A Shore Thing (33 page)

I pulled in another breath, attempting to stave off the bursting of a dam that had been built, not over a couple of months, but over
years.
In an odd bit of logic, I thought signing over the business to Justin would bring him back to me. But he said goodbye as easily as if he might a business client, or one of the kids we hired during summer months. My signature on those papers failed to do anything but end the very thing I wanted to save.

And now I had failed again.

My cell phone rang in my pocket but I ignored it, switching off the ringer. It fell silent again. A formation of cormorants flew overhead toward a massive leafy tree, landing there. I’d have to find another favorite spot to sit and watch the wild birds make their nests. The cell buzzed this time, and I glanced down to find a text from Squid on the screen.

“Need to talk to you.”

My eyes squeezed shut. Not now. What would I say? Six weeks ago I dabbled with the dream of dating Squid. After working with him so closely, seeing his commitment to the kids and to God, I dared to consider the possibilities. He was the first guy I’d noticed since Justin. Now those thoughts were like wisps of smoke long since dissipated.

Before I could answer, another text lit up the screen. “Can you meet at the camp first thing in the morning before the kids come?”

I shook my head and answered to the wind. “No. I can’t. Leave me alone!”

My cell vibrated in my hand and would keep doing so until I acknowledged that text. Anger spiked in me. “You going to beat me up too, Squid? Going to tell me how I botched this? How I’ve taken down the camp along with my own reputation?”

My breathing resounded in my ears and I answered his text with a simple, “sure.” Then I let the tears rip.

GAGE

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN you’re not buying the property from the Kitteridges?” Gage gripped the phone receiver until his hands turned red. Slivers of white ran through his fingers.

“It’s of no concern to you, Gage. You’re the architect. Do your job and my staff will handle the rest.”

“But if you’re not purchasing the property, then who is my client?”

“Gage, Gage. Relax. I will be purchasing the property in due time. These things have a course to run, which is why I’ve been on you to get those plans finished. We’ll break that ground the minute the property is transferred to my company. If there is nothing else then—”

“Your realtor tells me he had something to do with a phone call made today during a radio show.”

“Ah, yes. The bimbo on the radio. Shut her down fast, didn’t we?”

Gage gritted his teeth. “We?”

“That SOS group was getting a little too close to their goal for comfort. Had to expose them to the community, and my sources tell me it worked.”

Gage’s heart sank. Poor Callie. “You don’t happen to know anything about some letters Callie Duflay has received?”

“Letters? From who?”

“Anonymous letters. I heard she has received several and they were threatening in nature.”

Redmond chuckled. Then he swore. “Sounds like we got ourselves an ally. Just when you think the whole world is rotten, something good happens.”

“I wouldn’t consider threats to be a good thing.”

“Well, you got me, kid. I hadn’t heard about it, but can’t say that I’m sorry for her.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched more than once. “Getting back to the Kitteridges. If you don’t know them . . . if you’re not purchasing the property from them, how did you discover Tim’s dementia?”

“Let me give you a bit of advice, Gage. Don’t burn bridges. I get my information from people who know that I can be trusted with it. Now that information about Tim Kitteridge, that’s well-known to anyone who’s paying attention, but most people aren’t. Most people just think he’s just some doddering old crank who owns the best piece of land for miles.”

“Wait a minute. If he has dementia, maybe he wasn’t able to . . . Redmond, if Tim Kitteridge was forced into signing away his property while mentally unstable, that would never stand—”

“You are on the wrong track with this. Everything that Mr. Kitteridge signed occurred long before dementia settled in. His current state just makes everything simpler.”

Gage shook his head, trying to get the numbers to add up. They didn’t and he smelled something foul. “Redmond, I can’t in good conscience go forward on this project unless you assure me that everything is being done by the book.” He took a determined breath, knowing the last time he faced off with the boss, he found himself unemployed. “I need assurances that the property is being obtained legally.”

Redmond’s voice turned gruff. “Be careful or you might find yourself alone in a coffeehouse, wishing you had a decent job.” He exhaled a garbled laugh. The sound turned Gage’s stomach. “I’m pulling your leg, Gage. Relax. Everything’s legal, I can assure you.”

He hung up with Redmond, feeling anything but assured. His client promised him the legality of the project, but why hadn’t he asked about the ethics? The more he studied what he knew, the more he turned over the facts in his head, the more perplexed he became.

Someone from his client’s camp had worked awfully hard to throw Callie off her game today and they succeeded. What he could not understand was why Callie had not defended herself better. If they had never met, he might have wondered if the allegations were true—that she had twisted the old couples’ arms to sell their property to her group instead. Just why hadn’t she blasted that caller out of the water?

Chapter Thirty-five

By the time I reached camp the next day, all signs of tears had stopped. The SOS team held an emergency conference call, but little transpired other than the begrudging acknowledgement that the group wanted to disband. I’d signed off with a dull heart and a pledge of my own: to believe in a miracle.

Instead of driving, I’d chosen to hike off some of the burden that weighed on my shoulders. I tugged at the cotton fabric that clung to my skin and stepped into the office.

Squid sat behind his desk, head in his hands.

“Squid?”

He lifted his head, displaying saucer-sized dark circles.

“You look exhausted.” I pulled up a chair. “What’s wrong?”

He sucked in a harsh breath and spit it out in one sentence: “Callie, I’m leaving camp.”

I jerked up straight. He never called me by my real name. “No. Why? I don’t understand.”

His face took on a mixture of fear and anger. “Remember when I was telling you all that something was missing with the kids? That I didn’t want the kids to have a mountaintop experience then go home and not be able to live it each day? Remember that?”

“I do.”

“I figured out what was wrong. I’ve had problems with this series because I haven’t been living it. I’m a failure, Callie.”

“Squid—”

He waved me off. “Don’t. I’m not finished.”

I searched his face, trying to figure out what had happened with my old friend, the one who always seemed so self-assured and full of faith. He caught me watching him and his eyes turned sad. “What is it, Squid?”

He held my gaze. “My girlfriend is pregnant.”

I blinked, my mind not accepting the information. A jolt ran through me. “She’s pregnant? With your—”

He nodded. “Yes, the baby is mine.” Squid flashed his brows at me, his mouth screwed into frown. “I’m a big disappointment to you right now, aren’t I?”

New life isn’t a booby prize, but I’d be lying if I did not admit the size of this blow. I stumbled to find the right words. “This isn’t about me, Squid. What are you going to do?”

His hairline rose. “What do you mean? There’s only one choice, of course. I’ll be marrying Peyton ASAP.”

I nodded. “Of course. I-I didn’t mean . . . I guess I was just wondering about the logistics.”

“And like I said, I’m leaving camp.”

“Oh, Squid.”

He held up a hand. “Might as well fire myself so the board doesn’t have to, right?” His laugh sounded rueful, melancholy. “Even if they wanted me to stay, I couldn’t do so in good conscience. I messed up.”

“But you’re doing the right thing. Facing your situation directly, not weaseling around it, or hiding it. I applaud you.”

“Don’t expect me to be taking any bows for this. I’m always telling the kids to build their lives on the rock, to not allow themselves to make choices that will have them sinking into sin, but I haven’t been living that life. I leave here on Sunday afternoons with all the good intentions in the world and by Friday, I’ve pretty much turned my back on all of them.”

“I see. So you’re human.”

“Don’t you get it? I’ve failed those kids and this camp . . . and you.”

I tilted my head to one side, watching our illustrious leader melt from the pressure. “Do you love her?”

“I think so.” He scratched his beard, then shrugged. “Not sure.”

I broke eye contact with him. My mind swirled. I didn’t envy either one of them.

He cleared his voice. “You and I, we were a good team. I’m gonna miss that.”

I nodded, my mind still a whir. We needed to find a new leader quickly, and until then I’d have to refine my understanding of the camp theme, that is if the board will still have me after the Kitteridge debacle. Squid’s probably correct—the board won’t be thrilled with what he has to tell them. Will they ask for my resignation too?

I exhaled one long breath. “No matter what you have done, God loves you, Squid. He wants to see you—and Peyton—restored. He’s going to bless that sweet baby of yours no matter what.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen until I get my act together.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I stood over him, hands on my hips, reminding myself of Sheila. Yet I couldn’t seem to stop myself. “Do you tell those kids that they can’t go to God when they’re broken? That’s exactly when they need him the most.”

He dropped his hands onto the desk with a slap. “I don’t know. I’m just mad at myself. Feeling pretty stupid right now.”

“Don’t wait for your own perfection, my friend—that won’t happen until heaven. You need God in all of this, so don’t abandon ship now. He’s not about to leave you, you know.”

“This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.”

“When is it ever? I’ve got a proverb tacked up on my wall that says, ‘In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps.’ We never know our path to perfection—only that on our own, we’ll screw it up. Let the Lord decide how to use this for his glory. You just have to stay on the path, my friend.”

“Wow. Never knew you had the preacher in you.”

I laughed. “Me neither.” The proverb I’d quoted wove through my head. I’d made many plans that had not turned out like I had laid them out. Was I willing to let go of my plans too?

“Thanks for your understanding about all this.” He raised his chin a little higher. “I meant it when I said I’d miss working with you.”

“I know you did.”

“Better get to it, right? Kids’ll be here soon.” He handed me a clipboard. “You might want to take a look at my notes, so you can help whoever takes over next week.”

I nodded, as Squid headed out of the office, soon to be lost in new plans of his own. The office walls seem to sag from sorrow.

GAGE

THE VIEW FROM THE camp’s perch at the crest of a winding hill stunned him. Miles of placid ocean shimmered as if sprinkled with sugar in the morning sun. He pulled into a parking spot at quarter till noon, hoping he’d find her here.

At the top of the steps, he leaned in through the office doorway. A woman with short brown hair and large glasses raised her head. “May I help you?”

“Looking for Callie Duflay?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “She’s had enough of reporters.”

“Good thing I’m not a reporter.”

The woman didn’t laugh.

“Actually, we’re friends.” He stepped into the office. “I’m Gage.”

“Gage? Haven’t heard of a Gage.”

“Gage Mitchell. Architect on the Kitteridge project.” He cleared his throat. “Would you know where I could find her?”

Clearly this woman considered herself Callie’s protector for she scrutinized him in silence for several awkward seconds. “Leave your keys on the desk and I’ll tell you.”

“My keys?”

“So if it turns out you’re one of those paparazzis, you won’t be able to get away.”

He dropped his keys on her desk. “And now?”

She flicked her head toward the door. “Follow the path to the chapel. There’s a sign outside.”

Gage tapped his forehead with his index finger in a salute and headed outside. The sign pointed to a flowing, planted trail. He made his way along the dirt, unable to miss the sweet smell of jasmine hanging in the air, intrigued by the artistry and uniqueness of the undulating path, and surprised by its length and “secret garden” feel. Before long, he noticed a figure, crouched behind an L-shaped bend in the path, hiding behind thick vines.

He slowed his approach, noticing the man had a camera. A reporter. Doubling his pace, Gage strode up behind him, taking a fast look through a break in the foliage at a horseshoe-shaped chapel in the woods. Callie sat alone on a stump, oblivious to her stalker. The man spun around, but not before Gage snagged him at the collar.

“What are you doing here?”