Tank ran north, the cold wind in his face. The weather had definitely changed. Good thing he couldn’t really feel anything. He’d just keep running, and either things would start to make sense, or he’d fall over in exhaustion and not have to think anymore. He lumbered on. He never fell over in exhaustion. Things had better start making sense.
The water was gray and menacing, but he loved how the waves pounded the sand. It fit his mood perfectly. He continued to run, forcing thoughts of football out of his head.
Looking up, he noted a variety of houses along the beach, many of them older homes. He scanned the small yards, looking for real estate signs. There had to be some winter rentals available.
The houses started to look familiar and Tank slowed his pace. He didn’t want to run into anyone from the inn, but he wasn’t particularly anxious to get back to his little cottage, either. What awaited him there? No TV, no distraction, no cool dog to play with, not even anyone to pick a fight with.
A vision of his blonde-haired, brown-eyed nemesis taunted him as he slowed to a walk along the shore. She was every bit the awful woman he’d predicted. There had been moments when he thought he saw a real person surface, but they were few and didn’t last. He had almost started to believe that she was hurting on Friday night. What an idiot. Done with men forever, she’d said, and she had a new one, maybe two, right under her own - or her sister’s - roof.
He was getting close to Otis’ house and figured it was time to turn around. He glanced to the inn beyond, and noticed two people coming down the steps to the beach. Great. Busted. He didn’t know which way they were going to walk, and didn’t have time to adjust his course to go the opposite way. He sure wasn’t likely to blend into the scenery. He slowed as the couple started toward him. There was no mistaking the guy from last night, and no explaining the urge he had to deck him.
They were holding hands. That was fast. Tank stood hunched against the cold with his hands in his pockets, waiting for them to look up and see him. They were only about twenty-five yards away; were they so enraptured that they didn’t even realize they weren’t alone on the beach?
That awful woman was ... he did a double take. That awful woman wasn’t as tall as he remembered, and she was decidedly brunette. She was ... Grace?
“Tank! Hey - what are you doing here?”
She jogged up to him. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all week! Daphne said you stopped in at the shop? Did you get into the house okay? I planned to help, but you haven’t answered your phone.”
Tank looked at his sister, bewildered. “I’m in. No problem.”
She looked at him like she didn’t buy it, but was apparently too happy with her man to pursue it further. “I also wanted you to meet my old high school friend. Alex, this is my brother, Tank. Tank, this is Alex.”
Alex extended his hand as he had the night before, and this time Tank shook it with a little less vigor. “Alex.”
“Hi, Tank. Nice to officially meet you.”
Tank grimaced. “You, too.”
“What are you doing on this end of the beach?” Grace chattered on. Grace never chattered. “Were you coming to the inn?”
Tank looked up at the house he’d stayed in for two weeks, unable to explain why he was at the doorstep, again.
“No. Just out for a run; didn’t realize how far I’d come until I saw you on the porch.”
“Well, then we’ll walk you back, unless you want to go in?” Her smile seemed genuine, though there was something in her voice that he didn’t like.
“No, I’ll walk with you.”
“Burt! No! Come!”
The group turned as the Irish wolfhound came bounding off the porch toward them. Becky stood helplessly at the top of the steps, hands on her hips, apparently unwilling to chase the dog.
“Oh no, did we let him out?” Grace asked.
“He can push the door open,” Tank explained, bracing himself and intercepting the dog as he ran up.
Alex laughed as Grace stepped behind him. “Becky mentioned you two had bonded,” he said, tucking Grace into his side.
Tank considered the man who was moving into his sister-protection territory, even as he wondered what else Becky had said about him. Mostly, he just focused on the dog. He scratched Burt’s ears, making a point to get a hold of his collar.
He looked up at Becky, who had taken a step or two toward them, but clearly wasn’t in any hurry to get her sister’s dog.
He sighed. “Come on, Burt.”
The dog walked happily at his side while they made their way up to the porch. Becky met them on the sand.
“Thanks,” she said, grabbing a hold of Burt’s collar. Tank moved his hand quickly to make room for hers.
“No problem,” he replied, starting back to the others.
“Tank?”
He turned slowly. She’d never said his name before; not that it mattered.
“I’m sorry about the other night. Really sorry you had to, ah, step in like you did.”
He shrugged, looked out at the water. He didn’t like it when she was vulnerable.
“I don’t know why you would help me, after the way we’ve, well, we haven’t exactly gotten along. Anyway, I owe you.”
He turned back to her. “You don’t owe me anything.”
She looked at him, actually trying to make eye contact. Luckily, it was getting too dark to really see her eyes. Tank studied his shoes and kicked the sand.
“I made breakfast because I was hungry,” he finally said.
“Oh, right, okay.”
Was that confusion in her voice? He didn’t like that either. Better to make her mad; that he could deal with.
“It had nothing to do with you.”
“Got it. Sorry I brought it up.”
Good. She’s angry. Time to leave.
Doing what he did best, he turned without another word, and jogged back to his sister.
***
Becky watched Tank join Grace and Alex, and fought the urge to throw something at his big fat back. Okay, it wasn’t exactly fat, but the target was large and tempting. She’d made an effort to thank him and apologize, and, of course, he was rude. What did she expect?
Well, there wasn’t anything else she could do. It wasn’t like they needed to be friends or anything. She just didn’t want fighting with Tank to get in the way of her friendship with Grace.
She pulled Burt back into the house and finished straightening up the kitchen. Alex would leave tomorrow, and then John would come in and start renovating the third floor. How long would it take him to turn the attic into an apartment for the family? As soon as they were in the house, Becky would need to have a place to go.
She tried to feel the thrill of the freedom to live anywhere and do anything, but the open-endedness of her life felt more overwhelming than exciting. The Boston area job that she’d been texted about was in a middle school, and her certification was for high school. Grace had mentioned a long-term substitute position at the high school in Clairmont, but it was for French. Becky did have a minor in French, so she could probably make it work; she just didn’t know if she wanted to commit to spending the rest of the school year in Maine. As fond as she had become of most of the people in town, she felt pretty sure that this rural area was not supposed to be home.
She turned the TV on and flipped through the channels. Leaning her head back on the pillow-covered couch, she let the colors on the screen flash meaninglessly before her. Why was Tank so rude? Was she really that offensive to him? She’d honestly made an effort - admitted she’d needed his help - and he just made her feel more stupid and worthless.
With luck, he’d get tired of life in Maine and move on. Not that she was staying, of course, and not that she cared where he ended up. He just needed to go away. Most likely he would. Why would a guy like him choose to live in a small town like Clairmont?
Becky stood up and turned off the television. She’d talk to Maddy about the high school job. May
be it wouldn’t be so bad to stay through spring. It was a sweet little town. It might be fun to refresh her language skills, and she could use the time to think about what she really wanted to do.
Feeling a renewed sense of purpose, she scanned the books on the shelves in the corner. She’d take one to bed and get lost in someone else’s adventure for a while. Tomorrow, she’d take on her own.
***
Tank tried to make an office space on his small kitchen table. He opened his laptop and looked up the scores for the week. His guys had lost - again. He groaned to himself as he scanned the statistics. So many turnovers. He forced himself to look instead at some of his investment numbers. At least everything there looked good.
He searched real estate companies to see if he could find a listing of local rentals. He didn’t have the heart to ask Grace about it just yet. She’d been so excited to find the spot he was in.
Waiting for a page to load, he considered Grace’s new friend. Alex seemed like a nice guy, though he and his sister hadn’t known each other long enough to be so cozy. Apparently, he’d gone to their high school, but it was after Tank’s time. Grace had mentioned him last weekend, but he had no idea they were going to try to make a long-distance thing work. Maybe he should try harder to stay in touch with his little sister.
At least he got a good vibe from Alex. He’d pay closer attention in the weeks ahead, if the relationship lasted that long. For all that they weren’t a very emotional family, his ties with Grace were strong. He wasn’t going to let just anyone come in and steal her away.
The page loaded and he found half a dozen houses listed. Two of them were close to the water. Both had a lot more space; either one would probably do.
He wondered what kind of contract Grace had set up for him. Whatever it was, he’d pay his way out of it if he could get closer to the ocean. He needed room to move, both inside and out. He’d check into a new place tomorrow.
nine
Two weeks later, Becky walked into a room full of high school juniors and seniors. Her crash course in French review left her head swimming in dual languages, but she found herself ready for a new challenge. The idea of sitting around the inn, while John tore the attic apart and Maddy swooned and sighed over her happy marriage, had lost its appeal. She’d gotten busy and contacted the high school. Since long-term subs available to teach French were in short supply, she’d gotten the job fairly easily. She was relieved that the references from her prior job had been positive. Passing the brief series of tests necessary to qualify her to take over the position didn’t prove to be overly taxing, but they didn’t really prepare her for facing a classroom of teenagers.
Luckily, her last job had done that.
Setting her bag down by the desk, Becky draped her coat over the chair, and turned to face the class. She didn’t have her own room to decorate or nest in - she’d be moving around the building for the different classes - but she did have a job, and it wasn’t cleaning toilets. It was a start.
“Bonjour tout le monde. Je m’appele Mlle Jacobs.” She wrote her name on the board. She turned and surveyed the class. “Comment vous appelez-vous?” she asked the girl in the front left corner of the room.
Surprised, the girl looked up and responded in decent French.
“Bonjour, Kacey,” Becky replied, checking the name on her attendance list and moving on to the next student. There were some snickers when a student or two stumbled through the introductions, but most of them remembered the simple formula.
In the back of the room she addressed a young man, likely an athlete, who easily had fifty pounds on her. He reminded her of a smaller version of a football player she knew. She fought the urge to be irritated just because.
She looked at him inquiringly. No one else had made her repeat the question.
He leaned back in his chair and looked her over. “I forgot the question.” Mr. Smooth - oh goodie.
“Vraiment?” Becky replied. “Mais, pourquoi? Vous n’etes pas tres intelligent?”
Not everyone fully understood her question, which was sad, considering it was a third year class. A few did laugh quietly, and the boy’s smirk faded as Becky moved past him to the next student. If he wasn’t going to give her his name, she’d mark him absent. She knew from past experience that high school students, especially guys, were not prone to taking her seriously. If she didn’t strike first, and effectively, she’d be scrambling for respect for the rest of the year.
“Ooh la la,” said the jock with the attitude.
Becky stiffened slightly; she wasn’t really surprised that the interaction wasn’t over. She turned back to him. “Vraiment? ‘Ooh la la’? C’est votre nom? Interessant.”
She turned and wrote on her clipboard. The kid just got himself a new name.
***
“So, how did it go? Did you like it? Did you find your way around okay?”
Maddy met her at the door and peppered her with questions. Tired as she was, Becky was happy to have someone care. She’d never had anyone to come home to after starting a new job.
“It was pretty much like I expected. I had two block classes - don’t know how the kids sit still that long. Anyway, upperclassmen for the first class, freshmen for the second.”
“Were they nice - respectful?”
Becky rolled her eyes. “They’re teenagers, Maddy.”
“Oh, well, how did it go, then?” Maddy opened a pot on the stove and Becky was happy to confirm what she’d thought was simmering apple cider. Maddy ladled out a mugful, sprinkled it with cinnamon and slid it across the counter to her.
“Thanks. This is perfect,” Becky said, warming her hands on the ceramic mug. She took a moment to just breathe in the drink in her hands, then sipped it slowly.
“Well, the guys responded predictably. The older guys know too much, and they follow your every move with a predatory look. The underclassmen tend to stare and turn red. The girls are aloof until they figure out that you really do have something to teach them.”
“Well, that’s kind of sad. Wasn’t anyone nice?”
“Sure, there were a few kids in each class who warmed up to me and answered questions - tried to get involved. The rest will come along eventually.” She sipped her cider again and started to relax, glad that Maddy and John were still working in the house. She appreciated the company.
“I’m sure they will,” Maddy agreed.
“But why do I always bring out that side of men and boys?” Becky grumbled. “Why can’t they just take me seriously? Look at the way I dressed. This is, like, my accountant outfit.”
She stood and modeled her rumpled suit. Simple straight skirt, jacket and blouse. Didn’t get more boring than that.
“Well, honestly, Becky, you might have chosen something a little less form-fitting ...”
The door to the back stairway opened and a whistle interrupted their conversation. Frank Davidson, John’s contracting partner, followed his greeting into the kitchen.
“That’s what you wore to school today? Those poor boys.” He grinned and walked over to the fridge.
Becky ignored Maddy’s apologetic look and glared at Frank. She had grown to like Frank, but now he was one of them. Stupid men.
“Which is why I’m done with men forever.”
“Oops! Did I say the wrong thing?” Frank asked, unscrewing the cap to a water bottle. “You look great, Becky. Very ... professional.” His eyes glinted mischievously, and Becky’s efforts to silence him with her stare proved pointless.
“I didn’t dress to impress the boys today,” she said with a scowl. Since when did she ever explain herself to anyone?
“Well, I’m sure they were impressed anyway. Did you see my dad?”
“No, my classes aren’t near the shop wing.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll meet him sooner or later. You won’t be able to miss him; very social guy.” Frank smiled at what was undoubtedly an understatement.
“What a shocker.”
�
�He’ll look out for you, though. If your classroom ever needs anything fixed - a.c., electrical, whatever, he’s your man.”
“Thanks,” Becky replied. “I won’t really have my own room, though. I’ll be moving around for my classes.”
Frank nodded. “The perks of being a long-term sub.”
He finished his drink and said his good-byes. A moment later, Blake and Parker came tromping down the stairs, their father close behind.
“Hey, Miss Becky! You look pretty!” Parker exclaimed.
Becky blinked, stunned by the rare compliment. “Well, thank you, Parker.”
“We only had to go to school in the morning today. Can I have some cider Maddy-mom?”
Maddy grinned at Parker’s new name for her. “Sure thing. How about you, Blake?”
“Yes, please,” Blake replied as he carefully situated himself on a stool next to Parker. The three years that separated the brothers showed less in their size than in their temperament. Blake smiled a greeting at Becky, but didn’t comment on her wardrobe.
“Hi, Becky,” John greeted her as he circled the counter to give Maddy a kiss on the cheek. “How was school today?”
Becky smiled at the question, and at the fact that John had to greet Maddy with a kiss when they’d already spent the day together.
“So, how long have you two been apart? Twenty, thirty minutes?” she asked.
John grinned and pulled Maddy into his arms. “Fifteen, and it’s killing me.”
Parker giggled. “Dad, you’re always kissing her! She probably doesn’t like it so much.”
Maddy raised a brow at John, who decided the gesture was more invitation than censure. He dipped her in a dramatic embrace. Shaking her head at the display, Becky couldn’t help but note that Blake and Parker were both smiling. They were all impossibly happy.
Done With Men Forever (Clairmont Series Book 3) Page 6