by Lia London
She stood, dripping wet, too stunned to answer. He had torn open her soul and discovered her secrets, and she wasn’t sure how to react. No one else had tried. They had been rebuffed by her sarcastic, efficient, protective shell. She listened for more, but he remained silent. Maybe he had given up on her after all. And why not? They came from different worlds. They didn’t belong together.
Right?
Guy waited for almost a minute, but Parker never responded to his little speech. Either she hadn’t heard, or he had offended her. At last he sighed and scanned the room for something to do. He cleared away the remains of breakfast and straightened the covers on the bed.
Eying the soiled and torn clothing from the day before, his cheeks burned at the memory of their removal. Wanting Daisy Parker made no sense. Falling in love with her should be out of the question. She probably thought he was a sentimental fool. A successful, driven woman would never need him. She would never know how much he needed someone like her, but the very ambition that inspired him would pull her further away. Surely, she would always see him as inferior. And why not? She must rub shoulders with high-power people every day. He might be admired locally, but compared to Parker …
“Come on, Booster,” he whispered. “Let’s give her space while she gets dressed.”
Outside, he zipped up his jacket and walked to the pebbled beach. A turkey buzzard complained overhead, and Booster reprimanded it with a single soft bark, then trotted to Guy’s side.
Stopping at the water’s edge, Guy let out a long sigh. Disappointment and emptiness pressed down his shoulders. He glanced down at Booster, his most loyal confidante. “I know I keep forcing myself on her, but I can’t help feeling …” He knocked on his chest with his knuckles. “A need, Booster. A new need.” He reached down and ruffled the fur behind Booster’s ears. “This isn’t about having a girlfriend or getting some action. It’s time I rose up to a new level, reached for a better me.”
He gauged the distance of the overcast horizon. Canada seemed almost close enough to touch, yet he had never obtained a passport to cross the border. The lights of the big cities across the water could not tempt him, and yet he yearned for more.
Had her words of criticism about his work really changed his self-image so much? He shook his head and reached down for a handful of pebbles. Tossing one out over the water, he wondered how far from his island he would be willing to go. How much farther would he go if Parker would go with him?
He sighed. On top of Mt. Constitution, he had felt bold, brave, as if he could take on the world and face his challenges with confidence, but all that had crashed with the bike and skidded off the road of reality.
Kisses weren’t love. They weren’t commitment. They weren’t a reason to hope.
Guy tossed another pebble into the water with a frown. He didn’t like feeling vulnerable, either.
“So, what should a girl who can barely walk do all day on Orcas Island?” asked Parker as Guy dropped her off beside her car. She knew her rudeness and injuries voided their unwritten contract of more island touring. Why would he want to spend time with such an insensitive and selfish jerk as herself?
“You might enjoy Moran Mansion at Rosario. It’s an interesting piece of architecture with some fun history and its very own ghost.”
“Ghost?” He was sending her off to a boring old museum. The fling was over before it had begun, and that was just as well. She didn’t have time.
“There’s a guy who gives a kind of recital and history lesson. It’s good. There’s a real pipe organ.”
“Sounds nice.”
“Fancy restaurant, too. You could finally charge the studio some expenses.”
Parker gave a thin smile, afraid to ask if he planned to join her. Afraid not to ask, and be stuck alone. “What are your plans for the day?”
Guy crammed his hands into his pockets. “I’ve got a few appointments today, actually.”
“Oh. Good.” Yes. He was looking for an out. She’d gone too far with her abrasive independence.
“It’s a living. It’s fun. I’ll be teaching some senior citizens how to use social media this morning.”
“That ought to be good for a laugh.”
His chuckle faded to a harrumph. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around.” He turned to go but stopped, his eyes unreadable. “That recital at Rosario is at four o’clock. Seriously, you should go. It’s free.”
“All right. I’ll think about it.” She folded her arms, aware that she wore his matching jacket. As he drove off, she wondered how she could possibly fill the long hours. She had spent her adult life learning to juggle too many appointments and obligations, not learning how to fill vast chunks of free time. “I do not know how to rest!” she scolded herself aloud. She’d never even done a spa day, and now, with the left side of her body all scabby, she couldn’t try a massage or a seaweed wrap, even if she could find a place open.
Instead of heading back into Eastsound or returning to the cabin, she decided to explore. How lost could she get on an island this small? She wandered south on Olga Road, which took her down the east side of the upside-down horseshoe-shaped isle. To her surprise, she saw a turn-off to Rosario and marked a mental map with the location. A few seconds later, she passed under an arch labeled Moran State Park and recognized the road they had taken to Mt. Constitution.
The scene of the crime, where Guy had pulled a break-and-enter on her heart. Or had she left it unlocked? If so, it was time to beef up the emotional security system. This kind of distraction wasn’t good for her.
A lake shore area appeared on her right, and she pulled into a park with picnic tables and kayak rentals, all closed for the season. From the top of the tower, she had spotted an alarming number of lakes. How could an island hold so much water?
Parker stepped out of the car and strolled through the shady park area to a short floating dock. A lone rowboat hugged the opposite shore, probably carrying an avid morning fisherman.
She checked the bars on her phone and found she had enough to make a call. But who to call? Which of her friends would commiserate with her about this getaway gone wrong? With increasing self-pity, she realized she didn’t have friends to call. She had acquaintances, people she worked with. “For the love of peanut butter,” she mumbled. “I have action star Slick Patton’s phone number, I’ve been on soap star Brock Adrian’s yacht, and I know dozens of TV producers, but I don’t have anyone to call when I need a friend.” She had a fondness for the members of Team Northwest that she coached last summer, but it wasn’t the same, was it? Scrolling through her contacts, she decided to try something new: a purely social call.
She dialed and waited, wondering what normal people talked about in phone calls.
“Parker? Oh my gosh, how are you?” Jill Ripley’s voice bubbled through the phone. She probably could’ve won the whole shebang at Who Wants to Be a Soap Star?, but instead, she and Parker had decided she was best suited as a writer, mostly because it allowed her to pursue another important goal: Milo Halsey.
“I’m okay. I’m here in cloudy Orcas Island on my studio-sponsored bonus vacation.”
“How totally cool!”
“Indeed. Chilly.” Parker caught her own caustic tone and forced herself to relax and sound friendly. “So, how is civilian life treating you? Are you still okay with not winning?”
“Are you kidding? Losing was the biggest win ever. You are not going to believe this, but Milo proposed!”
Though she was only a few years older than Jill and Milo, Parker felt a maternal pride. Those two had been her favorites. “It only took him forever, huh?”
“About fifteen years, yeah.” Jill snickered. “I’m actually marrying the boy next door.”
“He doesn’t really live next door, does he?”
Jill babbled on enthusiastically about Milo, wedding plans, and her first meeting with the Angels & Tycoons writing staff. Parker listened more to the happiness in her voice than the words themselves, and
she tried to fathom where it came from.
“Jill?” She realized a beat late that she had interrupted a stream of chatter, but she plowed forward. “I know you’re in love with Milo, and I’m truly happy for you, but I was wondering … Did you ever fall in love with someone in a matter of days?”
“You mean love at first sight?”
“Let’s not push the drama,” said Parker. “Call it fourth or fifth sight?”
Jill snickered. “Oh, sure. I’ve had crushes. Yeah—”
“No, I mean love.” Parker froze, hearing her own words. Love? Was she talking about love?
“Maybe not love. But I think that’s because deep down, my heart already belonged to Milo.”
“How did you know?”
“Because he was the only person I could totally be myself with. I never had to try to impress him. He always loved me for who I was and supported me in all my dreams.”
Parker felt a jolt of recognition and smiled sadly. “You found yourself a winner, Jill.”
“I know it!” Jill chuckled. “So, what’s going on?”
Stuttering, Parker began pacing on the tiny dock. “Oh, I just, you know, thought I’d check in on the team. See how you’re doing and all.”
“Wow, how sweet of you! How’re the others doing?”
“I called you first.”
“I feel honored. The great goddess Parker called me first!” Jill’s laughter warmed her. “So, what about your Olympic moment, featurette, documentary show thing? Is it getting off the ground?”
“Oh, I’m still in the planning phases. I need a cameraman and funding for the editing equipment.”
“You don’t want Ned to come with you?” teased Jill.
“Don’t—and I mean never, ever—wish that man on me again, Jill. You know what a pig he is.”
“Ah, yes. First class pig. But he made me look hot in the close-ups.”
“Give yourself some credit, Jill. And give Milo a hug from me.”
“I will! Thanks again for calling. Have a fantastic vacation. Maybe you can squeeze in some romance between business calls. Any millionaire hunks on that island?”
“Uh … no comment.” Parker felt an awkward ripple in her stomach. “Take care, Jill. Stay in touch.”
“I will. Bye, Parker!”
Parker disconnected and stuffed the phone into her pocket with a frustrated grunt. “How do people do that?”
Staring out at the rippling gray-green lake, Parker examined her life with a close-up lens and found she didn’t have enough small-ensemble scenes, and no real love scenes at all. She might direct things well on camera, but she failed to create any lasting chemistry in her own life.
“How’s your patient?” asked Clay. He sat behind the giant metal desk in the hangar, his feet resting on a pile of invoices.
“Taking it easy, I guess.” Guy shrugged, trying not to let melancholy settled over him.
“How bad are the injuries?”
“Some road rash on her arm and a banged-up hip. It could’ve been a lot worse.” He found a place to perch on the corner of the desk. “Scared me to death, though. I thought she’d roll right over the edge.”
“And how about you, Son? Are you close to the edge?”
Guy grunted a sad laugh. “Over the edge and tumbling through the ferns and blackberry bushes.” He peeked under the old quilt draped over a giant bird cage on the filing cabinet. “Good morning, Tilly.” He tapped the wires.
“Don’t wake her yet. I’ve got a screaming headache.” Clay dragged his feet back to the ground. “You really like this girl, huh?”
“I really do.”
“And?”
“And … I don’t think she feels the same.”
“She’s just another tourist, Son. You can’t let it tear you up.”
“I know.”
“I told you not to make her ride up the—”
“I know.” Guy folded the blanket back, revealing the slumbering parrot.
“It’s too hard a climb for a first—”
“He’s only crashed twice! He’s only crashed twice!” squawked Tilly.
Guy rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Tilly.” He pulled open a baggie beside her cage and dropped in a bird treat. Turning back to Clay, he said, “Besides, she had no trouble getting up there, Dad.” His jaw tightened. “And we had a good time.” He turned away as if his father could see the memory of their time on the tower. “She just went too fast coming down. It happens.”
“All the time.” Clay rubbed his forehead with his knuckles.
“Turbulence ahead! Have your barf bag ready!” Tilly jumped back and forth between two wide swings.
Guy wagged his finger at Tilly. “I needed a barf bag handy yesterday.”
“She barfed?” Clay whistled.
“She was in shock, Dad. Or maybe she was carsick.”
“Have a barf bag ready!” Tilly sang even louder.
“Shut up, Tilly!” barked Clay. Scowling at Guy, he signaled to cover the cage again. “You going to see her again?”
“I don’t know. I suggested pretty heavily she go see the recital today.”
Clay’s brows formed a wide arch across his forehead. “Are you planning on going to the recital today?”
Guy flexed his fingers a few times. “Do you think I should?”
“I think it’s always a good idea, whether she shows up or not,” he said, smiling. “Do you think Peacock will approve?”
“I’ll call him now.”
“Turbulence ahead!” warned Tilly from under the quilt.
“Shut up, Tilly!” shouted Guy and Clay in unison.
Parker decided to work her way back to Rosario for lunch instead of dinner. If she liked the place, she’d stick around for the concert. The turn lead down a winding road through deep forest, but as she descended further, she noticed big, luxurious homes hidden on either side.
When at last the lane spilled out into the resort compound, her whole face brightened with open admiration. Unlike a swanky, Hollywood spa, it had a very distinct charm. Moran Mansion, the centerpiece of Rosario, gleamed white with a row of arched windows spanning its length, and more floors above. The green, metallic roof rose and fell in a beautiful maze of wide gables. With the open water behind it, the house almost resembled a luxury ship instead of an early twentieth-century estate home.
Parker pulled around the circular drive and found a parking space off to one side. Curiosity tugged her out of the car and up the steps. She walked slowly, aware of how her jeans chafed the scrapes on her hip. Inside, velvet ropes marked off the restaurant and spa areas, left and right, but a sign indicated a gift shop downstairs and the music hall up. Gritting her teeth and gripping the rail, she crept painfully up a beautiful, dark-wood staircase. At the first landing, she caught sight of the music room and gasped. She approached the door reverently, almost afraid to enter the church-like sanctuary.
Straight ahead, a stained-glass window split the enormous banks of organ pipes in half, and resting in the dappled light between them stood a shining, black grand piano. Above, a rounded mezzanine created the sense of an upper deck of a ship. She inhaled the scent, simultaneously fresh and filled with history.
An engraved placard declared the upper level off-limits until later in the afternoon, so she hobbled back down the steps and decided to peruse the menu in the restaurant. She reached for her phone, ready to invite Guy, but hesitated. Why would he want to spend any more time with her? Instead, she sent him a brief text: At Rosario. This place is lovely. Thanks for the tip.
Before she could slip the phone back in her pocket, he replied: Stay for the recital.
Glancing at the time, she shook her head. Don’t want to stay here four hours.
Go and come back. Please don’t miss it.
Parker turned to the young woman manning the reception desk. “So, how good is the recital at four?”
The woman beamed. “Oh, it’s fun! Christopher Peacock—he’s our manager—puts on a great sho
w. He tells all about the mansion, and he plays the pipe organ and the piano. There’s even a silent movie. It’s pretty awesome.”
The woman got paid to say this, no doubt, but the silent movie part piqued Parker’s interest. “I guess I’ll be back, then. Thank you.”
Parker stepped outside into a brisk breeze. The overcast sky didn’t threaten immediate rain, but she flipped up the hood to stay warm. Wrapped in the cozy fleece, she felt a rush of gratitude for Guy’s generosity in sharing the jacket. How could she repay him for all his kindness?
The idea of returning the jacket depressed her because it had already attained a degree of sentimental value to her. That was new. Parker wasn’t sentimental, after all. Things shouldn’t matter just because they were connected to a certain person or moment in time, right?
She found a bench beside a rock garden and sat down to contemplate her life and what it would be when she returned to the grind of making a name for herself. Seeing the yachts bobbing in the marina nearby reminded her of one of the filming sessions for Who Wants to Be a Soap Star? in which Jill Ripley had bucked the system with a brilliant display of independence and integrity. Parker had been so proud of Jill.
What had Jill said about falling in love with Milo? Something about him always watching out for her needs and believing in her dreams.
Parker frowned. In the few short days she’d known Guy, he had shown tremendous regard for her needs, but he had picked away at her dreams with a million questions. Only one out of the two qualities.
Wind snapped a lock of her hair into the corner of her eye, and she tugged it back into place, feeling tears well. Though she wanted to, she couldn’t blame this on the wind. Parker needed to cry. She needed to purge the pent-up loneliness, the longing, and the fear that her dream to move up didn’t include a clear description of what the top looked like. She wished she could envision it, as if from a high viewpoint, and identify the most direct path. Or the most beautiful route.