The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound Book 1)

by Jamie Beck

  “And Miss Lockwood can still come?” Her gaze darted from Steffi back to him.

  “If she’s free on Sunday.” A rush of heat moved up his body as he smiled at Steffi and pretended to be perfectly comfortable. Pretended that he hadn’t replayed those seconds before she’d gotten out of his car Saturday night and wondered what she might have done if he’d touched her jaw or kissed her.

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” Steffi winked at Emmy and then turned a dazzling smile on him, making his heart leap around his chest like a drunken frog.

  That dimpled smile had always turned him to putty, which made it easy for her to manipulate him into doing or being whatever she needed. Now she seemed happy enough to be his friend, though. He’d forgiven her, which was all she’d asked for.

  Could he be content with that? Friendship filled the space between love and hate in lots of cases, but in theirs? When it came to Steffi, his feelings seemed too strong to idle in neutral. Right now he couldn’t be sure, and maybe he never would.

  “Emmy, can you take my briefcase inside for me? I need to talk to Steffi alone for a second.”

  His daughter heaved a sigh one might expect if she’d been asked to clean a clogged toilet. “Fine.”

  She traded the nail gun for his briefcase and strode off, swinging the worn leather case with both hands. Stuffed with case files, its weight also threw her a bit off-balance.

  “I got inside the Weber house today,” Steffi said, rocking on her heels, eyes bright and wide. She looked damn cute when excited.

  “You work fast.” He crossed his arms to keep from lifting her off the ground in a happy hug.

  “I have to if I want to keep someone from razing it.” She retrieved her phone from a side pocket in her overalls. “Look!”

  They scrolled through the photos, shoulder to shoulder. His whole body tingled from that contact. He nearly held his breath as he leaned in closer to view the pictures. Touching her made it tough to concentrate on what he was seeing. A breeze blew some of her hair in his face, giving him an excuse to tuck it behind her ear.

  He sensed her freeze and wondered if, like him, she felt tormented.

  “How much?” he asked, hoping conversation would help him clear his head.

  “Four hundred, but I think I can get Gretta way down. Selling without a broker will save twenty-four grand right off the top. I told her I’d get her a rough estimate of the cost anyone else would incur to fix all the problems in the house. That’s easily another forty before I even get into upgrades. If I can get her closer to three, I might be able to swing it. If I do the majority of the work, I know I can turn a profit on this one.”

  He clucked his tongue. “Sorry I can’t help. It would be a sweet little place for Emmy and me.”

  “You never know. By the time it’s remodeled, you might be in a different position.” A twinkle lit her eyes as she dropped the phone back into her pocket.

  He shrugged half-heartedly. “Well, I hope Emmy isn’t holding up your progress here.”

  “By the time she gets home, I’m slowing down for the day anyway.” Steffi tucked her hands under her armpits, just like Ben often did. “I was surprised by her lack of enthusiasm about Block Island.”

  That trip, he thought grimly. Emmy’s satisfaction about the nail gun had let him forget about that for a few minutes. “The weekend was a bust, to say the least.”

  “I got that sense. Sorry.”

  “I’m glad they never got around to sailing because I want to be the first one to teach her. But John made her feel unwelcome. And Emmy didn’t make it easy. She cried to Val about wanting us to reconcile, and Val thought I put her up to it. Emmy’s been doing the same to me. It’s hard to let her down. Sometimes I wonder if Val and I don’t owe it to her to try again, but then I just . . . can’t.” He noticed Steffi suck her lips inward, as if it would be the only way to keep herself from voicing her thoughts. “For the life of me, I don’t understand what the hell Val is thinking. How can this guy mean more to her than her own kid?”

  “I don’t know.” Steffi gazed into the distance. “What I do know is that lots of us make terrible choices and hurt people we love. Hopefully, Val will figure that out before it’s too late for her and Emmy.”

  “It’s already too late, in my book. I’ve lost count of Emmy’s tears this past summer.”

  “That must kill you.” Steffi touched his arm, then dropped her hand.

  “It should kill Val.” A fusillade of insults shot through his thoughts until he remembered that he hadn’t been a doting husband and he shared some responsibility for the divorce.

  “It will eventually.”

  “By then the damage will be done.” He raised his arms from his sides. “Emmy doubts her own mom’s love. No wonder she’s lost the confidence to make new friends.”

  “Could you meddle a little? Round back with her teacher for suggestions about a classmate Emmy might be working well with more recently? Then you could reach out to the parents for permission to take their kid sailing, or for pizza and a movie.”

  Meddling was his mother’s gig, not Ryan’s. “Maybe.”

  “I can’t imagine many kids would pass up a chance to go sailing.” Steffi grinned. “I sure wouldn’t.”

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve sailed. Val was afraid of the deep sea, so my dad has kept the boat here these past several years.” Ryan crossed his arms and stared at the ground. “It’ll be good to take her out.”

  “I always loved those days on the water.” She held his gaze once he looked at her again.

  The sun hung suspended above the horizon, bathing them in honey-toned light. Warm and rich like the thick emotion flooding his veins. From the soft glow in her eyes and the stillness of her body, he knew she felt it, too. His heart trembled with its reawakening.

  “Me too.” His gaze homed in on the throbbing pulse point in her neck. Without thinking, he grabbed hold of her hand and squeezed it. “Sunday is something to look forward to. Something to make Emmy smile, too.”

  “Absolutely.” Steffi drew a breath. “And if it’s okay with you, how about you let Emmy call me Steffi, or Miss Steffi, if you insist on a little formality? The Miss Lockwood thing is getting awkward and makes me feel old.”

  “Dinner soon!” came Emmy’s yelp from inside the porch.

  His daughter’s reappearance broke the spell, so they let go of each other. He considered Steffi’s request, weighing it against letting Emmy get even closer to someone he still wasn’t sure she could count on. “Miss Steffi should work.”

  “Thanks. See you later.” Steffi smiled and wandered off.

  Ryan stood in the yard, watching her saunter away until she disappeared around the corner of the house. He then went inside and found his mom in the kitchen and kissed her hello. “Smells good.”

  “Chicken and dumplings.” She patted his cheek.

  “I’ll change quickly.” He started for the stairs, then stopped, remembering Emmy bringing home a student directory on the first day of school. “Ma, where do we keep the school directory?”

  “We?” She raised her brows satirically.

  “Ha ha.” He winked. “I know you put it someplace ‘organized,’ which means I’ll never find it.”

  She gave a little puff of exasperation, then pointed to the cabinets behind him. “It’s in the drawer with the phone books.”

  “Phone books? No one uses those anymore.” He opened the drawer, shaking his head. The thin school booklet distributed by the PTA lay on top of the yellow pages. He flipped through it and saw the names, addresses, emails, and phone numbers of all the families at the grade school.

  “I do . . . and apparently now so do you.”

  “Fair enough. Thanks.” Ryan climbed the stairs and peeked in Emmy’s room before he changed. “Hey, sweetheart, how was school today?”

  She looked up from her book. “Okay.”

  “What’d you do at recess?” That had always been his favorite part of the school day—when
he, Ben, Logan, and others would hit the fields with a soccer ball or football and run off all the pent-up energy.

  Emmy held up her book. “I read this.”

  Reading at recess? That sure wouldn’t make it easier to find new friends. “Must be a great book.”

  “It’s okay.” She shrugged.

  Now wasn’t the time for a discussion about her social skills—or lack thereof. He needed to do some fact-finding first. He kissed her head and said, “Why don’t you go down and help Memaw set the table. I’ll be there in a jiffy.”

  “Okay.” She slid off her bed and strolled by.

  Chronic apathy was not in keeping with the Emmy Quinn he’d known for the past nine years. That Emmy Quinn embraced just about everything with marked enthusiasm. Steffi was right. He had to meddle.

  He went to his room, shed the suit, and logged into the PowerSchool portal to find Mrs. Leckie’s email address and put it in his contacts this time. After he fired off a quick note, he sighed. How was it possible that Steffi Lockwood cared more about Emmy’s current state of mind than her own mother did? Yet Val was Emmy’s mother, and one way or another, he had to figure out how they could work together to give their daughter everything she needed. Even if that meant he’d have to choke on swallowed pride.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I got Gretta down to three twenty-five. The cottage is a deal at that price because of its lot. Materials might run about fifty grand, and I’ll do as much labor on my own as possible. When I’m finished renovating it, we’ll list it at four forty-nine.” Steffi shoved the spreadsheet across the dining table toward Claire. She then gripped her thighs beneath the table to stop her knees from bouncing.

  “That sounds a little high. Plus, we can’t raid all our reserves for the down payment. I need money to place orders.” Claire tapped her pencil eraser mindlessly, her eyes glazing over in the face of the budget. “Our original goal for the year was to rent a storefront so I could have a showroom and carry some inventory. If we dump funds into this project, it’ll put off that lease for who knows how long. Not to mention, your plan is a giant risk.”

  Claire pushed the papers away without studying them in detail. She sat back, arms crossed, closed off to the discussion. Risk-taking hadn’t been her strong suit since her injury.

  Steffi wasn’t about to let that gunman steal her future, too. She’d spent nights awake since learning that the Weber place would be sold, and hours of time investigating it and coming up with a realistic budget.

  She laid both hands on the table and leaned forward, crowding Claire. “Commercial leasing options require a multiyear commitment and personal guarantees, so they’re risky, too. Rental space comes along all the time, but this house is unique. A once-in-a-lifetime chance.”

  “We can’t make money appear from the sky.” Claire raised her hands heavenward. “It’s not personal.”

  It was personal to Steffi. Gretta’s decision to sell whispered in her ear like a message from God. Like maybe the mugging and Ryan’s divorce had a higher purpose than just sending them both home to cross paths and revisit old dreams. Perhaps they could actually rebuild them . . .

  Owning that house, even for a little while, would be a start. The mere thought of it spiked her adrenaline. And if Ryan ended up living there—even without her—at least she would have helped repair some of the damage she’d done. She needed that . . . probably more than he did. “What if I took twenty-five grand from our business, combined it with twenty-five of my own money . . .”

  Claire widened her eyes. “You’re asking for trouble. Besides, that’s just the down payment. You still need money for the reno.”

  “I can find an investor.” Steffi hadn’t mentioned Molly’s offer yet, hoping to convince Claire to go all in. A partnership would be too complicated, but maybe Molly could make a short-term loan—just until the house flipped.

  “Say you get the money,” Claire mused. “That’s a full-time project. What happens to our other projects like the Hightop Road house in the meantime? And what if, when you’re done, there isn’t a buyer at four fifty? It’s only two bedrooms. Hardly ideal.”

  “If you’d looked at the numbers, you’d see I factored in the extra cost of hiring a small crew that I could oversee twice a day at the Hightop house and elsewhere. I don’t mind working late nights and weekends on the cottage. And maybe I can add a small third bedroom off the back. Twelve by twelve—”

  “So you’re already inflating the budget!” Claire rubbed her palms across the tabletop and groaned. “Why are we even having this discussion? You obviously don’t want my opinion.”

  “I can’t take money from our business if you aren’t on board. I also can’t commit my time if it’s going to cause problems between us.” Manic energy pulsed through Steffi with such force she felt pressure building behind her eyes. “I need an answer because Gretta wants to list the house ASAP. Once a broker is involved, the cost goes up substantially, and I’ll lose it.”

  Claire perched her chin on her fists and sighed. “Why is this so important to you?”

  Steffi stared at her own hands while deciding whether she could endure more teasing about Ryan like the night they’d gone to the Sand Bar. Claire’s romanticism had died when Todd betrayed her, so she could view Steffi’s motives as a foolhardy mission doomed to failure. Without a crystal ball to show how Claire would react, and without a good plan for hedging her bets, Steffi went with the truth. “I want to do this for Ryan and Emmy.”

  Claire’s hands dropped to the table, and she parted her lips. “Ryan wants to buy the house?”

  “He can’t commit because his divorce settlement isn’t final, but it could be by the time we finish the renovations. It’d be perfect for Emmy and him.”

  “Could be?” Claire slouched into her seat, an uncommon posture for her. “I feel for Ryan and will be happy to see him settled, but this risk . . .” She drummed her fingers on the table with a faraway look in her eyes.

  Steffi dropped her chin and began folding the budget. It’d been a long shot, but it still hurt to lose. At least she’d tried.

  Claire leaned forward. “You really want me to say yes?”

  “Yes!” Steffi clapped too soon, then noticed Claire’s scheming expression and lowered her hands.

  “I’ll go along with this crazy plan if you schedule an appointment to get your head checked out.” She primly clasped her hands together, staring at Steffi in triumph.

  “Blackmail?” Steffi elongated the pronunciation, her tone tinged with a bit of respect.

  Claire nodded, eyes closed, in smug satisfaction. “You’ve put me off for weeks. If you expect me to take this giant risk, the least you can do is assure me there’s nothing seriously wrong with your head. If something were to happen to you, I’d be stuck with all this debt and no expertise to manage that kind of project.”

  “You’re right.” She nodded, having not considered that particular risk to Claire. “If it’ll make you more comfortable, I’ll schedule an appointment.”

  “Great.” Claire gestured with her hand. “Go ahead.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now. I want to hear you do it. No excuses or cancellations, either. I’m not signing off on a check until this is done.” Claire’s even gaze brooked no compromise.

  Steffi couldn’t help but grin. “You know, I’m not the only one whose head should be checked.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  Steffi shrugged a shoulder. “You might talk to someone about the way you’ve let fear limit your life . . . your options.”

  “That’s not fair.” Claire scowled. “I live in pain, Steffi. I can’t run around like I used to.”

  “I’m not talking about physical activity. I’m talking about how you never go beyond a handful of coastal neighborhoods. It’s like you’ve been afraid to be in a crowd ever since . . .” She left it unsaid.

  Claire narrowed her eyes. “Stop deflecting and just make that call.”

  Ste
ffi scrolled through her contacts and called Dr. Wigman’s office to make an appointment. After she hung up, Claire said, “Thank you. Now I’ll pray that we aren’t making a huge mistake with this project. I sure hope Ryan realizes how much you’re willing to risk for his happiness.”

  Steffi grabbed Claire’s hands. “He can’t know.”

  Claire tugged free. “He’s not an idiot. He’ll put two and two together.”

  “He knows I’ve always loved that house. Let him think I’m scraping the money together to buy it for myself. And you’ll see . . . you’re going to love decorating it. It’s a gem.”

  “We’ll see.” Claire rose from her seat and grabbed her cane. “I’m meeting my parents for dinner. Want to join us?”

  “No, thanks. I’ve got to call Gretta.”

  Claire shook her head. “You’ve talked me into some ridiculous things in the past, but this one takes the cake. I hope we don’t regret it.”

  “We won’t.” Steffi and Peyton had often talked Claire into crazy pranks, like when they’d wrapped Principal Egan’s car in aluminum foil. This was a plan, not a prank. A good plan. Once Claire left the house, Steffi called her secret weapon—Molly.

  “Stefanie? I didn’t expect to hear from you this evening.” From the door squeak coming through the line, Steffi guessed Molly had walked outside for privacy.

  “Sorry to disturb your evening, but I’m calling to see if you were serious about your offer to help me buy the Weber house.”

  After a brief pause, she said, “How much do you need?”

  “Realistically, probably fifty thousand. I’m thinking you make us a short-term loan. We’ll pay a better interest rate than what you’re earning on it now, and your downside will be limited to that amount. That’s better than if you’re a partner, which could put you on the hook for the entire debt.”

  “How long will the rehab take?”

  “Barring something unforeseen, the renovations should take four or so months. Even with some delays, if I can close within the month, we’d finish in time for the spring market.”

  “Ryan’s finances could be settled by then,” Molly mused aloud, mostly to herself.