Storm Shells

by G. J. Walker-Smith

  “Where are you staying?” I asked.

  He didn’t open his eyes. “I’ll find a hotel.”

  “Not in this town.” I snickered. “There are no hotels.”

  He turned his head, glaring across at me like I’d just ruined his entire trip. “Awesome news. We really are in the boondocks, aren’t we?”

  I could’ve directed him to at least ten bed-and-breakfasts, but I knew Ryan too well. As much as I’d enjoy hearing him whine about shared bathrooms and lace curtains, I couldn’t do it to him. “Stay with me,” I offered.

  His eyes flitted in every direction, quickly surveying the property. “Here?” He sounded appalled.

  “It’s not that bad. Just remember to keep the doors and windows closed at night so the snakes don’t get in.”

  “Snakes?”

  “And spiders, but we don’t need to go there,” I reached across and patted his arm. “Don’t make eye contact with the possums and remember that we can only flush the toilet when it’s high tide.”

  It was impossible to keep a straight face, which blew my charade in an instant.

  He exhaled a long breath of relief, ruffling both hands through his already messy dark hair. “You’re lying.”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “You make it so easy.”

  He restudied his surroundings.

  “Why on earth would you want to raise a baby here, Charli?”

  I looked at the infinite blue ocean in the distance. He’d picked a picture-perfect day to show up on my doorstep.

  “Stay a while,” I suggested. “You’ll figure it out.”

  * * *

  Ryan needed sleep, which was perfect because I still had a mountain of laundry to contend with. I made up the bed in the spare room while he brought his luggage in from the ridiculously self-indulgent Mercedes he’d hired. He appeared in the doorway, black Vuitton suitcase in hand.

  “I’m sorry about the boxes,” I said, pointing to the untidy heap of FedEx clutter. “I haven’t unpacked properly yet.”

  “It’s fine, Charli,” he replied tiredly. “I won’t tell my mother that her meticulous packing ended up in a messy pile on the floor.”

  “Fiona packed them?”

  Ryan moved to the window. “She insisted on doing it herself.” He held the sheer curtain aside and peered out. “Mom hasn’t taken your departure well.”

  Better than anyone, I knew the wrath of Fiona Décarie was not to be underestimated. After all that had happened, I was undoubtedly back on the top of her hit list.

  “She must hate me.” I fluffed up a pillow and dropped it on the bed. “I didn’t even say goodbye.”

  “She’s not upset with you, Charli,” he said, turning back. “Her anger is reserved entirely for Adam. It’s quite amusing really. I’m enjoying being the favourite son, regardless of how short-lived it may be.”

  “She’s angry with Adam?”

  He smiled at me with tired eyes. “Furious. The queen is convinced that he should’ve tried harder to make it work. She cried for a week when he told her he’d filed for divorce. It was as if you’d died.”

  I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to make sense of this. I was not expecting to hear that she blamed her precious boy for anything. It was a strange turn of events that went a tiny way toward lightening my heavy heart.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” I told him, picking one of the many random thoughts in my mind. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I let you down with Billet-doux.”

  “Later. Right now I need to sleep.”

  I walked to the door. “Sleep well, Ryan. And watch out for the snakes.”

  I pulled the door closed just before the pillow thudded against it.

  * * *

  My father stopped by the cottage on his way home from the café to carry out a welfare check, because he hadn’t seen me all day. “Everything okay?” he asked, breezing through the door.

  I was sprawled on the couch, exhausted by the tonne of housework I’d done while Ryan slept off the jetlag.

  “Everything’s good,” I told him, and rattled off the list of boring accomplishments I’d achieved that day.

  Alex placed his hand on my forehead, frowning. “You need to take it easy.”

  I brushed his hand away. “I’m pregnant, not sick.”

  “What do you have planned for dinner?” he asked, changing the subject. “Come home with me. Gabi is cooking coq au vin.”

  “Tempting but no. I have a house guest.” I spoke with too much jubilance.

  “Who?” Alex asked, gripping the arm of the chair. “No, don’t answer. I already know.” He was about to jump to a big conclusion. I kept quiet because I relished the thought of setting him straight. “I thought that the flash car parked on the street belonged to one of the neighbours. But it doesn’t, does it?” he asked glumly.

  I shook my head, grinning errantly.

  Alex sank into the chair and let out a sigh. “You look too happy, Charlotte. I don’t want to hear that you’ve worked it all out in a couple of hours. Be a smart girl.”

  He rattled off the lecture like a well planned speech. I got the impression he’d had it in his head for weeks and was glad to be rid of it.

  “Do you have anything else to crush my spirit with today?”

  Alex locked his hazel eyes with mine. “Only more of the truth. Don’t get me wrong; I’m happy that Adam made the pilgrimage. It was the honourable thing to do. But you have a lot to work out. Whatever problems you had are still there.” Speech over, he released me and began glancing around the room. “Where is Boy Wonder anyway?”

  “In New York I expect,” chimed a voice from behind us. “Hanging out with Batman and the rest of the crew.”

  I twisted around to look at Ryan. He leaned against the doorway, arms folded and smirking.

  My head snapped back to Alex. He should’ve been embarrassed by what Ryan had heard. But he wasn’t. He was Alex. He stood and held out his hand, looking as self-righteous as I’d ever seen him. “I’m Alex. Charli’s father.”

  Ryan crossed the room to meet his handshake. “Ryan Décarie. Boy Wonder’s brother.”

  I anticipated fireworks. Alex thought of Adam as cocky and hubristic, and here he was shaking hands with a bigger, badder version.

  “Apologise, Alex,” I demanded.

  “I don’t need to apologise, Charli,” he said, reclaiming his position on the armchair. “I’ve never said anything about Adam that I’m not prepared to say to his face.”

  My father was behaving like an unadulterated brat.

  “I like to call it as I see it too,” replied Ryan, taking the last spare chair. “I’m not offended by your father’s assessment, Charli. I don’t think it differs that much from mine.”

  Alex chuckled blackly. I scowled at him and glared at Ryan.

  “Don’t act so surprised,” chided Ryan, grinning. “I’m not going to sugar-coat it for you.”

  “You should be defending your brother,” I said crossly, “not agreeing with Alex.”

  His smile didn’t slip. Nor did his trademark condescension. “In order to do that, I’d have to point out your shortcomings. You’re not blameless, Tinker Bell.”

  Ryan wasn’t telling me anything I hadn’t heard before. I just couldn’t believe he had the chutzpah to say it in front of my father. Even more bewildering was that Alex wasn’t jumping to my defence – or questioning why he’d referred to me as Tinker Bell. Instead, he changed the subject.

  “So what brings you here, Ryan?”

  “Well,” Ryan began, “I’m in the unenviable position of having your daughter as a business partner. I’d like to get off that ride now. I’m here to persuade her to sell her half of our restaurant to me. As soon as we can negotiate a price, we’ll draw up the paper work and call it quits.”

  “No negotiating, Ryan,” I snapped. “You can take my share for free.”

  “And that is exactly why you’re a terrible business woman. Great at keeping secrets, though
– or lying, depending on how you look at it.”

  “Or who’s looking at it,” added Alex.

  “Adam will be looking at it,” I growled, surprised by the tag team assault being unleashed on me. “I’ll tell him about her soon.”

  “You keep saying ‘her’. Do you know for sure it’s a girl?” Ryan asked, putting a halt to the imminent row.

  “I know for sure. Others aren’t convinced,” I muttered, glancing at Alex.

  Alex threw both hands in the air. “I believe in your hunch. It’s Gabrielle who’s uncertain.”

  Ryan grimaced at the mention of her name and I pounced, acutely aware of the dislike he held for her.

  “Ryan’s looking forward to spending some time with the Parisienne while he’s here,” I said. “Maybe we should come for dinner tonight after all.”

  “Parisiennes are from Paris,” muttered Ryan. “Gabi is from Marseille.”

  “Tinker Bells are from Never Never Land,” I shot back. “I’m from Pipers Cove.”

  He acknowledged my point with a nod. “Touché, Charlotte from Pipers Cove.”

  I turned to Alex. “Oh, we’re definitely coming for dinner.”

  * * *

  Bullying Ryan into going to Gabrielle and Alex’s for dinner took no effort at all.

  “I might as well get it out of the way,” he said, opening door of the pretentious silver Mercedes for me. “If I came all this way and didn’t visit her, my mother would hang me.”

  I slipped into the too-low leather seat as gracefully as I could and used the time it took him to walk around the car to smooth my dress and pull myself together. My growing paunch was beginning to curse me with the posture and stance of a long-haul truck driver.

  “How long since you’ve seen Gabi?” I asked as he got in.

  “Not since her wild New York days,” he replied, wiggling his eyebrows.

  “I doubt she’s ever been wild.”

  “Sure she has,” he drawled. “I heard that she once put her paintbrushes away without cleaning them properly.”

  Ryan started the car and pulled out onto the street. It had been a long time since I’d played tour guide. I pointed out a few unimpressive landmarks as we coasted through town, including the famous lighthouse-that-never-was sign.

  “I just can’t see the charm” Ryan allowed his eyes to wander from the road for too long while he checked out the scenery. “Living here would by my idea of hell.”

  I gazed out the window impassively. I’d felt the exact same way for most of my life, but for the time being I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

  We arrived at the house just on dusk. A yellow glow from the lights filtered through the open windows, setting a warm and inviting scene, but it wasn’t enough to motivate Ryan.

  “Cheer up,” I teased, noticing his expression. “Gabrielle’s cooking coq au vin. It’s to die for.”

  He glanced across, smiling crookedly. “You’re such a simple creature at times.”

  Alex met us at the door. Gabrielle interrupted the idle greeting by bounding out of the kitchen and launching herself at Ryan. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting but overenthusiastic hugging wasn’t it. Ryan reciprocated, breaking her hold only to do the Décarie double-kiss routine.

  “It’s been such a long time,” she crowed, grabbing his hands and pushing him to arm’s length while she looked him up and down. “You haven’t changed one bit.”

  “You have,” he noted, smiling. “You used to be blonde, back in the day.

  She put a finger to her lips. “Shush.”

  “Blonde, eh?” teased Alex. “Who knew?”

  “Oh yeah,” purred Ryan, swinging her hand. “She was a rebel.”

  * * *

  Dinner was divine. Unexpectedly, the company was too. Gabrielle and Ryan chatted, laughed and reminisced like old friends rather than two cousins who didn’t particularly like each other. I was beginning to wonder if Ryan had embellished the animosity between them.

  Alex seemed to be enjoying himself too, mainly because he learned a few things about his arty French beauty queen that night. If not for Ryan spilling the beans, he’d probably have never found out about the thick glasses she wore as a child or her short-lived foray into modelling as a teen.

  The embarrassing revelations weren’t one-sided. Thanks to Gabrielle, I found out about Ryan’s brief high school obsession with techno music and baggy clothes. I tried to picture it in my mind. I couldn’t do it. The man wore tailored shirts, for crying out loud.

  Ryan mistook my thoughtful stare for fatigue. “Are you tired, Charli?” He downed the last mouthful of wine in his glass. “We can go if you want to.”

  It was after eleven. I hadn’t managed to stay awake that late at night for weeks. “A little.”

  Ryan smiled. “Comes with the territory, I expect.”

  “Yes, of course,” concurred Gabrielle. She began clearing the table. “You need your rest, Charli.”

  I suddenly felt older than my years. Confusingly, I also felt like a child being dismissed from the table because it was time for bed.

  “There’s plenty of time to catch up,” agreed Alex, pushing his chair back. “How long did you say you’re in town for?”

  Ryan followed his lead and stood. “I’m hoping to be out of here by the end of the week, depending on how acquiescent your daughter is to my not-so-hostile takeover.”

  I glowered. “I told you, just give me the papers and I’ll sign it over.”

  “Maybe I’ll give her an extra few days to come to her senses,” suggested Ryan, transferring his smirk to Alex. “Her negotiating skills are a little off.”

  Alex chuckled, but the Parisienne was determined to put her two cents in. “You do need to put some thought into this, Charli,” she urged. “You have a child to support now.”

  It was too much to think that Alex hadn’t told Gabrielle all about the Billet-doux situation. Her input annoyed me because she had to know her concern was a crock. I’d married very well and I was on the cusp of divorcing even better. The reality was, if I never managed to get my act together it would make no difference to the financial support of my child. I was loaded.

  “You’re absolutely right.” I thumped my hand on the table, making the setting rattle. “You can buy me out for two million dollars.”

  He didn’t bat an eyelid. “Now I definitely need to give you a few days to come to your senses. You’re delusional.”

  * * *

  The ride back to the cottage quickly turned into an inquisition.

  “I thought you couldn’t stand Gabrielle,” I accused. “You looked pretty chummy tonight.”

  Ryan flashed me a puzzled sideward glance. “I haven’t seen her in years. Were you hoping for a brawl?”

  “No, of course not. I just wasn’t expecting you to be so friendly.”

  “She hasn’t had a chance to aggravate me. I’m sure if I was subjected to her company for any length of time, the affability would wane.”

  I laughed out loud at his convoluted words. “You’re such a dick.”

  “I try my best,” he retorted, grinning.

  * * *

  Waking up the next morning knowing that I wasn’t alone in the house was a joyous feeling. But I knew it would be short-lived. Ryan had made it clear that as soon as the Billet-doux affair was wrapped up, he’d be on the first flight to New York. I expected him to hit me with his buyout offer over breakfast, but he never mentioned it. Perhaps the salt air was slowing him down.

  The man opposite me looked nothing like the jetlagged Manhattanite pounding on my door the day before. He looked relaxed dressed in faded jeans, grey T-shirt and bare feet.

  “I stole something from your father’s house last night,” he announced.

  I didn’t buy it. I continued eating my cereal as if he hadn’t spoken. I did smile though, giving him licence to continue the nonsense.

  “C’mon, Charli,” he goaded, leaning across the table. “Don’t you want to know what it is?”<
br />
  “No.”

  He leaned back. “You used to be one of the best crooks around,” he reminisced. “Motherhood is making you soft.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh for goodness sake. Tell me.”

  Ryan reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out – of all things – a cork. He placed it reverently on the table.

  “And you think I’m a simple creature?”

  His smile brightened to Décarie level. “That pinot we had last night was outstanding.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” I muttered, taking my bowl to the sink. “I didn’t have any.”

  “It got me thinking. If that’s the calibre of wines in this region, I should meet with the supplier, buy a few cases and have it shipped home for the restaurants. What do you think?”

  Why did he care what I thought? I rinsed my bowl and returned to the table on the pretence of mulling it over. I picked up the cork and rolled it between my fingers, reading the winery name on the side. It was from the Tate estate.

  “In theory, I think it’s a great idea.” I tossed the cork at him. He surprised me by catching it. “In practice, it might be the worst business decision of your career.”

  As far as I knew, the Tate’s wine sales were the domain of Meredith. Even Ryan would find it challenging to deal with her.

  “Why?”

  “They’re... difficult to deal with,” I replied cryptically.

  “You know them?” I tilted my head to one side, silently answering his question. “Of course you know them. You probably know everyone in this backwater town. You can set up a meeting for me.”

  “Why would I help you do that? I can’t stand them.” I spoke with absolute contempt. “If you want to go making deals with the Beautifuls, on your own head be it.”

  “Who are the Beautifuls?”

  I had a good mind to march him down to Jasmine’s salon and feed him to her.

  “The Beautifuls are the daughters of your winemakers. It’s a small town and word gets round. One way or another, you’ll have to go through them to get to the pinot.”