The Honeymoon Cottage (A Pajaro Bay Romance) (28 page)

Camilla and Robin scrambled to their feet and Camilla brushed the dust off her jeans. "I thought you were the president," she said.

"I am, my dear. You're hired. Sandy!"

Her silent assistant entered with a cardboard box stuffed to the brim with papers.

"Where should this be placed, my dear?"

"On the floor, I guess. What is it?"

"Your assignment. Make sense of this shambles, and you'll be set in this town for life."

"You don't even know how much I charge."

"We can afford it. Here's a deposit." Miss Zelda handed her a check big enough to cover a used desk, two wooden chairs from the Junque Shoppe, and—she quickly calculated—a down payment on a computer and some software.

"Call me when you have it straightened out." She swept out with as much drama as she'd swept in.

"How on earth did she know I was opening an accounting office before I even got a sign on the door?"

Robin smiled. "I heard about it at Santos' market about an hour ago."

"So everyone in town knows by now."

Robin looked over her shoulder to the open doorway. "Yup. I think the rumor was started by the guy who's renting the apartment above the market. See you later. Let me know how it goes."

"How what goes?"

As Robin left, Ryan stood in the doorway, hat in hand.

"Hi, Camilla."

"Hi," she said. She waved him in and he came all the way into the tiny office.

"Nice place," he said.

She nodded. "I heard the people who had wanted to buy the Honeymoon Cottage bought the Catslide Cottage instead."

"Yeah. I rented the place over Santos' to stay in."

She waved him all the way in and she sat back down on the floor. He joined her. "I was going to stop by the substation to talk to you this morning, Ryan. I'm glad you came by."

"You were going to stop by?"

She took a deep breath. "I have been seeing you around town. I don't want us to just pass each other on the street and nod, Ryan. We have to clear the air between us. Even if we can't be together."

He nodded. He held his hat in his hands and stared at it. He obviously felt as awkward as she did, but she was done with pretending. She was tackling life head on. All of it. Even the uncomfortable parts.

She looked around the room, wondering how to say, what to say, how to clear the air. "I'm not good at being honest, Ryan. My whole life has been about covering my feelings and running away."

He looked guarded, but she quickly put a hand up. "I don't want to repeat the same argument. That won't get us anywhere."

"Then what?"

She took a deep breath. "So you rented an apartment. How long are you staying in town?"

"I haven't decided. I withdrew my resignation. I'm seeing the department's psychologist. Haven't decided," he repeated.

"So are you on duty this afternoon?"

He looked surprised. "Why?" he asked warily.

"I'm going to go visit my father."

"Your father?"

"Yeah. I've never told you anything about my family—about my life before I went to college."

He nodded slowly. "Yeah. We never did talk about our pasts much, did we?"

"We never really got to know each other. I want to correct that."

He shook his head. "Now that we're not—together—any more? What's the point?"

"The point is, I guess.... I don't know." She plunged ahead. "I trust you, Ryan. I trust your judgment. I like you. I care about you. I'm asking you to come with me to see my father. Not because I think it'll change anything between us. But because I'm trying to ask for help."

He stood up and reached out a hand to help her to her feet. His calloused palm felt so good against hers she had to resist all the feelings she still had for him. This wasn't about that.

"If you need me, I'm here for you." He said it with a sureness that made her realize she'd unconsciously pushed exactly the right button with him. Ask him to be vulnerable, and he'd clam up. Ask him for help, and every protective instinct came rushing to the fore.

"You sold your car to Hector. How were you planning on getting there?"

She didn't bother to ask how he knew that. This was Pajaro Bay. "I'm borrowing Robin's."

"I'll drive you," he said. He added softly, "I happen to have a nice old Mustang. I haven't put the mileage on it I had planned. So it's available."

She smiled. "Thanks. And thanks for coming with me."

She led him out the door and locked it behind her. She was going to need all the help she could get to make it through the next few hours.

~*~

In Marisol's pink bedroom full of ruffles and stuffed animals, Oliver sat on the bed crying, and Camilla didn't seem to be able to do anything to stop him. "Please, honey." She held him close, and he sobbed in her arms.

He reached up to put his arms around her, then winced when his cast got in the way.  She winced too.

"Watch it, kid," she said with a grin. "That hunk of plaster on your arm gives you a mean left hook."

He didn't smile back, but just put his head on her shoulder and sighed.

"You have to go?" he mumbled, not looking at her.

"I do. But it's only a short trip. I'll be back soon. I promise."

"You promise?" he said tentatively, still not looking up.

She pulled away from him just enough so she could look into his eyes. "I will always come back, Oliver. I give you my word. I have never lied to you, and I never will. I promise."

"Even if I'm bad," he whispered.

"Oh, Oliver. You're not bad."

"I made them die."

"No!" She lifted his face so he could see into her eyes. "Your parents had problems. Not you. They made mistakes. But that doesn't have anything to do with you."

He didn't look like he believed her.

She gave him another hug. It was going to take time. "I promise you I'll take care of you. I will always come back."

"Cross your heart?"

She crossed her heart. "See? I promise."

He sighed. "Daddy said you wouldn't ever leave me."

So Dennis had talked to him about this. Another bit of info slipped out through the cracks in Oliver's armor. She was going to bust down that armor if it took a lifetime. But the first step was to give him safety. "Your daddy was right. He knew how much I love you, and how important it was for someone who loves you to always take care of you. He gave me custody because he loved you so much he wanted you to be safe, no matter what happened to him."

"Even if he died," Oliver whispered.

"That's right," she said. The counselor had recommended talking openly about his parents' deaths with him, no matter how hard it was. "Your daddy died, but he made a promise to protect you and care for you forever. It's now my job to keep that promise for him."

"So you'll come back?"

She hugged him again. "I will always come back," she repeated. "Pajaro Bay is our home forever and ever. Now let's wipe your face so you can go play with Marisol."

~*~

Chapter 16

The convertible top was up to protect them from the coastal drizzle, and she listened to the whistling of the wind against the car as the miles slipped past.

She didn't realize she'd been quiet for so long until Ryan spoke to her somewhere along Highway 1 north of Año Nuevo.

"He'll be safe. You can count on Joe."

She pulled her mind back from the coming conversation with her father. "And Oliver will be pigging out on enchiladas," she said to Ryan with a small smile.

"Nah. Joe only cooks that stuff for the fundraisers. They eat vegetarian mostly."

"Oh."

He glanced at her again. "You gonna tell me where we're going, or do we just keep driving until we run out of road?"

She rested her palms on the pony seats and tried to make it light. "Maybe it's a secret." How could she tell him? How could she face this? She felt that desire to run welling up inside of her, but she pushed it down. She was done with that. She had decided to stop running, and now she was on a path that changed everything. She had to come clean about who she really was, to Ryan and to herself.

He smiled. "Okay, let me guess then...."

He looked out the car window.

"He's friends with little Marisol," he said, "and Joe's wife is great with kids. And of course he's safe with a deputy watching over him."

She nodded, knowing he thought she was thinking about Oliver. And she was. But not only Oliver. "It's not that I'm worried about his safety," she said. "I know he's safe now. No one's after him. But I hope he's okay. He's been so sad."

"That's expected, isn't it?"

"The counselor said it would take a long time. But I'm not sure I'm up to it—I don't seem to be able to reassure him."

"I'm sure you can do it. You're the one he trusts. You just have to believe that time will heal—" He stopped. "That's such a cliche, isn't it? I'm sorry." He was silent for a bit, then said quietly, "when my mother died that's what people said, and I thought it was stupid. You never get over it. But the pain does fade."

"I didn't know—about your mother."

He shrugged and went back to looking out the window. "We don't know much about each other, I guess. What pulled us apart, Camilla?" he said, his eyes on the road ahead.

"The lack of honesty. The lack of openness. We haven't been telling each other the truth."

"What truth? I haven't lied to you."

"No, I haven't exactly lied either. I’ve just left things out. Not explained."

"Been a clam."

"Yeah."

"What about? You don't seem to have any secrets, Camilla."

She laughed at that. "My name's Beatrice, not Camilla."

"No it isn't," he said confidently. "I've seen your driver's license."

"I changed it when I turned 18."

"Then Camilla is your name."

"It's the name I chose. But not the one I was born with. We're coming up on Pigeon Point," she added.

He waited until the lighthouse at the point came into view. "So, wanna stop here?"

She shook her head.

"You know," he said, "it might be helpful to know where we're going. You still haven't told me."

"We'll stay on highway 1 through the City."

"Do we cross the Golden Gate Bridge?"

She nodded.

He smiled. He thought she was playing a game with him, not struggling to figure out what to say. "So," he said. "North coast somewhere. Mendocino?"

She shook her head.

"Eureka? It might be faster to take I-5 if we're going that far."

"No."

"Marin?" He pursed his lips. "Tiburon? Mill Valley?"

She looked away from him, out the window, feeling the knot in her stomach growing bigger with each place name he came up with.

"Sausalito?"

She squirmed in the seat.

"I’m running out of city names. I’m not an expert on the north bay."

She looked at her hands in her lap. She felt that stupid blush creeping up her neck to cover her face. Tell the truth, Camilla. Then you'll stop blushing.

"It can't be all that bad," he said with a chuckle. "No—don't tell me. You made up the visiting your father story to sweep me away on a romantic getaway. No? You gotta give me a clue, darlin'."

"San Quentin," she whispered. She kept her eyes on the passing scenery.

"Not my first choice for a romantic getaway."

She said nothing. Stared out the side at the hills they were passing.

"You know there's not much in San Quentin but the prison."

"I know," she whispered.

"You aren't kidding, then. Your dad works at San Quentin prison?"

"He works in the laundry there."

He started to say something, probably because he knew that only prisoners worked in the laundry, but then he realized what he was missing.

"What's he in for?" he asked quietly.

"Forgery."

"Forgers usually go to county jail."

"Not if they are habitual criminals."

"It was his third strike?"

"Actually." She paused. "I think it was his seventh, but I’m not sure."

"How old is he?"

"Old enough that he'll never get out."

"I’m sorry." He waited a while, then said, "Is he in mainline?"

She felt a certain relief talking to him, knowing he understood all the terms. "No," she answered. "He was, in the general population and working in the laundry. As close as he gets to normal life in prison. Now he's in Ad Seg."

"For Forgery? That doesn't make sense."

She felt the blush start, but shook her head decisively and blurted it out: "He's always pulling something! He wouldn't even tell me what he'd done this time, but somehow he got himself segregated from the general population." She shook her head again. "He's impossible."

"How violent is he?"

"He's not. That's the thing. He's one of those people, if you tell him the rules, he somehow ends up on the wrong side of them. Every—" she paused. "—darned time."

She saw the ghost of a smile cross his face. "I love the way you talk," he said softly.

"What does that mean?"

"Darned. Creepy. All that. It's so cute."

That was not the reaction she had expected to her telling him her father was spending life in prison. "There's more," she said.

He kept his eyes glued to the road. "What more?"

She looked down at her hands. They were clenched together, as if she were keeping the truth in a death grip in her hands. "I put him there," she whispered.

He was silent for a bit. When she said nothing more, he said, "I assume you don't mean literally."

"Yes. I was supposed to be his alibi. But the police questioned me and I screwed up and they figured out I was lying for him."

He smiled gently. "I'm sure they knew you were lying all along."

"Of course they did. I blushed and stammered and gave it all away."

"Because you're too honest to lie."

"I'm not honest! Aren't you getting this, Ryan? All those things you say about me—that I'm smart, and honest, and good, and kind. That's just Camilla Stewart, the person I pretend to be. It's not who I really am. I'm really little Bea Stewart, liar, low-class trash daughter of a con man."