Sweet Waters (20 page)

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Authors: Julie Carobini

BOOK: Sweet Waters
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I shake my head, my eyes stinging.
“In any case, the fire got big real fast and Beth was asleep. Thank God the baby wasn't with her at the time!”
“So Josh was on the fire crew that got called.”
Norma touches my hand. “Oh no, honey. No one had even called the fire department. He was just walking by when he saw the smoke.”
I cover my mouth.
“Of course, Josh called in and by the time they arrived he'd already pulled Beth out. Poor thing was bleeding heavily . . . she got caught on some broken glass.” Norma pushes her tray away. “She's private about it and I haven't wanted to pry, but her arm's very scarred.”
“That must be why she always wears long sleeves.”
Norma scrunches her lips, then something like light dawns on her face and she nods. “Yes, I hadn't noticed that, but yes, you're right. I don't think she wants to draw attention to herself.”
“Or remember what happened.” Heaviness sinks in my chest as I dwell on Beth's misfortune. “Then Josh is truly a hero, isn't he?”
Norma chuckles. “I and just about anyone around here would say so. But don't tell him that.”
“I know. He'll deny it.”
A shadow crosses Norma's face. “I can understand humility, but Josh has a way of almost taking offense when someone suggests he was heroic. Did you know the town wanted to give him a medal? Wouldn't hear of it.” She shakes her head. “Some have said that he blames himself for her injury, but no one else would. Not ever. That man's just too hard on himself.”
“Hard on himself, yes. I'd agree with that.”
Maybe that's why he's also hard on his father and even on
my
father.
I push the lettuce around in its drippy dressing. “So the daredevil thing. You think he wants to prove something?”
Norma, whose emotions had been bordering on the edge, suddenly smiles. “Like just about every other man I know.”
We laugh, lightening the mood when a familiar face arrives at our table, tray in hand.
“Can I and the missus join you?” Burton Sims stands there holding a tray with four donuts and one large cup of coffee. Beside him, a white-haired woman holds a small jar of apple juice.
“Of course, please sit.” Norma slides her plate over to make some room and I follow along. “Burton, I'd like you
to meet—”
“Tara Sweet. I never forget a pretty face.”
I lean forward. “We actually met last week.”
His wife elbows him in the side as he begins to sit, causing Burton to jolt to a stop mid-bend. “And this is m' wife, Glory.”
I smile at her. “Hello, Glory.”
“You're the spittin' image of your mother, Tara. The spittin' image!”
I've heard this on occasion and although it certainly is a compliment, I just don't see it. But I nod and grin anyway. “Thank you for saying so.”
“When Burton told me you were back in town, I said, ‘I just can't wait to see those girls again!' After all the mess your parents went through, I was just so tickled to hear that you girls came out on the better side.”
Norma gapes at me and I want to bolt. “What did your parents go through? Or is it okay for me to know?”
I open my mouth, but Glory's faster than I am. “We thought they'd make it—Tara's mother was so darling—until that Gigi or Fifi, or whatever she called herself, came back into town. Oh, she had a mean thing for your father, but so hot and cold, that one. It's no wonder the man was confused.”
Gigi. A thing for Daddy. Confused.
The echoes ricochet through my mind and a slow, steady heat wave burns through me. I catch my breath. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
Glory's mouth and eyes morph into three large circles. “Oh, dear. Burton, I thought you said you talked to the girl.”
Burton swigs his coffee and slams the Styrofoam cup down so hard it dents one edge. “Darn it, Glory. It's not right to talk about the dead. Tara's had plenty of time to get past old news, so let her be.”
Everything around me slows. Chatter in the cafeteria sinks into the background. Indistinct sounds of chairs sliding and dishes clinking become dim. Colors fade. Although my eyes remain open, I see nothing until a picture forms in my mind. My parents argue in the living room of our old home on Pelican Lane. Mom's crying and lurching toward the front door. Daddy's crying too and pulling on her sleeve. I turn from my vantage point just inside the archway that leads to our dreary hall and see Mel standing there, dressed in one of our mother's long gowns. She's wearing bright yellow beads, a pair of Daddy's dress shoes and a scowl that could chase babies away.
I slip my arm around her tiny shoulders and together we turn from the commotion and head down the hall to the room we both shared. The memory of leading Mel away from the awful scene constricts my breathing, like a punch to the stomach. What were my parents fighting about? And is it my imagination, or had Mel and I witnessed their arguments more than I've been willing to accept?
Chapter Nineteen
I snap out of my trance and bolt right out of that hospital cafeteria. Norma tries to stop me, but she was no match for all the breath training I'd had in high school. I may not have been the fastest runner in the pack—okay, the slowest, really—but I could discuss the story line of
Quartz Point
for the entire six-mile run without breaking a sentence.
A feat to be proud of as any.
I'm halfway down the winding hill that leads to the hospital when it dawns on me that I'm not in high school anymore. That and I have no idea how to get back. As I wonder where to turn, Glory's pronouncement settles into the deepest part of my psyche, the place that has the ability to make me either rise above, or collapse into the bitter depths. I move slowly in the direction that instinct tells me to go, rolling rogue thoughts over in my mind.
Glory's words were blunt and biting, although by the way she delivered them she had no idea they'd hurt. In fact, they cut me in a way that even Trent's abandonment could not match—which says something about my attachment to him (or lack thereof). And yet, somehow, though it's painful to admit, there's a truth attached to them that I have yet to fully acknowledge.
Tires spinning to a stop pull me to the present. “Tara! Let me take you home.” Norma's across the street, calling to me.
I cross toward her, zombie-like, and climb into her car. She takes off when I shut the door and we wind along in silence.
Finally she speaks. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I turn my chin, making myself look at her. “Sorry. No.”
Norma nods, both hands still grip the steering wheel. “So I guess Glory dropped a bombshell on you back there.” She looks over at me. “Hate it when that happens.”
Her attempt at humor pokes a hole in the dam and I start to laugh. The absurdity of the past weeks hits me then and I laugh more. Harder. Instead of a ring, Trent gives me the boot. I lose my job. My mother marries a
boy.
I laugh until tears fill my eyes and drop onto my lap. I pack up our home—and our life, for goodness sake—only to find out that paradise stinks! The laughter that began with the flood of realization gradually turns, until I'm crying into my hands, the world as I know it flowing away with each tear. The sobs come next, wracking me from my gut and I can't stop the emotion. Nor do I care to try very hard at all.
At some point the car stops, and Norma's familiar hug pulls me close. I'm gasping and spewing tears and snorting, trying to keep snot from sullying her blouse. “First I learn that my father took someone's money. And now this. I want to go back home, but my sisters want to stay. I'm . . . just . . . so . . . unhappy.”
Norma pats my back. “I didn't know all that. It's been a hard time for you, but what about Josh? Isn't he worth staying around for?”
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and look out the window, as if somehow this would shield me from Norma's gaze. “I'm not sure having Josh in my life would be such a good idea right now.”
Norma pulls back. “Why in the world not?”
“Why am I bothering you with this? You barely know me.” A staccato sigh forces its way through my lungs. “I just ended a relationship back in Missouri. Actually, he ended it.” I drop my head forward and stare into my hands, my tears in a hovering stage.
“So then you're free. Right?”
I lift my eyes and find Norma's. “On the contrary, I feel more burdened than ever. Josh is an amazing man.” A palpable pain runs through my chest.
He's already under my skin.
“This . . . this in there . . . the things Glory said, along with the angry things Peg has said . . .” I shake my head. “I just can't comprehend it all, not in a real way. My parents had this love, this connection, you know? I've always wanted the same thing, but now? I'm so confused.”
“That makes perfect sense, but what doesn't is why you won't let Josh work through this with you. I think he really cares for you, Tara.”
“And what about the next time he decides to put himself in danger in the middle of the night, just for sport? What then? I need a man I can rely on, not worry over all the time.”
Norma's expression falls, a frown tugging at her mouth. She looks away. “Sometimes that's not possible. But you love anyway and it doesn't matter anymore because you are loved back.”
I reach out to her. “I'm sorry. Josh told me that your husband's been ill, and of course you worry about him.”
Her smile's flat, but her eyes glisten. “And I would not change knowing him for one second. He's my . . . he's my life.” Her voice cracks. “He's my gift from God.”
Gift from God. Almost a cliché. This time, though, the sentiment sounds as real to my new friend as the tears still dripping from my chin. We sit in silence for a second, before she twists the key in the ignition and starts up the car. My mind continues to sway under the pressure of bad news. If Daddy did have an affair, why did he and Mom stay together? For us? And who is the other woman, this Gigi? Is she still in Otter Bay, ready to pounce on my sisters and me with more degrading secrets?
No, I'm not buying it yet. Not completely. I came to Otter Bay to find myself again, to find that carefree little girl lost among the watery tide pools . . .
And I'm just not ready to give up on her yet.
AFTER NORMA DROPPED ME off at my car, I wanted to go home, crawl beneath my quilt, and start this day again. Or at least head to the cove just down the block from our rental. Those calming, familiar waters draw me like nothing else ever has. Instead, I slipped into my new white cottons and went to work at the inn.
In the last two hours I've checked in a family of four visiting from India, an old woman with a very bad dye job (but who seemed happy about it, so why should I care?), and a middle-aged man with deep-set lines and a laptop computer.
So buried in paperwork that I don't notice Nigel toddling in until he lays his cane across the front desk with a resounding clunk.
“Nigel!”
“Tara, dear.”
“I didn't see you come in. It's been busy today.” I force lightness into my voice. “You should be proud of how popular the Bayside has become.”
“A blessing from the Lord above,” he says, then proceeds to lean against the counter and watch me without a sound. I force a smile in his direction, all the while wondering if I'm doing something wrong. Finally he speaks again. “You seem troubled today.”
I swallow and muster up what probably looks like one more sad attempt at smiling. “Josh is in the hospital . . . did you hear about that?”
He nods. “I thought that may have been the source of your sober expression today.”
You don't know the half of it.
“Yes, well, I heard about it at church this morning and went to see him. He's doing fine. Ornery, but fine.”

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