling had yet to find some business, some vocation, that he thought would hold his interest for the rest of his life.
His father had found that. John Matthew's love for the Chesapeake Inn had been second only to his love for his wife. Sterling wanted that, too. Something that would define his life, something that he could shape and mold, the way his father had molded the Inn. Could he find that at the Inn, too? He wasn't sure.
"You didn't answer my question," Sarah pointed out. "Is it really that terrible running the Inn?"
A month ago, he'd have blurted out "yes" without even stopping to think. It wasn't as bad as he'd expected, though. Most of the staff were being cooperative. Open-minded, even. Or maybe they just wanted to hang onto their jobs. Nothing wrong with that as motivation. Really, it was only Lucy who had caused him any problems. And while terminating her employment had solved that problem, it had created others in its place.
She was on his mind all the time. When he looked out the window first thing in the morning, he wondered whether she was in her kayak, out on the bay. Eating dinner in his office, he wondered whether she was being wined and dined by a date. Lying in bed at night, he tried not to imagine Lucy falling asleep in someone else's arms. And now, apparently, she was leaving town.
"Not as terrible as I imagined, I suppose. There are some things I enjoy, even," he replied, finally.
"I don't know why you don't offer her the job back," Sarah said.
"Offer who the job back?" Sterling asked, feigning ignorance.
"You know who I'm talking about."
"For the record, I did offer her the job back. And for the record, she said no." Sterling hadn't seen or spoken to Lucy since he'd dropped her off at her cottage Sunday evening. The bankers had been in town. He wanted to see her again. He'd wanted to see her again about five minutes after he drove away from her cottage.
He'd had a good time with her in Lost Cave. When the idea to go there had popped into his head, he
wasn't sure how the trip might turn out. There had been a good chance that they would spend the entire weekend arguing and fighting. But it didn't turn out that way. There had been surprisingly little fighting. It was fun just driving around with her, seeing where she grew up, trying to piece together the puzzle that was Lucy.
Oh, and the look of disappointment on her lovely face when he'd handed her the separate room key at the Rt. 1 Motel had been priceless. He'd almost relented and snatched the key back from her. But he hadn't wanted sex to complicate the weekend. Or to consume the weekend, either. He knew that the next time he made love to Lucy, he'd want to spend long, slow hours in bed with her.
Would there be a next time? Maybe she would be unable to rent her cottage. It was late in the season, after all.
"Do you need me to speak with her?" Sarah asked.
"No! No. You have to let me do my job here, mother. You can't undermine me by getting into personnel matters." He pushed the bowl of soup away from him. He'd been starving when he walked in here. Now he couldn't stand the thought of food. He wanted to get back to his office.
"You overreacted when you let her go. Derrick Jones writes an article about the camp every year. It raises money."
"Money doesn't need to be raised anymore, does it? The bankers want that land used for paying guests. Their money is contingent on our doing that."
"Your father would have fought harder on that," Sarah said.
"I'm not him. You brought me back here to fix the mess he made of this place. That's what I'm trying to do."
Lunch with his mother had gone south fast. Sterling pushed back his chair, laid his bunched up napkin on the table and stood up.
"I've got to go, mother. I have work to do." He turned toward the sunroom's double French doors. Then he turned back.
"You know, I am going to make some mistakes here. Obviously, firing Lucy was one of them."
Every time he walked past her old office, he was painfully reminded of that mistake. If he hadn't fired Lucy he would have an excuse to see her every day. Not that he really wanted to see her in the office. He couldn't do to her what he desperately wanted to there. What he'd spent the past five days thinking about doing.
"What other mistakes are you in the process of making?" Sarah asked.
Sterling threw up his hands. "You tell me, mother. Was it a mistake to tweak the restaurant menus? Should I replace the dated toiletries with a more upscale brand?"
"I'm not talking about the Inn now." Sarah eyed her son with a mixture of love and exasperation. "You were seen driving out of town last weekend with Lucy. You were gone until the next day."
Sterling looked at his mother, incredulous. He shook his head. "Spying on me?"
"No. I'm not spying on you, Sterling. But I know just about everyone in this town and someone mentioned it to me." Sarah folded her hands in her lap, the unasked question floating in the air between them.
Sterling shook his head. "We drove to her hometown in Virginia."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to see it."
Sarah let forth a breezy laugh. "Are you seeing Lucy?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I can't date employees."
"She's no longer an employee."
Sterling rolled his eyes. "Rewind. Don't be ridiculous. I can't date former employees."
"Pfooh! Sterling, I'm your mother. I'm not an idiot, and I know you better than you give me credit for. You've been moping around ever since you let her go. You're in love with Lucy Wyndham."
His mother was right, Sterling admitted as he drove past Lucy's cottage that evening. He was completely, utterly in love with Lucy Wyndham. She haunted his thoughts, roamed through his dreams. He wanted to see her, wanted to cup her face in his hands and cover her soft pink mouth with his. And then he wanted to do much more.
It was ten o'clock and he was cruising past her home like a lovesick teenager. But he couldn't help it. The light in her living room was still on. He slowed the car in front of the curb. Should he knock? Would she let him in? Was she alone, even? He gently tapped the gas and drove away.
Coward, he berated himself. He drove back to his parents' house and sat in the driveway. He unrolled the car window. Outside, the night air was filled with the sound of crickets. He breathed in the sharp bay air.
Lucy had put her cottage up for rent. Maybe it wasn't too late to contest his father's will, he thought wryly to himself. He was in love with her, and she was leaving. But he would be leaving next year too, right? So what was the point of even going any further with Lucy?
If he were anywhere but St. Caroline, he could just entertain himself for the next year by having an affair with her. But that wasn't going to fly in St. Caroline. People here liked Lucy better than they did him. That probably extended even to his own mother.
And then there was Lucy's loyal henchman, Douglas, to consider.
If he hadn't fired her, he could have planned for the two of them to attend lots of business conferences over the winter. Earlier in the week, he received a mailer for a conference in Hawaii. That wouldn't have been bad. He could have spent days lying on soft sand beaches next to Lucy in a skimpy swimsuit, and nights sating his appetite for her body.
Lucy was attracted to him. That time in the sauna had proved it. When they made love in the hotel, that could be chalked up to too much wine and sambuca or impulsivity or just simple curiosity. One time could always be explained away. But a second time? Especially the way she had dared him, had teased him until he couldn't resist a minute more.
There was chemistry to spare between them. But her physical attraction to him wasn't enough to keep her in St. Caroline. She was leaving and he didn't know where she was going or what she was planning to do.
Sterling pounded a fist lightly against the leather steering wheel. He didn't want Lucy to leave. He rubbed hard at the headache throbbing behind his temples. Why hadn't he realized this earlier, before she'd made her decision to go? Would she reconsider—if he offered more? A woman like Lucy deserved more than just physical chemistry. Could he offer her more than that? If he put a commitment—and his feelings—on the table, would she be willing to negotiate?
Chapter 25
Sterling's headache was still pounding away at his skull the next morning. He spent four hours in his office, trying to concentrate and get some work done. It was useless. He was useless in this state. Fresh air, that's what he needed.
Outside, the noontime air was hot and close, a typical Eastern Shore August day. He rubbed his toe in the drying lawn. Patches of grass were going yellow in the heat. He'd reduced the number of days the Inn ran its lawn sprinkler, to save money. They wouldn't be able to get away with that every year, though. Guests expected a lush, emerald green lawn—even when it hadn't rained for weeks.
He heard shouts and splashing from the direction of the waterfront. He took his well-worn path toward the camp, to that big old oak tree at the top of the hill. When he was a child, he'd thought of that tree as a friend. His only friend, really, in St. Caroline unless you counted the Inn staff. And even as a child, he'd known that adults—especially adults employed by your parents—didn't really count as friends.
He leaned against the rough bark of the tree. It was Monday, and a new crop of campers had been bussed in. Douglas and the counselors were running the kids through the usual first-day swimming tests. It wasn't unusual for half of the campers to be unable to swim at all when they arrived here.
One camper caught his eye. A girl, tall and skinny, with short choppy hair bleached white with blue tips. It was eye-catching, he had to give her that. But also ugly as sin. He watched her lope around the edge of the water in her rash guard and surf shorts. She had attitude to spare.
She reminded him of Lucy Lou. She'd had that dukes-up all the time attitude, too. Always ready for the world to land a hard uppercut on her chin. And that haircut, so in-your-face, up-yours ugly. He'd been surprised to feel how soft Lucy's hair was now, grown out. He had half-expected it to feel
like the dried out straw he'd touched as a teenager.
The girl waded into the water, stopping at the sudden, unexpected chill of it, then continuing on until she met up with one of the counselors and another camper. There was a second counselor evaluating several other kids, the better swimmers, a few dozen feet away. Douglas was sitting on the edge of the dock—that brand new dock, Sterling noted—writing down scores on a clipboard.
Sterling wondered how Lucy had done on her swim test here. Clearly she could swim now. She wasn't the sort of person who was foolish enough to go kayaking without being able to swim. Lucy was definitely a safety first kind of person. She was probably safety first when it came to her emotions, too, he thought. She wouldn't be the one to go first, to lay her heart out for examination. She'd stand back, watching, taking the lay of the land, making sure no one was about to ambush her first. Problem was, they were both that kind of person when it came to feelings. Sterling knew he played things close to the vest, as well. And now he and Lucy had played themselves into an impasse.
Maybe he should take her to George Adams' boathouse some evening. Go all the way back to the beginning and start over. Could they sneak in now, as adults? Possibly, Sterling considered. George Adams was getting up there in years. He might not notice two people tiptoeing along the edge of his property line. He hadn't noticed two hormonally-charged teenagers back then.
Sterling looked out over the water in the direction of the boathouse. You couldn't see the boathouse from the camp; it lay just around the bend in the shoreline. Sterling stared absentmindedly at boats bobbing on the bay. A movement in his peripheral vision brought his attention closer to shore. He shook his head out of the past and looked. Nothing. Douglas was showing a camper how to tread water. The counselors were busy with campers, too.
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