A Shore Thing (26 page)

“Raaaarrr!”

One of the main doors rattled as it opened, slamming shut seconds later. Tidal Wave spun around, both arms—and that fry pan—stuck in the air like he was under arrest. I stretched up on my tiptoes to see who had saved my life.

“There she is! Callie the hiker? Or huntress, perhaps?” Natalia stepped into the hall in her traditional suit and heels, a teasing smile belying the accusation behind her probing questions. “What would be the proper title for someone allegedly hiding in the bushes of a town council member’s home?”

Tidal Wave lowered the pan and cast me a quizzical eye. “Stalker?”

I brushed back stray hairs that had slipped down around my face, working to keep the grin on my face from fading. “Hello, Natalia.”

Her red lips stretched into a smile. “Callie.”

I glanced at Tidal Wave who winked in a show of solidarity before he turned toward Natalia and lifted one of his big round hands in a wave. “Nice to see you again, Ms. Medina.”

He exited the way Natalia entered. The door clicked behind him. “Not used to seeing you here on Sundays, Natalia.” I resumed straightening the game cabinet. Plastic Candy Land people cavorted with Monopoly symbols and it must stop.

“Well, actually, I drove up here hoping to talk with you.” Natalia strolled across the dining hall, dodging tables and chairs. “Quite a picture of you in the paper. Have you heard much backlash?”

I frowned. “Can’t say that. No.”

Natalia joined me in my quest to retrieve wayward fake money. She stacked the hundreds while I, ironically, chased after ones. “Because the board sure has been chatting about it.”

I froze. “Are you saying they’re concerned, Natalia? Because you should reassure them that SOS is doing well. I’m doing well. The campaign is moving forward.” A shrug drew my shoulders upward. “Nothing to be worried over.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Her face said otherwise. “I wonder. Have you thought about how your involvement in what is . . . hmm . . . in what is becoming a heated campaign might reflect on the camp?”

Her question hung between us. Even as my back stiffened in defense, though, I could not deny that I had not thought about that until this morning as I recapped the weekend in my mind. Hadn’t even considered how leading a fight for the Kitteridge property might affect anyone other than myself. At least not how anyone might be affected
adversely.

I guess I’d always viewed my passion for this open space as altruistic in nature, something for the community at large. While I knew that those who wanted to wrest the property from the Kitteridges would be none too happy about this fight, I never thought this campaign could cast a negative glow on anybody.
Including my family.

But that’s not the point. I hadn’t considered the affect of negative press, and as a board member she certainly had. And although I had successfully dodged answering direct questions about the night Eliot snapped that hideous picture of me, my heart knew the truth. No matter how often I justified my actions with suspicions over who attended that meeting, the truth remains that I had trespassed on private property.

A shudder chilled me. I’d been caught not just by a reporter, but also by Gage. Being away from home and the frenzy over the campaign, that reality of my brazenness weighed down my shoulders like an iron cape.

“I didn’t know what to expect going into this, Natalia. The people of this town love the Kitteridge property and, I don’t know, it seemed like a slam-dunk idea at the time.”

Natalia wore a look of deep contemplation. “Have the donations come in to support that?”

“Well, there have been many. The problem is there’s a deadline and—I don’t even want to think about this—but if money doesn’t flow in faster, we will have failed.”

“I see. And then what?”

“I move far, far away.” Natalia’s mouth popped open and I laughed. “I’m kidding, of course. I haven’t really let my mind go there, Natalia. I can’t. Not yet.”

“May I make an observation, Callie?”

Here it comes. Would it be acceptable to tell the camp’s board chair no? “Sure.”

“You are a gutsy woman. I’ve been impressed with how you defy convention and follow that beat of your heart. Thomas paid you an enormous compliment recently when he told me how tirelessly you work for this camp, and how much the children love you. He said it was a shame you did not get more time with them.”

Thomas told Natalia that? About me?

“As someone who I’ve observed to be quite remarkable about thinking outside the box, I would encourage you to do the same thing about this quest you are leading up. As you reluctantly noted, the money necessary to purchase the property may be too little too late. It’s a shame really, but a possible reality as well.”

I swallowed back creeping disappointment even while fighting off the possibility that we could lose.

Natalia took hold of my free hand with both of hers. I’d never seen her be so . . . so . . . motherly. I struggled with a sense that she had something to say but was not being forthright about it. “Be open to what God has in store, Callie. It may or may not be as you hope, and yes, I absolutely believe in the power of prayer, but what will be, will be. It’s God’s will we should all be praying for. Wouldn’t you agree?”

It may or may not be as you hope.
Starting a business fresh out of college with soaring dreams and idealistic expectations made me understand the truth of Natalia’s words. I had let go of all the disappointment that came with losing those hopes to Justin, though, hadn’t I? Or maybe not. Maybe the memory of dashed dreams had lingered.

Natalia watched, waiting for me to say something so I nodded in agreement, still nursing the suspicion that she had more to say—but wouldn’t. The idea continued to niggle at me. Were her admonitions really all for me? Or maybe I was being too obstinate to recognize God staring me down. If he wanted to do so by way of a woman with a not-a-hair-out-of-place updo who wore nothing but wool blend suits, he could. He was God. He could do whatever he wanted to make his point.

GAGE

AMELIA STROLLED INTO CHEZ Rafe fifteen minutes late wrapped in a gypsy skirt, her rubber slippers flapping across the restaurant’s burnished pavers. “Sorry to have kept you waiting, Gage.” She slipped into her seat and plopped a sketch pad, some files, and a case of pencils on the table.

“Do you eat here often?” As soon as he said the words, Gage had to stifle the gasp that caught in his throat. The bar scene had never been his thing, but there he was offering a variation of a standard pickup line, to a woman who reminded him of his little sister, no less.

To her credit, Amelia didn’t blanch. “Actually, yes, I do.” She looked at an approaching waiter. “Good evening, Terrance.”

He kissed her on both cheeks like they were in France. “Amelia! How are you, darling?”

“I’m doing well, love.” She gestured to Gage. “I’d like you to meet Gage Mitchell, architect extraordinaire.”

With all the drama of a beginning acting student, Terrance pressed his fingertips into his chest. “An architect! How
fabulous.
Working on any projects around here?”

Gage ignored the waiter’s appraising stare. “I am.” He took a sip of water. “Transforming the Kitteridge property. Know it?”

The exaggerated smile on the man’s face shrunk considerably. He glanced at Amelia and then back at Gage. “I’m afraid I do.” He pursed his lips and paused, glancing around the restaurant as if to reformulate what he might say next. He took in a quick breath through his nose, his eyes continuing to focus anywhere but on them. “What can I get you both?”

Amelia smiled at him, unaffected by their waiter’s countenance change. “You mustn’t react that way, Terrance.” She tsked-tsked. “Gage here has put together a sustainable design that, eventually, the community will love.”

Terrance stood stick straight, unable to make eye contact with Gage. “Perhaps. Now if there’s nothing I can get you from the bar, I will return in a moment to take your orders.” He spun away, his shoulders more tense than a new wooden fence.

Amelia turned to Gage. “I see you’re quite the popular guy around here.” She laughed lightly as if attempting to lessen the sting.

He shrugged. “Saw the welcome wagon riding down my street the other day, but all the driver did was spit on my lawn.”

Amelia nearly choked on ice. She laughed so loud that several nearby diners glanced uneasily at their table. “You almost made me get my files wet!” She laughed with abandon, apparently unworried about the attention she garnered. She and Suz could be good friends.

“Speaking of files, I’m here to answer your questions.” He paused. “Would you like to take a look at the menu first?”

She waved him off. “Nope. Already know what I’m having.”

Gage smiled. “All right. I do too.”

She held up her hand and Terrance came running. His stance had softened slightly, but he still appeared to have trouble making eye contact. They gave him their orders and he darted into the kitchen.

Amelia opened a file, pulled a pencil from her case, and looked at Gage. “Now, I’ve looked over the DD set carefully, Gage, and I definitely have some questions for you.”

Gage nodded, knowing rendering consultants often flashed their claws at this point in the process. Less of this happens when renderers were working from construction documents—but he hadn’t gotten to those yet and Redmond was hot to get this rendering completed for the upcoming ad campaign.

He nodded. “Shoot.”

“Love the condo design, so free-flowing and all, but what especially intrigued me was the way you have structural support going through the middle of several floors of showers.”

Gage kept his face neutral. “Like that, do you?”

“Oh, yes. Nice design, but where are you going to place those drains, I wonder?”

He leaned forward and clasped his hands on the table. “The ceiling?”

She laughed. “I take it you’ll be fixing that.”

He unclasped his hands. “I’m sure you are aware that you are working from the early schematics. The roofs haven’t been worked out, windows still need detailing, haven’t met with the engineer yet to coordinate all the mechanical, structural—”

“I get it. Okay. Still more to do.”

Terrance arrived with their salads. “Pepper?” Just how did the waiter manage to so evenly grind pepper onto Gage’s salad without looking?

Amelia tasted her salad. “I’d be remiss not to mention that in Plan A’s elevation, you’re missing a chimney. Is your client going to just have to deal with the bellowing smoke or—”

“Tell you what. Why don’t you just draw one in and we’ll go with that.”

She closed one eye and assessed him like he was one of her paintings. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

He shrugged. “Not really, like I said there are still many details to work out. Guess you’re going to have to improvise.”

She tipped her glass. “You’re on, but we most definitely will have to stay in touch. If you don’t watch out, Gage-man, I might have to put you in my speed dial.”

She threw a smile at him, and he could see a glimpse of her tongue resting on the underside of her top lip. Queasiness turned his stomach. He wanted to kick himself under the table, hoping she hadn’t mistaken his banter for something romantic. Reading a woman’s signals never did come easy for him stretching all the way back to Franny Holmes in sixth grade. He’d taken her frequent phone calls asking for help with math to mean she wanted to go out with him, when all she really wanted was—help with math.

And Callie. She bristled when he came near, but when he’d kissed her underneath that ledge at Jamison’s place, there was no mistake in the soft way she responded. Her faint groan still reverberated in his ears and the confusion in her eyes continued to melt him. One day soon he wanted to find out what was behind all that fight she had in her.

Amelia the artist sat across from him, a smoky smile lounging across her face. “That all right with you?”

He answered her with the professionalism she deserved. “Call me during office hours, and I’ll be glad to answer your questions.”

By the way her grin reduced, he figured he had not given her the answer she was after.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Natalia’s admonishment to seek God’s will replayed in my head as I scooted across the Kitteridge property on my way to Sheila’s house. The waters below had taken on a blue-green cast in the afternoon sun, making me think of the sea glass I’d collected over the years. Something touched me about the way an ordinary bottle came away beautiful after churning through chilly, salty waters. I’d felt tossed around lately too, or to be honest, more like the past few years.

The gentle music of the waves drew me, making me want to linger awhile on the great cliff overlooking the sea. Natalia had told me to be open to what God had in store and she was right. That’s really what I should be seeking in everything I did, and yet, the thought scared me. Maybe God had no intention of blessing this campaign. Maybe he didn’t care about such trivial things, not with so much human suffering to handle.

Or worse, maybe God would punish me for not seeking his will first before opening my big mouth to Ruth. If only I had been patient and prayed and sought his advice, this whole thing could have turned out much differently. I knew that the moment June Kitteridge came to see me with her sad tale. Guilt over having already set a campaign in motion gnawed at my heart.