A Shore Thing (35 page)

Suz: They’re talking about you. Do you know Amelia?

An invisible pull, like a tight wire moving upwards, tugged on Gage’s brow.

Yes.

Suz: She’s supposed to distract you from all this. Gross. (Hope they don’t discover me here.) Redmond’s niece. Did you know that?

Gage ground his teeth.

Didn’t work. Not interested.

Suz: Redmond thinks you’re squeaky clean, but that you ask too many questions. Says he wants to see plans finalized soon. Wait a second.

Gage made himself breathe, otherwise the fuming anger rising in him might have made him ill.

Suz: Henry says no worries. He’s made sure that all council members are on his team. Once you turn in plans, they will be okayed right away.

Gage let out a sarcastic sigh. “Of course they will.” He sent a final text to Suz.

Thanks. Off to the town council to drop off plans. Will see you at home.

He set his phone onto the passenger seat and looked out to the horizon. “You’ve really got to be a better judge of character, Mitchell.” He shook his head. “Pretty desperate of you to take on this job before investigating it thoroughly.”

But what could he expect? When this job landed in his lap, he moved on it with little forethought, the same thing the mysterious Henry had accused Redmond of doing. Strangely enough, Gage had considered this job, this new company of his, as his way of setting down roots on a sure thing. He started his truck and began driving the downhill. The only thing he was sure about now was that after today, he’d have a lot of extra time on his hands.

Chapter Thirty-seven

I made it through Day One and the campers did not appear to notice the heavy hearts in the camp staff. Squid, for his part, led by example by not letting on that this would be his last weekend of spring camp. The kids laughed and carried on during the Friday afternoon game: Are you Rock? Or are you Sand? They chose sides, sang songs, and tried not to be tricked into changing sides.

Saturday morning rolled around, and usually news of whatever happened down the hill did not make it to me until after the weekend. Usually, but not today. Luz laid the paper down in front of me, first thing this morning,
bless her heart.
My eyes swept over one of the headlines:
Tim Kitteridge Hospitalized.
The sub-head read:
Has the SOS Team Gone Too Far?

This was not unexpected. Eliot Hawl’s article went on to say that a “reputable source” confirms that Callie Duflay had been receiving unsigned, threatening notes and that Tim Kitteridge, who suffers from dementia, had been seen delivering envelopes to her home.

Good grief. Apparently the editors weren’t too concerned with their paper’s transformation into a tabloid. Didn’t matter anyway now. The campaign was over. I confirmed this via phone this morning. Even if all the pledges made came in, we’d still be thousands of dollars short, and with only a week to go, what hope was there?

I shook off my disappointment while standing to the side of Saturday’s morning game. The kids had taken turns at both the sand hill and the rock climbing wall, and Squid was working to bring down both the noise and chaos level.

“We all have to look out for weaknesses in our foundations,” he told them. “Once, I was sitting on a piano bench and it crashed right out from under me. I fell on my bottom in front of my friends.” The kids snickered. “That bench was made with flimsy materials, and that’s how our lives will be when we don’t make sure that our foundations are strong.”

Squid’s eyes brushed with mine and I nodded, offering him support. As he continued with his message, before leading into instructions for lunch, Natalia sidled up to me wearing camo pants, a linen blouse, and green scarf tied around her neck. I wondered when the safari would take place. “Hello, Callie.”

“Natalia.”

She folded her arms at her chest and watched Squid while speaking to me. “It has certainly been a rough week.”

“It has.”

She turned to me, her red lipstick blazing in the sun. “And for you personally, as well as Squid.”

My eyes found the ground. “Yes. Tough.”

She released her arms and touched my shoulder. “The SOS campaign is over, isn’t it?”

It wasn’t a question. Natalia was a tough businesswoman, always had been. She probably knew for weeks what I had only hours to digest. A million thoughts darted through my mind, how I might have worked harder or been smarter, maybe this wouldn’t be just another failure to add to my growing list. I closed my eyes. At least Gage will be guiding the project, making it somewhat palatable.

Tidal Wave rang the lunch bell and the kids scrambled to their feet.

She touched my shoulder again. “You did what you could, Callie, but it was a tough road from the start.” She dropped her hand to her side. “I’m here to discuss camp business with the board. With Squid’s sudden departure imminent, we’re going to have to make some tough decisions.”

I let her comments sink into my mind.

“Listen, Callie, depending on what information is tossed about at the meeting, well, I’d like to meet with you, perhaps on Monday. Can you make the time?”

I pulled it together. “Sure. No problem, Natalia.”
Won’t have much else to do with the campaign defunct.

She turned to go, then stopped. “By the way, Luz mentioned you know the architect on the Kitteridge property. Friend of yours?”

Hearing reference to Gage, especially when my thoughts had sunk so low, sent a ripple through me. The one bright spot in all of this mess. “Yes, I know Gage Mitchell. He’s a friend.”

“Gage Mitchell,” she repeated. “I think I can remember that. See you Monday.”

She left me to wonder if she had a remodel in the works. For the rest of the afternoon, the kids and counselors played an elaborate game of hide and seek that pitted guys against girls, cabins against cabins. Squid had disappeared for much of that time, but I hadn’t looked for him knowing he had much to contemplate. When everyone had reassembled on the lawn, he reappeared and took the stage where worship leaders had begun leading campers in rounds of “Jesus Loves Me.”

Squid raised the bullhorn. “Everybody hap-py?”

The kids whistled and cheered, “Yes!”

“Everybody full from lu-unch?”

More cheers. “Yes!”

“Everybody wi-ise?”

Some of the kids cracked up, a few whistled, some shouted, “Yes.”

Squid lowered the bullhorn and surveyed the crowd of children until all the noise died down. He raised the megaphone again. “You know, the wise man, he built his house on the rock. He says: ‘The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock.’”

He quieted, his face serious as the evening news. “I want to be like that—how about you? You gonna build your life on what you hear on TV? Or on what your best friend tells you? Or are you gonna hear the word, learn the word, and live the word. ’Cuz that’s what building on the rock means. It means that if you put into practice what God says, you will be like the wise man whose house did not fall.”

I knew that Squid spoke from a fractured place within himself. He believed he had veered off the course he’d planned for himself and acted unwise.

Couldn’t we all relate to that at some time in our lives? I pushed around the dirt with my foot, wishing I could stay up here on this hill and never have to face the community or my failures again. Then again, hadn’t I reminded Squid that it’s the Lord who determines our steps? Who am I to dish out advice to others but ignore it for myself?

GAGE

GAGE SAT ON HIS front porch, wind tickling his ears. He’d wanted to relax in the shade like this since the day he moved in, but until now, had not had the chance.

Suz leaned through the doorway, looking better with a few days rest and some needed perspective. Marc’s wife Lizzie called and offered to fly her and Jer out to their lake house for some R&R in the summer, and just receiving the call had brightened his little sister. “I made some lemonade. Camille Sweet from down the road dropped off a box of lemons. Want a glass?”

“Sure. Sounds great.” Homegrown foods might be an option worth looking into, now that he had zero income to expect. Of course, there was that phone call . . .

Suz brought two glasses onto the porch and plopped into the chair next to him. “How does it feel to be free as a bird?”

He took a sip, biting back the tartness, hoping his eyes didn’t water enough for Suz to notice. “Stressful.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“That’s not entirely true. Initially, when I dropped off the approved designs at Redmond’s office, I couldn’t believe I was actually doing it. What am I saying—
he
couldn’t believe I was doing it. But he confirmed what I suspected.”

“Which was?”

“That the owners of the property had less than a week to make payment on a large loan or they would be forced to sell the property to a guy named Henry, who owns HMS Properties. He would then turn around and sell it to Redmond. Everybody wins—Henry makes a mint, Redmond stands to make his money off the sale of finished home and office condos, even the realtor will be raking it in.”

“Everyone except the little old couple who didn’t know better when they signed that loan.”

Gage grimaced. “Had to endure a head full of swearing when I told Redmond, but you know what? I’m glad I left. Glad I had the guts to do it first this time.”

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t believe the way they were carrying on in the restaurant, pointing fingers. Don’t they know the walls have ears?” She laughed at her own joke. “And did you really go out with Redmond’s niece?”

He gave his sister a mock glare. “Please. It was a business meeting.”

Suz laughed lightly. “Her uncle sounded mighty peeved that you wouldn’t cross that line.” She held up her glass. “Cheers to you, big brother.”

He tipped his glass to her before taking another sip.

Suz looked over the neighborhood. “So what are you going to do now that you’ve pulled out of the Kitteridge project? Put an ad in the paper? Knock on some contractors doors? What?”

His brows dipped. “Can’t say that I know yet. I’ve been paid for the completed construction docs, thankfully, so we’ll have that to survive on for awhile. It’s kind of hard to run a business, though, with no clients.”

She peered at him. “No plans to pick up and move the company, then?”

“Nope. None.” Even to him it sounded ludicrous. Half the town probably hated him for his involvement in the Kitteridge project, so what made him think he’d be able to win them over now? No one would know his reasons for pulling out of that project. If anything at all, they’d think he had been fired.

She looked at him sideways. “Really now.”

“What’s that look for?”

Suz shrugged. “Don’t know. Just that you and Callie seem to be pretty tight lately.”

“And?”

“And nothing. It’s cute and, well, I told you so.”

“Told me so
what
?”

She set her glass down. “That you two were perfect for each other, only that you were both too stubborn to acknowledge it; and that if only you would set aside your petty differences, you might look into each other’s eyes and find true love staring back at you.”

Gage’s mouth gaped, his chin dropping forward. “You’re saying you told me all that?”

Suz glanced off toward the horizon. “Well, maybe not in so many words. But isn’t that the real reason you’re so set on staying around here? I mean, I know you like the beach and all, but there are other coastal cities you could move to—if you wanted to, I mean.”

Gage set down his glass on the side table and leaned forward, elbows onto his knees, staring into the clear air. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Yeah, maybe I am.” She paused. “Anyway, I left her a message about some executive decisions I made in her house, so if she calls back, maybe you oughta be the one to answer the phone.”

“Executive decisions?”

“More like design decisions.” She chewed a fingernail. “I hope she likes them, but if she doesn’t I can always repaint.”

“Well, if the work you’ve done inside my place is any indication, I’d bet she’ll be wild about what you’ve done for her.”

The lines in her forehead relaxed. “Oh, and I can’t believe I haven’t told you this yet. I began looking for more steady work, something that will help us both until you can get more clients, so guess what I did yesterday?”

“I’m bad at guessing.”

She waved her hand at him. “Fine. I applied for a job at Hearst Castle.”

He forced a smile. He hated to see her give up her painting to work in the castle’s touristy gift shop or sell lattes from a coffee cart. No shame in that kind of work, just not her calling. “Great. Good for you.”

“I know. They’ve got a ton of restoration projects going on, so I’m hoping to get a spot on the crew for that. Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

He twisted his chin upward. “Restoring the rooms?”

She nodded. “Yeah. So many fine details that need repainting—enough work to last for years.” Suz’s face glowed. Her eyes danced as she talked about the famed castle built by William Randolph Hearst. “Art treasures are in every room!”