“Kaye.” Chase’s voice was firm, a tone he didn’t often take with his wife. “We have to talk.”
“About what?” Kaye straightened suddenly. “The scene you made at the grill? With the caterer?” She gave him a pointed look. “I think that was completely unnecessary. You knew I’d hired help and I thought you’d appreciate being free of that tedious job.”
“As it happens, I like tending the grill. You took that away from me without even asking.”
“Well.” She shrugged, turning away as if it didn’t matter. “It’s over now.”
“It’s not over,” Chase corrected. “We need to talk about it. Not just the grill either. Kaye, you’ve been managing my entire life—my walks, my food, my sleep, and my medication—as if I were a child, and I don’t like it.”
To his surprise, Kaye rounded on him, gripping the pillow so tightly that her knuckles were white. “I do not treat you like a child.”
“You do,” Chase insisted as he rose from his chair. As he paced the room, he counted off the incidents he could remember on his fingers. “You have forced me to walk every morning since we arrived, whether I want to or not. You open mail from my doctors, even though what’s inside is solely my business. At the Parkway Diner, you changed my order—in front of the whole family.”
“That’s enough!” Kaye’s tone was sharp as she dropped the pillow. “I’m doing everything I can to keep you safe and you don’t even notice. You act as if the past three years didn’t happen.”
In fact, Chase did know how difficult his illness and recovery had been on her, and he regretted putting her through that. But now was not the time to reassure or to comfort her. If he did, the opportunity would be lost and the restrictions on his life would never ease. He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t live that way anymore.
He tried another tactic. He paused and gave his wife a deliberate look. “What did you and Nancy Goldsmith talk about?”
Kaye blinked in surprise and her face told him all he needed to know. He closed his eyes and felt his shoulders sag. His assumption was right, and he hadn’t realized until just this minute how much he wanted to be wrong.
“Nothing really,” Kaye finally answered. “Just chatting.”
“That’s not the truth.”
“Fine.” Kaye’s expression hardened. She raised her chin and glared at him. “Nancy wanted us to join them in Austria in December. They’re planning a river cruise down the Rhine to visit the Christmas markets. I told them no. I told them that you weren’t up to a long trip because it’s true: you’re not.”
“That’s not for you to decide.”
“Well, I did.” Kaye shook her head. “Austria is too far away. Too far from your doctors.”
To prevent harsh words he couldn’t take back, Chase grabbed his pajamas from the hook and went into the bathroom to change. Though he loved his wife dearly, living with her could be a challenge. Lately she’d become bossy and unyielding, controlling and sharp, but she hadn’t always been like this. He understood her need to control things. The incident in the ocean when Stacy was little had broken Kaye. She blamed herself. Chase should have helped her then, should have talked about it or taken her to see someone, but he never did.
He emerged from the bathroom a few moments later, dressed for bed. Kaye was in bed already, pretending to read a book.
“You talk about finding a new normal,” Chase said, his tone unchanged as he stood by the bed. “My normal cannot be restricted to egg-white omelets and mineral water, and you cannot expect me to stay close to home waiting to grow older.”
With her attention still on the book, Kaye frowned but didn’t interrupt.
He sat on the bed and reached for Kaye’s book. As she looked up, he saw the fear in her expression and wondered if it wouldn’t be kinder to just do what she wanted. She’d already been through so much. Then, just as quickly, he dismissed the idea. He couldn’t live that way. “I can’t sit at home just to make you feel better. And you shouldn’t stay at home watching me.” He offered a tentative smile. “Maybe we should start thinking about doing things together.”
“You want to go to the Christmas markets? With the Goldsmiths?” Kaye asked, and he heard the apprehension in her voice. This was hard for her, this letting go, but if he pressed, she would do it.
He scoffed. “Not with those two. Are you kidding? They’d drive me nuts.”
He heard her chuckle as he reached over and flicked off the light. He’d made his point.
Sixteen
The ping of incoming messages on his cell phone sounded like scattershot, and the noise pulled Ryan from sleep. Bleary-eyed, he slipped the phone from the charger. He scanned the first message and then the second. Then the first one again because he couldn’t believe what he’d read. With his heart pounding, Ryan scrolled to the top of the list and read every email twice, certain that he was mistaken. And when it became clear to him that he wasn’t, his shock turned to anger.
It seemed that Todd had fired Ryan’s entire department.
Ryan rose from bed, grabbed his laptop and his phone, and made his way downstairs. He dialed Todd’s number twice before it dawned on him that the timing of these messages was purposeful. The email firing Ryan’s employees had been sent in the middle of the night, on a holiday weekend. Todd would have sent the mail, then shut off his phone while he waited for tempers to cool. It was a coward’s way out, one that Todd had taken before, but this time it wouldn’t work. The fate of twenty-nine employees rested in the balance, and the thought of Todd sleeping peacefully after pulling something like this just made Ryan angrier.
Because it was unlikely that Todd would return his calls, Ryan decided to escalate matters. Opening his laptop, he scanned his contacts for someone with more authority than Todd but came up with nothing. He hadn’t noticed until now, but his entire list of contacts from the Seattle company consisted of Todd and an administrative assistant whose job it was to schedule video meetings. He’d reached a dead end.
Changing tactics, Ryan opened a search engine and typed in the name of Todd’s company. The search returned professional associations, Seattle city listings, newspaper announcements, and Ryan sifted through them all but found nothing, no executive contacts he could reach out to. Heaving a sigh of frustration, he closed his laptop and picked up his cell phone. He called Sean, then Jeff, and left messages for both when they didn’t answer.
“Didn’t you make coffee?” Stacy, puffy-eyed and still in her bathrobe, held up the empty carafe and frowned at him. “You know the rule: first one up makes the pot.”
She pushed the carafe back in place with more force than seemed necessary, and Ryan’s temper flared. He’d been up for hours, dealing with a real emergency. The least she could do was make a fresh pot herself.
“If the pot is empty, it’s obvious that I didn’t make any,” he snapped.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. Forget it.” It would take too long to explain, and he didn’t have time to argue about who should have made coffee.
She stiffened but didn’t reply. Turning toward the sink, she turned on the tap and filled the machine with water. “Are you still going to take the kids to the beach today?” Her tone matched his. “You promised, and they’re looking forward to it.”
“I don’t know. I might have to fly out to Seattle.” Ryan raked his fingers through his hair. “Something’s come up.”
Stacy froze, a bag of ground coffee in her hand. “Today?”
“Yes. Today.” Ryan spat each word out, annoyed with her for making him explain. “Something’s come up,” he repeated. “Something important.”
“Has it really?” Stacy met his glare and matched it with one of her own. “Well, ‘something’s come up’ here too. You promised to spend the day with Connor and he’s counting on you.”
Ryan didn’t want the morning to go this way. Last night’s party was a reminder of how easy their relationship used to be, before Todd and the pa
rtnership. Before everything imploded. He couldn’t explain his feeling of obligation to the people he’d hired, and he hoped Stacy would understand eventually.
Brad entered the kitchen and went to the refrigerator.
“Look…” Stacy drew a breath. “I was up most of the night with the kids. You didn’t know because I wanted you to enjoy the day with them.” She scooped the coffee into the filter. “Sophie was awake until just after eleven because she wanted to talk about the party. The sparklers. Playdates. And a new friend she made.” She flicked the switch on the coffee maker, then reached for a mug on the drainboard. “When I finally got her to sleep, Connor woke up a few hours later—at four thirty. He was so excited for his day at the beach with his dad.”
Ryan opened his mouth to speak but she silenced him with a single look.
“You promised your son, and I won’t let you break it. Work will always be there. Your children won’t be.” She pushed the mug aside and turned to leave the kitchen. “I’m going back to bed. The kids are your responsibility today.”
After she left, Brad looked at him, his eyes wide. “Dude.”
“Yeah,” Ryan sighed as he closed his laptop.
Hours later, Stacy woke from her nap naturally, surprised at how long she’d been allowed to sleep without interruption. She listened for sounds of her children or her husband but the house was still. Outside, she heard oak leaves rustle in a gentle breeze, then saw the white eyelet curtains on the bedroom window flutter as the breeze made its way inside, and finally, she breathed in the salty air as the breeze surrounded her. She yawned and stretched as she turned over to look out the open window. Cicadas hummed in the trees and someone bounced a ball in the street. The sun was high overhead, casting the world outside in bright possibilities.
Then she remembered the spat she’d had with Ryan earlier that morning and her good mood dissolved. At the previous night’s party, Ryan was fun and engaging and the kids loved having their father’s attention. She did too if she was honest. But the previous night seemed to be an exception. This morning, Ryan’s attention was once again focused on his work.
Impulsively, she decided to find her husband and talk to him. Pushing aside the sheets, she rose from bed and splashed water on her face. Her maternity shorts still fit, though they were getting snug and she’d need new ones soon. She raided Ryan’s side of the closet for another oversized shirt and made her way downstairs, rolling up the sleeves as she went. She was surprised to find the kitchen empty, the coffee pot washed and put away, the dishes done, the countertops cleared.
“Hello?” she called out. “Anyone home?”
No answer. She wandered the rest of the house, just to make sure. Her father’s den was vacant and there was no one in the yard outside. Though both cars were in the driveway, that didn’t really mean much; Dewberry Beach was a walking town. Any other day, Stacy would have loved to have a day to herself. She would have settled into a deck chair with a good book, a floppy hat, a glass of lemonade. But today she couldn’t. She wouldn’t have been able to enjoy herself with things as unsettled as they were between her and Ryan.
She returned to the kitchen and spied a note she must have missed before. Written in Brad’s hand, it was secured to the refrigerator door with a plastic fruit magnet.
Doofus,
Went crabbing by the boatyard bridge. When you’re done with your hissy fit, come over.
Your fav brother.
The boatyard bridge was close, just a few blocks away on the west side of town. Narrow and creaky, it was hidden behind a thick bank of cattails and little more than a shortcut between the marina and the swim club. The locals knew about it, of course, and sometimes cast their line from it but fish caught there tended to be too small to keep. It was also where their grandfather taught them to crab.
She tucked a bottle of water in her pocket and grabbed a zipped cooler from the mudroom. She’d make a quick stop at the bakery for sandwiches and cookies in case they were hungry. On her way out, she found her flip-flops and grabbed her sunglasses from the counter. Outside, the late-morning sun was bright and hot, the air thick and humid. There would be a thunderstorm later, one of the best things about summer afternoons. Her mood lifting, she slipped on her sunglasses and started down the street, waving to Mrs. Ivey as she walked by.
At the bakery, she pulled a paper number from the dispenser and waited. When her turn came, she ordered lunch for everyone and bought a large black coffee and an almond croissant to enjoy outside while she waited for the food. The server added the charge to their account because, although Stacy had remembered her sunglasses, she’d forgotten her wallet.
The first sip of coffee was blissful; no one made coffee like the ladies at Mueller’s. Wandering outside, Stacy found a table in the shade. The metal chair scraped across the cement patio as she pulled it from the table and sat down. She felt the breeze shift, this time bringing the scent of freshly baking bread. Settling into her chair, Stacy closed her eyes and breathed it in.
“Stacy Bennett? Well, look at you. You’re enormous.”
Stacy’s eyes snapped open. A man she didn’t immediately recognize pulled out the opposite chair and sat. Definitely not a local but too absurdly dressed to be a tourist. His white linen shorts were tailored and sharply creased. His Hawaiian shirt was printed with pictures of thrashing swordfish, and a matching fabric band circled his wide-brimmed straw hat.
She was about to tell him to go away when she saw a mischievous smile curl his lips and felt a slam of recognition.
“Billy Jacob?” she spluttered as she leaned forward. “What in the world are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.” The author of A Winter to Remember fished a pair of sunglasses from his shirt pocket and slipped them on. “Bright out here, isn’t it?”
“Me?” Stacy repeated stupidly. “Why are you looking for me?”
“As it happens, I’ve come to ask for your help,” Billy said airily as he twisted the brim on his straw hat. He reminded her of a little boy playing dress-up with the clothes newly found in his father’s closet.
“My help with what?”
“Oh, is that freshly brewed?” Billy breathed as he reached for her cup. “All I have in that tragic little excuse for a hotel is a rusted tea kettle and packets of instant coffee.” He grimaced before he sipped, then he swallowed and sighed. “This is delicious.”
“Billy.”
“Yes?”
“Give me back my coffee.”
“Fine.” He pushed it toward her with exaggerated effort, though not before sneaking another sip.
It occurred to her that she was being rude so she tried again, this time softening her tone. “Congratulations on your success.”
“Thank you,” he answered absently as he glanced toward the bakery. “Do they have table service here?”
“Not outside. You have to go in.”
He sighed and leaned against his chair, apparently put off by the effort.
To ask again why he came to Dewberry Beach to look for her would have been pointless. Billy Jacob would explain when he was ready. And because she was curious, she’d wait. But only until her food was ready.
“I’ve heard you’re allowing fan fiction now, based on the world you created. Is that true?”
“Yes, it is.”
“And a movie?”
“They’ve sold the option.”
“You must be very excited.”
He shrugged. “I guess.”
This game was getting tiring. Stacy remembered why she and Billy hadn’t maintained their friendship after his book was published. Why they were never really friends in the first place. She admired his talent. He was a brilliant author but also petulant and difficult when things didn’t go his way. Managing his moods used to be her job, but it wasn’t anymore.
Thankfully her order came then, so she rose from her chair and offered a genuine smile. “It was nice to see you, Billy. I hope you have a good visit here and I wish you gre
at success with your second book.”
“Wait. Where are you going?” He straightened, surprised at her departure. “I said I need your help.”
“You did,” she replied. “But you haven’t mentioned it again so I didn’t think it was important.”
“I need your help”—he leaned across the table and whispered—“with the second book.”
“What about the second book?”
“Sit down and I’ll tell you.” He gestured for her to sit back down.
Curiosity got the best of her, so she did. If the new book was to be released in the fall, it had already been written and edited. Billy must want her help with copy or proofreading, but she wasn’t a proofreader and didn’t have the patience for copy. There was nothing she could think of that he needed from her.
After a moment, Billy reached across the table for her hand, his voice barely a whisper. “The book. It isn’t written yet.”
“What?” Stacy gasped. “Are you kidding me?”
He shook his head as he leaned back. “I wish I were.”
People were starting to stare and she doubted he wanted this conversation to be overheard.
“Come with me.” She handed him her coffee, gathered up her food order, and guided him away from the bakery, down the first residential street she came to. When they reached a safe distance, she turned and faced him. “What do you mean, ‘it’s not written’?”
He shrugged, tipping the brim of his hat to cover his eyes.
“Take that ridiculous thing off your head, Billy. You look like Truman Capote.” Stacy reached for his hat and snatched it away. “Now tell me what happened. All of it.”
“I don’t know. The story didn’t flow, I guess, so I stopped writing. The other editors didn’t get me like you did.”
“They’ve scheduled a release date.” Stacy remembered the posters she’d seen at the little book store in town. “Do they know you haven’t written it yet? Someone at Revere has to know.”
“You see the problem? It’s not entirely my fault,” Billy corrected, sipping the coffee with such indifference that she wanted to grab it back.
The Shore House: An emotional and uplifting page turner (Dewberry Beach Book 1) Page 18