The Way Back

by Stephanie Doyle

  “Okay, good. Now, get me that book.”

  Gabby ended the call and felt the air in her lungs swoosh out of her.

  So this is what it felt like to burn a bridge.

  * * *

  IT WAS AFTER SEVEN o’clock at night and Gabby finally had to admit she was starving. After her jog-slash-mostly-walk, she’d returned to the inn to shower, change and then set about doing what she imagined most successful ghost writers did—research and write down observations she had about her subject.

  She’d contemplated using a recorder to capture her thoughts, but having tried it once to prepare verbal notes for interviews, she knew she felt silly talking aloud into it. Not to mention when she paused during her thought process she made this weird breathing sound she suspected she made a lot but was able to ignore as long as she didn’t hear it played back through a recorder.

  Instead she typed random thoughts into her laptop and saved the document simply as Hunter.

  Things she knew about him so far—he didn’t want to be interviewed. He was shorter in person. He was hotter in person. She deleted that point. His natural instinct was to help her when she’d fallen even though he didn’t want to be bothered by her. He drove a truck instead of a motorcycle. He spoke to his dog in soft affectionate tones, which made her shiver a little. She deleted that point, too.

  Not exactly ground-breaking biographical material at this point but she was just starting out.

  After the past hour of staring at the screen and telling herself her stomach wasn’t growling, she finally had to admit it was. Which meant going in search of food. After the horror at the café two nights ago, she’d chosen a convenience store hot dog for last night’s dinner. On the island there was one gas station with a small food store next to it. In the store there was a rotisserie containing three hot dogs she was fairly sure had been sitting on the rack for minimum of two years.

  The store was down one hot dog and she was down about five Tums to digest the thing, which meant she wasn’t going back.

  Earlier in the day she’d tried to hint to Susan an inn that served dinner probably would be a smashing hit, but the caretaker merely smiled and said breakfast was her forte. But for a fine meal Gabby could do worse than the café down the street.

  Unless the café people hated her.

  There was always the hope she could be worried for nothing. Maybe Adel and Zhanna didn’t work every night. Or if one of them did, maybe they would stay in the back and Gabby would have a different waitress serve her. Perfect. Where there was hope, there was food.

  Gabby put on her sneakers. She concluded that as unfashionable as they might be, they were the only practical shoes she owned. Anything less than heavy socks and total foot coverage was plain stupid for as cold as it was. Bundling into her coat, she trotted down the street and crossed in front of the café. No jaywalking signs. No clearly marked pedestrian walkways. In this town you looked both ways and, if there were no cars coming, you crossed.

  If there were, and you chose to ignore them, you got hit.

  Seemed pretty straightforward to her and a lot simpler calculating if you could get across the street with the seconds counting down on the pedestrian traffic light.

  The bell chimed as she stepped inside the restaurant and her hopes were quickly dashed.

  “Oy, it’s you again.”

  “Hello, Zhanna. Nice to see you.”

  “Sit,” the girl said pointing to an empty booth. “I’ll be with you when I choose.”

  Gabby took encouragement she hadn’t been told to leave. If she was sitting, there was a good shot they would feed her. She didn’t allow herself to reach for the menu. She didn’t want to know the sumptuous specials they were offering tonight. All she needed was a salad. With the dressing on the side.

  On the side. On the side.

  “Don’t let her scare you.”

  Gabby looked to the man sitting at the counter who swiveled his seat in her direction.

  “Too late.”

  He laughed. “It’s just her way. Deep inside she’s got a heart of gold. I’m pretty sure anyway.” He hopped off his stool and offered her a hand. “I’m Tom. I’m the lone vet on the island.”

  She shook it and answered his smile. It was nice to feel a little welcomed. “I’m Gabby. Nice to meet you.”

  “What brings you to Hawk Island?”

  “She wants to expose Jamie to horrible ridicule and humiliation,” Zhanna stated, her order pad in her hand as she practically pushed herself between Tom and Gabby. “You don’t want anything to do with this one, Tom. I’m fairly certain she kills little animals for fun.”

  Gabby’s jaw dropped. “I do not.”

  Tom chuckled. “Don’t let Zhanna get to you. She’s all bark, Gabby. Good luck with whatever.”

  “Do you want to get pie from me or not, Mr. Tom?”

  His eyes twinkled. “Honey, I always want pie from you.”

  “Oh, hush now. Go sit on stool and I’ll fix you something hearty. You are always too skinny.”

  Tom wandered to the counter and Zhanna’s eyes stayed with him for a minute longer than was natural. Then, as if shaking herself out of a trance, she focused on Gabby.

  “Now you. What do you want?”

  “A salad. With the dressing on the—”

  “Got it.” Zhanna walked away before Gabby could finish speaking.

  Digging into her purse Gabby pulled out a pen and pad and started writing. One of the keys to weight loss she read was to document everything she ate in a day plus her amount of exercise.

  Dry toast again this morning. Extensive jogging for five minutes. Salad with dressing on the side…

  Zhanna plunked a plate in front of her. It sounded much too heavy for salad. It smelled way better, too.

  “You did say hamburger and fries, didn’t you?”

  “No.” Gabby looked at the plate of food and nearly wanted to cry. A large patty with cheese drooping down the side mocked her. Lettuce and tomato were merely camouflage. The big soft bun was made out of white flour instead of whole wheat. Not fair.

  She stared at it and tried to ignore the rest of the plate which was teaming with crisp golden French fries.

  She was starving. It smelled delicious. These women were evil.

  The door to the café opened and Gabby glanced up to see Jamison enter. Zhanna turned and gave him a silly half smile.

  He walked to her and clucked a finger beneath her chin in greeting. “Hello, brat.”

  “Hello, my favorite customer.” The tone was sarcastic but friendly. These two knew each other well. Not a surprise given Zhanna’s loyalty to him. Once again thoughts of how Jamison might have seduced the young woman filtered through Gabby’s mind. But watching them, she did have to admit there were no sexual sparks between them. More like easy friendship.

  “Gabriella.”

  “Jamison.” Great. The one person who knew she could barely run for ten minutes spotted her behind a plate of artery-clogging—and very delicious-smelling—food. She felt her cheeks flame up and she blurted, “I didn’t order this.”

  He laughed. “Then why did Zhanna bring it to you?”

  Gabby figured ratting out his friend probably wasn’t a smart idea.

  “Ah, I see,” he said, grasping the situation. “And what did you order?”

  “A salad with dressing on the side. I ordered it…on the side.”

  He nodded. Then gave Zhanna a slightly disapproving glare. “Having a little fun with the new person in town?”

  “She wants to write about you,” Zhanna said sulkily.

  “I know. How was the burger done?”

  “Medium.”

  Jamison lifted the plate and set it on the table in the empty booth behind her. “Bring her the salad, Zee.”

  “Oy. Always the forgiving one.” With a huff she went into the kitchen.

  Gabby could feel him settle down directly behind her. He wasted no time digging into her burger.

  “Tha
nk you.”

  Around a mouthful of meat, he mumbled she was welcome.

  “You should know if you hadn’t come in I probably would have eaten it. I don’t have much willpower.”

  He didn’t comment.

  She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to confess to him, but it was important she not seem hypocritical. At least with herself. She wasn’t perfect. There was no point pretending she was. If he knew that about her, it might make it easier for him to trust her.

  Adel emerged from the kitchen a minute later. The salad was big and brimming with vegetables. The dressing was in a cup on the side.

  “Thank you.”

  “Yeah.”

  It seemed her relationship with Jamison’s dog was the best one Gabby had cultivated so far.

  The café remained empty except for the two of them in the booths and Tom at the counter who was definitely taking a very long time to chose his meal. Despite the impatient way she’d treated Gabby, Zhanna did not seem to mind his indecisiveness.

  As Gabby picked through lettuce, cucumbers and tomatoes she could hear Jamison’s fork hitting the plate and imagined him diving into those decadent fries. It seemed awkward to have him behind her. But he hadn’t asked to join her and she didn’t want him to think if she invited him, she was doing so only to get information from him.

  She wasn’t out for the story tonight. A little company, however, would be nice.

  Picking up her plate and dressing, she moved booths and sat across from him before he could object. He raised his eyebrows to let her know she’d been a bit daring, but before he could speak she did.

  “Relax, I’m not going to grill you for facts about your life.”

  “I wouldn’t give them to you if you did.”

  She ignored that. “It seems stupid the two of us eating alone.”

  “I eat alone most nights.”

  So did she. Most meals in fact. She preferred it that way. Or at least she thought she did. It had been the idea of him being there, only a foot away from her, but still separate that had bothered her. Two days of trespassing, two days of being left in his dust, yet Gabby was beginning to feel a connection. Sort of.

  “Can’t we have a normal conversation?”

  “We could. If you were a normal woman and not a writer. But then, if you were a normal woman, this might be a date and we both know you wouldn’t consent to that.”

  Just the word date made her nervous. “It can’t be a date if neither person asked the other to be with them.”

  “Right. You didn’t ask. You barged. Kind of like you did when you came to my house, then again on my beach. You know you what you are,” he said shaking a fry in her direction. “You’re a barger.”

  “That’s not a word. But I have a solution. Tonight I’m not a writer or a date. Let’s call me a tourist.”

  “And what am I?”

  “You’re the local. You tell me what it’s like to live on an island.”

  He pulled another fry from the pile and chewed while he contemplated her suggestion. Because she’d already told him she was weak-willed, she didn’t feel guilty at all about snatching one of his fries for herself.

  It was delicious. Maybe a little more salt.

  “Please, feel free,” he said as she sprinkled some salt on one corner of his plate.

  “You want a cucumber in exchange?

  “Is that a joke?”

  “Right. So, tell me what it’s like here.”

  “It’s quiet. What you would expect. A few small businesses, but most of the folks here are fishermen. Lobstermen to be exact.”

  “Lobster. That’s right. This is Maine.” It was odd. Suddenly Gabby felt like Dorothy emerging from her tornado-tossed house. She wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

  He scowled at her. “You don’t know where you are?”

  “I know where I am,” she snapped. “I guess it just occurred to me where the place was. I’ve been more focused on the journey. By way of Philadelphia.”

  “So what happened?”

  She wasn’t sure what he meant and her face must have shown that.

  “You. Here. The big story. Something sent you on your way. Turned you back into a newbie.”

  She shifted in her seat. Telling him the story wasn’t as easy as it had been telling the women. “I got fired.”

  “And you’re here to start your life over. I knew it.”

  “Something like that.”

  He shook his head and pushed away the plate. He’d devoured the burger and between the two of them they’d eaten every fry. Gabby took another stab at a tomato to counterbalance the fat.

  “I’m nobody’s do-over.”

  “I didn’t say that. Look, at first I thought this was going to be a simple retrieval assignment for my boss. But I realize there is something more here. Something bigger. I don’t want to write anyone’s story. I want to write yours.”

  “You’ll need to get used to the disappointment. Since I didn’t order the burger I figure dinner is on you.”

  Vaguely, Gabby wondered how she might sneak it into her expense report. Although she didn’t imagine McKay would mind her buying their meal ticket dinner. “Done. But you need to leave the tip.”

  “Why?”

  “They won’t take my money.”

  He slid out of the booth and dropped a five dollar bill on the table. “You better get used to that, too. Folks around here won’t take kindly to what you’re doing.”

  “What are they going to do? Kick me off the island?” She thought she’d made a joke. But he didn’t smile.

  “They might.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “WHAT’S THIS?” GABRIELLA held out the neatly typed piece of paper to Susan the next day so she could see it clearly. “I found it under my room door this morning.”

  “Yes, dear. It’s your bill.”

  “But isn’t that typically something you give to someone at the end of their stay?”

  Susan smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “I’m sure you’ve seen all our little island has had to offer. Surely you have all the material you need for your book. Your fiction book.”

  The jig was up. Either Zhanna or Adel had talked. Or word got out simply because that’s how a small town rolled. Now Susan was trying to be polite and sweet while at the same time kicking Gabby out on her ass.

  “I’ll go pack my things.”

  “Yes, dear. I’ll have your dry wheat toast waiting for you downstairs for your last breakfast.”

  Gabby nodded and went to clean out her room. After choking down the toast, she loaded the rental car with her suitcase. She’d changed into her running clothes since the plan had been to attempt another late morning jog with Jamison. She could still meet up with him, perhaps farther along the beach. Her unphysical fitness would prove to be a blessing in this case because she didn’t need to worry about working up a sweat when she had nowhere to shower.

  But she told herself not to be ridiculous. Surely there had to be some other place on the island where she could stay. A motel. Another B and B.

  She would ask Jamison while they ran.

  * * *

  “NOPE.” JAMISON PUFFED as they headed down the strip of beach together.

  “No other place to stay on this whole island?”

  “Not a one. Guess it sucks for you. Oh, well. You gave it your best shot. Good luck getting this career started in New York.”

  Gabby watched him go from warm-up mode to high-gear mode. In the space of a minute he was yards and yards ahead of her. Eventually she came to a stop. She caught her breath and kept walking only to realize Shep wasn’t plodding along next to her. When she turned around she saw him lying on the sand.

  Something about the way he was laid out bothered her though. She called for Jamison but he was out of earshot. No doubt trying to put her as far behind him as fast as possible.

  Approaching the old dog, Gabby got down on her hunches. “Hey, are you okay?”

  A soft wine and whimper w
as her answer.

  She tried to give him a little nudge up on his feet but the dog only whimpered more. He wasn’t moving. He certainly wasn’t walking anywhere.

  Now what was she supposed to do? Jamison wouldn’t loop back here for at least another forty minutes. She couldn’t leave the poor dog sitting on the beach. And she sure wasn’t going to wait around while something awful might be happening when she could have gotten him to a vet.

  Decision made, Gabby began to use her foot to draw out some letters in the sand. That done she bent down and hauled what had to be forty pounds of German Sheppard into her arms and over her shoulder. As old as he was, he didn’t carry a lot of weight, but still he was as much as she could handle.

  “Okay, boy, stay with me now.”

  Carefully she made her way up the incline. Stopping a few times to catch her breath. This workout was way worse than jogging, but fortunately the old dog didn’t fight her, just laid over her shoulder with an occasional whimper. No struggle at all in fact.

  It made Gabby feel worse. Obviously something was wrong for the dog to be this complacent. Reaching the top, she spotted Jamie’s truck. It would be a whole lot faster to use than making her way down the long driveway to where she left her rental car. Taking a chance Jamie was a leave-the-keys-in-the-car person—wasn’t that a thing most small-town people did?—she opened the passenger door and settled Shep inside. The poor dog simply curled in on himself and closed his eyes.

  Running around the car to the driver side she opened the door and checked the center console for the keys. Nothing. She lowered the sun visor and found nothing there, either. Last shot was the glove compartment otherwise she would have to move Shep again—something she didn’t want to do.

  Pay dirt. A fat key ring sat in the compartment but the car key was the heaviest and easy to identify. Partway down the drive, she realized when Jamie returned from his run he would need to follow her. She reversed to where her car was parked, dropped the keys on the front seat, then drove on.

  She really had to hope the stuff about small towns being safe with low crime rates was true.

  “Okay, Shep we’re on our way.”

  Thanks to the coincidental meeting in the café last night, she knew the island had a vet. Of course, she didn’t have a clue where his office was located. She figured she could simply drive into town and someone there would help her. If not for her, then certainly for Jamison’s dog.