Barefoot Season (15 page)

Thirteen

T
he lingering effect of Mango continued long past when Carly would have thought it would fade. Gabby was having dinner with a friend, so Carly took advantage of the rare alone time to drive to Robert’s garage. She hadn’t seen him since he’d walked out of her place after breakfast. The fact that she thought they should both move on didn’t mean she wanted him gone from her life. He would always be family. That was important to her and to Gabby.

She parked in front of the garage and walked in through the open pull-up door. Even though it was well after six, Robert was still working, bent over a car, doing his thing. Before she could figure out what to say, he straightened and saw her.

Nothing about his expression gave away what he was thinking. He studied her while she wrestled with the right opening, finally settling on a tried-and-true classic.

“Hello,” she said.

He nodded.

The stiff movement told her he was still angry, or maybe hurt. So much for the truth setting her free.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

“Fine. With you?”

“Okay. Good. Michelle and I are still finding our footing. She’s pissed at me most of the time. When she’s not, I’m pissed at her. It makes for colorful exchanges.” There had been tension with Brenda, but this was different. Oddly better, she thought. With Michelle she could simply say, or yell, what she was thinking. Which made it more freeing, in a twisted kind of way.

“I’m busy.” He turned away and walked toward the back of his garage.

She followed him. “No,” she said loudly. “I won’t be dismissed.”

He spun back to her. “What do you expect from me?”

“Honesty. Real honesty. You’re Gabby’s uncle and the closest thing to a father she will ever have. I don’t accept you simply disappearing. It’s not what we want and I don’t think it’s what you want, either.”

“You made it pretty clear what you didn’t want.”

“I’m sorry I was so blunt. I should have thought it through. But seriously, Robert, I’m not wrong. It’s been a decade. Don’t you think if we were going to fall madly in love it would have happened? We love each other, but not that way.”

“You don’t know what I feel.”

“I know you’ve never once even tried to kiss me. While you are quite the gentleman, at some point, shouldn’t passion have taken over?”

He twisted the shop rag he had in his hands. “I wanted to give you time.”

“Ten years?”

Some of the tension seemed to fade away and he sighed. “Okay, yeah. That’s a long time. For a while I thought we’d, you know, go that way, but then it never happened.”

“For a reason. I think we’re great friends. I want that. I want you around. But go on a date. Get laid. It’s time.”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “Interesting advice coming from you.”

“The virgin slut? Yes, I know.”

They stared at each other for another couple of seconds, then he jerked his head to the back of the garage. “Come on. I’ll buy you a soda.”

A few minutes later they were sitting in his break room, sipping from cold cans he’d pulled out of the ancient refrigerator.

“How’s it really going with Michelle?” he asked.

“There are good days and bad days. She still looks awful. She’s injured and adjusting.”

“It takes time.”

“Yes, I know. Give her a break.” Carly didn’t point out that for the past few years her life had been startlingly break-free. Instead, she brought him up-to-date on the various issues and events, leaving out Mango’s hormone-inciting visit.

“Michelle is wrong about Ellen, and because she won’t listen, it’s going to come bite her in the butt. I can feel it. I just hope it doesn’t take me down, too.”

“You think Ellen is still mad about high school?”

“I would guarantee it. Apparently she doesn’t share our same space-time continuum and what happened back then is as real as if it happened yesterday.”

“Then she needs to move on.”

“She needs a man.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Not interested. She’s scary.”

Carly grinned. “Are you sure? I’m sure she would be happy to fill the vault with cash and then you could roll around in all that money.”

“I’ll pass.” He took a swallow of the soda. “Michelle will come around. She needs you.”

“I need her, too.”

Not just now, she thought sadly. They’d always needed each other, but when things had been their worst, they’d been torn apart.

Carly felt the tug of the past. She’d been seventeen when her mother had walked out. She still remembered the disbelief and devastation of coming home from school only to find her mother had abandoned her to the indifferent care of an alcoholic father. There’d been a brief note in which her mother had explained why she had to go.

She’d claimed to be in love, as if that explained and excused it all. She’d promised to stay in touch, which she hadn’t, and had sworn she still loved Carly. That had been a lie, too. She’d never come back, had never sent for her daughter, spent a weekend with her. Birthdays had warranted a card and sometimes a phone call. There had been little else.

From the time Carly had found out she was pregnant, she’d vowed to do better. Her child would feel love every single day. Her child would live in a stable home. Having Allen as her daughter’s father made those promises challenging, but so far she’d succeeded. Gabby was happy and healthy, full of life.

Maybe that was enough, she told herself. Maybe the proof of who she’d become could be found in the smiles of her daughter.

* * *

Michelle moved through the full dining room. Breakfast was always busy, even midweek. Plenty of locals came by before heading to work. The guests in the inn generally ate here, along with a few staying at the motel down the street. The smell of eggs and bacon and sausage mingled with the life-giving scent of coffee.

She greeted Isabella, then made her way around the tables. When she saw an empty coffee cup, she changed direction and grabbed a full pot.

“Good morning,” she said, returning to a table of businessmen and pouring.

“Morning,” one of them mumbled. The other three were bent over a laptop.

She smiled, not the least bit offended by being ignored. If they weren’t looking, she didn’t have to worry about them seeing her limp, didn’t have to field questions about being hurt.

When she’d refilled all the coffees, she continued back toward the kitchen. It was still early, barely seven-thirty, and chaos reigned.

Damaris whipped a frothy bowl of eggs, adding a bit of cream, then salt, before pouring the mixture directly onto a hot griddle. Once they began to sizzle, she dropped cheese and vegetables in, then swirled and expertly flipped the omelet closed. After pulling down a clean plate, she slid the omelet into place. Blackberries followed, then the plate went next to three others.

“Order up,” she announced.

A server jumped to grab it.

Damaris read the next order while she was stirring the scrambled eggs.

“Wheat toast,” she yelled to her assistant, then glanced up and saw Michelle. “Good morning, little one. How are you feeling?”

The familiar words, the welcoming smile, all drew Michelle closer.

“Not bad, considering.”

“You’re limping less.”

“It’s early. I turn into a leg-dragging monster around three. Unless I have physical therapy—then it happens before noon.”

“Pull up a stool. You can keep me company.”

Michelle poured herself a cup of coffee, then did as requested. She knew where to sit so that she was close enough to talk, but still out of the way. She’d done it hundreds of times as a teenager. Hanging out with Damaris had always been safe. Unlike Brenda, whose emotions were as unpredictable as the shapes of the clouds racing across the sky, Damaris was constant.

“You sleeping?” Damaris asked, not looking up from the stove.

Michelle cradled her mug of coffee. “No.”

“Shouldn’t you be?”

“I should be doing a lot of things.”

During their tour of the island, Mango had once again brought up the fact that he wanted Michelle to be in a support group. He’d reminded her that adjusting to civilian life was difficult after even a single tour in a war zone. She’d had three.

“Why aren’t you?”

“Maybe I like being stubborn.”

Damaris smiled. “One of your best qualities. I like that shirt. You’re too skinny, but you look nice.”

Michelle glanced down at the rayon blouse she’d bought for about fourteen dollars. Various shades of green swirled together. “You don’t think it’s too girly?”

“You
are
a girl and it makes your eyes darker.”

“Maybe.”

Damaris smiled, unmoved by her sulky tone. “Glad to be back at the inn?”

“Yeah. That’s good.” At least most of it. “I wish my mom hadn’t been so stupid with the money. Sure, a new roof makes sense, but the rest of it? If she was going to remodel anything, why not put in new bathrooms for the guests? Did we really need a gift shop?”

“You’re talking to the wrong person.”

“I know. Ignore me.”

“Never.” Damaris handed her a plate. It held her favorite French toast with a side of bacon. “Eat.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The other woman touched her cheek. “I’m glad to have you back, child. Let me know how I can help.”

“Thanks, but I’m doing okay.”

She took a couple of bites and chewed. Damaris continued to prepare eggs and pancakes, place sausages on plates and call that orders were up.

The room was warm, heat from the stove rising to join the steam from the dishwasher. Pans clattered, coffee perked, toast popped. A restaurant kitchen was far from quiet, but the sounds were easy. Safe. No explosions here.

By the time she’d eaten her way through the large serving, she felt better. Food and caffeine were a happy combination, she thought, setting her plate by the dishwasher and refilling her mug. The orders slowed enough that Damaris had time to pull up a stool for herself.

“You have something to tell me,” the other woman said, holding a cup of coffee. “What is it?”