First Time in Forever (2 page)

“You think so?” Panic sank sharp claws into her flesh. “I thought coming out here to the middle of nowhere would be enough. The name isn’t that unusual.”

“Maybe not in isolation, but attached to a six-year-old everyone is talking about? Trust me, you need to change it. Puffin Island may be remote geographically, but it has the internet. Now go and hide out and I’ll see you Friday night. Do you still have your key to the cottage?”

“Yes.” She’d felt the weight of it in her pocket all the way from New York. Brittany had presented them both with a key on their last day of college. “And thanks.”

“Hey.” Sky’s voice softened. “We made a promise, remember? We are always here for each other. Speak to you later!”

In the moment before she hung up, Emily heard a hard male voice in the background and wondered again what free-spirited Skylar saw in Richard Everson.

As she slid back into the car the child stirred. “Are we there yet?”

Emily turned to look at her. She had Lana’s eyes, that beautiful rain-washed green that had captivated movie audiences everywhere. “Almost there.” She tightened her grip on the wheel and felt the past rush at her like a rogue wave threatening to swamp a vulnerable boat.

She wasn’t the right person for this. The right person would be soothing the girl and producing endless supplies of age-appropriate entertainment, healthy drinks and nutritious food. Emily wanted to open the car door and bolt into that soupy darkness, but she could feel those eyes fixed on her.

Wounded. Lost. Trusting.

And she knew she wasn’t worthy of that trust.

And Lana had known it, too. So why had she done this?

“Have you always been my aunt?” The sleepy voice dragged her back into the present, and she remembered that this
was
her future. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t equipped for it, that she didn’t have a clue—she had to do it. There was no one else.

“Always.”

“So why didn’t I know?”

“I— Your mom probably forgot to mention it. And we lived on opposite sides of the country. You lived in LA and I lived in New York.” Somehow she formed the words, although she knew the tone wasn’t right. Adults used different voices when they talked to children, didn’t they? Soft, soothing voices. Emily didn’t know how to soothe. She knew numbers. Shapes. Patterns. Numbers were controllable and logical, unlike emotions. “We’ll be able to see the cottage soon. Just one more bend in the road.”

There was always one more bend in the road. Just when you thought life had hit a safe, straight section and you could hit “cruise,” you ended up steering around a hairpin with a lethal tumble into a dark void as your reward for complacency.

The little girl shifted in her seat, craning her neck to see in the dark. “I don’t see the sea. You said we’d be living in a cottage on a beach. You promised.” The sleepy voice wobbled, and Emily felt her head throb.

Please, don’t cry.

Tears hadn’t featured in her life for twenty years. She’d made sure she didn’t care about anything enough to cry about it. “You can’t see it, but it’s there. The sea is everywhere.” Hands shaking, she fumbled with the buttons, and the windows slid down with a soft purr. “Close your eyes and listen. Tell me what you hear.”

The child screwed up her face and held her breath as the cool night air seeped into the car. “I hear crashing.”

“The crashing is the sound of the waves on the rocks.” She managed to subdue the urge to put her hands over her ears. “The sea has been pounding away at those rocks for centuries.”

“Is the beach sandy?”

“I don’t remember. It’s a beach.” And she couldn’t imagine herself going there. She hadn’t set foot on a beach since that day when her life had changed.

Nothing short of deep friendship would have brought her to this island in the first place, and even when she’d come she’d stayed indoors, curled up on Brittany’s colorful patchwork bedcover with her friends, keeping her back to the ocean.

Kathleen, Brittany’s grandmother, had known something was wrong, and when her friends had sprinted down the sandy path to the beach to swim, she’d invited Emily to help her in the sunny country kitchen that overlooked the tumbling color of the garden. There, with the gentle hiss of the kettle drowning out the sound of waves, it had been possible to pretend the sea wasn’t almost lapping at the porch.

They’d made pancakes and cooked them on the skillet that had once belonged to Kathleen’s mother. By the time her friends returned, trailing sand and laughter, the pancakes had been piled on a plate in the center of the table—mounds of fluffy deliciousness with raggedy edges and golden warmth. They’d eaten them drizzled with maple syrup and fresh blueberries harvested from the bushes in Kathleen’s pretty coastal garden.

Emily could still remember the tangy sweet flavor as they’d burst in her mouth.

“Will I have to hide indoors?” The little girl’s voice cut through the memories.

“I— No. I don’t think so.” The questions were never-ending, feeding her own sense of inadequacy until, bloated with doubt, she could no longer find her confident self.

She wanted to run, but she couldn’t.

There was no one else.

She fumbled in her bag for a bottle of water, but it made no difference. Her mouth was still dry. It had been dry since the moment the phone on her desk had rung with the news that had changed her life. “We’ll have to think about school.”

“I’ve never been to school.”

Emily reminded herself that this child’s life had never been close to normal. She was the daughter of a movie star, conceived during an acclaimed Broadway production of
Romeo and Juliet
. There had been rumors that the father was Lana’s co-star, but as he’d been married with two children at the time, that had been vehemently denied by all concerned. They’d recently been reunited on their latest project, and now he was dead, too, killed in the same crash that had taken Lana, along with the director and members of the production team.

Juliet.

Emily closed her eyes.
Thanks, Lana.
Sky was right. She was going to have to do something about the name. “We’re just going to take this a day at a time.”

“Will he find us?”

“He?”

“The man with the camera. The tall one who follows me everywhere. I don’t like him.”

Cold oozed through the open windows, and Emily closed them quickly, checking that the doors were locked.

“He won’t find us here. None of them will.”

“They climbed into my house.”

Emily felt a rush of outrage. “That won’t happen again. They don’t know where you live.”

“What if they find out?”

“I’ll protect you.”

“Do you promise?” The childish request made her think of Skylar and Brittany.

Let’s make a promise. When one of us is in trouble, the others help, no questions.

Friendship.

For Emily, friendship had proven the one unbreakable bond in her life.

Panic was replaced by another emotion so powerful it shook her. “I promise.” She might not know anything about being a mother and she might not be able to love, but she
could
stand between this child and the rest of the world.

She’d keep that promise, even if it meant dying her hair purple.

*

“I
SAW
LIGHTS
in Castaway Cottage.” Ryan pulled the bow line tight to prevent the boat moving backward in the slip. From up above, the lights from the Ocean Club sent fingers of gold dancing across the surface of the water. Strains of laughter and music floated on the wind, mingling with the call of seagulls. “Know anything about that?”

“No, but I don’t pay attention to my neighbors the way you do. I mind my own business. Did you try calling Brittany?”

“Voice mail. She’s somewhere in Greece on an archaeological dig. I’m guessing the sun isn’t even up there yet.”

The sea slapped the sides of the boat as Alec set the inshore stern line. “Probably a summer rental.”

“Brittany doesn’t usually rent the cottage.” Together they finished securing the boat, and Ryan winced as his shoulder protested.

Alec glanced at him. “Bad day?”

“No worse than usual.” The pain reminded him he was alive and should make the most of every moment. A piece of his past that forced him to pay attention to the present. “I’ll go over to the cottage in the morning and check it out.”

“Or you could mind your own business.”

Ryan shrugged. “Small island. I like to know what’s going on.”

“You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Just being friendly.”

“You’re like Brittany, always digging.”

“Except she digs in the past, and I dig in the present. Are you in a rush to get back to sanding planks of wood or do you want a beer?”

“I could force one down if you’re paying.”

“You should be the one paying. You’re the rich Brit.”

“That was before my divorce. And you’re the one who owns a bar.”

“I’m living the dream.” Ryan paused to greet one of the sailing club coaches, glanced at the times for high and low tides scrawled on the whiteboard by the dockside and then walked with Alec up the ramp that led from the marina to the bar and restaurant. Despite the fact it was only early summer, it was alive with activity. Ryan absorbed the lights and the crowds, remembering how the old disused boatyard had looked three years earlier. “So, how is the book going? It’s unlike you to stay in one place this long. Those muscles will waste away if you spend too much time staring at computer screens and flicking through dusty books. You’re looking puny.”

“Puny?” Alec rolled powerful shoulders. “Do I need to remind you who stepped in to help you finish off the Ocean Club when your shoulder was bothering you? And I spent last summer building a replica Viking ship in Denmark and then sailing it to Scotland, which involved more rowing hours than I want to remember. So you can keep your judgmental comments about dusty books to yourself.”

“You do know you’re sounding defensive? Like I said. Puny.” Ryan’s phone beeped, and he pulled it out of his pocket and checked the text. “Interesting.”

“If you’re waiting for me to ask, you’ll wait forever.”

“It’s Brittany. She’s loaned Castaway Cottage to a friend in trouble, which explains the lights. She wants me to watch over her.”

“You?” Alec doubled up with soundless laughter. “That’s like giving a lamb to a wolf and saying ‘Don’t eat this’”

“Thank you. And who says she’s a lamb? If the friend is anything like Brittany, she might be a wolf, too. I still have a scar where Brittany shot me in the butt with one of her arrows two summers ago.”

“I thought she had perfect aim. She missed her target?”

“No. I
was
her target.” Ryan texted a reply.

“You’re telling her you have better things to do than babysit the friend.”

“I’m telling her I’ll do it. How hard can it be? I drop by, offer a shoulder to cry on, comfort her—”

“—take advantage of a vulnerable woman.”

“No, because I don’t want to be shot in the butt a second time.”

“Why don’t you say no?”

“Because I owe Brit, and this is payback.” He thought about their history and felt a twinge of guilt. “She’s calling it in.”

Alec shook his head. “Again, I’m not asking.”

“Good.” Pocketing the phone, Ryan took the steps to the club two at a time. “So again, how’s your book going? Have you reached the exciting part? Anyone died yet?”

“I’m writing a naval history of the American Revolution. Plenty of people die.”

“Any sex in it?”

“Of course. They regularly stopped in the middle of a battle to have sex with each other.” Alec stepped to one side as a group of women approached, arm in arm. “I’m flying back to London next week, so you’re going to have to find a new drinking partner.”

“Business or pleasure?”

“Both. I need to pay a visit to the Caird Library in Greenwich.”

“Why would anyone need to go
there
?”

“It has the most extensive maritime archive in the world.”

One of the women glanced at Alec idly and then stopped, her eyes widening. “I know you.” She gave a delighted smile. “You’re the
Shipwreck Hunter
. I’ve watched every series you’ve made, and I have the latest one on pre-order. This is
so
cool. The crazy thing is, history was my least favorite subject in school, but you actually manage to make it sexy. Loads of us follow you on Twitter, not that you’d notice us because I know you have, like, one hundred thousand followers.”

Alec answered politely, and when they finally walked away, Ryan slapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, that should be your tag line.
I make history sexy
.”

“Do you want to end up in the water?”

“Do you seriously have a hundred thousand followers? I guess that’s what happens when you kayak half-naked through the Amazon jungle. Someone saw your anaconda.”

Alec rolled his eyes. “Remind me why I spend time with you?”

“I own a bar. And on top of that, I keep you grounded and protect you from the droves of adoring females. So—you were telling me you’re flying across the ocean to visit a library.” Ryan walked through the bar, exchanging greetings as he went. “What’s the pleasure part of the trip?”

“The library is the pleasure. Business is my ex-wife.”

“Ouch. I’m beginning to see why a library might look like a party.”

“It will happen to you one day.”

“Never. To be divorced you have to be married, and I was inoculated against that at an early age. A white picket fence can look a lot like a prison when you’re trapped behind it.”

“You looked after your siblings. That’s different.”

“Trust me, there is no better lesson in contraception to a thirteen-year-old boy than looking after his four-year-old sister.”

“If you’ve avoided all ties, why are you back home on the island where you grew up?”

Because he’d stared death in the face and crawled back home to heal.

“I’m here through choice, not obligation. And that choice was driven by lobster and the three-and-a-half-thousand miles of coastline. I can leave anytime it suits me.”