Mr. Unforgettable (17 page)

The bird flew. Just like that. Yelling, the kids chased its shadow down the field.

Liz screened her eyes against the sun, still following the seagull's flight, and he had to ask, “Have you sorted things out with Kirsty?”

“She won't talk to me unless I withdraw my support of Camp Corporate—as Harry would have wanted.”

Luke remembered that Kirsty had held a grudge over the lifetime of Liz's marriage, and frowned. “But you'll still get access to Harriet?”

“Neville's trying to talk her into it, but…” Her voice trailed off. With jerky movements, she brushed grass clippings off her clothes.

His unease deepened. “C'mon, guys,” he yelled, “you've got a bus to catch.” They ran ahead, while he followed with Liz. “Are you saying that supporting Camp Corporate could cost you not just your job, but Harry's family?”

“It's not your problem.” Liz quickened her pace and pulled ahead. “It's mine.” He'd always enjoyed the mayor's brisk stride and her body's no-nonsense focus on reaching her destination. Today she walked as if hunted, with her head bowed, clasping her wrist.

Inside him, something crumbled.

She had no one left on her side. He was no different from Kirsty with her emotional blackmail or those in the community expecting Liz to act like a saintly hologram of Harry Light.

“Withdraw your support,” he said curtly, catching her up. “You probably can't retain the mayoralty at this point but you can keep Harriet.”

They'd reached the camp's front entrance. She stopped, dazed. “But this camp's future—”

“Is my problem, not yours.” Screw it, he'd sell his share of the business if he needed to, to keep Camp Chance going. All these people, demanding Liz be what they needed her to be. He couldn't be another one of them. “Do what you have to do, Liz. For once, put yourself first.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Luke, about what you overheard—”

“Forget it.”

“I was lying when I said you didn't matter.” Her voice was tight, almost breathless. “You do…too much.”

Always the damn qualifier. Luke had quit competitive swimming when he stopped winning. Coming second wasn't in his nature. “I'm moving back to Auckland after the election.”

“Oh.” She went very still.

“Christian and Jordan have been agitating for their turn, and given recent events I'll probably do more harm than good by staying.”

“If that's what you want.”

He couldn't get what he wanted
. “Listen, I have to go,” he said roughly. “Get these kids organized. Rosie!” he called. “If you've finished saying goodbye, show the mayor around the place, will you?”

“If now's not a good time—” Liz began.

“It's fine. See you at the meeting.” He left her standing there.

At the bus he shook every kid's hand as they prepared to embark. “Joey, good luck with the rugby trials next week…. Donna, remember what I said about handling your brother…” If his heart would up and die he could cope, but the death throes were driving him insane.

He held out his hand to Moana.

“You're weird,” she said and hugged him.

For a moment Luke couldn't speak. “Next year you might even be bigger than your attitude, Mo,” he said in a husky voice.

Halfway up the bus stairs, Moana stopped and hollered to the kids still waiting to board. “Hey everyone, Luke wants hugs.” With a cheeky smile, she disappeared.

That kid was always going to get the last word.

But after another dozen hugs, Luke felt as though he might live.

C
AMP
C
HANCE HAD BEEN
inspiring.

Later that afternoon Liz walked along the shoreline, clutching her shoes in one hand.

Even though she knew a man like Luke wouldn't build anything but the best, it had always been seeing the kids in the camp environment that Liz had dreaded most. She'd been terrified of catching a glimpse of hopelessness, of fear…of lost expressions in their faces.

While she'd been heartened by the camp kids she'd met at the swim, it hadn't been enough to prompt a visit. When Liz had been young, all the confident kids had been paraded on the home's public outings—it was good politics. And Luke had professionals running Camp Chance.

The incoming waves hissed up the sand, then relentlessly dragged it away under her feet, forcing her to higher ground.

But she'd seen every kid as they clambered into the bus and Beth Sloane hadn't been reflected in a single happy face. Closing her eyes, Liz took a deep breath and let her childhood go.

There were still other things to let go, but she wasn't ready.

She opened her eyes and started walking again, faster now. Farther along the beach, a sand castle, dappled with sea foam, sagged into the swirl of water. Liz stopped and watched it disappear.

What should she do? Harry would have been able to tell her. And that was partly what troubled her. Had he always guided her or had she canonized him after he died? The real man was lost to her; all Liz had was memory now, uncertain and frighteningly selective.

Climbing to the top of one of the dunes, she sat and stared blankly at the horizon. In a few hours she'd be standing on a podium fighting, not only for her political life, but also for Camp Chance's future. Kirsty would be there, waiting to hear where Liz's loyalties lay.

Was keeping Kirsty in her life worth ditching her integrity?

As Liz agonized, a child's chatter pierced her reverie. A young woman power walked along the beach, her dark ponytail swinging with every stride. A young boy followed in her footsteps, dragging a long stick behind him. He stopped then, ditching the stick, bent to pick up a starfish.

“Mum, look what I found.”

His mother turned, but kept walking backward. “C'mon, Brett,” she coaxed. “Remember our game?”

Clutching his new treasure, the boy went back to stepping in her larger footprints, his short legs straining with the effort.

When they were out of sight, Liz resumed her walk, pausing next to the imprint of small bare feet in the tread of a larger sports shoe. On impulse she hunkered down to trace it with her fingers. Who cared about integrity when the alternative was losing Harriet?

She picked up the stick the boy had discarded and wrote the only absolute truth she knew in the wet sand, where the waves would soon obliterate it.

I love Luke
.

A wave swept over the message, then receded, leaving the words fainter but still readable. Like a feeling that couldn't be erased. Liz walked on.

As much as she'd adored Harry, her love had always had a reverential quality. He was the one who first saw Beth Sloane as she longed to be. Special. With his unswerving devotion, he'd made Liz feel safe but—she acknowledged the truth—he'd never made her feel needed.

Luke needed her.

His eyes had given him away after she'd told Kirsty their affair hadn't meant anything. He loved her and now he was protecting himself and Liz was letting him because she had choices to make—hard choices.

Luke had told her to put herself first, even when her decision had the potential to hurt the camp's future…and his. As strong as Harry was, Luke was stronger. Yes, she loved him, but how would Kirsty react to
that
?

Liz realized she was matching her stride to the existing tracks and stopped. Hadn't she been doing this since Harry died? Walking in his shoes. On the other hand, her troubles had only begun since she'd started going her own way.

Her eyes burned. Independence had a price.

She remembered the words carved into the front entrance of Camp Chance and its promise to the kids who came there. “I believe in you,” she recited in a low voice. “I have faith in you. I know you can handle it.” There were other affirmations—about being cared for, listened to, about being valuable. Liz recited them all, then turned for home.

In her bedroom, she got Harry's old sweater out of the wardrobe and buried her face in it, her decision made.

 

L
OOKING OUT
across the packed hall, Liz cleared her throat. The sound reverberated through the microphone. A bad start. To her left, Snowy sat back with a smile.

She straightened her shoulders, stopped playing with her wedding ring. “Snowy Patterson accused me of having a conflict of interest…he was right.” Murmurs broke out around the hall. “The truth is, I never really wanted to support Camp Chance—even when Harry did—because it reminded me too much of where I'd come from.”

Quietly, Liz outlined her history, her voice growing in power as she became caught up in the need to make these people understand. “Projects like Camp Chance need a generosity of spirit—the same spirit that made me choose Beacon Bay as a refuge all those years ago. I won't believe we've lost that.”

Luke stood at the back, wearing one of her campaign T-shirts. For a moment their eyes met, then Liz returned her attention to the crowd. “There's been a lot of conflict over the site, conflict that's taken the focus away from what Luke Carter and the other trustees are trying to achieve for those children. Whether I win a second term or not I think it's time for Beacon Bay to decide what kind of community we want to be. A place that posts a No Trespass sign or a town that says, Welcome, Friend.”

Near the front, Kirsty sat tight-lipped with her arms folded. “I thought long and hard about going against Harry's wishes and it wasn't easy for me. You know how we felt about each other…” Her voice broke. “And I know how Beacon Bay felt about him.”

Luke couldn't stand any more.

Slipping out through a side door, he jammed his fists in his pockets and strode back along the beachfront toward his house. Enough.

There was a fine line between selflessness and masochism and he'd just crossed it.

Pulling his cell phone out of his jeans he rang Christian. He'd never asked a favor in his life; he asked it now.

“Yeah, Jordan and I can step in earlier with the camp.” Luke was grateful that Christian didn't mention that they'd been trying to share the load for weeks. “You want to talk about this?”

“Not unless you're a ghost buster,” he said bleakly.

 

O
UT OF THE CORNER
of her eye, Liz saw Luke leave but it didn't worry her. There'd be time later to go after what she wanted. “One of the things I admired most about Harry,” she continued, “was that he had the courage of his convictions. Yes, in this case, his convictions differ from mine. But this is a conscience vote for me and I make no apology for it.”

She glanced at Snowy. “I believe people should always come first, and if you reelect me, they will. Thank you.”

Liz stepped back from the microphone. The sound of her heels on the floorboards echoed through the silent hall as she walked back to her seat.

The applause started, slow at first, growing in volume until it swelled through the hall and carried her back to her chair wearing a smile so big, it made her cheeks ache. One good speech wouldn't be enough to swing the election in her favor, but hopefully she'd changed enough minds tonight to make a positive difference for the camp.

Delores Jackson sailed up to the microphone, but it was a full minute before she could make herself heard.

After the meeting ended, she separated Liz from a herd of well-wishers with the skill of a cattle rustler. “You should be courting me.” For once her voice was pitched low, and Liz had to strain to hear over the clatter of two hundred people filing out of the hall. “I have enough supporters to be the kingmaker in a tight race, should I decide to concede before the election.”

“Wait a minute.” Liz narrowed her eyes. “Holding the balance of power has been your intention all along, hasn't it?”

“I know I'm too strident to stand a chance of winning, but I couldn't have the wrong person in the job.”

Some of Liz's elation dissipated. “You mean me.”

More people came over to shake Liz's hand and Delores waited until they'd moved on. “I've never approved of your blind devotion to Harry's causes,” she continued, “but tonight you proved that you're your own woman.” The old lady stuck out her hand. “Integrity will always come first with me.”

Astonished, Liz took the soft, wrinkled fingers with the iron grip. “And Camp Corporate?”

“If the conditions on development prove as stringent as you say they are…maybe. But tell that man of yours I'll be watching his every move like a hawk.”

Liz smiled. “I will.” Behind Delores, she saw Kirsty struggling toward them against the outgoing tide of people, and her pulse kicked up a notch.

Kirsty tapped Delores on the shoulder. “Mind if Lizzy and I talk in private?”

The old lady turned around. “It won't do you any good. I'll find out anyway.”

“You didn't know about Luke and Liz,” Kirsty retorted.

“Who says I didn't?” With that cryptic remark, Delores left.

Liz ventured a tentative smile; Kirsty didn't return it. “You're replacing Dad with Luke, aren't you?”

For a moment Liz didn't answer. “If something happened to Harriet could you replace her with another child?”

“Of course not!”

“The people you love aren't replaceable, Kirsty—which is why I don't want to lose you, too.” Liz hesitated. “But you need to accept Luke.”

Kirsty pulled a face. “Dammit, you and Nev are expecting me to do the right thing, aren't you?”

“Yes.” Liz's voice broke. “After all, you are Harry Light's daughter.

“I hate it when you play that card.”

Liz opened her arms. “Still family?”

Kirsty blinked furiously. “Okay, but no hugs or you'll make me cry.”

Liz hugged her anyway.

 

L
UKE WASN'T PLEASED
to see her.

Euphoric after her evening's successes, Liz hadn't expected the man she intended spending the rest of her life with to look at her as though she was selling something he didn't want to buy.

Particularly when it was herself.

With a sinking feeling, she remembered he'd never articulated his love. Maybe she'd taken too much for granted. “I know it's late,” she began awkwardly, “but I thought you'd like to know that it went well. In fact I'll probably win the—” Behind him, she noticed two bags lined up in the hall. “You're not leaving?”

“I told you I was moving back to Auckland.”

“But not tonight.” The sinking feeling bounced off the bottom of Liz's stomach and started its ascent as panic. “What about us?”

“We'll always be friends.”

Liz pushed him inside, shut the door and leaned against it. “You can't go. I love you.”

“I know you do—but not enough. In your heart, Harry will always come first.”

Liz steered him as far away from the door as possible, outside onto the sea deck where her panic could take wing. “Let's talk about this.”

“It won't do any good, Liz.” Under the bright moon Luke's expression looked even more remote as he folded his arms. “As the years go by, Harry will go from being a great guy to sainthood in your memory. Hell, he's already halfway there. A flesh-and-blood man can't compete with that.”

“It isn't a competition and I can't pretend I didn't love him.”

“Which is why I'm not asking you to.”

She started to feel sick. “When Harry died I swore I wouldn't let anyone get so close again. That's why I kept pretending you didn't matter, but it was only pretense, Luke.”

“I know bereavement,” he said. “My mother abandoned me, my wife divorced me and the only father figure I ever had—my coach—severed our relationship when I retired early from competitive swimming. But I got over it.”

“Now who's pretending?”

He scowled and looked away. “Be honest, Liz, half your heart will always be buried in a grave with Harry.”

She scrambled for the words that would convince him he was wrong. “We cremated him.” Those weren't them.

“Uh-huh. Where are his ashes?”

“We're waiting for his brother to come back from overseas before we scatter them…. What?” She was losing him and she couldn't seem to stop it. “Luke, I haven't got them in some sort of shrine at home.” Only hours earlier, she'd put Harry's sweater in a clothing bin and said her last goodbye.