Dockside (6 page)

Jenny presented her back. “Here, unzip me. And let’s get back to talking about this thing with Greg.”

“There is no thing with Greg.” The zipper snagged. Nina gently teased it away from the delicate fabric.

“He wants you to be his partner at the inn. I’d call that a thing.”

“He wants to suck me dry and then push me aside.”

“Greg’s not like that. He really does need help getting the place back up and running, and he’s smart enough to know you’re perfect for the job.”

“I just don’t get it. There are a hundred business opportunities in Avalon. A hundred and twelve last time I checked—and I did check.” She knew what was out there. When she was mayor, one of Nina’s priorities had been to dedicate a page of the city’s Web site to local business opportunities to attract investment. “Why does he have to pick the one thing I want?”

Jenny pulled on her T-shirt. “The two of you want the same thing. Maybe it’s a sign.”

“Right.”

“I don’t know why you’re so upset by this. You were willing to run the place on behalf of the bank. Greg is offering you virtually the same deal, only he wants to pay you a much bigger salary. Better benefits.”

“It’s completely different. The bank would have sold me the place as soon as I could qualify for a loan. Greg took that off the table.”

“Did you tell him that?”

“What, and make myself seem even more pathetic? No, thank you.”

“Nina, be honest with me, with yourself. Did you really think the bank’s asset division was going to wait for you to qualify for a small business administration loan?”

Like most government programs, the SBA moved with leaden slowness. Nina had been told that the process could take months, even a year. “Mr. Bailey would have waited. I’m sure he assumed his successor would have, as well. Her name’s Brooke Harlow and I think Greg’s dating her. Cozy, huh?”

“Don’t jump to conclusions. This is a safer bet for you, anyway,” Jenny said reasonably. “Maybe you’ll hate it and want to get out. Maybe Greg will hate it, and he’ll be the one to get out.”

“Suppose it turns out to be perfect for both of us? Then we’d end up plotting to kill each other.”

“Or making a permanent merger.” Jenny wriggled her eyebrows.

“Don’t even.”

“Why not? Olivia filled me in on him. He’s her youngest uncle—twelve years younger than Philip, so that makes him…thirty-eight. He’s single. He’s a Bellamy. He’s a catch.”

“He’s got a half-grown boy and a grandbaby on the way.” Not that Nina had anything against pregnant teenagers. She herself was a member of that club.

“A big family is a blessing,” Jenny pointed out. “You of all people know that, Miss middle-child-of-nine.”

Nina didn’t contradict her, even though she could’ve come up with a thousand objections. She understood that Jenny had endured a particularly lonely childhood. Her father had been a mystery. Her mother had simply taken off, leaving Jenny to be raised by her grandparents in the quiet, neat-as-a-pin house on Maple Street.

“Maybe so,” Nina said. “But then again, there’s something to be said for being completely on my own. I’ve never done it before. I need to be on my own for the first time in my life. I want to figure out who I am when I’m not somebody’s daughter or Sonnet’s mom.”

“I understand. You deserve a chance to do that. I’m sure Greg will understand, too. He made you a business proposition, not a marriage proposal.”

“Yeah, heaven forbid I should get one of those.”

“Hey, you’re the one who said she wants a single life.” Jenny smiled and said, “Come on, Nina. This could be a great opportunity for you.”

“Oh, man, you’re doing it.”

“Doing what?”

“That mysterious wisdom-of-the-married thing. I can’t stand that.”

“I’m not doing anything of the sort.”

“You are, too. Look at you. You’re so…so
happy.
”

“And your point is?”

“That just because being married makes
you
happy doesn’t mean it’s what
I
need.”

“I know. What you need is to be running the Inn at Willow Lake. That’s what this whole discussion is about.”

“Fine. You know what? Maybe you’re right. Greg has no idea what he’s taking on. I do. He won’t last the summer—you mark my words.”

“You’re not thinking of scheming against him, are you?” asked Jenny.

“I won’t need to. He’ll fail on his own.”

“With you in charge?” Jenny eyed her skeptically.

“See, that’s the dilemma.” Nina finished her wine and poured another glass. “It’s crazy. One way or another, Greg Bellamy has been a thorn in my side ever since we were kids.”

N
ina blamed all her troubles on a boy named Greg Bellamy. It was irrational for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was the fact that he didn’t know she existed. That was maybe the main trouble of all.

The first day she met him, she had driven up to Camp Kioga with her best friend, Jenny Majesky. Once a bungalow colony for rich families from the city, it was now a tony summer camp for their children. Not that Nina was going to camp or anything.
As if.

No, she was heading up the lakeshore road to the historic, exclusive summer camp in a bakery truck. The truck belonged to Jenny’s grandparents and the girls were helping with a delivery. Jenny’s grandpa let them play the radio as loud as they wanted, being as he was hard of hearing, and Metallica and a delicious breeze rushed over them with equal strength. As the van lumbered through the rustic archway that marked the entrance, Nina inhaled the green scent of the woods and tried to imagine what it would be like to actually be a camper here. Boring, that’s what, she thought defensively. Yet it seemed too good to be true, an entire summer away, with a cabin full of friends. She would never know, of course. Families like hers didn’t send their kids to camp.

Besides, she reminded herself, summer camp was for people who had too much money and not enough imagination. This was what Pop said, anyway—people didn’t know how to take their own kids on vacation these days so they packed them off to summer camp. Of course, Nina and all eight of her brothers and sisters knew this was Pop’s way of making everybody feel better. The Romano family could barely afford shoes, let alone a vacation. Pop was a civics teacher at Avalon High, a career he loved. But with nine kids, a teacher had to stretch his salary thin. Very thin.

Each summer, Pop got involved in politics. He worked as a volunteer for local candidates—Democrats, of course—campaigning passionately and tirelessly for candidates he believed in. Some people criticized Pop for this. They said with that many kids, he ought to be out mowing lawns or digging ditches in the summer to earn extra money, but Pop was unapologetic. He truly believed the best thing he could do for his family was to try to change the world for the better by supporting candidates who shared his ideals.

Nina’s oldest brother, Carmine, said Pop could accomplish the same thing if he would learn to use a condom.

When Nina’s mother wasn’t having babies—or nursing them or changing diapers—she worked during the summer as a cook up at Camp Kioga. She said she didn’t mind the work. It was something she could do in her sleep—cook for a ton of people. Getting paid to do it was a bonus. At the summer camp, she prepared three squares a day for kids who probably had no clue what it was like to wear the same pair of shoes until they pinched, or to beg your sister not to write her name on her backpack because you knew it would be yours the following year, or to pay for your school lunch with the shameful blue coupons, handing them over furtively and praying the kid behind you didn’t notice.

Nina had a summer job, too, at the Inn at Willow Lake, where she cleaned rooms and made beds. To most people, it didn’t sound like much, but Nina liked working there. Unlike home, it was quiet and serene, and after you cleaned something, it actually stayed clean for a while instead of getting immediately trashed by grubby brothers or messy sisters. And sometimes, a guest might even leave her a tip, a crisp five-dollar bill in an envelope marked Housekeeping.

Jenny nudged Nina out of her reverie. “Let’s get going,” she said.

Jenny’s grandfather went into the giant industrial kitchen of the camp where Nina’s mother worked. The girls hurried through their chores so they could go exploring. Even though Pop had nothing good to say about summer camp, Nina thought it was beautiful beyond all imagination, a wonderland of lush forests and grassy meadows, rock-strewn streams and the glittering lake. The main pavilion, where the campers were just finishing lunch, was a bare-timbered Adirondack-style lodge that housed a vast dining hall.

“There they are,” Jenny said, scanning the groups of campers from the stairway leading down to the kitchen. The different age groups were seated at long tables, raising a clatter of dishes and utensils, chatter and laughter. Jenny honed right in on the twelve-to-fourteens. “Isn’t he amazing?” she whispered in a smitten voice.

Nina couldn’t speak, although every cell in her body said
yes.
He was impossibly tall, with perfect posture, sandy hair and a killer smile. He wore navy blue camp shorts and a gray T-shirt stenciled Counselor.

Jenny saw where Nina was looking and gave her an elbow nudge. “Not him, ninny,” she said. “That’s Greg Bellamy. He’s old, like eighteen or something.” She pointed at the younger group. “I meant him.” Her adoring gaze settled on one of the campers, a quiet, lanky boy studying his compass.

“Oh…” Nina said, “him.” She studied the object of Jenny’s enraptured affection, a golden boy named Rourke McKnight. Jenny had first met him two summers ago, and she’d convinced herself that they shared some grand destiny. Destiny, schmestiny, thought Nina.

A smaller dark-haired boy went to sit by Rourke. “Joey Santini,” Jenny said on a fluttering sigh. “They’re best friends. I don’t know which one’s cuter.”

I do, thought Nina. Her gaze kept straying to the older boy. Greg Bellamy. The name played itself over and over in her head with full symphonic sound. Greg Bellamy. First of all, the name Bellamy was a clue that he was special. In these parts, being a Bellamy was like being a Kennedy in Boston. People knew who you were, and who your “people” were. You had this aura of prestige and privilege, whether you’d earned it or not.

“Hey, you two,” Nina’s mom called from the kitchen. “Lunch is just ending. Go on up and grab something to eat.”

Jenny hung shyly back, hovering between the kitchen and dining hall.

“Bashfulness is a waste of time,” Nina murmured. In her family, people got lost if they didn’t speak up and make their preferences known. She grabbed Jenny by the arm and drew her into the dining room. At the buffet, they helped themselves to sandwiches and drinks. Taking care not to slosh the lemonade from the glass on her tray, Nina made a beeline for Greg Bellamy. He was perusing the desserts table, laden with a rich assortment from the Majeskys’ bakery—lemon bars and peach shortcake, walnut brownies and slices of pie. There was one piece of cherry pie left. If there was anything that could make Nina forget a cute boy, it was cherry pie from the Sky River Bakery.

She reached for the plate. At the same moment, so did someone on the other side of the serving table—Greg Bellamy. She looked up and met his eyes. His Bon-Jovi-blue eyes.

He winked at her. “Looks like we’re both after the same thing.”

Usually when a guy winked at a girl it was totally cheesy. Not with Greg Bellamy. When he winked, it nearly made her knees buckle.

“Sorry,” she said, tossing back her thick dark hair. “It’s mine. I saw it first.” Wink or no wink, she wasn’t backing down.

He laughed, his voice like melted chocolate. “I like a girl who knows what she wants.”

She beamed at him. He liked her. He’d said so aloud. “I’m Nina,” she said.

“Greg. So are you a visitor?” He studied her as though she was the only person in the crowded dining hall.

“That’s right.” It wasn’t a lie. She simply omitted the information that she was the underage daughter of the camp cook. Fleetingly she wondered if that would change his opinion of her. Of course it would, she admitted to herself. It was the whole reason such things as “social class” existed right here in the good old US of A. At Camp Kioga, the lines were sharply drawn: the nobs versus the slobs.

But if she stayed anonymous, the lines went away.

She could feel a keen interest in the touch of Greg’s gaze, and it made her stand up straighter. Nina had always looked older than her age, a combination of dark, vivid features and early development. Though she flaunted this fact with pride, her confidence was merely a cover for the fact that she had always felt slightly different. Not radically so, but just a little, because she was a year older than the rest of the kids in her grade.

The reason for her being behind in school was humiliating. It wasn’t because she was a slow learner or had flunked an early grade. It was because her mother had forgotten to enroll her in kindergarten at the proper age.
Forgotten.
People smiled and nodded their heads when they heard the story of how Vicki Romano had neglected to send her middle child to school. It was completely understandable. The woman had nine kids, and had given birth to the final two—undersized, sickly twin boys—just a few weeks before Nina was to start kindergarten. The entire family was focused on the fact that the tiny twin boys were fighting for their lives while Vicki battled a postpartum infection. The last thing on anyone’s mind was quiet, well-behaved, five-year-old Nina. No one remembered that she was supposed to be in school until it was too late to catch up. She had to wait until the following year.

The anecdote was a family favorite, with an all’s-well-that-ends-well conclusion. The tiny twins—Donny and Vincent—were rowdy Little League players now and Nina was in the same class as her best friend. It had all worked out for the best.

Except the experience had a more profound effect on Nina than anyone could know. She always felt slightly out of step, off-kilter. She also transformed herself from the quiet, undemanding middle child into someone who figured out what she wanted and then went for it, every time.

Mr. Blue-Eyes Bellamy was still holding on to the edge of the plate. Her plate of cherry pie.

“So you gonna let go?” she challenged.

“Let’s split it.” Without waiting for permission, he tugged it from her grasp. He neatly divided the piece of pie into two portions, put one on a clean plate and offered it to her.

“Gee, thanks,” she said, but didn’t take the plate.

“You’re welcome.” He either missed or ignored her irony. He was a Bellamy, she reminded herself. He had a stunning sense of droit du seigneur, a term she knew from the historical romance novels she was addicted to.

“You’re used to getting your way,” she commented, taking the divided pie from him. She felt a little thrill as she talked to him. Flirting had always come naturally to her—unlike school.

Because she was older than everyone else in her grade, Nina had the dubious honor of being the first at a lot of things. She’d been the first to grow boobs and get her period. The first to turn boy-crazy. It had hit her like a speeding train last year. Before her very eyes, boys—other than her brothers—had turned from loud, smelly, supremely annoying creatures into objects of strange and compelling urges. The boys in her grade still acted like children, but those a few years older seemed to share the same urges that bothered and distracted Nina. At the end of the school year, she sneaked into a high school dance and made out with Shane Gilmore, a junior, until one of her uncles—a biology teacher and chaperone—had noticed her and sent her home to be grounded for weeks.

It was easy to give her parents the slip, and she did so at will. Sometimes she even drove her older sister’s ancient Grand Marquis. She had taken it to the drive-in movie at Coxsackie, where she’d let Byron Johnson, a senior, feel her up. Unfortunately, her brother Carmine had spotted her. He hadn’t told on her, of course, but he beat the crap out of Byron and promised to break his kneecaps if he ever came near her again.

Now, with Greg Bellamy, Nina forgot all those other flirtations. This was the guy. The prize. The one she knew she’d write about in her diary and dream about at night. The one who made her want to go further than second base. A lot further.

“So, Nina, are you busy tonight?” Greg asked her.

“Depends,” she said playfully. “What did you have in mind?”

He stared straight at her mouth when he said, “Everything.”

She felt as though she’d caught on fire from the inside out. “Sounds good to me.”

“Excuse me.” Something very tall and very shapely sidled up to Greg. It was another camp counselor, looking like a Bond girl in camp clothes. “Oh, good,” she said, helping herself to Greg’s plate of pie. “You saved me a piece.” She aimed a dazzling smile straight at him. “Thank you, Greggy. I owe you one.”

Greggy? thought Nina. Greggy? Okay, I’m going to barf.

“Binkie, this is Nina,” he said.

The towering bombshell turned, offering the kind of smile that could freeze an enemy at twenty paces. “Nina. Now, where have I heard that name before? Oh, yes. You must be Mrs. Romano’s little girl.”

Nina was watching Greg, not Binkie. It was kind of amazing to see her image being dismantled before her very eyes.

“You know, Mrs. Romano,” Binkie reminded him. “The camp cook.”

In the space of a few seconds, Greg went from flirting and making a date with Nina to staring at her as though she had sprouted horns and a tail.

“Right,” he said, turning red to the tips of his ears. “I need to get back to work.” He glared at Nina. “See you around, kid.”

Binkie offered a chilly smile. “Nice to meet you, honey.”

Nina stood unmoving, having been put in her place so decisively that she felt as though she’d been rooted to the spot forever. Everything was boiling inside her—thwarted lust, resentment, yearning, shame and injured pride.

“You coming?” Jenny asked, returning from what had probably been a more age-appropriate conversation with Rourke and Joey. She seemed oblivious to Nina’s turmoil. “Gramp’s ready to head back to town.”