Finding Haven (31 page)

“T
HEY’VE BEEN
sitting by the mailbox for two days.” Maura looked out the kitchen window toward
the cove. “What’s so interesting about my tomatoes?” She laughed and sat next to her
daughter.

“I don’t think it has anything to do with your tomatoes, Mom, and everything to do
with me.” She sighed as her mother refilled a tall glass of ice tea. It was too hot
for anything else.

“Your father did say that the store is doing really well. All of these reporters have
stocked up on souvenirs. It’s like they’ve never been to the beach before.”

Both women looked at the three guys sitting across the street from the Owens’ driveway.
They were equipped with cameras, sandwiches, and bottled water.

Maura continued, “You know, I would have gladly driven over to the Jordans’ to see
you. You didn’t need to come over.”

“I couldn’t stay cooped up any longer. Besides, Travis is hovering.”

“But didn’t Evan want you to stay put?” She looked at her daughter.

It was strange how everyone was so comfortable using his new name. It was Jay. His
name used to be Jay. “He doesn’t dictate what I do. If I want to see my mother, I’m
going to see my mother.” She huffed, realizing she had reverted to her teenage rebellion
voice.

“Of course, honey, but he knows this stuff much better than we do. He’s used to all
the cameras and the questions. Maybe you should listen to him.”

“I’m not interested in what he has to say.” She also wasn’t interested in listening
to anyone defending him. “Do you mind if I check my email?”

“Oh, sure. Use Dad’s computer in the study. I’ll start on some lunch for us.” Maura
cleared the ice tea pitcher and placed it in the refrigerator. “Dad should be here
in thirty minutes or so.”

“Thanks.” Haven watched her mother bustling through the kitchen, setting out the preparations
for her homemade chicken salad. She looked content, calm, and most of all happy. She
was making lunch for her daughter and hard-working husband, oblivious to the lies
their relationship was built upon.

Haven turned for the study, pushing the parallels her mind was drawing between her
and her mother out of her mind.

When she awakened for the second morning at the beach house, she remembered the email
Bruce Fisher was supposed to send. Since the paparazzi invasion, she hadn’t checked
her email once, and if there was a contract, she needed to print it out and read through
it. Nothing was certain anymore. She didn’t know if she would sign, if she wanted
it, or if any of it was real. However, she did know that, regardless of Evan, she
did want to write music again and she couldn’t start that by burning a bridge with
Blue Steel Records. Bruce would need an answer.

She hit print on the document and waited for the pages to feed through her father’s
printer. They landed lightly in her hands as she watched the twenty-page document
materialize.

“Oh, hi, sweetheart. Mom told me you were in here.” Her father stood in the doorway
of his study. “How are you holding up?”

Haven sighed. “Ok. I guess.” She shuffled the edge of the contract against the desk,
evening up the edges.

“What do you have there?” He pointed at the document.

Haven knew her father wouldn’t understand much less support an endeavor with the recording
company. He always pointed out what a waste of time it was spending days off writing
music. Suddenly, she felt reckless. She felt the need to push back.

“It’s a contract with a company in Austin. They want to buy three of my songs and
hire me as a full-time writer.” It was the slap she had wanted to deliver to her father
for months.

Taking his time, he walked to the leather recliner in the corner of his office and
lowered into the seat. “Is that right?”

“Yes, and Carly Stone wants to record them.” That was the best part, but her father
wouldn’t even know who Carly Stone was until her songs landed on the adult contemporary
station.

He rubbed the armrests of the chair as if that would help him digest the information.
“And you’re going to sign the contract and move to Austin?” He didn’t sound angry.

Haven was confused. Why wasn’t he angry? Why wasn’t he annoyed that she was trying
to leave?

“I’m thinking about it. I haven’t even read it yet.” She held up the pages.

“And how much of this has to do with the guy?”

Haven lowered her eyes. She was slightly relieved he hadn’t given him a name even
though they both knew which guy. The contract had everything and nothing to do with
him. She wrote the songs, they were hers, and she knew Carly Stone wouldn’t record
something if she didn’t love it. However, the demon on her other shoulder told her
it was all smoke and mirrors. The only reason that contract was in her hand was because
Evan called in a favor with a football buddy. Maybe Carly was all part of the plot
to reel Haven in farther.

She wiped at her eyes; her father could not see her cry. “I don’t know. I don’t know
if any of it is real.” There. She said the words out loud that she had slammed behind
a trap door.

“Let me take a look.” He motioned toward her hand. “I’ll look it over.” He reached
in his front pocket and slid his reading glasses over his nose.

Haven handed him the Blue Steel contract and slumped into the seat.

“Hand me my pen. Top drawer.”

Haven searched the desk for the blue ink pen monogrammed with
Denton Owen
and passed it to him.

Her father circled something on the first page, flipped a few pages, and made an X.
She stretched toward him, trying to identify the parts of the verbiage he was marking.

After fifteen minutes, he stacked his glasses on his head. “All right, so it looks
like a pretty good deal, but I’ve made some notes for you. The first is that you should
have a base salary, and then a stipend for each song you produce instead of paid per
song. I don’t want you in Austin without steady income in your pocket. That’s just
too damn stressful.”

Haven’s eyes widened like saucers. “Wh-what?”

“And then, I marked on here where you need to have full control over the artists who
perform your songs. It’s your music. You get to decide. Anything less than that and
I don’t think you’d be happy.”

He handed her the contract.

“But—you’re ok with this?” She looked at the pages in her hand with her father’s notes
scribbled in the margins. “Where is the lecture?”

“Your mother and I talked.” He sighed. “Ok, your mother talked and I listened. But
I heard her point. She’s right. She always is.” He chuckled. “I know you’re not happy
at the store. You’ve never been happy at the store. So, maybe you can go do this and
work it out so you spend summers at home or travel back and forth. Or maybe in a few
years, after you have number one hits out there, you’ll come back to the island and
retire so you can be the music teacher at the school.” He smiled at her. “This is
the time in your life to figure those things out. Haven, I didn’t get that chance.
Your grandfather had me training and working in the store. It was a given that it
would be mine one day. I don’t know if there is something else I could have done or
been good at doing.” He paused, heavy with words. She had never heard her father speak
like this before. “This is what your gift is. And we—um—I’m not going to stop you.”
Haven thought his eyes looked misty. “It’s a legitimate contract. I think you should
get those changes made and sign it.”

Part of her wanted to sit and hear more of his thoughts. He never opened up about
the store or the choices he made at her age. It was hard to think of your parents
being twenty-three.

“Really? You’re really ok with this?” She was dumbfounded.

“Yep. We’ll even help you move. Make it a family vacation. I’ve never been to Texas.”
He stood from the chair, folding his glasses in half.

Haven laid the contract on the desk. It hadn’t happened in months, but she threw her
arms around her father’s neck and hugged him.

He patted her on the back. “All right, Mom’s got chicken salad for us. Let’s go tell
her the news. She hasn’t been on a vacation in years. I can’t wait for you to put
that smile on her face.” He walked out of the office.

Haven had never been more confused in her life. She left the contract and joined her
parents for ice tea and chicken salad, like life was normal, serene, and perfect.

T
HE PASSAGE
of time can be a fickle phenomenon. When you’re in love, every divine second feels
fleeting as you rush to scramble the sands back into the hourglass uselessly trying
to pause the moments, the love, the rush that overtakes your body and soul. But when
your heart is broken, every second is one that you want to speed past and skip. Time
slows to a crawl, dragging your heart through memories and pain that can only be eased
by walking through what seems like endless dark days.

A week had gone by since he had seen Haven. She wouldn’t answer his calls, and when
he stopped by Ben’s house, Travis met him at the door with a don’t-come-back message.
Admittedly, he had asked Travis to protect her; he just didn’t think it would work
against him.

The collection of reporters Emmy had assembled for her staged love reunion departed
a few days after she did, realizing that Perry Island wasn’t the most exciting place.
The locals left him alone, but the tourists knew he was there now and he had seen
more cell phones emerge to capture his face than he had seen in months.

Foolishly, he thought once the media storm was over and Emmy left, Haven would realize
things could go back to normal. However, maybe once you’ve made national news, things
never go back to normal. He didn’t know anymore.

It didn’t feel the same being on Perry Island, knowing that Haven wanted him as far
away as possible. Silver Belle was filled with memories of her. Every part of the
beach reminded him of walking with her after the hurricane. He couldn’t see a kayak
without thinking about going overboard. His sanctuary had become an island of the
worst kind of lonely.

“O
H, BABY,
I’m going to miss you around her. You sure you can’t stay until the end of the month?
It’s August and summer is almost over.” Charlotte pulled on his neck.

He untangled from her arms. “No, I think it’s time to head back to Texas. But that’s
between you and me.” He winked. He knew Charlotte wouldn’t gossip about him. She never
had.

“Well, you take care of yourself, and I’ll look for you on the big screen.” She smiled.

He shook his head and tossed his duffle bag into the backseat. “Don’t count on that
for a while. I’m taking a break, but you never know.”

After he had fired Allan, he knew he needed to hire a replacement, but that wasn’t
going to be easy. How do you hire someone to represent you and handle your media when
you don’t want to star in another film? There was still a job to be filled. There
was media. There were charity commitments and the foundation to run. Someone had to
help navigate the business he had created.

Emmy might have left the island, but she hadn’t given up on them garnering the
Red Lines
roles. She texted relentlessly, emailed, and left voicemails. It was worse than when
he saw her magazine pictures from Hawaii. He wasn’t about to tell her he had ordered
a copy of the book. The spine wasn’t broken yet, but if his name was getting tossed
around and she was campaigning for it, he at least wanted to understand the fascination
and obsession with the story.

He had a meeting set up tomorrow to interview a new agent. He was a fellow Texan,
and Evan hoped Hollywood hadn’t corrupted him yet. It would be a while before he trusted
someone like that again, maybe never. Allan had deliberately tracked down Haven’s
bio under the guise of providing information to Bruce at Blue Steel. That was how
they were revealed; that was how Emmy found them. He had kicked himself a hundred
times for getting involved. If he had left it alone and let her try to break in the
music business on her own, they never would have been found.

He looked at Silver Belle one last time before snaking down the path to the office.

Mistakes were made way before he asked Allan to get Haven in with a label. The first
one was lying to her the day he took the job at the store. He didn’t need a job. She
would know that now. He had millions in the bank. He could have told her so many times.
If he had only seized one of them, maybe he wouldn’t be handing over the Silver Belle
keys to Shug.