The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound Book 1)

by Jamie Beck

  “Wait up, Val,” Ryan said as he shook Wallingford’s hand. “I want to talk about Emmy.”

  “Okay.” She said goodbye to Wallingford with a sweet-as-pie smile. Once she turned her back to the older man, her expression steeled. “What?”

  Ryan asked, “First, what’s the deal with Block Island?”

  “John has a place there. We’d like to take Emmy for the long weekend. I thought you could bring her up to Point Judith, and we’ll take the ferry Saturday morning. You can come back Monday afternoon to pick her up.”

  He didn’t want John around his daughter, but he knew he had no say. “I’ll make it work, but do me a favor. Be careful of letting Emmy get attached to John. We don’t know what the future holds, and we should try to keep her from losing more people. At least until she’s gotten used to the divorce.”

  “I could say the same to you.”

  He gestured toward his chest with both hands. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

  “Steffi?”

  He rolled his eyes. “My mother hired her to work at the house. She’s converting the porch to a family room. We aren’t dating.”

  “Then what’s the sailing excursion about?”

  “That was Emmy’s doing, not mine. I’ve talked with Steffi about not letting Emmy get too attached, but Steffi’s working at my mother’s house every day when Emmy gets off the bus, and Emmy is curious about what she’s doing. She seems to enjoy helping, and she needs something to feel good about. When the project is over, it’ll end. By then, Emmy should have some friends. She’s struggling with the transition at school right now.”

  Val seemed both relieved to learn that he and Steffi weren’t romantically involved, and concerned about Emmy’s school situation. “What are you doing about school?”

  “Trying to encourage her to invite some friends over. That’s how the sailing thing started. I want her to invest in our new community instead of sitting home alone hoping our separation is temporary.”

  “Are you saying something to give her the impression we might reconcile?” Val’s inscrutable expression might’ve worried him if he cared about her opinion.

  “Trust me, I’m no more interested in that than you are, Val.” As soon as he said it, he regretted it, because he saw the challenge it ignited. She didn’t want him, but she still wanted him to want her. Val loved sex and power games. Always had. He wished he’d realized that before they’d gotten involved, and run in the other direction.

  “I’ll email you the ferry departure time for Saturday.”

  “Fine.” He glanced at his watch. “Got to run.”

  Old habits made him lean forward to give her a kiss goodbye, but he jerked himself back before making contact. She’d gone still and held her breath.

  Near miss. Without another word, he strode out of the conference room and to the elevator. His day would improve exponentially the farther away he got from her.

  Ryan arrived home that evening to hear the sound of his daughter’s laughter in the yard. He saw her with Steffi, who was trying to teach her how to rainbow kick a soccer ball.

  Shocking as that sight was, it didn’t hold a candle to seeing Emmy in shorts and sneakers. No ruffles. No dress. No pink ribbons in her hair.

  Meanwhile, he knew Steffi had gone to see Peyton yesterday. Yet here she was, putting on a brave face for his daughter despite the fact that she’d probably had a rough weekend. He wanted to ask her how she was feeling. Not that Steffi would share her feelings with him, he reminded himself, and returned his attention to his daughter.

  “Where’s my princess?” he called as he crossed the backyard.

  Emmy waved. “Hi, Daddy. I’m learning a rainbow kick.”

  “Great!” he said, although she’d never once shown any interest in sports, let alone soccer.

  “Actually, your dad ought to teach you. He was always better than I was.” Steffi tossed him the ball, which he caught.

  “You finally admit it!” He laughed, having dealt with her competitive streak for years.

  “Don’t push it,” she murmured, suggesting she had said it only to make him look good in front of Emmy. “Goalies didn’t have much need for that move.”

  “Let’s see, Daddy. Do it!” Emmy clapped.

  He looked down at his dress shoes and slacks, then shrugged. It’d been a decade since he’d done one, and now he had to impress his daughter . . . and his ex, because, clearly, she still had the skill. “Don’t I get a warm-up?”

  “Chicken?” Steffi crossed her arms, goading him.

  Emmy joined in the taunt, flapping her little arms, crowing, “Bwok, bwok!”

  Resigned to potential embarrassment, he set the ball down to the inside of his right foot, with his left foot stepping back so that his toes could roll the ball up his right calf. He took a breath, stepped into it, and popped the ball with a quick snap of his right heel. It arced over his head and landed a few feet in front of him.

  Emmy whooped with pride, and Steffi whistled. “Look at you, Counselor. You’ve still got it.”

  He supposed sixteen years of playing a sport meant he’d always retain some basic skills. Still, almost a decade of his life had passed without setting foot on a field or buying a new pair of cleats. Soccer had given him a fantastic outlet for his energy and a sense of belonging. It’d been neglectful not to encourage Emmy to try some sports. He’d let Val control Emmy’s day-to-day, which meant that Emmy attempted ballet—because she wanted pink tutus—and piano, but neither stuck, and he hadn’t pushed.

  Emmy set the ball by her feet and tried again, not quite mastering the necessary roll up the calf. When the ball shot sideways, she chased it.

  “Maybe she can still enroll in the community soccer league. It’s early, and she’s new to town. If she’s inherited your talent, she could try out for a travel league next year. If not, at least it’s a way to make friends.” Steffi watched Emmy from beside him.

  “That’s a good idea. I’ll make a call and see if my mom will mind driving her to and from practice.”

  “She could probably walk. The town fields are only a half mile or so.”

  That idea shocked him. In Boston, Emmy never walked anywhere. Too much traffic and generalized “stranger danger.” But maybe here in the bubble of his small hometown, Emmy could experience the kind of freedom that would help her mature. “Maybe.”

  Steffi raised a brow. “We did all the time, didn’t we?”

  “We did.” Kick the can. Manhunt. Hanging out at Kovall’s candy store. He was always on his own with a pack of friends. “How was Peyton?”

  Steffi’s face paled at the sudden change in topic. “Determined not to wallow. Logan had lunch with us. He asked about everyone.”

  “Haven’t talked to him in a couple of years.” He could picture Logan, a prankster and the king of high school partying, like it was yesterday. Life had been sweet and easy then. Study. Train. Laugh. Sex. Repeat. Now it was all work—at the office, and at home with Emmy. Not much laughter lately. No sex.

  “You should reach out,” Steffi said. He could hardly look at her, though, because he’d started thinking about sex—or the lack of it. “He’d probably appreciate it.”

  “I should.” And then, because he didn’t want to spend too much time wading in the tides of nostalgia with Steffi or missing sex, he changed the subject. “Looks like you’re making good progress.” He eyed the project, telling himself not to think about sex.

  “Long day, but I’m keeping on schedule.”

  “Emmy’s not holding you up too much with soccer lessons and all, is she?”

  “No.” Steffi smiled. “I promised her I’d give her a few minutes if she helped me clean up. She swept the sawdust from the porch today.”

  He rubbed his chin playfully. “Violating child labor laws now?”

  “Well, I happen to know a great defense attorney, so I think I’m in the clear.”

  He repressed the urge to wrap his arm around her shoulder and kiss her head, like h
e used to when they’d tease each other. He didn’t mind a thawing between them, but he wasn’t ready to be friends, or more, even if everything in his body hummed when she stood so close. When the sun glinted off the blonde highlights and the breeze teased the stray hairs to flirt with her face. When the heat of a hot September afternoon made her skin glisten, and the joy in her eyes tugged at something deep within him while she watched Emmy trying to master the rainbow kick.

  He cleared his throat. “I need to change. Have a good night.”

  She flinched at the abrupt shift in his demeanor but recovered quickly. “I should head out, too.” She called out to Emmy, “Keep practicing and I’ll see how you do tomorrow.”

  “Okay!” Emmy smiled, and Ryan’s heart beat so hard he almost cried. His day had started off so miserably. He’d really needed this picture of hope tonight, and he had Steffi, in part, to thank.

  Owing her any gratitude felt like swallowing sawdust. He’d been angry for so long he didn’t know how to let that go and move on. But he had to learn, and soon. For everyone’s sake.

  Chapter Seven

  “Steffi, I forgot to pick up my prescription yesterday and I need my Coumadin. Can you run to the pharmacy for me before you go back to work?” her dad asked as she pulled up to the curb in front of her childhood home. She noticed him squinting behind the cheap black eyewear the ophthalmologist had given him to protect his dilated pupils.

  Still, he had a way of making those flimsy sunglasses look cool. Her dad had always had a Clint Eastwood vibe about him. Intense, quiet, unconventionally attractive. Even now, in old Levi’s, brown suede Keens, and a white cotton collared shirt, he seemed pretty hip for a guy with cataracts.

  “Let me help you inside first.” She walked with him into the house.

  The gray-and-white Cape Cod home hadn’t changed much. Her mom’s old flower beds had been replaced with a rock garden. It didn’t surprise her that her dad had opted for something low-maintenance, but part of her knew he also couldn’t watch the daffodils bloom, or smell the roses, without missing his wife. Other than the river rock, it looked just as it had in the nineties. Smelled pretty much the same, too. Equal parts salt water, coffee, and Irish Spring.

  The only other big difference was the quietude. Four rambunctious athletes and their friends had kept things lively, even after her mom had died. One by one, her brothers had flown the coop, and then she did, too. Did her dad miss the noise, or enjoy the silence? Maybe a bit of both, like her.

  Steffi settled him on the faded leather sofa, glancing at her watch because Claire would be expecting her soon, to meet with that new client buying the house on Hightop Road. “I guess you can’t watch TV yet, huh?”

  “Nope.” He stretched himself out along the cushions. “I’ll just catch a catnap. Kind of nice to take a break midweek.”

  Benny had mentioned that their dad had been working fewer hours this year. She supposed he was getting up there. His seventieth birthday was just around the corner. In fact, she needed to organize something with her brothers to celebrate that milestone. Finding a date when they could all travel home would be a challenge. She couldn’t recall the last time they’d all been together—probably two Christmases ago.

  If her mom had lived, she’d be turning sixty-eight this winter. The last birthday they’d celebrated together had been her forty-ninth. Peyton would be thirty-one on her next birthday. Steffi shivered and refocused.

  She looked around at the “senior” bachelor pad, which looked a little worse for wear since he’d lived alone. Cleaning the house had always been her mother’s chore, and then hers, because none of her brothers cared if they lived in a pigsty. Her dad kept it neat enough now but probably hadn’t mopped a floor or wiped down the woodwork in the past year. If she weren’t racing to finish the Quinns’ family room, she’d come over on Saturday and spend the day with soapy buckets and a scrub brush. Soon, she told herself. “Can I get you anything else? Something for dinner?”

  “Nah.” He shifted slightly. “I’ll make a sandwich.”

  Eating a cold sandwich for dinner by oneself sounded a little pathetic. Then again, she’d done that more often than not over the past few years. “You need to go out more, Dad. It’s not healthy to spend your time alone here every night.”

  He grunted. That was all he would say about that, as she well knew. It wasn’t the first time she’d made the suggestion, although it had been at least a couple of months since the last time.

  It seemed a shame he’d never met anyone after her mom died. Never really tried, either. He’d burned through his fifties raising teens, and then his sixties running his hardware store. At sixty-nine, it seemed as if he didn’t even care about women anymore. She could still picture the lemon face he’d made when she’d suggested he take Mrs. Langley, a widow, to the Prescotts’ annual literacy gala.

  “Fine. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

  “Thanks.” He must’ve closed his eyes. Still a man of few words, but in a crunch those words always counted for something.

  By the time she got through the pharmacy line, she was late for her meeting with Claire and the new client. Steffi jogged across the parking lot, hoping she could cut through some back roads to drop the meds off with her dad and still get to the client meeting before it ended. Just as she opened her van door, a nearby motorcycle engine roared to life.

  Her body stilled as if she’d been flash frozen. The biker let loose a catcall whistle before his deep voice called out, “Nice sticks, little mama.”

  In her mind, she flipped the guy the bird, yet somehow she knew she hadn’t done it. Her ears rang, and darkness crowded her vision. Sweat beaded along her hairline as her heart pulsed faster.

  Gun.

  Stop. Please . . . No!

  Fly away . . . you’re not here.

  You’re not here.

  Blackness.

  “Miss?” A hand on Steffi’s shoulder startled her.

  She awoke from her daze to find herself on the ground by the side of her car, the prescription bag fallen to her side, one hand clutching the open door. She blew on her scraped knee. It looked worse than it felt, although she wanted to cry. To scream. To understand why the hell her brain wouldn’t heal faster. At the very least, she wanted to remember where her mind wandered during those lapses.

  “Are you okay?” A teen girl wearing Converse sneakers and a silver-and-leather choker had her phone whipped out, ready to call 911. “Should I call the police?”

  Steffi cringed and let her hair fall to cover her face. What must she look like to bystanders? Deranged? Drunk? Fortunately, there weren’t many people nearby. Just an elderly couple she didn’t recognize, thank God. She didn’t need old biddy gossip making its way to Benny or her dad.

  “No, no.” Steffi hoisted herself up and brushed herself off, careful not to touch her angry red knee. “I just tripped.”

  “You were really out of it, ma’am.” The girl narrowed her eyes. “Are you on medication or something? Maybe you shouldn’t drive.”

  Ma’am? On top of looking foolish, Steffi looked old ? She stared at the girl, whose purple bangs obscured her left eye. “I’m fine, thanks. I was distracted, then a little dazed by the fall.”

  “Okay.” The girl pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes, but put her phone into her backpack. “Hope you feel better.”

  She then turned and took off without looking back.

  Steffi lumbered back inside for a box of Band-Aids, glancing at her watch. Dammit. She placed a large square bandage over her knee before leaving the store. When she finally got in the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut, she rested her forehead on the steering wheel and closed her eyes. Adrenaline ebbed from her body, which sagged as if she’d run the freakin’ marathon.

  The last thing she remembered was the motorcycle dude’s lame remark, then nothing. Prior concussions hadn’t been this bad. The fogginess hadn’t been so extreme, and it had gradually improved. These new lapses—like sleepwalk
ing in daylight—were peculiar. Of course, a direct, intentional hit to the temple with a gun was worse than the whacks she’d taken on the field. She’d been knocked out cold for some time.

  Because she’d been hit on her head one too many times in her life, this might be her new normal. She could live with that if it weren’t for the nagging fear that it would get worse.

  When she stopped shivering, she drove home and delivered the meds to her dad, accidentally waking him from his midday snooze.

  “What happened to your knee?” he asked, having now removed those protective glasses.

  “Tripped. No biggie.” She tossed the bag on his coffee table. “Listen, I can’t chat because I’m late for an appointment. Maybe you, Benny, and I can grab dinner soon?”

  “Sure,” he mumbled, still a bit groggy.

  She pressed a quick kiss to his forehead and then scrambled back to the van and weaved through town to the Hightop Road house.

  Claire’s Beetle was parked in front, so at least Steffi hadn’t missed the whole meeting. She trotted up the porch steps and knocked on the door. Voices from inside echoed off the floors and walls of the empty house. Seconds later, a cute woman with hair the shade of Elmo’s answered.

  “Stefanie?” she asked, opening the door wide.

  “Yes.” Steffi extended her hand.

  “I’m Helena Briggs.” The name suited the tall woman with dramatic plum eye shadow. She wore her hair short, her wine-colored dress even shorter, and sported navy-blue nail polish. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Same,” Steffi sighed. “Sorry I’m so late. I had an incident with my father.”

  Claire’s perturbed expression transformed to concern. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. He required some help with a doctor’s appointment that took longer than expected.” Claire’s gaze dropped to Steffi’s bandaged knee, but Steffi waved her question away. “Tell me I didn’t miss everything.”

  “I just walked Claire through the house and discussed the issues.” Helena spoke with an accent that bore a slight resemblance to Katharine Hepburn’s speech. Affected, yet interesting. “We’d like to update the kitchen, master bath, and the Jack-and-Jill bathroom, open up the first floor a bit for flow, and have a consistent theme and decor throughout. That said, I don’t want cookie cutter. This house won’t end up looking like every TV reno project. No white cabinets or Carrara marble, God forbid!”