What the Heart Knows: A Milford-Haven Novel - Book One (28 page)

Sam inhaled and looked down at her hands again, which had begun to shake. “I’ve told you all of this in strictest confidence.”

“I know, I know.”

Sam heard the strain in her own voice. “I
don’t want you
talking with
anyone
else about this. And should someone ask
you any questions about it, you know
nothing
about it. Is that clear?”

“Well, geez, there’s no need to jump down my throat!”

Sam looked at the ceiling for a moment, then back at Susan, whose expression showed the irritation that so frequently marred her lovely face. “Sorry. You’re right. The thing is, you have no idea how unscrupulous Jack can be. Knowing him, he’ll probably try to find a way to use you to get at me, use you to get information.”

“He can’t use me if I don’t let him,” Susan countered.

“That’s exactly right.” She paused for a moment. “Well. I appreciate your keeping this quiet. And I appreciate your letting me burden you with my personal business.”

“It’s not really a burden, Samantha. It might be kind of fun to have a secret to keep.”

“Good.”

Susan grabbed her coffee and began to leave Sam’s office, but then turned back. “By the way, I do want a raise.” Susan sashayed out and closed the door firmly behind her.

Sam began to chuckle. And soon, she was laughing out loud.

Samantha Hugo moved her office chair back to her side of the desk and settled herself. While she glanced through a fresh stack of mail and shuffled papers, she reflected on her conversation with Susan.

It went well, I think. She’s so quick! I couldn’t have kept this from her long. Though it was hard to reveal so much of my own history to her, it was the smart—and the right—thing to do
.

Sam recalled the expressions that’d crossed Susan’s face:
complacence, defiance, shock, resentment and, yes, vulnerability. The specter of a lost child—or of a person who’d lost her own childhood—lurked behind those clever, alert eyes. Sam sensed an untapped pain behind the girl’s rebelliousness—some unresolved issue crying out for healing.

This, no doubt, is the real root of the problems that so often crop up between us. That’s why I’m always giving her opportunities and making allowances I’ve never made for anyone before. Have I done her any real favors—or has the leniency been a disservice?

For now, Sam decided, she’d have to trust that progress had been made. Sam focused her attention on her desk, where she needed to get some real work done. She picked up the file labeled “Coastal Commission Meeting, October 6, 1996.” Gratified to see Susan had typed up her notes as instructed, she reviewed the summary of salient points.

Santa Barbara’s application to make permanent their temporary desal plant was approved. Morro Bay had amended some zoning.

Down in Los Angeles County, Santa Monica’s application for three permanent artworks had been approved—a sculpture and two murals to be installed on or near the city’s famous pier.
Trust Santa Monica to do something artistic. We should do that in Milford-Haven. Why couldn’t we hire Miranda to do a mural?
Sam scribbled a memo to herself on a sticky-note and placed it in the rotating display of colorful stickies already decorating her desktop, then returned her attention to her meeting summary.

Much closer to home, Pismo Beach had granted permission for bluff protection devices to be installed at Shell Beach Road.
Good. A new precedent That’s what we need at the Clarke House site. I’ll have to see if I can bring some pressure on Jack
. She sighed.
Not that I’m eager to annoy him any further just at the moment. But I do have to do my job
.

Sam’s stomach growled, and she suddenly remembered the egg sandwich. Opening her office door, she was just in time to see Susan sling her leather backpack over one shoulder. “You’re leaving?” she asked.

“I’m going to class.” Susan took a beat, as though to allow her employer to remember what class.

“Your environmental studies class? I thought it was always on Monday.” Central Coast Community College was in San Luis Obispo—an hour’s drive each way—and the class lasted ninety minutes. Sam had accepted that she had to handle the office alone one day a week, but not two.

“Tsk.” Susan clucked. “This is just an aerobics class. Remember I said I was going twice a week, instead of lunch? I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Oh! Right. I forgot. Enjoy. And listen, don’t skip lunch. Why don’t you just stop at Sally’s and pick something up after your class.”

“Okay, thanks!” Susan called back over her shoulder as she swung out the front door.

Sam’s stomach rumbled again, and she considered heading for the fridge.
Now that Susan’s getting her own lunch, I could eat the whole sandwich
. But, realizing she had privacy with Susan’s sudden absence, she went back to her office and closed the door. She moved to her desk and pulled from her purse the slip of paper with the agency information she’d found in the phone book.

“Bill and Stacey Chernak,” she muttered. “Well, I’ll never know if I don’t give it a try.” She keyed in the number, noting again that their office was only as far as Morro Bay.

As the phone began to ring for the fourth time, an answering device picked up.
“Hello, and thank you for calling the Chernak Agency,”
said a pre-recorded voice.

Female. European. And oh-so-polite
.

“We are sorry to miss your call, but if you leave your telephone number, we will return it promptly.”

All the w’s are pronounced like v’s. And they’re using no contractions. I suppose they must be German
.

Cued by the inevitable beep, Sam spoke into the receiver: “Yes, this is Samantha Hugo, and I’m calling from Milford-Haven. I’d like to discuss the possibility of hiring you to find my …. Well, I can give you more details when you call me back.” Sam gave her office number and hung up.

Her heart pounded as she put down the phone. Earlier, while she spoke with Susan, her hands’d been shaking. Now she noticed they were damp as well.

Sally O’Mally had managed to escape the restaurant during the brief pre-lunch lull that occurred between ten-thirty and eleven-thirty
I really shouldn’t leave the rest’r’nt, but June keeps tellin’ me she can handle it

She’d made the five-minute drive to Burn-it-Off—a single-room facility that held the distinction of being the only women’s exercise facility in Milford-Haven—or it would, when Sally could find the time to hire a new teacher and re-start step-aerobics classes.
Too bad Amelia had to move out of town. She was good
.

Until she found a replacement, Sally came here herself twice a week, plunked a boom box at the edge of the floor, turned the volume to full, and did her best to improvise moves she’d watched on TV programs.

After parking her car, she’d made a quick stop in the ladies room to pull on pink tights and a black leotard, and to put her hair in a ponytail. Now she grinned at the notion of an hour’s freedom and surveyed the room she’d worked so hard to
renovate.

It’d started as one of her gung-ho projects: a business plan, a search for property. Eventually she’d found it—a storage area tucked into a sprawling hillside complex that housed a kitchen supply outlet, a custom-curtain-and-blinds shop and a hot tub store. For the time being, she leased the space from Coastal Soak, but she hoped to own it one day. She, herself, had given the plain walls a fresh coat of white paint. Kevin had buffed the hardwood floor as a favor.

Now she glanced at the wall of mirrors.
Jack helped me put those up—back when he used to actually do things for me
. To complete the facility, soft mats and sturdy, five-inch platforms were stacked against the wall.

I love this place
. She loved even more the notion that working out regularly might help her stay strong and healthy. The only thing that struck her as ridiculous was working out alone, a problem she’d solved by inviting her women friends to join her for bi-weekly free workouts. So far, her two best customers were Miranda and Susan, though Connie sometimes rushed in breathless and late; and Cuyama sometimes attended as well, moving with remarkable grace and agility, despite her elder-status.

Sally glanced up at the round wall clock she’d hung above the mirrors.
Well, time’s skidaddlin’ like a runaway fox. Seems like I’m on my own today, so I better get to movin’
. Bending over to turn on her boombox, she groaned as she stretched her tired back, then stood to scowl at herself in mirror. “Ooh, Lordie, you got some lumps an’ bumps,” she said to her reflection. “And fluorescent lightin’ don’t do a thing for that complexion, neither.”

Turning aside to drag a platform toward the middle of the room, she began marching in place, scowling as she watched her legs jiggle in their hot pink tights. “Keep a-goin’, even though it’s jus’ you and me!” she shouted to the mirror.

“Not quite!” Miranda dashed into the room, tossed her backpack on the floor, peeled off her jacket and long sweatpants, then dragged her own platform next to Sally’s. Her blue and green leotard and tights accentuated her long, lean lines as she took her place at the platform beside her friend. “Sorry I’m late!” Miranda shouted over the music.

“Oh, fiddle. You’re not late, Miranda, I just started a little early. Got to, to catch up with you. Your thighs make me sick!”

“You feel sick?”

Sally shook her head. “Tell ya later!”

The two smiled at each other in the mirror as they marched in place. “One! Two! Three!” she called, holding up consecutive fingers. And with that, the two women stepped up onto their platforms, spun on their sneakers, stepped down, then up again, then down to their starting points.

Susan pushed open the door, flung down her backpack and workout bag, then lovingly placed her leather jacket across both. She’d already changed into her black leotard and tights, which revealed a thin, almost frail figure. And yet, as she began to move, she showed a surprising strength, as though her sinews were made of some new grade of steel—thin but manufactured for endurance. Her hypertensive movements contrasted sharply with Miranda’s fluidity and Sally’s bouncing energy.

“Morning, Susan!” called Miranda.

“Hey there, Girl!” Sally shouted.

Susan smiled briefly, then seemed to focus until she caught the music’s rhythm. Soon the three women moved together with a practiced consonance.

“And one … two … lookin’ good, Girls!” Sally chimed. “Three … four …. Miranda, do you mind leadin’ for a spell?”

Without missing a beat, Miranda continued. “No problem. And one … two … three … lift ’em!”

“Lift ’em?” Sally called out. “Believe you me, that’s all the higher these little legs are gonna go!”

Susan took the instructions literally and performed a kick high enough to risk hitting herself in the head.

“Oooh-eee that’s some extension you got there, Girlfriend. I couldn’t
never
do that—not even at your age.” Sally was beginning to huff and puff as she spoke.

“And over … and turn … and step over, down,” continued Miranda. “You do okay, Sally.”

“I’ll tell you what, if I could kick like that, I know exactly who’d get it and where.”

Miranda laughed. “Who’s in Sally’s doghouse this week? Three … four … step together, step ….”

“Oh, he’s gone and done it this time, and he’s gonna have to do some kinda fancy footwork to get out of it too. Who does Jack think he is havin’ a relationship with that woman and not even … uh … three … four … letting me know about it?”

Miranda Jones came to alert.
Sally’s acting as if we’re here alone, but Susan can most likely catch everything she’s saying
.

“This sounds juicy,” Susan called out, as though to confirm Miranda’s concern. “Leading Local Builder Caught with Pants Down? News at Eleven!”

“Oh, he had his pants down all right,” Sally supplied, “even
if it was a long time ago. Uh … uh … two … three … four …. I mean … uh … three … four … he could’ve told me that he used to be
married!”

Susan pummeled the air as she stepped for a couple of beats, then asked, “Why would Jack Sawyer tell details of his past love-life to his waitress?”

“And V step!” Miranda shouted, “up and over!”
Susan’s just fishing now, but I’ve gotta protect my talkative friend—and Samantha too. But Susan has a point: why
is
Sally so upset about Jack?
The three women were now too busy moving to talk for at least one step-cycle. Despite the complexity of the moves, Sally managed to resume speaking after two minutes.

“I mean, who ever heard of carin’ about someone so much he actually got married … uh … four … and not even
mentioning
such an important little item?”

Susan frowned. “I’m getting lost here. Who’s involved with who?”

Miranda spoke up. “Jack used to be involved with someone. But it was years ago. Keep up, everybody. Three … four …. Okay, that’s it.” Miranda ran in step over to the boombox and turned it off before the next song began to play. Winded, she said, “Good job!”