Barefoot Season (13 page)

“You said you didn’t want your head turned. Your exact words were you weren’t going to sleep with me.”

“You only compliment a woman when you want sex?”

He shrugged. “I’m a guy.”

At least he was honest. “Sometimes it’s easier to drink.”

“It’s always easier to drink. That doesn’t mean it’s the right thing to do. If I get you something, will you eat?”

She wanted to say no but instead she nodded.

“Good. While I’m gone, you can take a shower.”

“Are you implying I smell?”

“I’m more than implying.”

He set down his drink and headed out the back door. She heard the crunch of his feet on gravel and peeked out the window over the kitchen sink. Jared was walking. At least she didn’t have to feel responsible for him driving.

She finished her drink, then made her way back into her room. After closing the bedroom door, she collected fresh clothes, then locked herself in the bathroom and turned on the shower.

Twenty minutes later she was clean and feeling a little better about the state of her life. Her hip still screamed at her and when she moved it felt like the ends of broken bones rubbing together, but the rest of her wasn’t too bad. She’d even used a little conditioner on her freshly trimmed hair and had used moisturizer after she’d dried off. At the rate she was going, in a matter of a year or two, she would practically be normal.

She avoided the work clothes she’d bought and tugged on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. Drying her hair was beyond her so she quickly combed it off her face, then twisted it into a thick braid that hung down her back. Not exactly glamorous, but clean. That should be enough.

She returned to the kitchen to find Jared emptying the contents of a couple of greasy paper bags onto plates.

The smell wafted to her, generating memories—good ones, this time.

“You went to Arnie’s?” she asked, her stomach growling for the first time in weeks, maybe months. Hunger replaced tension. “I haven’t been there in years. We used to go there all the time in high school.”

It was one of the few places she’d visited with her friends. Most of the time she’d been busy working at the inn, but every now and then she made an Arnie’s run.

He dumped barbecue-pork sandwiches onto plates. The sauce had already stained the buns. He’d bought baked beans and coleslaw and thick steak-fries.

The table was built into an alcove. Bench seats lined both sides. She slid in, going slowly, trying not to pull her hip. Jared filled tall glasses with ice and water. She glanced toward the vodka bottle.

“Later,” he told her, sitting opposite and handing her the water. “Eat.”

She started to complain about his attitude, then figured it wasn’t worth the trouble and reached for the sandwich.

The bread was warm and barbecue sauce oozed over her fingers. She took a bite, her teeth sinking into the thick slices of pork. The taste was better than she remembered—tangy and spicy. She chewed and swallowed, then took another bite. Hunger grew until she wanted to inhale every scrap of food in front of her.

Jared watched more than he ate, but she didn’t care. Let him enjoy the show. While she devoured the sandwich, he scooped beans and coleslaw onto her plate and dumped out most of the fries in front of her.

She ate everything. Every scrap of cabbage, each bean, all the fries. She licked her fingers before wiping them on a napkin, then drank the glass of water in a single gulp.

It was more food than she’d eaten in the past week and at about two in the morning she would probably regret it, but right now she didn’t care. She leaned back against the bench and sighed.

“That was good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He’d finished his sandwich and had a few fries, but left the rest for her.

“Did you get enough?” she asked. “Did I eat too much of it?”

“I don’t want it back now.”

She laughed. “Fair enough. What do I owe you?”

“It was a sandwich, Michelle. Not a new car. This one’s on me.”

“Okay. I appreciate it.”

The rain started up again. She glanced toward the window and watched the water run down the glass. In mid-May the days were still cool, even if the sun was setting close to eight at night.

“How’s life at the inn?” he asked.

“We’re getting busy, which is good. I like being back.” She glanced at him. “Mostly.”

“What don’t you like?”

“Working with Carly. She’s someone I knew before.”

“I know who Carly Williams is.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Should I ask how?” Was there a story? Did he and Carly have a past? Before she could decide if she cared, he got up and collected the vodka bottle.

“We live on an island. I know everybody here.”

“So you never…”

“Asking about my sex life?”

“One of us should have one.”

“No. Not with her.”

“Why not?”

“Why don’t you like working with Carly?”

Michelle watched him pour them each a drink. She took her glass but only held it. “We used to be friends. A long time ago. It was complicated. Stuff happened and then we were friends again. Then we both met this guy. Allen.”

She glanced at Jared, but he didn’t say anything.

“I was crazy about him. He was charming and good- looking and I was so lonely. Then I found out he was dating Carly, too, and it broke my heart. I said he had to decide. I was so sure he was going to pick me, but he didn’t. I found out later it was because she’d slept with him.”

“Why didn’t you, if he was so important to you?”

She took a sip. “I was still a virgin. Sleeping with a guy seemed like a big decision. Carly didn’t have any worries on that front, so he dumped me for her and then they got engaged.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. It was tough. But the worst part wasn’t losing Allen, which should have told me something about how I felt about him. It was losing her. She was still my friend, but every second of every day was about her and that damned wedding. It was like she was rubbing it in my face.”

She was aware she was talking too much, sharing details that couldn’t possibly interest Jared, but she couldn’t seem to stop the flood of words. People said alcohol loosened inhibitions. Vodka had nothing on one of Arnie’s pork sandwiches.

“My mother was all over the wedding, which made things harder for me. I had to be the maid of honor. That hurt.”

She paused, knowing she didn’t want to keep going. But somehow she found herself saying the rest.

“Two days before the wedding, Allen came to me. He said he’d made a mistake—that he’d really been in love with me and that he’d ended things with Carly. He seduced me and I let him and…” She looked out the window. “I was so stupid.”

“You were young.”

“Not that young. Carly found us and Allen told her it was my fault. That I’d tricked him into bed.”

She could still remember him jumping up, still naked. He’d gone to Carly and actually started crying. He’d been so convincing, Michelle had nearly believed him herself. Only she’d known the truth. She had a feeling Carly had guessed it, as well, only she hadn’t let on. Carly had blamed Michelle, as had Brenda.

“I took off that night, drove to Seattle and joined the army. I wanted to be anywhere but here and that seemed like my best option.”

“Carly stole him from you and you stole him back. You’re even.”

She eyed him over her glass. “Not exactly how I would describe it.”

“That doesn’t change what happened.”

“Maybe not, but now I have to work with her.”

“It was a long time ago. You’re different people.”

“You got that right.”

“At least you let yourself come home.”

She took a drink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You didn’t come back before. You were punishing yourself. If you’re back now, you’re done.”

She glared at him. “Where the hell do you get off—?”

Her cell phone rang, interrupting her. She was so startled by the sound, she just stared at her phone. No one ever called her. She wasn’t even sure why she kept the damn thing. She glanced at the screen and saw a Los Angeles number.

She pushed the ignore button and finished her drink.

“Where was I?” she asked, more to herself than him.

“You were telling me to mind my own business.”

“Were you listening?” she asked.

“No.”

“Typical guy. You only hear what you want to hear.”

“It keeps things simple. You miss your mom?”

“That wasn’t a very subtle change of subject.” She reached for the vodka bottle.

He poured more for her. “I wasn’t trying to be subtle. She died while you were gone. It was recent, wasn’t it?”

“A few months ago. Cancer. She went fast. I wasn’t here.”

“Should you have been?”

“It’s considered polite.”

“Do I look like I care about polite?”

“No.”

“Should you have been here?” he asked again.

“I don’t know,” she said, admitting the truth. “I feel guilty for not being with her when she died.”

“Where were you?”

“In a hospital in Germany, getting part of my hip replaced.”

He didn’t say anything.

She sighed. “I feel guilty because I’m glad I didn’t have to make the decision. No one wants to be a bad person. I just can’t figure out what I think about her.”

“So don’t. She’s gone. Move on.”

“You’re not a very good psychologist.”

“I own boats, Michelle. Ask me about the tide, the wind or the cost of diesel. I don’t know much about anything, but I do know how to listen. So what’s the real problem?”