A Shore Thing (7 page)

There were no other paint stores for miles, so I turned toward the woman as she attempted to pass by the wet-behind-the-ears sales guy. “Excuse me. I think we have what you need over here.” I tapped the catalog that Greta fretted over. “And it’s low- or no-VOC paint that you’re looking for.” I caught eyes with the salesman. “Trust me, they sell several kinds here.”

“Really?” She rushed over and sat down. Several unruly strands of hair had slipped from her ponytail and swung beneath her diamond-shaped chin.

I gestured toward Greta’s belly. “We’re trying to find the same thing for my little niece or nephew’s nursery.”

The woman, who had moments ago appeared watchful and restrained, gushed over Greta’s impending motherhood. “Oh, I love babies. Is this your first?”

The glow emitting from Greta’s countenance could have lit the room. “Yes, our first. Everybody else in the world thinks we should find out the baby’s gender, but I want to be surprised. How about you? Any children?”

An almost imperceptible shadow dimmed the woman’s smile. “I do.” She cleared her throat and shifted toward me. “So you said you knew what kind of paint I was talking about?”

Her quick change of subject caught me daydreaming. “Y-yes. I think you meant you didn’t want paint with VOCs.”

Greta touched my arm. “What are those anyway?”

I scooted forward. “It means ‘volatile organic compounds’ and they are pollutants that evaporate into the air especially from paints and finishes. They’ve been around forever, but as people have become aware of how bad they can be for us, more and more companies have come up with alternatives.”

The woman nodded, like this was all new. “Wow. I had no idea. I want to surprise my brother by sprucing up his living room, but I knew he’d want the most nontoxic paint I could find. He’s really into all things green.”

Greta laughed. “Your brother sounds just like Callie.” She nodded in my direction. “She’s always giving the rest of us advice on, you know, saving the world and stuff.”

A sharp sigh escaped me. “Who dragged who in here today?”

Greta’s serene smile, highlighted by a sliver of light shining through the side window, would make a charming painting. What’s it like to be that composed all the time? In that up-and-coming motherly way of hers, she gave her complete attention to the harried young woman who shared our table. Greta pushed the catalog she’d been viewing over to her. “See if what you’re looking for is in here. I’m Greta, by the way. This is my sister-in-law, Callie.”

The woman gave us a closed-mouth smile and a single nod. “Thanks. I’m Suzanna. I’m sorry to cut in on you, but I have to get going soon. I appreciate this.” She peered into the catalog.

Greta waved her off. “It’s no problem. I’m in no big hurry these days. My husband will have to do the painting for me anyway.”

Suzanna quirked an eyebrow. “How ‘yucky’ are the fumes? Can a child be nearby? I’ve got my brother’s concerns and, um, a little one’s too.”

I brightened. “No reason to be scared off. Despite their lack of expertise”—I jerked my head toward the doorway that our flirtatious salesman slunk through—”this store has some great choices. It’s not the end of the world if you can’t, but if you can find the no-VOC product in the color you like, you’ll be best off.”

Suzanna’s face relaxed and she continued to thumb through the book. “Thanks so much. Not sure what I would have done without you.”

Greta giggled. “Probably would have bought the wrong paint and had a date for Saturday night.”

Suzanna slid her gaze toward the door. She turned back to me and laughed. “How can I repay you?”

Even I was surprised by the snort that escaped from me. Greta gave a “woot” at my lack of propriety. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I’m in polite company. If this were camp, I’d get an award for a snort like that.

Greta fanned herself and rocked. “So, Suzanna, have you lived in Otter Bay a long time?”

Suzanna kept her eyes on the book in front of her, and her voice took on the air of forced nonchalance. “Um, not really. But my brother has a place here, so my son and I, we’re staying with him for a while.”

Greta stopped. “Your brother anyone we’d know? We’ve been here our whole lives, and it’s growing so fast, but maybe we’ve met him before.”

Suzanna rubbed her lips together as if mulling whether or not to continue this conversation. Why was she being so secretive? She shifted her shoulders as if still weighing her decision to divulge more about her life. “I doubt you’d know him. He’s new in town too. Got here a few weeks before me.” Her eyes flashed at the both of us. They appeared both sad and hopeful at the same time. She breathed in and pasted on a smile. “Anyway, Gage is a good guy—the best big brother a girl could have. Really.”

She might as well have doused me with ice water. How many men named Gage could possibly live in a town as small as Otter Bay? My guess? Not many. Unless of course the Gage Mitchell I’d come to dread didn’t live here at all.

Greta’s touch on my arm broke my wanderings. “I don’t know him, but it looks like you might. Do tell.”

My brow furrowed at my sister-in-law’s hopeful gaze. “Do tell, what? Do I have to know everyone in this bitty town? And isn’t it possible there’s more than one Gage around here?” That came out sharper than I had planned, and let’s face it, that theory was thin at best. Greta’s mouth fell open. She looked at Suzanna, who stared back at her. I hustled to make amends. “Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind, I guess. Didn’t mean to jump on you, Greta. Besides, I know you were only kidding, right?”

Greta wouldn’t look at me. “Suzanna, what’s your brother’s last name?”

Suzanna answered her, but focused on me. “Mitchell. So you two know each other?”

I shrugged her off, hoping my slack jaw wouldn’t give away my distaste for the man. It wasn’t her fault he hoped to tear apart Otter Bay (and rip out my heart while doing so). Besides, this was moot considering my conversation with June this morning. Gage Mitchell’s plans were all but dashed.

I forced a smile. “Not really. We’ve met, but I don’t know him well.”
Thankfully.

The room fell quiet as Suzanna jotted down a couple of numbers from the catalog. She stood and scooted her chair backward, taking her notes with her. “I just realized the time, ladies. I’m going to come back for my paint when I have time to wait for it. Thanks again for your help. It was really good meeting you both.” She started to go, then stopped and spun around. “And I’ll be sure and tell my brother ‘hi’ for you, Callie.”

Greta stared me down.

I gave her a smirk. “What?”

She glanced toward the door, still looking like a painted vision with light streaming across her body. She stroked her swollen belly. “I’m not used to seeing you all fired up over a guy.” She swung her face toward me, her eyes taunting me like a cat’s. “That boy must’ve really said something feisty for you to clam up like that in front of his sister. You’re usually pretty free with your opinions. Something tells me you didn’t want to share this one.”

I chuckled and nodded too many times in a row. “Practicing your parental psychology, I see. That’s good. That’s good. You’ll be all practiced up once little Petunia or Oregano gets here.”

“So happy you’re finally coming around about my choice of names.”

I stood and rolled my eyes. “Please. Can we go now?”

Greta didn’t budge. “I haven’t picked my color yet.”

“Have Bobby bring you back. He’ll help you pick the right one.”

She shut the catalog and batted her eyes. “I want to know all about Gage Mitchell first.”

“Not happening.”

“Then I’m not going anywhere.”

I fished around in my bag for the sports bottle I’d filled with water before we left this morning and plunked it on the table in front of her. “Drink this.”

She snorted. “I will not. You just want my bladder to fill so I’ll have to get up. You are a
naughty
young lady.”

“Again with the parenting!”

“So then, who’s Gage Mitchell?”

The paunchy paint salesclerk darkened the doorway. “Mr. Mitchell? He’s that guy who builds all that weird eco stuff.”

We slid our gazes toward the door.

He went on. “Yeah, he came in here talking about natural paints and asking if we had a green directory in the store. I think he draws up houses and such. Anyway, he wanted to talk to the manager about providing all that stuff for some big project and I said, ‘Whoa! Hold it right there. We have
normal
wall coverings in this store.’”

Greta leaned her head to one side, surveying him. “So you never told your boss?”

He puffed out his chest. “Nah. Didn’t need to bother him with that.”

I wondered if I should bother because something told me this kid probably wouldn’t be working here long anyway. Then again, why did every attempt to preserve health have to be mocked? I set my gaze on him, taking a quick look at his name tag. “Andy, is it?”

He nodded, his chest puffed out farther than a wind sail.

“Well, Andy, first off, this entire catalog . . .” I tapped the book on the table. “. . . has thousands of paints that are safer and healthier than the
normal
everyday paint you’re so fond of. Not only is it better for our environment, but it’s better for all of us. Did you know that VOCs can cause headaches and nausea? Why use something that can hurt you when we have better products now?”

He gave me the classic deer in headlights look, his eyes so wide that I feared his pupils would disappear into the whites. Tempted as I was to poke my forefinger into the air and shout, “Furthermore!” I bit back my voice and softened the approach. “Listen, caring for God’s handiwork is a cool responsibility, and I’m sure your boss wouldn’t be too thrilled to learn not only that you oppose doing so, but that you’ve also turned away customers with your negative attitude.”

He straightened further, pulling his neck back so far that his round chin developed a second one beneath it. We watched as his cherry cheeks inflamed to the color of beets. He left the room without a word.

Greta patted the table, her laughter hushed. “That’s the Callie I know and love. You go!”

I dusted my hands against one another, like making a tortilla. “Somebody has to teach the young ’uns.”

Greta’s cheek quirked. “I do have one question: Does Suzanna’s brother happen to be the architect on the Kitteridge property?”

With a toss of my bag over one shoulder, I moved to the door and gave her an are-you-coming-or-not look. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Huh.” Greta continued to lounge and she stared after me. “After that little lecture you gave young Mr. Andy a minute ago, one might think you and the eco-conscious architect were actually on the same side.”

Eco-friendly or not, my dear sister-in-law couldn’t have been farther off base.

GAGE

GAGE TOOK A LONG sip of hot coffee, conscious of the attention his precocious nephew was attracting. Suz had appeared so worn and drawn last night that he had decided not to wake her and instead to whisk Jeremiah out of the house early and feed him some breakfast. He figured something shaped like a mouse with big ears would do the trick. His sister didn’t have to know that he would be using a “buy one get one free” coupon to do so.

“Well, would you look at who we have here. Aren’t you a precious little thing?” Gage recognized her as Holly, the young manager of the rugged diner with a view of the sea. Word was that she helped her aunt run the Red Abalone Grill.

Jer put down the stubby crayon he’d been coloring his paper menu with and showed Holly three fingers. “I’m four.”

She smiled wide at him. “You are? Wow. I was gonna say three, so you’re a bigger boy than I thought.” Holly pretended to assess Jeremiah, tilting her head to one side and tapping the end of her pencil on her chin. “I know you’re a big guy and all, but somethin’ tells me you still like your pancake to have a face on it. Am I right?”

A sheen of juice dribbled down his chin, but he lifted it toward her anyway with unashamed aplomb. “You’re right!”

She tossed him a smile, then looked to Gage. “And what can I get you?”

Gage slid the coupon toward the edge of the table. “Two eggs and rye toast.”

“That it? That’s not enough for a man to be eatin’, if you ask me.” Holly grabbed up the coupon without a glance and stuck it in her apron pocket. “I’ll make it three and add on a side of hash browns on the house—Jorge makes amazin’ hash browns.”

Gage opened his mouth to protest, but she had already spun away, all curls and bounce as she went. It didn’t look like much could stop her except for perhaps an empty coffee mug to refill or meal to deliver.

He took another sip of that coffee wishing he’d asked for a refresher and watched as several women and one man gathered together near the entrance to the restaurant, each talking over the other. The man stood just outside the circle, hands in his pockets, jangling spare change.

The proprietor of the diner, an older woman with energy to match her niece’s, grabbed a handful of menus and guided them all to a table in the rear. He might not have paid them much mind if it hadn’t been for their loud, animated conversation, which was a sharp contrast to the previously quiet morning.

Jer hummed as he went back to his drawing. Without warning, the boy glanced at Gage catching his uncle mid-sip. “Where’s my sand dollar?”

He asked as if curious, not demanding. Gage noticed little things like that about his nephew, and each time the revelations tugged at him. “It’s in the garage at home, drying on my workbench. Remember?”

Jer smacked himself on the side of the mouth. “Oh, yeah. I remember. Where’d you get it ’gain?”

Gage put his empty mug down, and without hesitation Holly showed up, filled it, and scooted away. He clenched his thumb and forefinger around the handle. “Well, I was walking on the beach, and I found it buried in the sand. Do you remember what I told you?” Jer rested both elbows on the table and plopped his face into open hands. Though Gage feared the boy’s interest might soon run out, he surprised him by staring at his uncle, rapt. “It was like a miracle to find that unbroken sand dollar there so late in the day. Especially among the rocks. Sand dollars usually live in very soft sand.”