Clair (Beach Brides Book 4)

by Grace Greene

  Clair needed the respite. She sat in the kitchen with her face in her arms, desperate to think clearly. All she could do was to feel. To hurt. She needed to find the rational bits amid the chaos. Finally, she called Mallory. Her elder sister had a knack of zeroing in on the heart of a matter. But she had to leave a voicemail. To Clair, at that moment, it felt like absolutely everything mattered and she couldn’t make sense of any of it.

  A car drove up. She crossed the room and looked out the window. Greg’s car. She took a deep breath. The TV was still playing. Darcy was occupied for now. Clair stepped out onto the porch as Greg was coming up the steps.

  She said, “Why aren’t you at the airport?”

  “You read the paper.”

  He didn’t say it like a question.

  Clair snapped back at him. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

  “I was hired to find you.”

  She was almost silenced by his unflinching response, as if there could be honesty in dishonesty.

  “Who?”

  “The guy who found the bottle and your message.”

  The photocopy was of the card, so that didn’t surprise her. But his manner did. There were so many words tumbling around in her head, so many questions.

  “Who are you, really? Is Greg your name? Is lying part of your job? Hurting people to get what you want? Is that how you make your living?” Her tone grew more intense as the words grew harsher. The expression on his face stopped her. She couldn’t read it. He was flushed and his jaw had tightened. But it didn’t seem like anger. More like pain. Was it her job to deal out pain?

  “You should leave.”

  He didn’t respond. In that long moment of silence, Darcy screamed.

  Clair turned her back on Greg and raced toward the sound of her sister’s cries.

  The screams led Clair down the hall, past Darcy’s room to her own. There on the floor was a white puddle. No, not a puddle. A billowing, moving cloud of white satin and somewhere beneath it, Darcy was screaming as she fought it.

  Clair fell to her knees and touched her sister through the satin, locating her limbs and her head. It wasn’t as simple as lifting the gown off. Darcy was tangled in it. She must have tried to put it on.

  With gentle touches and calm noises, Clair gradually worked the fabric away from Darcy’s face, then the rest of her body relaxed.

  She’d forgotten Greg until Darcy’s head was freed. The fear in Darcy’s eyes vanished when she saw Greg. She pushed the hair out of her face and smiled. Only one corner of her mouth quirked up, but that counted in as a smile big-time in Darcy’s world.

  “Hi, Darcy,” he said. “Are you okay?”

  Clair turned quickly, nearly falling into the jumble of girl and satin. Greg was smiling, too. It was a small smile and there was nothing merry in his eyes. Clair knew the smile was intended to reassure Darcy.

  “Hold still, Darcy. Let me get this over your head.”

  She did and Clair soon had her free. Clair held the gown in her arms. The fabric pooled over her legs and across the wood floor. She wouldn’t fuss at Darcy, not in front of Greg. Mr. Prescott, rather.

  Clair stood, pulled her sister to her feet, and put the gown back on the hangar. She hooked the hanger over the door. She’d wrestle it back into the garment bag later. For now, she would deal with Mr. Prescott.

  He was frowning. “What smells so good? Is that roses?”

  Exasperated, Clair said, “I think we’re done here, don’t you?”

  Holding her sister’s hand, she walked away into the living room.

  He followed. “Are we done? It doesn’t feel like that to me. Was that your wedding gown?”

  “None of your business. None!” She bit her lower lip, trying to calm herself. It was hard to say what was on her mind in a calm, let’s-not-upset-Darcy voice.

  “Unless you have more to tell me about how you came by that photocopy and explain who sent you and why, then we are most certainly done. Yes.”

  At that moment, Mallory’s car pulled into the driveway and parked beside Greg’s. She got out of the car and stood for a second beside the unfamiliar car. She stared at it briefly, then she moved toward the house. Darcy released Clair’s hand. She opened the door that Clair had left unlocked and met Mallory on the porch.

  Mallory showed her pleasure at being greeted, if it could be called a greeting, by Darcy. Still, it was something and it was different and even no-nonsense Mallory showed her surprise. Her face lit up, then she caught sight of Greg.

  Clair said, “Hi, Mal. Mr. Prescott forgot his jacket and came back for it.”

  Mallory raised her eyebrows, probably wondering at the “mister” reference.

  “I’ll go fetch it. You’ve got Darcy?”

  She nodded. “Sure.” The puzzled look continued. She turned from Clair to Greg and then back to Clair again. “Everything okay?”

  “It’s all fine. Just fine.”

  “You don’t sound fine.”

  “I will as soon as I’ve said…goodbye to Mr. Prescott.” Clair snatched the jacket from the back of the kitchen chair. She wanted to throw it at him. Instead, she walked out the door and across the porch, leaving him to follow.

  Greg nodded at Mallory and Darcy and then he left.

  Clair didn’t want to speak to him in front of an audience, whether of family or neighbors. Whatever fueled her anger—probably adrenalin—seemed to be dropping away. She felt vulnerable. She was failing, her life was a sham, her choices were poor, and she didn’t want witnesses.

  Greg followed her across the yard and walked in the street beside her.

  “My sister says I live in a world of rose-colored glasses.” Clair spoke harshly. “My ex-fiancé said I was too positive. Too optimistic. That I worried about all the wrong things.” She stopped, shook her head and thrust the jacket at Greg, surprising him with the sudden force of it. “Don’t underestimate me. I try to be nice to people. Don’t mistake that for me being anyone’s door mat.”

  She walked a few steps farther and then realized she was barefoot on the rough asphalt of the road. She stepped off to the side where soft sand filled the verge.

  “I don’t,” he said. “I don’t know about the rose-colored glasses thing. I suspect that’s true. I don’t see that as weak, though. You seem…normal.”

  “Please don’t try to schmooze me. I haven’t been normal in a long time. Not since Sean…not since I fell in love with him. I didn’t see him as he really was. I only saw the good traits. The energy, the drive.”

  “He doesn’t deserve you.”

  Doesn’t? Not past tense? He’d almost whispered the words. It told her too much.

  No more.

  Clair walked away, waving her hand and shouting, “Don’t follow me. Go away.”

  She wanted the beach, to smell the salt air, clear the bad stuff from her head and feel small amid the noise and sheer unimaginable size of the Atlantic. There, at the foot of the ocean, she was too small for her problems to have any importance. They were tiny blips in a life. Minor inconveniences. She’d bounce back from them any time now. Her cheeks stung and she reached up thinking to brush away an insect, but her hand came away wet. No, she wouldn’t cry. Not here because Greg Prescott was sticking with her. He was only a few steps back.

  When Clair reached the path, he called out, “Wait. I need to speak with you. Things need to be said. Running away doesn’t solve anything.”

  She kept her back to him and her face turned away. Soon he was in step beside her again and the beach was in sight.

  “You know who sent me,” he said, trying to match his longer stride with hers.

  “Why? How did he get that note?”

  “You mean the message in the bottle.”

  “He told you about that? How would he know? You’re toying with me. Leave me alone.”

  “You don’t really want to turn your back on the truth, do you?”

  Clair knew without doubt she didn’t want to relive that time, to
discuss Sean in any way, shape or form. Not with anyone, certainly not with Greg. Nearly breathless, Clair stumbled through the drifts of dry sand. Greg stepped quickly ahead and grabbed her arm.

  “Please listen. He’s my client and I shouldn’t be saying anything. Confidentiality and all that. The truth is, he never said why he wanted to know where you were or what you were doing. He expressed vague concerns about whether you might be interested in him and where he was. He sent me to find out and to be discreet about it. I wasn’t supposed to speak with you, but well, you know how that happened. If not for Darcy, I would’ve kept going, reported back to him, and gone on to the next job.”

  Clair tried to listen, to digest his words. “Why? Why would he care? It doesn’t make sense. Unless he wanted to….”

  Greg

  Greg saw the idea complete in her eyes as a sudden light flared in them. He shook his head, and tried to be kind.

  “He didn’t want to come back, but something was on his mind.”

  Could he mention the fiancé and her wealthy family? Normally, confidentiality wasn’t negotiable. Was it different this time? He thought it might be. That scared him. He pulled back the words that would tell her about Sean Kilmer’s current affluence and his own suspicions.

  Moving as if dazed, Clair walked slowly toward the ocean. He reached out to touch her arm again. This wasn’t done yet.

  “Clair.”

  She appeared not to hear him. His shoes were a handicap in this sand. He kicked them off.

  When she stopped abruptly, he did too, but so close to her that loose strands of hair blew back toward him, almost brushing his face. He reached up. Her hair flew on the wind and snared his fingers, but he refrained from catching them.

  “He gave you that copy of my message?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did he get it?” She spun around and shouted at him, repeating, “How did he get the note from the bottle?”

  Greg was stunned by her sudden rage and the way her face flushed and her eyes glittered. Her hair was blowing wildly across her face and he resisted the urge to reach across and capture the strands to smooth them back, to soothe her. In that moment, what little client loyalty he had left, shifted and shattered. When he saw her tears, he fought the desire to pull her into his arms, and lost. This was insanity, and it was likewise insane as she punched at his chest saying, “Let me go.” She dashed her hands against the tears on her cheeks and said, “I’m not crying.”

  “You’re not crying?”

  “No. I cry when I’m angry and I’m so very angry that I can’t begin to say how angry I am. But these are tears of anger, not ‘hurt’ tears.”

  “Okay. Got it. You have every right to be angry…but not at me.”

  She shook off his embrace. “Why not? You lied to me.”

  “Sort of lied. I did it because I had a business arrangement with a client that I had to honor. I’ve cancelled it. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’ll find out soon. I was going to tell him in person, but I don’t know if I’ll wait that long.”

  “You have his phone number? What is it? Where is he?”

  “I thought you were done with him?”

  “Apparently, he’s not done with me, but he will be. Very soon. As soon as I can get at him, he’ll be done.”

  He touched her arms again, prepared to be pushed away once more, but this time she let his hands remain.

  “Try to cool down. I can’t help you track a man to do him injury. He isn’t worth prison.”

  She frowned. She bit her lip. “First off, don’t tell me to cool down. You don’t have that right. Second, what I do or don’t do, isn’t your business either, but no, he isn’t worth prison or the damage to my conscience.” She seemed to consider and then, more composed, she said, “Fine. I’ll hire you. Why does he want to know where I am and whatever else information he was after? I’ll pay you and you can tell me what you know.”

  “I…” he stammered, finally settling for, “I think that would be a conflict of interest.”

  “Why? Were you saying empty words? Maybe you’re still trying to mislead me.”

  “I wasn’t trying to mislead you before and not now.” He took her hand and tugged her along with him to the ocean’s edge.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Breathing. We are going to breathe. Just breathe.”

  “Breathe? Are you crazy?”

  He pointed ahead of them, to the east. “See that horizon?”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  “Focus on it. Stare at it. You’re allowed to blink,” he added. “Then just breathe. Let’s breathe for sixty seconds…and then I’ll do anything you want me to.”

  Clair

  She looked at him, then turned to fix her eyes on that line where sky met ocean. She felt drained. Drained of hope and fight. Empty. Too tired even to reclaim her hand from his. As she breathed, she felt something change inside her. A warm, yet calm feeling began at the top of her head. She felt it grow through her cheeks, her jaw, and then down through her heart and lungs.

  “Open your eyes,” he said softly.

  She hadn’t realized she’d closed them. How long had they been standing here? She opened them now, slowly, and drew in a deep breath. She whispered, but loud enough to be heard over the waves, “Now what?”

  “Now you tell me what you want.”

  His voice was calm and steady. She didn’t want to break this moment, this spot of clarity and peace, and yet, from within the peaceful center, she saw most of it, everything that made up the chaos, was unimportant. Did she want Sean back? Not in a million years. Did she care what he was doing these days? No. Did she want revenge? What would that cost her? Hadn’t she already paid enough for the mistake of loving and trusting Sean?

  It isn’t even about forgiveness. It’s simply about moving on with her life.

  She didn’t want her life to be held hostage, not to mistakes or regrets, and not by Sean Kilmer. He didn’t want her. She didn’t want him. Enough.

  “Tell me what you want,” Greg repeated.

  “Nothing. Everything. I want to enjoy my life again.”

  “You don’t need your ex for that.”

  “Definitely not.” Tension threatened to rise again, but she pushed it away and continued staring at the horizon, wanting Greg to speak again yet afraid that he would.

  Clair said, “I thought we were working together, building a life and future together. One day it was all good and we were making wedding plans and then suddenly we weren’t. He was gone. I couldn’t ask questions or ask for a second chance to make it work.”

  “Do you want a second chance?”

  “No. If he could leave me, abandon me like that once, he would do it again.” She closed her eyes, then opened them again to focus on that distant line. “I would’ve skipped that Caribbean trip. He encouraged me to go. He wanted me to scout it out so we could go back on our honeymoon. The two of us were starting the rest of our lives together. It was so romantic. He said he was going to make reservations and….” She squeezed his hand and he returned the gesture. “I guess I did such a good sales job that he went there after all and that’s where he found the bottle?”

  “A place called Enchanted Island. Yes, that’s where he found the bottle.”

  “He was there with someone else?”

  “I believe so.”

  “If not for the bottle and message, would he have ever bothered to check on me? To find out if I was doing okay? No, wait. He didn’t want you to make contact, right? So he wasn’t worried about my state or status. He didn’t care, even belatedly, how I was doing.”

  “I believe he was worried you might show up and complicate his new life.”

  The pain was there, but not sharp. She hadn’t realized how the hurt had become so familiar, like a companion. Almost a friend.

  “His new life? He has a new one? I shouldn’t be surprised. Sean is the kind who’ll always land on his feet regardless of who he steps on
.”

  “He’s engaged.”

  Clair felt pity. Not for herself, but for that other woman. “Does she understand who he is?”

  “Probably not, but he’s more worried about her father than her. He’s the one with the money, and he’ll want to keep his daughter happy. The last thing your ex needs it to disillusion either of them. That’s my guess.

  She was ready to nod when she heard a woman’s voice calling her name. She dropped Greg’s hand and waved.

  Mallory was following Darcy who was moving toward them at a determined pace.

  “She was upset. I couldn’t get her to stay inside. Sorry. It was all I could do to keep up with her. I haven’t seen her move this fast since…well, you know. Before.”

  Her young sister took Clair’s hand briefly, then her fingers slipped away. She ran toward the water, then back, teasing the waves, as if this had been her only reason for coming, and yet it was different. Different behaviors.

  This was important. This was exactly what was important.

  Then Darcy stopped, looking up, perhaps sensing they were watching, and she smiled.

  It was short and it was brief but the smile was as real as Clair’s best day ever, her best moment, perhaps more so. Clair watched and the smile was repeated, small but deliberate.

  “Did you see that?” Mallory asked.

  Clair nodded. “She smiled. On purpose. Then she did it again.”

  Mallory threw her arms around Clair, totally ignoring Greg standing there, staring at them.

  Mallory stepped back, laughing. Clair was shocked to realize how long it had been since she’d heard her older sister laugh. Perhaps as long ago as when her younger sister had laughed? They were all damaged. Mallory stopped only to kick off her shoes and then, suit and all, ran to Darcy and took her hand. Together, they played tag with the ocean.

  Mallory splashed into the edge of the water, gave Darcy a bear hug, lifting her off the ground by a few inches, then set her back down. Darcy hugged her back. A small hug, but a hug. Clair felt forgotten, but in a good rose-colored glasses kind of way.