Calculated Exposure (19 page)

Curt guided her to the woman in stilettos. “And this is Sharon Gill.”

Erica jaw went slack as the familiar name processed through her memory banks. “You mean
the
Sharon?
Aunt
Sharon?”

Sharon cringed. “Heard about what happened. Sorry about that. I think I need to send my babies some updated pictures. I was curvier the last time they saw me. Had a bit of pregnancy weight left.” She frowned. “I miss it. Ooh! Wait! I might have some in the truck–”

“
No
.” Grant stood and shook a finger at her. “You mail it. I’m not putting another fucking thing in that suitcase.”

Sharon pouted.

“I’m not your husband. That shit doesn’t work on me. Carla doesn’t even try.”

“Damn it.” Sharon snapped her fingers. Next she turned her scrutinizing stare to Erica. “Want a drink? We’re trying to get Grant good and sloshed before his shuttle comes, because he’s air travel phobic. It’s a tall order. Iron liver.”

When Erica looked at the guy, he shrugged. Why be embarrassed? It was a pretty reasonable thing to be scared shitless about. “Have any mint here? I make a mean mojito.”

“She does,” Curt agreed. He walked over and wrapped his arms around her neck from the back. They rocked side to side a bit until she giggled. His lips grazed her jaw and he planted a kiss on her cheek. If not for him propping her up, she would have swooned from the delightful caress.

So, he doesn’t mind PDA, I guess.

“Unfortunately, our bar isn’t that well stocked, darlin’. We’ve got a lot of booze, but no mixers beyond soda.”

Grant thumped his chest and belched. “We’re Irish. You’re going to lose us our street cred talkin’ about mixers.”

Erica smiled at the camaraderie in the group. She could tell they’d been connected for so long that it was easy for them. They liked each other. Probably considered themselves family in their own way. She envied it.

She’d tried making friends after getting settled at the newspaper, but Tate had always made it difficult to maintain any relationships she’d formed. He’d had a sixth sense for those sorts of things and would plant subtle sabotage that made long-term friendships impossible. She worked too much, and whenever she felt like she was getting close to someone, Tate would amp up her work hours.

At one point, she’d wanted to run again, put it all behind her. Absolve herself of Tate for good, regardless of what he’d done for her when she was seventeen. Or maybe because of what he’d done
to
her. But, she’d stayed because running away without a plan was something children did. She didn’t have a plan at seventeen, but she damn sure had one now.

Stability came at too great a cost if it meant continual solitude. By running away, she’d cut off her nose to spite her face. Eyeing the little gathering of friends, she understood, painfully so, that her safe and boring life had been empty for a very long time. And maybe it was her fault as much as it was Tate’s.

Chapter 14

“Erica, honey, can you help me get a crate out of the car?” Sharon tipped her head toward the front door, but made no effort to move just yet. “I guess Big Red’s gonna ship it for me since Dr. Fennell here won’t play nice. Carla’s going to be so disappointed.”

“Keep tryin’.” Grant had given up on zipping and merely sat sprawled on the floor with his back against the sofa, sipping another beer.

Sharon cocked her head again and made a
pssst
sound to Erica.

“Oh! Yeah, sure.”

“Do you want me to get it, Sharon?” Seth asked.

Sharon flicked a dismissive hand at him. “No, no. I’ve got some stuff in the trunk that isn’t fit for male eyes.”

Seth stood. “Well, in that case…”

“Sit down.”

He sat.

Erica followed Sharon’s swaying hair through the front door and pulled it shut behind her.

Sharon remoted open the hatch with her key fob so it sprang up without human aid.

“Nice,” Erica said.

“It was a gift. Me and my pops had a falling out a couple of years ago because I eloped with a Gentile. The car was a bribe. He wanted access to his granddaughter. The idiot could have just asked.” She shrugged. “Have a seat,” she said, pointing to the completely empty cargo space.

Erica raised a brow.

“Oh, come on. The Irish contingency inside wanted me to be discreet and gentle, but they obviously forgot who they were talking to.” She pushed herself up onto the ledge and patted the carpeted space beside her.

Erica took the seat. “What exactly did they charge you with being discreet and gentle about?”

“Look, I’ve always been bad at minding my own business. Just putting that out there, because I’m about to get all up in yours. You look like a no-bullshit type, so I’ll lay it on you the same way I’d lay it on Carla if it’d been her.”

Well, that’s good, right? Treating me like an insider?
“Okay. I’m ready.” She swallowed hard. “I think.”

“What’s your deal?”

“I’m sorry?”

“We’re a tight-knit group. Didn’t start off that way. Sometimes circumstances make you cling to whoever you have around you, so you can make up for the deficiencies you have in your family.”

“I figured as much.”

“Yeah. I check in on Seth and Curt every so often because they’re Grant’s friends and Carla loves Grant and Carla is my sister from another mister. She worries about them. I’m sure you can understand why.”

Erica nodded. They were definitely wildcards. No, more like the Lost Boys with no parents to look in on them.

“That’s her nature. I don’t want to see either of those guys get hurt, even though they do plenty of stupid shit on their own even without the influence of women.”

Erica opened her mouth to seek an explanation of just what
kind
of stupid, but Sharon shook her head. “Not important, although if you’re bored enough one day, or if Curt really pisses you off, ask to see his collection of citations for disturbing the peace and public drunkenness. I think he has some framed.” Sharon stared down at her hands and rotated an opal ring on her right middle finger. She looked up at Erica, meeting her gaze, and her pleasant face went stony. “So, what’s your deal?”

“I…” What exactly was she asking? Erica closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. “Give me some framework so I know how to answer that. And really? Curt set you up to this? That doesn’t sound like Curt.”

Sharon spun the ring some more and chewed her lip. “No, you’re right.
Grant
did because he worries about his friend. Do you know how he and Carla hooked up?”

Erica shook her head.

“He was the teaching assistant assigned to teach a composition class she took when we were in college.”

“That’s a bit taboo, isn’t it?”

Sharon shook her head. “He didn’t approach her until years after she graduated, right as he finished his PhD. He was afraid to come onto her before that. That was seven or eight
years
he was carrying a torch for her. She had no idea.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, right? Well, he regrets it now. That’s a lot of time they could have been together. What if she’d said no when he had to move back to Ireland right after they got it together? I’d be short one niece and nephew.”

“I see your point.”

“They may look and act like big kids, but these are thirty-something-year-old men who are in the now or never phase of their life. Grant understands that, and I think Seth understands it in his own weird way, too, even if he doesn’t articulate it well. So, when I ask you what your deal is, I want to know where you see this going.”

Oh.
Erica pulled the lens cap out of her pocket and turned it over and over in her palm. “I can’t answer that. Curt’s been clear about not wanting anything serious.”

“What kind of woman are you that you’d be okay with that? No judgment implied. Just curiosity.”

“I like him. He’s really easy to be around, and I
need
easy.”

“Easy is good, but forever feels so much better.”

“I don’t have a problem with forever.” It was barely a whisper, but Sharon caught it.

“Ah.” Sharon laughed. “I like you and I think you’re cool enough to hang out with, so I’m going to give you some advice. It’s the yenta in me.”

Erica grinned and put her lens cap back where she’d found it. “Lay it on me.”

“You been in many relationships?”

She shook her head. “Just some really educational ones.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, I’ll lay it on you like you asked. You don’t have to nag. You don’t have to beat him over the head. Just plant a seed, a teeny, tiny seed, that you want more. When he figures out that he does too, you’ll have no regrets.”

“No regrets. That sounds like one of my New Year’s resolutions.”

“Yeah, one of mine was to cut back on shopping. Failed by March first. How’s it working out for you so far?”

Erica took a moment to evaluate the year thus far. She’d taken a trip in spite of Tate. She’d learned something about herself professionally. Stuck her neck out and pursued a man instead of the other way around, and it’d been
nice
.

“No regrets so far.”

“And?”

“And I don’t plan to have any.”

“Thatta girl! Now, what are you doing tomorrow? We can go shopping.” Sharon squee’d.

Erica laughed.

* * * *

Erica ignored the buzzing in her shirt pocket and followed Jean up the rickety staircase to the Victorian-era building’s second floor. With each step they took, the lump in her throat grew. Finally, she coughed.

Jean, a forty-something woman with gray-streaked red hair who dressed in loose cargo pants and a khaki shirt as if she were going on safari, stopped and turned around on the step ahead. “Sorry, it’s the asbestos.”

Erica widened her eyes as she coughed again with her hand over her mouth.

“Just kidding.” Jean climbed again.

Erica followed.

“It’s actually mold.”

Erica stopped, this time waiting to be let off the hook. It didn’t happen.

“Really. That’s why we’re moving. Wow, you’re sensitive to it, huh? Well, no matter. Come on up and we’ll blow through this as fast as we can.”

She led Erica into a bright, open bullpen. The partition-free space was punctuated here and there by much-loved, much-abused heavy wood desks and a mish-mash of rolling chairs that looked plucked from black-and-white detective films. With the potted palms and oriental room dividers installed in lieu of cubicle walls, the entire place had a decidedly noir feel. She expected some sleazeball to call her
doll
at any moment.

“It’s a shame you have to leave,” Erica said, appreciating the custom plasterwork on the ceiling as she sank into one of the chairs in front of Jean’s desk. “Cool place.”

“It’s a temporary shuffle. Just until we get the mold under control. A few weeks. We’ll be in a leased space until then.”

“I’m sure you hate to spend the money in this economy.”

Jean rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. We’re housed here for free because this space is owned by the company’s trust. As long as there’s a publication, we have a home. Covering other expenses, well.” She shrugged and smoothed a rumpled sheet of paper on her desktop. “Now, we’ll cut to it. Your photos are meh.”

Erica blew out a breath. “I’m aware.”

“Not going to get sensitive about your art and go off on me?”

“I don’t have the personality.”

“Good to hear. We’re trying to stay current and keep our readership up, so our paper is going to try something different in the coming months. We’re moving away from pure journalism because the market is already glutted with news.”

“I’m listening.”

“We’re developing an encyclopedic periodical. Something a bit more magazine-like that’s issued at the current frequency. It’ll be a hybrid of hyper-local news, how-to articles, and relevant interviews. Here’s a mock-up.” Jean pushed the wrinkled paper across the desktop.

Erica grabbed it at the edge and studied it.

“So, your lead story was about a local beekeeper whose hives have been declining in the past year and the impact on honey production.” She trailed her finger across the page to the next column. “Here you have a recipe for honey candy, some information about the differences in varieties of honey, a list of famous honeybee icons and mascots, and… What’s this URL?”

“Ah.” Jean turned her monitor screen around to show Erica the media. It was a how-to for a honey and sugar facial.

“And you’d fill an entire issue with related content like this?”

Jean nodded. “So, it’d be your job to photograph everything from the people we interview to the food items we make from the recipes our chef in residence develops. Then you’d edit videos for the web and…wait, can you do video editing?”

Erica sighed. “That’s one of those things that got added onto my job description at the paper. Working on a huge archiving project right now.”

“Well, hot damn. Can you work a Mac? If you want the job you can have it.”

Erica let her forehead furrow. “I’m sorry?”

Jean shrugged. “I mean, I can take you around and introduce you to everyone, but it’d just be a formality. This is generally the sort of gig we’d offer to an intern because the pay is so bad, but unfortunately we’re going to have to work you a little harder for your pennies. Recession.”

“Right. I’m intrigued, but…” She placed the mock-up on the desktop and crossed her legs at the knees. “How much money are we talking here? Am I going to be able to pay rent? I’m too old to starve for art.”

“Blech.” Jean pulled her face into a Lucille Ball sneer and turned her computer monitor back around. “Sure, you can pay rent. With your roommate’s assistance.”

“Don’t have one of those.”

“Blech. Maybe in a year when circulation picks up we can pay you what you’re worth.”

“I thought you said my pictures were
meh
.”

Jean made a waffling gesture with her hand. “Slightly above
meh
. Regardless, you’d fit in with this bunch. You’re not a diva, even if you do seem to be of frail constitution. Rough childhood in Cuba?”