Take Me Back (3 page)

“She hung up on me.” I glance up at Maddie and hold out her phone. “What a bitch.”

She laughs. “I hate having her anywhere near MJ. She’s just one of those women who you don’t trust around your man.”

“You have no idea.” I close the trunk and stand, brushing dust from my hands. “She found a ton of old items, and she plans on selling them in a tag sale on Friday. You have to let MJ know. She can’t get rid of all that history. It needs to be kept and preserved. It’s valuable. If not monetarily, then for the wealth of historical knowledge it might provide. He can’t let her sell those things, Maddie.”

“I’ll let him know.” She tucks her phone into her pocket. “I’m going out to check on Riley and Jesse. Want to walk with me?”

No. I want her to call MJ and have him stop Joan, but she obviously doesn’t see the urgency in it, even though the tag sale is Friday. “I’m going to stay here and take care of a few things.” I smile, like my heart isn’t climbing up my throat, and watch her walk out the back door onto the patio.

I have to get to the Weston Plantation. I have to sort through everything before Joan sells off the past like it’s worth a five-dollar bill and nothing more.

I pace in a circle around the trunk. There are so many missing pieces I need to get my hands on, and they’re sitting in outbuildings on the Weston property—on MJ’s property.

I rub my fist across my forehead. You, Maddie, everyone would freak out if I left with so much planning and preparation to be done.

But, Friday… I don’t have time to wait until the party’s over. There has to be a way to get there and back before anyone knows I’m gone.

There’s no other option. When Beck gets back, I’ll be waiting at the landing pad and I’ll tell him he has to take me, that I need the kitchen supplies. It makes perfect sense. If we’re going to be hosting events here at Turtle Tear, we can always use more plates, silverware, pots and pans. Why let Joan sell it all off when I can keep it here, in the family where it belongs?

Still, I can’t let you know I’m leaving. You’ll see right through my explanation to what it truly is. You’ll tell me I’m too obsessed with Ingrid.

Obsession is what brought me here in the first place. It’s not always a bad thing, is it?

I can’t believe my eyes. Along with what had to have been the entire contents of the kitchen at one time, the one-story outbuilding is filled with furniture, antiques, and boxes of odds and ends.

It’s an absolute gold mine.

“You were going to get rid of all of this?” I stare, mouth agape, at Joan, who’s leaning in the doorway, her trademark red taking the form of a tank dress today that matches her nails and lips.

“No. I
am
going to get rid of all of this.” She tilts her head like it’s a challenge.

Challenge accepted. “I’m going through it first. Nothing leaves this barn until I say it does.”

“Who do you think you are coming in here and—”

“Ladies!” Beck says, pushing his way past Joan and stepping inside. “Let’s stop the pissing match.” He looks Joan up and down, shrugging his eyebrows. “You don’t have the right equipment for it anyway.”

She smiles at him seductively. “I was going to borrow your equipment. It’s bigger than what she’s got to work with.”

I can’t do anything but stare at her and blink. I’m in shock. Did she just imply what I think she just implied?

Beck laughs. “Let’s not go there. Besides, I’ve caught a glimpse of Merrick before. I think it would be a pretty even pissing match.”

Joan examines her nails and twists her lips. “I guess so.”

She guesses so? Do I need to stand here and be reminded that she’s been with you? And if Beck is more endowed than you, I’m not sure how he stuffs it in his pants. “Whatever, Joan. I’m not doing this with you. You can leave. I’ll lock up when I’m done.”

She tosses a clipboard on the floor at my feet. “Document what you take.”

Beck picks it up and hands it to me. “Will you two ever learn to play nice?”

“No,” we both answer in unison.

Joan spins around and leaves.

“Thanks,” I tell Beck, as I glance down at the list of tag sale items on the clipboard. “I thought things would be more… mellow between us since she’s working here and not on the island. Guess I was wrong.”

He chuckles, and his blue-green eyes dance. “That woman doesn’t have a mellow bone in her body.”

I nudge him with my shoulder. “You have enough mellow for the both of you.”

“I suppose.” He plops down on a striped Victorian sofa and lets out a deep breath as his shoulders slouch. He reminds me of a clock winding down. “I don’t know if I can take her intensity, Rachael. This isn’t working for me.”

“You know, I don’t understand how you two ended up together.” Ever since I first met Beck, when he was a contracted foreman on the Turtle Tear hotel renovation, he struck me as the laid-back, cool kind of guy who wouldn’t be attracted to a high-maintenance Barbie type. “You called her Dragon Lady the first time we spoke.”

He laughs and stretches his arms out across the back of the couch. Tattoos peek out from under his T-shirt sleeve. “That was not a misnomer.”

I open a small box sitting on a spindly-legged table and begin emptying its contents. “So what are you going to do?” He should obviously break up with her if he’s not happy, but that would sound too catty coming from me, seeing as how I hate Joan.

Beck leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and scrubs his fingers against his scalp. “I don’t know. I need to end it, but then she does something sweet and I get a glimpse of that soft spot inside her—a very, very small soft spot—and I second-guess myself.”

I sit a porcelain figurine on the table. I need to go online and look it up to see if it’s valuable. “Well, only you can make that decision. Has it helped with her being here?”

He chuckles. “It’s made it easier to not think about her. That sounds terrible.”

I give him my best sympathetic smile, one that I hope looks genuine. “I think you know what you need to do.”

He nods and averts his eyes to the corner of the ceiling. “Breakups suck.”

“Yeah.” I haven’t had too much experience with breakups, having only one serious boyfriend before you came along, and I don’t plan on experiencing it at anytime in our future. It would kill me.

Beck’s phone rings. He pulls it out of his pocket and glances down at the screen. “Merrick,” he say to me before answering. “Hey, Boss, what’s happening?”

Panic trills through me. I didn’t tell you I was leaving to come here.

“Yeah, she’s right here. Want to talk to her?”

Oh, shit.

Beck hands me the phone with a pointed look that tells me I’m in trouble. “Hi,” I say, closing my eyes, preparing for the onslaught.

“What are you doing?” you ask in a not-quite-accusatory tone that makes me cringe nonetheless.

“Joan said there were tons of kitchen supplies here that she’s planning to auction off on Friday. We could use some of them, so I asked Beck to bring me to sort through them.”

“Really?” One word tells me you’re not buying my story.

“Yep.” I try to sound upbeat, convincing. It
is
true. I’m going to bring some of the kitchen supplies home.

“Rachael, you know I trust you, and I told you last night I’m concerned about this Ingrid thing. I’m going to ask you to please come home and don’t go back there until the guests for the party are gone. I don’t want you to regret anything if your full attention isn’t on preparing for your first event here.”

I brace my forehead on my fingers. I knew you’d be irritated and you’re doing your best to appreciate how important this is to me, but I’m not a child. “This was urgent. Joan’s selling everything on Friday. I had no choice.”

After a brief silence you say, “I understand. I’ll see you tonight when you get back.”

“Okay,” I say, but you’ve hung up. I extend my arm, handing the phone back to Beck. “He’s pissed at me.”

Beck grins. “Ya think?”

I can’t help but laugh at the way he says it. “Oh yeah. He’s not happy with me.”

“He said you didn’t tell him you were leaving. What’s that about?” He gives me a conspiratorial lift of a brow.

Like I’m going to go into this with Beck, your best friend. He’s your confidant, not mine, and I have to respect that. “I was in a hurry, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh. Just don’t put me in the middle of this because I’m your means of transportation. I’ll never take your happy ass off that island again.”

“Idle threats. But don’t worry, everything’s fine.”

I hope everything’s fine. The uneasy feeling in my stomach tells me everything might not be.

Beck and I arrive home after dark and load a golf cart down with boxes we’ve hauled back. I’ve found a cookbook with notes and recipe cards tossed inside. I’m hopeful it contains the key lime pie recipe. That would validate the whole trip to the Weston Plantation.

I found nothing obvious that would get me closer to returning Ingrid’s spirit home, but I don’t even know what I’m even looking for.

Beck maneuvers the golf cart around the curves in the path through the trees leading from the landing site to the hotel. The lights are on in the lower level, and you sit on the patio with a beer, looking livid.

“You’re in deep shit,” Beck murmurs, stopping at the patio gate. “I’ll get all of these boxes inside.”

“Thanks.” My mouth goes dry and I swallow hard, making myself smile as I get out of the cart and meet your disappointed gaze. “Is something wrong?” I ask, the question completely pointless.

You take a pull from your amber beer bottle and set it on the table. “It’s been a long day, Rachael.”

I hate the irritation in your voice. “Did something happen?” I ask.

I sit across from you and you stare at me, unblinking, like you can’t believe I’d even ask that. “Did you forget to do something before you left today?” you finally say. “Like order food—truffles, to be more exact?”

Shit. I forgot. Panic and nervousness edge in, and I feel sick. I don’t want to let Maddie down. I don’t want our first event at Turtle Tear to be a mess. I don’t want to disappoint you. “I’ll do that first thing—”

“It’s too late. Maddie called everywhere trying to find a way to get a delivery here by Saturday. She had to call the Nelsons and ask them to change the menu. They weren’t happy.” You tap your knuckles on the tabletop. “You threw her to the wolves. I spoke to them and smoothed things over, but…” You shake your head. “You have to drop this irrational obsession. It’s causing problems.”

“It’s not irrational or an obsession,” I say, immediately defensive. “And Maddie knows how to handle things. It’s not like she’s incapable of dealing with people.”

Beck tramples by with three large boxes. “Ignore me.”

We watch him disappear inside. “It’s not about her capabilities,” you say. “It’s about you leaving and dumping everything in her lap.” You throw a hand in the air. “I know it was one day and it had to be done before Joan sells everything off, but you didn’t even tell me you were going.” Your eyes narrow and flash with hurt and anger.

“I’m sorry.” The words aren’t enough. “I should’ve found you and told you.”

“You didn’t want to,” you say, taking a long sip of beer. “You didn’t want me to tell you not to go.”

I shove my chair back and stand. “You’re not my father or my keeper, Merrick. I can come and go as I please.” My lips tremble, my subconscious trying to hold back the words forcing their way out next. “It’s my island, remember?”

It’s as if my words were my hand and I smacked you across the face with them. Eyes wide and jaw clenched, you clear your throat. “Of course I remember.”

I shouldn’t have said that. I should apologize, but I’m so furious with you, I’m shaking. “I’m spending the night in the tree house. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Quickly, I stride into the hotel and collect a change of clothes and the key, expecting you to follow me, to beg me to talk to you, but you don’t.

Back outside, you sit still and stoic, drinking your beer. The fountain drips water lazily behind you, needing to be filled. Something else on my to-do list that I failed to get done. I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned it.

“Good night,” I say, walking past you and out the gate. Beck hefts the last of the boxes from the golf cart. “Thanks,” I tell him. “I’m taking the cart.” I get in and drive off, my head spinning and aching, my heart swollen with sadness.

In one spontaneous move, I’ve angered you, I’ve let down Maddie, and I’ve put our first event at risk of failure.

You’re not the only one disappointed in me.

I can’t sleep. My eyes won’t close—they demand to be focused on the beam across the ceiling where you etched a heart with R.D. + M.R. in the middle. Our initials right beside Ingrid’s and Archibald’s from so many years ago, the beam salvaged from the pool cloister before we renovated it.

What if I’ve done irreparable damage to our relationship? You’re more important that a ghost. How could I risk what we have by doing something I knew would upset you?

I flip to my side and stare at the dark sky over the tree line through the open window. An aching throbs relentlessly behind my eyes. The image of you sitting on the patio, disappointed and disapproving, won’t leave me. How could I have done this to us?

I miss my best friend, Shannon, but she and I have grown apart ever since the night you took me away and brought me here. She doesn’t know our real story, and she never will. She doesn’t understand how I can be so in love with you so quickly and just move here, leaving everything behind.

I don’t have her to talk to anymore.

I had you, but you won’t listen. Won’t believe.

You don’t understand, and that leaves me feeling so alone and hollow inside. I thought we were past all of the misunderstandings. Maybe there will always be this mountain between us to climb. I know you’re
challenged
—to say the least—when it comes to relationships and communication, but tonight it didn’t even seem like you were trying to understand me.

There was nothing but…
betrayal
in your eyes.