Secret North: Book 4 of The Wishes Series

by G. J. Walker-Smith

  Bridget stared at me for a long moment while she thought it through. “You run, Ry,” she said. “Really fast.”

  ***

  We spent the ten-minute walk to my parents’ house going over her shady plan. My one and only job was to create a diversion.

  “Talk to Mamie for a while,” she instructed.

  “Okay,” I replied. “I’ve got it.”

  Mom answered the door, more than a little surprised to see us. “Hello, darlings. What are you doing here?”

  I wasn’t sure if the absence of Mrs Brown would work in our favour or not. It didn’t seem to mess with Bridget’s plans. The ease with which she launched into her tale was almost troubling.

  “Can we have a juice box please, Mamie?” she asked sweetly. “We’ve been to the park and it’s very hot.”

  That was a lie: at best the afternoon was mild; but my mother didn’t question it. “Oh, sweetheart.” She led her inside. “Playing at the park is thirsty work, I’m sure.”

  I trailed behind them as they headed to the kitchen chatting nonsense. Bridget hung by the kitchen door while Mom grabbed a juice box from the fridge.

  “Thank you, Mamie.” Her little voice was far too enthusiastic to be believable, but Mom didn’t seem to notice she was hamming it up.

  “You’re welcome, my darling girl,” she replied, pinching her cheeks.

  Bridget glanced at me. I guessed that was my cue.

  Distracting my mother wasn’t going to be easy. When Adam’s little princess was around, everyone else failed to exist in my mother’s eyes. As it stood, she hadn’t said a word to me since we’d arrived.

  I pulled it off by asking her opinion of my shirt.

  She brushed my shoulder. “It’s fine, Ryan. I like the colour.”

  Bridget didn’t waste a second. Once Mom’s back was turned, she expertly slipped out the door. As soon as she was gone, I abandoned the charade and let my mother in on the scheme.

  “You cannot condone that sort of behaviour, Ryan.” She was aghast. “Your father will be most upset to know she’s been in there.”

  “She’s just after some scrabble pieces, Ma,” I muttered. “Not the family jewels.”

  “It’s the principle!” she scolded. “You’re giving her permission to be sneaky and underhanded. Not even Charli would approve of that.”

  She was right. Of course she was right. I knew I had to stop Bridget, but it didn’t feel good, especially since the whole reason for her dangerous mission was to help me out.

  At Mom’s insistence, I headed upstairs to intervene. The second floor was deathly quiet, which proved that Bridget was practically fearless. A big empty house should have been a scary place for a little kid, but my niece was no ordinary kid. I crept down the hallway, stopping at the doorway of my father’s study.

  Everything about the room was huge. The carved antique furniture was oversized, the ceiling was high, and the massive bookshelf running the length of the far wall was so tall that a rolling library ladder had been fitted. The only small thing in there was Bridget, who was fossicking in the bottom drawer of a cabinet. I’d all but forgotten the bounty of board games kept in there; they hadn’t seen the light of day since we were kids.

  I whispered her name, trying to gain her attention without scaring her.

  “I’m here,” she replied.

  “I know. I can see you.”

  She lifted the lid off the scrabble game, grabbed a handful of pieces and hurriedly loaded them into her bag. “I’ve got them, Ry,” she announced victoriously.

  It was probably her good fortune that I was her uncle rather than her father. Adam would’ve been appropriately appalled by her antics. I, on the other hand, felt a strange sense of pride – especially when she put the game back together and closed the drawer in a bid to clean up her crime scene.

  As much as it pained me, I couldn’t let her get away with it.

  “I can’t let you do this, Bridge,” I said, stopping her at the doorway.

  She waved her bag at me. “I have your words for you.”

  “I know, sweetheart, but you kind of stole them.” My attempt at righting the wrong was half-assed at best. “It’s not good to steal.”

  Her face fell, etched with the pure disappointment of finding out that her hard work had been for nothing. “But I got words for you.”

  I put my hand under her chin and tilted her head. “Those letters belong to your dad,” I explained. “He might be sad if you steal them.”

  She shook the bag, making the letters inside rattle. “These are Daddy’s?”

  They sure as hell weren’t mine. I’d favoured games that were actually fun, like Battleships or strip poker. Adam was the dork who’d enjoyed scrabble and chess.

  “I’ll tell you what,” I held my phone to her, “you call your dad and ask if you can have them. If he says yes, we’re home and hosed.” She frowned, and I knew I’d lost her. “It means we’re okay to keep them.”

  “Okay.”

  I hit Adam’s name on the screen and handed over the phone. She paced the hall with the phone to her ear and a hand on her hip as if she was on an important business call.

  “It’s on speaker,” I told her. “You don’t need to hold it to your ear.”

  When Adam answered, she put her finger to her lips and shushed me. “Hi Daddy,” she said sweetly. “It’s Bridget Décarie.”

  “Hello, Bridget Décarie.” Adam didn’t miss a beat. “What can I do for you?”

  His daughter’s explanation was straight to the point. She’d swiped his scrabble pieces and wanted his permission to keep them.

  “They’re for my uncle,” she explained. “The big one, not the baby one.”

  Adam’s reply got caught in a laugh. “You may have them,” he told her, “but don’t lose them, okay?”

  “I won’t,” she promised, making me smile by giving me a thumbs-up from the end of the hall.

  “I’ve got to go, Bridge,” he replied. “I’m at work. I love you so much.”

  The call ended and she took off running toward me. I held my hand out and she met it with a slapping high five. “We’re home and closed, Ry.”

  ***

  The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. We hung out with Mom for a while – long enough for her to attempt to bake cupcakes while we sorted through the scrabble pieces on the coffee table.

  “There,” I announced, lining up the last of the letters.

  Bridget leaned closer. “What does it say?”

  I pointed to them as I spoke. “I love you, Bente.”

  “Ohh,” she sang. “She will love you too, for sure.”

  I wished my life was as simple as the one Bridget lived. For all I knew, I might’ve exhausted all channels of forgiveness where Bente was concerned. Twenty-six-year-old women were not as easily swayed as their four-year-old counterparts.

  ***

  I delivered my niece home at five-thirty, carrying a bag of new words and a container of burnt cupcakes. I then headed home to learn my fate, killing some time along the way by stopping to buy coffee and a newspaper that I’d already read.

  My efforts at stalling were in vain. I still managed to beat Bente home by fifteen minutes, which sucked because it gave me more thinking time.

  She finally walked through the door looking wrecked – beautiful beyond measure, but wrecked. The awkwardness was made worse by the little wave she gave me as she said hello. I truly hated that gesture. She only seemed to make it when I was in the doghouse.

  “How was your afternoon?” I asked.

  My generic question was answered with an equally standard shrug, so I tried breaking the ice by approaching her.

  “Don’t Ryan.” She held me at arm’s length. “I think we need to talk.”

  Nothing about her tone sounded encouraging. I contemplated running out the door, but forced myself to take a more adult approach.

  “Fine,” I replied. “Let’s talk.”

  34. BLACK PLAGUE


  Bente

  I wasn’t angered by his arrogant tone, mainly because I knew it was a crock. Ryan looked terrified. He sat on the couch and I moved to sit beside him, perching forward on the cushion and angling my body so I could look at him.

  “I’m sorry about this morning,” I said quietly. “I don’t know what I was thinking when I said it.”

  “Are you rescinding your declaration, Bente?”

  If the situation hadn’t been so serious, I might’ve laughed at his phrasing. “You’re such a lawyer.”

  “I’ve been called worse,” he replied with a half-smile.

  I worked on my next move. He’d hurt me horribly. I should’ve been willing to accept that the wasp had delivered another sting and walk away, just as I’d done in the past. But I couldn’t.

  “I do love you,” I admitted.

  “I’m sorry I freaked out,” he replied. “This is so new and –”

  I cut him off before he said anything cringe-worthy. “It’s not new, Ryan. Not for me.” My head fell. “I’ve always been in love with you.”

  “You have?” His shaky voice was barely there.

  “For years,” I confessed. “I just assumed I was allowed to admit to it now. Clearly I jumped the gun.”

  Ryan shifted, joining me at the edge of the couch. One sudden move from either of us would’ve sent us toppling to the floor in a heap.

  He reached for my hand and held it tightly in his lap. “We’ve known each other a long time. You’re not new to me, Bente. But the way I’m feeling is new. That’s what I’m struggling with.”

  “Do you love me, Ryan?”

  I could feel him looking at me but didn’t dare lift my head, afraid of what he might say.

  “If I say yes, can I keep you forever?”

  I smiled, because his dumb question left me no choice. “I only want you to say it if you mean it.” I felt like I was backing him into a corner. Ryan Décarie was not renowned for deep and meaningful conversations. Pressuring him to discuss his feelings was adding stress to a structure that had never been up to code in the first place. I let him off the hook. “On second thoughts, don’t answer that.”

  “Why not?”

  I lifted my head, immediately noticing the hurt in his eyes. “Because it wouldn’t be believable, Ryan.”

  He shifted my hand from his lap to his chest. “Can you feel my heart?” he asked.

  I could, but lied and said no.

  “It’s hammering,” he told me. “It was doing the same thing this morning when you told me you loved me. I was also feeling nauseous and shaky all over. I’ve never felt that before. What do you suppose that means?”

  “You tell me,” I whispered.

  “Well, I suspect I have the early symptoms of the Black Plague.”

  The laugh that escaped my lips was quiet and breathy. “I hope not,” I replied. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

  Ryan brought my hand to his mouth and kissed my fingers. “When I tell you I love you, you’re going to believe it. I promise you.”

  ***

  Everybody has different expectations about how love should play out. Charli and her frog hold hands, count stars and end phone calls by saying “I love you so much.” My love life worked a little differently. I’d somehow fallen for a thirty-year-old relationship virgin who couldn’t differentiate between falling in love and contracting an obsolete plague.

  Moving forward with Ryan required taking baby steps, which is exactly the stride I took as I headed up the hallway to the bedroom after our heart-to-heart on the couch. If I’d known what was waiting for me, I would’ve run to get there.

  On the floor at the foot of the bed was a message spelled out in scrabble letters. At first I thought it was something Bridget had done and forgotten to pick up – until I read it. The girl was smart but not yet literate, so I discounted her as the culprit.

  I read the sentence spelled out on the floor:

  You are pecan pie girl.

  Thanks to Charli, I understood it perfectly. The next sentence was a little harder to decipher so I read it out loud. “I love rou, Bente.”

  “I ran short of y’s.”

  Jumping at the sound of his voice, I quickly spun around to see Ryan standing in the doorway.

  “Is that what happened?”

  “Yeah.” He smiled, and it was perfect. “I improvised and went with the Scooby-doo angle.”

  I was overwhelmed and confused. Overwhelmed because it was the sweetest, most romantic gesture in the world. Confused because it had come from Ryan.

  “Is it true?” I couldn’t believe I’d questioned him. Doubting him was unfair; but Ryan took no offense.

  “If you’re not convinced, I’ll have to work harder,” he told me.

  “You’re sure it’s not the plague?” I asked in a small voice.

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “If it is, I’ll die a happy man.”

  ***

  Two weeks passed and I was no closer to securing a journalism position, but Billet-doux was working out okay. Noelle drove me nuts, but I took heart in the fact that she seemed to have the same effect on everybody.

  Perhaps that’s why two servers had called in sick. “It’s going to be a busy one,” she warned, collaring me at the door. “We’re two men down already.” She’d made it sound as if they were casualties of war, but I didn’t dare laugh at her theatrics.

  “I’ll do my best to keep up,” I assured.

  Keeping up was impossible. The place was bedlam that day – two impromptu birthday parties and several business meetings made for a very busy shift. On top of that, Ryan and Charli chose that day of all days to get together over lunch. It wasn’t exactly a social gathering. They were business partners. One of them was savvy and business minded. The other liked to take pictures.

  I heard Ryan grumble as I passed their table. “I’m legally obligated to keep you in the loop, Charli. At least pretend to be interested.” I was moving too quickly to hear her reply, but vowed to keep an eye on them. The last thing I needed was a front-of-house slanging match between owners.

  I made my way to a table in the corner. Tables for one were usually easy because they were fast to turn over, but as soon as the guy sitting there looked up at me I knew there would be nothing easy about it.

  “Well, well, well,” he drawled. “If it isn’t Bente Denison.”

  My skin began to crawl. The last time I’d seen Joel McGivern, he was doubled over in pain thanks to my knee to his groin.

  “Joel,” I replied curtly. “What can I get for you?”

  His smarmy smirk grew broader. “I can think of a few things.”

  I’d only lasted two weeks as Joel’s receptionist. Seeing him again made me wonder how I’d endured it for that long.

  Unbelievably, he put his hand on the back of my thigh. I slapped him away and stepped out of reach. “Don’t you ever touch me again,” I hissed, “or I’ll break your hand.”

  Joel’s laugh matched his slimy grin. “Still fiery,” he said. “And I still like it.”

  I turned my head, hoping to catch Ryan’s eye. It was hopeless. He was too busy trying to hold Charli’s attention. “Order something or get out,” I demanded.

  Joel continued being a slug. “I’ve already ordered. You’re inefficient as usual. But still, you’re probably better suited to bussing tables than being a receptionist.”

  For some stupid reason, I bit back. “I’m not a receptionist, and I’m not a waitress,” I hissed.

  He reached for me again. “You’re a tease though.”

  I slapped his hand away, harder this time.

  “Tell me something, honey,” he purred. “Did you make it home okay on your last day? I imagine you might have had a bit of trouble paying your fare without your wallet.”

  I burned with pure fury. “You took it,” I realised. “What could you possibly have to gain from doing that?”

  He tried to whisper his reply but it came out in a gravelly hiss. “You inconven
ienced me. I returned the favour. If you want your wallet back, swing by my office any time you like.”

  There was no way I was going back there. I’d already cancelled my cards, and he could keep the cash. I told him this using every single curse word I could think of, and stormed away before he could respond.

  Ryan’s office was at the end of a short corridor, well out of the way of front of house. It seemed like a good place to escape to. The tears that hit me as I wove through the tables to get there had nothing to do with sadness or humiliation. I felt nothing other than pure unadulterated hate towards Joel McGivern and his beastly ways. Ryan must’ve noticed something amiss because he caught up with me before I’d even reached the door.

  “Bente,” he called, grabbing my elbow. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

  I felt like a fool explaining it to him, but I tried. “He’s the creep I used to work for,” I sniffled. “And he’s the one who took my wallet.”

  Ryan brushed my tears away with his thumbs. “Why would he do that?”

  “Because he’s an ass.”

  Charli appeared a second later. “Everything okay?” she asked quietly.

  “She’s fine,” Ryan replied, glancing back at her. “Are you up for a little bit of role play, Charlotte?”

  Her look of concern quickly slipped in favour of a wicked grin. “Beats going over the monthly accounts.”

  This was Ryan and Charli at their best. Under normal circumstances, business relations were strained. When they were up to no good, it was the perfect partnership. “Just leave it,” I pleaded. “Someone else can serve him. I’ll hang back here until he’s gone.”

  Ryan stepped back toward me, took my face in his hands and whispered in my ear. “No one puts baby in the corner.” His Dirty Dancing reference killed my anger in a flash. I was now fighting the urge to laugh, which was probably his intention.

  “I knew you watched it.”

  He put his fingers to his lips as he backed away. “Shhhh.”

  Charli followed him to the archway leading to front of house. I couldn’t hear the conversation Ryan had with her, but was fairly sure by the way she was nodding that he was giving her instructions. He disappeared a few seconds later and I wasted no time in questioning her.