First Time in Forever (5 page)

“Not before summer. There’s just two weeks of school left.” Rachel turned away to finish preparing for her lesson. “Why would you be interested in a woman with a child? We both know you’ve had enough of child rearing, and yes, I might just feel a tiny bit guilty about that, given that I’m the reason you can’t stand the thought of settling down and having kids.”

“Not true.”

“Yes, it is. You were stuck looking after three little kids when you were a teenager. You couldn’t wait to get away.”

“Not because I didn’t love you.”

“I know that. All I’m saying is that I’m the reason you run from the idea of settling down. When we lost Mom and Dad, you had to do the serious stuff without any of the fun, so now you’re having the fun. It’s part of the reason you used to keep your bag packed, so you could run at a moment’s notice.”

He looked at her, his sweet-natured sister who had been orphaned at such a young age. “Hey, I’ve been living here for four years. That’s stability.”

She placed a large sheet of paper on the center of each low table. “There are still times I wonder if one day I’m going to wake up and find you gone. Not that it would matter if that’s what you wanted,” she said quickly. “You paid your dues.”

He discovered that guilt could feel like sandpaper on a raw wound. “I didn’t ‘pay’ anything. I did what needed to be done and I was happy to do it.” If you ignored all the times he hadn’t been happy and had complained like hell at the world for putting him in that situation. “And I’m not going anywhere. How could I after all the effort you put into saving me? I owe you.”

“No one owes anyone anything, Ryan. We’re a family. We help each other when we’re in trouble. That’s what family does. You taught me that.” She walked across the classroom and picked up a bucket of seashells.

Even as a very young child she’d loved everything about the sea.

He’d spent hours with her on the beach, hunting for sea glass and building castles out of sand.

Ryan had always envied her calm contentment, a direct contrast to his own restless energy and burning desire to escape.

“What are you doing with those?”

“We’re making a collage using things we found from the seashore on our trip last week. I still don’t understand why you’d be interested in a woman renting the cottage, especially if there’s a child in tow.” She added paints and glue to each table. “Why the mystery?”

The mystery was that she’d been scared.

“I’m curious.”

She flicked him a look. “Curiosity killed the cat, Ryan.”

“If you can’t come up with something more original than that, then there is no hope for the younger generation.”

But he understood the reason for the tension. She was worried this wouldn’t be enough for him. That he’d wake up one morning and decide to go back to his old life.

Since she’d been the one to clear up the mess last time, he couldn’t blame her for hoping that didn’t happen.

“Miss Cooper?” A small voice came from the doorway, and Ryan turned to see the Butler twins, Summer and Harry, hovering with their mother. Lisa Butler had moved to Puffin Island the summer before and had taken over the ice cream parlor, Summer Scoop, near the harbor.

While his sister worked her magic on two excited children, Ryan smiled at Lisa. “Gearing up for the summer rush? How is everything?”

“Everything is good.” Her expression told him everything was far from good, and instantly he wanted to know why. He couldn’t help himself. Some might have said it was his passion, but he knew it was closer to an addiction, this need to find the truth buried beneath the surface. He wanted to know who, what, why, when. In this case he suspected the “what” was the state of the business. After a harsh Maine winter when the mention of ice cream was a joke not a temptation, Summer Scoop had to be suffering. The business had been limping along for years before Lisa Butler had decided to sink her life savings into it.

“I’ll leave you to mold young minds, Miss Cooper.” He nodded to his sister. “Talk to you later.”

And in the meantime he was going to find out more about the woman in Castaway Cottage.

*

“H
AS
THE
MAN
GONE
?”

“He’s gone.” But his face was still in her head. Remembering the encounter, Emily felt heat rush through her body. “I’m sorry he woke you.”

“He didn’t.” Those pale green eyes were ringed by tiredness, and Juliet’s long hair fell in tangled curls of gold past narrow shoulders.

Emily looked for signs of tears, but there were none.

The girl seemed remote. Self-contained.

That was good, wasn’t it?

She tried to ignore the simmer of unease in her belly that told her it wasn’t good.

“Was the bed uncomfortable?” Emily had tucked the girl up in Brittany’s old room the night before, covered with the patchwork quilt.

“It was noisy.”

“That’s the sea. You can sleep in a different room tonight if you like.”

“Can I sleep with you?”

Emily swallowed. “Sure.”

The little girl stood, staring up at the shelf in the kitchen. “Why are there jewels in a jar?”

“It’s sea glass.” Emily reached and picked up the jar. “It washes up on the beach. Sometimes it gets trapped in the pebbles and rocks. Kathleen used to collect it. Every time she went to the beach she came back with her pockets stuffed. She liked the colors, the fact that each piece has its own story.” Relieved to have something to take her mind of Ryan Cooper, Emily handed Juliet the jar and watched as the girl turned it in her hands, studying each piece of glass closely, absorbed by color and shape.

“It’s like a rainbow in a bottle.”

“Kathleen kept it by the window so it caught the sunlight. She called it treasure.”

“Does she live here?”

“Not anymore. She died a few years ago.” Emily wondered if she should have used a different choice of words. Maybe she should have talked vaguely about heaven and stars in the sky. “She left this cottage to my friend, and sometimes, when one of us has a problem, we come here.”

“Do you have a problem?”

Looking down at the problem, Emily felt compassion mingle with panic.

She didn’t know anything about children, but she knew how it felt to have something you loved snatched from you. She knew how it felt to learn, at a far too young age, that life was cruel and unpredictable. That it could take as quickly as it gave, and with no warning.

“No. There’s no problem now that we’re here.”

“Was she your family?”

“Kathleen? No. She was my friend’s grandmother, but she was like a grandmother to me, too.” And then she remembered “grandmother” probably meant nothing to a child whose short life had been spent among people paid to care for her and keep her away from a prying world. “Sometimes the people who are closest to you aren’t the ones you’re related to.”

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

The little girl held the jar to her chest. “You’re my family.”

“That’s right.” Her stomach lurched. Panic rose like the sea at high tide, swamping the deep fissures created by a lifetime of insecurities. She didn’t want that responsibility. She’d never wanted it. “Why don’t we explore the house? It was dark when we arrived last night.”

Nestled in the curve of Shell Bay, Castaway Cottage had ocean views from all the front rooms. It was easy to see why Kathleen had never wanted to leave, despite the relative isolation and the long winters. She’d made sure that whatever the weather, there was warmth in the house. Wooden beams and hardwood floors formed a backdrop for furniture carefully chosen to reflect a nautical theme. A striped wingbacked chair, a textured rug, framed photos of the seabirds that nested around the rocky coast.

Still holding the jar, Juliet went straight to the window and clambered onto a chair. “Can we go to the beach?”

Emily felt a pressure in her chest.

Soon, she’d have to work out how she was going to handle that inevitable request, but she didn’t have the energy for it now. “We need to settle in first. I have to unload our cases and unpack.”

“I’m hungry.”

Emily, whose usual caffeine-infused breakfast came in the form of strong coffee, realized she hadn’t given any thought to feeding the girl. “I packed a few things in the car, but this afternoon we’re going to need to go to the harbor and pick up some food.”

Which presented her with another problem.

“I was thinking—” They walked back into the kitchen, and Emily opened cupboards, hunting for food that Brittany might have left on her last visit. “Juliet is a pretty name, but how would you feel about being called something else?”

“Juliet is from Shakespeare.”

“I know, but—”
Everyone else knows, too.
“Do you have another name? I’m Emily Jane.”

“I’m Juliet Elizabeth.”

“Elizabeth. How about Lizzy? That’s pretty.”

“Why do I need a different name? So the men with cameras don’t find me?”

Emily favored honesty and saw no reason to alter that approach in this instance. “Yes.” She opened a cupboard and pulled out a bowl in a pretty shade of cornflower blue. “That’s part of the reason. I don’t want people asking you questions. It will be like a game.”

“I used to play games with Mellie.”

“Mellie?”

“She cooks. Sometimes she looks after me when Paula is in the bedroom kissing her boyfriend.”

“P—what? Who is Paula?”

“She’s one of my nannies.”

One
of them? Still, at least Lana had arranged child care, which was more than their mother ever had. “So Paula looked after you?”

“Yes. And sometimes we watched my mom on TV.” Lizzy was still holding the jar clutched against her chest. “Paula says people take pictures because she was famous and beautiful.”

“Yes, she was.”

People will pay money to see my face. You’ll never be as pretty as me, and that’s why people don’t love you.

She tried to wipe the memory from her mind. “No one will take pictures of you here. People are friendly.”

That much was true. She, Skylar and Brittany had spent plenty of happy evenings laughing and drinking in the Shipwreck Inn, and Brittany was well-known and loved on the island. Too well known.

She tried to remember whether her friend had ever mentioned a Ryan Cooper.

She was certain she hadn’t met him before.

His wasn’t a face that was easy to forget.

That face was in her head as she pulled open cupboards, looking through tins and dried pasta that Brittany left as emergency food. She found cereal, tipped it into the bowl along with the milk she’d bought and settled the child at the table. “We’ll finish unpacking and then explore the island.” Unpacking wasn’t going to take long. Should she be depressed that everything she valued from her old life had fit into two small suitcases? A few clothes and her precious first editions. “We can have lunch by the harbor. You can pick anything you like from the menu. It will be fun.”

“Can I bring my bear?”

Emily looked at the battered bear and decided its chances of surviving the trip were slim. There was a rip in its neck, and it had lost an eye. “Why don’t we leave him here? We don’t want to lose him.” Or parts of him.

“I want him to come.”

Concerned that half the bear might fall into the harbor, Emily was tempted to argue, but she was more afraid of doing something that might destabilize an already fragile situation. “We’ll take the bear.”

“Can I wear my fairy wings?”

Because fairy wings weren’t conspicuous at all. She closed her eyes and told herself that no one would be looking for the child of a Hollywood actress on an island off the coast of Maine. And if Skylar was right, then Lizzy wouldn’t be the only six-year-old wearing fairy wings. “If that’s what you want.” She stiffened as the child slid off her chair and walked across to her.

A small hand slid into hers. “Will they find us?”

The feel of that hand made the pressure in her chest worsen. “No.” She croaked out the word. “We’re safe here.”

Or at least, she hoped they were.

Picking up her phone, she found Brittany’s name in her contacts and sent a text.

Who is Ryan Cooper?

B
ECAUSE
IT
WAS
still early in the summer, she managed to park near the harbor. The busy working waterfront was a popular spot for tourists keen to experience all Puffin Island had to offer. Lobster boats, the lifeblood of the local community, bobbed alongside yachts, and fishermen rubbed shoulders with locals, tourists and sailing enthusiasts. The ferry that connected the island to the mainland ran three times a day when weather permitted. John Harris, the harbormaster, had been in charge of the service for as long as anyone could remember, terrifying everyone with his white shock of hair and heavy eyebrows.

From a distance, Emily recognized Dave Brown, who had been lobstering the waters around Puffin Island for three decades. She remembered standing with her friends, watching as he’d brought in the catch of the day, standing a safe distance from the deep waters of the harbor while Brittany and Kathleen had bought fish straight from the boat. They’d cooked it fresh and eaten it in the garden with butter dripping down chins and eager fingers.

“Can I see the boats?” Curious, Lizzy wandered toward the edge of the harbor, and Emily grabbed her shoulder and hauled her back.

Her heart was thudding and her palms were clammy. Why had she parked by the harbor? She should have found a side street and stayed as far from the water as possible.

John Harris walked across to them, a frown turning his eyebrows into a single shaggy line. “Careful. The water is deep here.”

While Emily waited for her heart to slow down, she kept a grip on Lizzy. Brittany had once confessed the harbormaster had terrified her as a child, and Emily and Skylar had laughed, both unable to imagine Brittany being terrified of anything.

Lizzy didn’t seem to share that fear. She looked from him to the ferry that was just leaving the harbor. “Is that the same ferry we came on last night?”