Barefoot Season (32 page)

Twenty-Nine

C
arly carried the tray of flatware, napkins, glasses and mugs to the next table. The weekend before the Fourth of July was crazy busy on the island. Between the cutback in people at the inn and dealing with the transition after Damaris had been fired, she was scrambling to get everything done. Michelle was supposed to be the one working the restaurant this Sunday morning, but since their encounter the previous afternoon, she hadn’t been seen.

Carly wasn’t sure what to do. Should she call Jared and ask if she was okay? Call the police? Keep her mouth shut? She reminded herself that if anything bad had happened, she would have heard. Sam would let her know. But worry was a constant companion, nibbling at the edge of her mind, making it tough to concentrate on anything else.

She set the first table, arranging the napkins, flatware, glasses and mugs automatically. At least the rest of the inn was going well. The restaurant business was as strong as ever. Helen was a godsend, providing great food and appealing specials. They’d sold out of her chicken salad on focaccia bread every time she’d made it. Carly wanted to talk to Michelle about making it part of the menu. Assuming Michelle was ever around for them to talk business.

She moved to the next table. The door to the restaurant opened. Carly turned to say they weren’t serving lunch for another hour, but stopped when she saw Ellen.

The well-dressed blonde smiled as she approached. In her tailored suit and heels, she looked professional and attractive, but Carly saw the essence of shark in her smile. Bracing herself for the inevitable attack, she squared her shoulders and forced a pleasant expression.

“Hello, Ellen.”

“Carly. You’re still here. I’m surprised.”

What? Here as in working at the restaurant or here as in still at the inn? “I don’t understand.”

“I would have thought Michelle would have fired you by now. You’re hardly an asset to the business.”

“Michelle can’t fire me. You made sure of that. You told her the board insisted…” She stopped talking, finally understanding the game. “It wasn’t the board, was it? There’s no committee telling Michelle what she has to do or not do. With the loan being made current, there aren’t any rules. Just whatever sick game you’re playing.”

Ellen’s pleasant expression never changed. “I’d be careful, if I were you. You don’t want to upset the one person who holds your destiny in her hands, do you? That would be very foolish. Especially considering you have a small child to take care of. If you didn’t have a job here, where would you go? What would you do?” Her smile widened. “I’ve seen the books, Carly. Part of my due diligence. I know how very little you make. Considering you have to pay for a sitter to keep working, you must have a tough time making ends meet. There’s not much of an emergency fund, is there? So losing your job, and subsequently your home, would be a disaster.”

Three months ago it would have been, Carly thought bitterly. But Ellen didn’t know about the ten thousand dollars. She didn’t know Carly would hate to lose her job but that it wouldn’t be as devastating as it could have been. She and Gabby would make it, thanks to Michelle.

“I’ll take your silence as a yes,” Ellen told her. “After all this time you have nothing. You are nothing. Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

“Payback isn’t the only one,” she said calmly, refusing to let the other woman see that she was shaken.

“I want you to remember that every day,” Ellen told her. “Remember how close you are to losing it all.”

She gave a little wave, then left.

Carly waited until she was alone again, then allowed herself a brief second of fist-clenching before returning to setting the tables.

There was good news, she told herself firmly. Ellen’s conditions about the inn might not be legal, which meant they weren’t enforceable. On the downside, Michelle didn’t have to keep Carly around, but maybe that was okay. She knew she’d more than proved herself. Why would Michelle want to get rid of her now?

Helen walked into the dining room. “Was someone just here? I thought I heard voices.” She smiled. “Not in a way to alarm anyone.”

Carly laughed and felt her tension ease a little. “Good to know.”

“At my age, one needs to make the distinction. So, who was our visitor?”

“Ellen. Her bank had the loans on the inn. She stopped by to torture me a little. She does it for sport.”

Helen sniffed. “I never could abide a bully. But you have nothing to worry about. She can’t hurt you.”

“She can influence Michelle.”

“I don’t think so. Michelle needs you. You’re an integral part of the inn. She deals with the behind-the-scenes part of the business, but you’re the face the customers see. And they like you. That’s invaluable.”

Carly hoped she was right. But even if she did lose her job, she and Gabby would still be all right.

“Why does Ellen dislike you?”

“Because of a few things that happened in high school. I stole her boyfriend.”

“Some people love to live in the past,” Helen said. “A waste of time, if you ask me. It can’t be undone.”

“Not Ellen’s philosophy.”

“That is going to be a problem for her, but not for you. Not if you don’t let it. Now I’d better get back to work or people will go hungry at lunch.”

Helen left and Carly returned to setting the tables. The realization that Ellen might be manipulating Michelle shouldn’t be a surprise, but it was. Like Helen said, the past couldn’t be changed. At some point Ellen had to figure that out or let it go. More easily said than done, Carly thought.

Still, she was going to have to share the latest revelation with Michelle. Based on their last conversation, it wasn’t going to go well. But she wouldn’t be keeping any secrets. No matter how ugly the telling.

* * *

Michelle sat on the floor in her bedroom. Afternoon light spilled into the room. The windows were open, letting the warm air drift inside, but the fact that the temperatures had finally warmed to close to eighty didn’t help at all with the shaking.

She held up her hand and watched her fingers tremble. Not that she needed to look at them to confirm what she could feel in every cell in her body. She alternated between cold and hot, between wanting to throw up and a tightness in her chest that made it nearly impossible to breathe.

She’d been drinking so much lately, it had probably been weeks since her system had been free of alcohol. Vodka couldn’t help her to forget, but it blurred the edges enough to make the flashbacks manageable. Letting it go meant dealing with reality. Not something she looked forward to.

She stretched out her legs, staring at her thin thighs and bony knees. She’d passed fashionably thin ten pounds ago. Now she looked like a refugee. There were bruises on her legs—probably more from a lack of nutrition than because she’d bumped anything. Her feet were dirty, her toenails too long. She hadn’t shaved her legs in weeks. Which meant she should rethink shorts right now. Not that there was anyone to see.

A soft cry made her turn. The dog lay on the makeshift bed she’d created out of several blankets, finally asleep.

Neither of them had gotten much rest last night. She’d sat on the floor, waiting for the alcohol to slowly metabolize out of her system while the dog had cowered in the farthest corner from her. It had gulped the food she’d offered, lapped up some water, then had stood watching her. Obviously waiting for the next round of pain.

Sometime after midnight, she’d put the collar on him she’d found on the bed. The dog had nearly collapsed from fear as she’d approached, then shook as she fastened the strip of leather. She’d put on the leash and practically had to drag it outside to go to the bathroom. They’d repeated the process again this morning.

But sometime around noon the dog had crept to the stack of blankets and lain down. He’d watched her with his sad brown eyes until his lids had slowly closed and he’d gone to sleep. She’d been sitting as quietly as possible ever since.

Now she watched him twitch in his sleep, soft whines coming from his dreams. She didn’t know much about dogs and less about what they thought, but she sensed his sleep had produced nightmares. Something she was all too familiar with.

Not sure what to do, she hummed quietly, hoping the sound would be calming. The dog came awake with a jerk.

“Hey,” she whispered, staying in place. “It’s okay. All right, it’s not okay. It sucks, but you’re safe now. I’m not going to hurt you.” She watched him watch her. “This would be more helpful if you spoke English.”

The dog’s head was low, his body tense.

“It’s been a while,” she murmured. “You probably need to go to the bathroom and we both need to eat.”

She stood and reached for the leash. The dog stood, as well, and backed into the corner.

“It’s all right,” she told him. “Shh. Shh. We’re going outside. It’s okay.”

He trembled as she approached, but didn’t run. She snapped on the leash and walked toward the door. He braced himself.

“Come on,” she said, opening the door and patting her leg. “Let’s go out.”

His wounded eyes locked with hers, as if he were trying to figure out what threat she offered. Just when she was sure she was going to have to drag him again, he took a step toward her.

“Good boy. That’s it. Let’s go out.”

He took another step.

They made it outside. She walked to the side of the yard he’d used before and waited while he did his business. When they were back in the house, she unfastened the leash and set it on the counter.

“Let’s get you some lunch.”

She’d had to guess on the amount of food he needed. The bag of dry food had listed measurements for different weights, but Michelle had no idea how big he was. She’d decided several small meals would probably be easier for him than one big one. He’d obviously been starving. Giving him too much might make him sick.

She set down the food, then walked to the refrigerator. Not that there was any point. She hadn’t bothered keeping food around and Jared mostly ate out. But when she opened the door she was surprised to see the top shelf was nearly full. There were cartons of juice, bottles of ginger ale and Sprite. Three sandwiches nestled together, each clearly marked with the type, along with potato salad in a plastic container.

In her cupboard she found cookies and chips. Sugar and salt, she thought. Apparently Jared was a whole lot more interested in fattening her up than she’d thought.

She knew the drinks were to help her stay hydrated. The sugar in them would help with the shakes and withdrawal. Like the dog, she would have to take it slow.

She poured a large glass of juice. After collecting the turkey sandwich, the potato salad and a fork, she carried everything back into her room. The dog followed. She put the food on her nightstand and flipped on the TV.

As she turned to get into the bed, she bumped the dog. They both jumped. He crouched and started for the corner.

“Wait,” she called. “I’m sorry.”

He stopped and looked at her.