Always You: A Lilac Bay Novel (Friends with Benefits) (12 page)

“We decided to move back the Fish Fry.”

He turned to face me. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. It was Jenny’s idea.”

He shook his head, turning back toward the water. “I can’t believe they went for it. Has the Fry ever been on a different night?”

“Not according to your grandmother. But it was either that or move up the flower festival, so—”

He barked out a laugh. “Oh, God, did she murder whoever came up with that idea?”

“She came pretty close.”

“You’re going to have your work cut out for you on that committee. You know that, right?”

“Yes, Andrew. Seeing as how I’ve known these people my entire life, I’m pretty sure I can guess how they’ll act.” I watched his profile for a long moment. He was grimacing slightly against the wind, but he looked happy, carefree. The way he always did out on the water. Hell, the way he pretty much did all of the time. “That’s why I nominated
you
, ass. I was hoping you would help me.”

He shook his head. “It’s not my thing, Riley. You know that.”

“Why? You were more than happy to help me put the application together.”

His eyes flickered over to mine. “That was different.”

“Why? Why is helping me any different than helping the town?”

He shrugged. “Because you don’t make a big deal out of it. You don’t expect anything from it.”

“And the town would?”

He snorted. “Of course they would. I would never hear the end of it. My grandmother would bring it up every time she saw me, how proud she was that I'd finally decided to get involved. And my mom would do the same. My dad would be even better, because he would make sure to always add that he never really thought I had it in me.” He made a face. “Sorry if none of that sounds very fun to me.”

“Have you ever thought that they wouldn’t make such a big deal out of you getting involved if you did it more than every once in a blue moon?”

This time when he turned to look at me, his eyes were flashing. “Drop it, Riley.”

“Andrew, it’s silly. You’re so good at so many things and—”

“I said to drop it.”

I sighed, looking away from him out to the bay at my right, the mainland a greenish-gray line in the distance. We’d had this argument before, of course. It was, by far, the thing that frustrated me most about my best friend. He took the expectations of his family so personally, and I could never understand why. They were crazy about him, every one of them. Sure, his dad might be a little demanding at times, but all you had to do was watch the way Frank Powell looked at his two sons to know that he loved them. I wondered if Andrew had any idea how lucky he was.

We made the rest of the ride in silence. Andrew kept close to the shoreline, hoping to avoid the worst of the wind. Soon we had left the town far behind, the scenery of the island to our left giving way from shops and hotels to neighborhood streets and then farms and, eventually, the thick rocky forests of the western part of the island. Andrew came in even closer to the shore so he wouldn’t miss the miniscule inlet that served the few residences down here. A gray dock jutted out from a small clearing, a gravel road stretching off into the woods.

We tied up at the dock and Andrew jumped out, holding out a hand to help me from the boat. His fingers were icy—he’d forgotten his mittens again—but he squeezed my hand briefly before letting go, a sign that I was forgiven.

I was glad for the implied permission not to worry about our argument. I had enough worries swirling through my mind as we made our way up the gravel road though the trees. After a few hundred yards it intersected with State Highway 335 coming in from town. It was kind of strange to have a highway that no one was allowed to drive on, but this bit of asphalt was maintained by the state for emergency vehicle access. It had the distinction of being the least traveled road in the state, and it would have been a thirty-minute walk from town to this point, through a lot of hills and rocky forests. I was grateful Andrew suggested the boat.

We passed Lester’s rundown looking farm and a few small clapboard houses. This was my mother’s neighborhood, way out here in the middle of nowhere, far from prying eyes of neighbors. Far from her daughters.

We both paused in front of the double wide, looking up at its facade.

It looked about the same as the last time I was here, three weeks ago now. The yard was neat, the garbage cans stacked against the garage, her bike leaning against the light blue siding. Nothing about this house advertised the unhappy memories I had experienced inside.

This wasn’t the house that I had grown up in. We'd lost that place, the little brick ranch down the street from the Powells, a few years after my dad died. A few years after my mom stopped being able to take care of us.

“You okay?” Andrew asked.

I sighed, shaking my arms out to my sides a little, as if I was about to start a race, not walk into my mother’s house. “Sure.”

He followed me up the gravel walkway. She had planted tulips once, and though I was pretty sure she hadn’t done much to them in several seasons, a few had managed to survive, pushing their green heads up through the dirt. There was probably a metaphor in there somewhere, but I was feeling too sick about going in think about it.

I knocked on the door. I could hear the TV from here, not blaring but loud enough to carry through the thin walls. I tried again.

“Mom?”

When she still didn’t answer I sighed and pulled my keys from my pocket, telling myself not to worry.
She’s just asleep. Or too drunk to hear you over the TV. Nothing bad is waiting in there.

I told myself that, but it was a lot harder to believe it.

She wasn’t on the couch when I opened the door, and my fear kicked up a notch. The room was messy, as I had expected it to be, a pizza box and a few Chinese cartons on the table.

“At least she’s eating,” I muttered. Maybe if I talked I wouldn’t be able to hear the panicked whispers in my head. Maybe if I moved, if I acted, I would stop the certainty that this time, I wouldn’t find her passed out. That this time it would be worse.

Andrew flipped off the TV as I moved into the kitchen. I knew it was more likely that I would find her in her bedroom, but I was a coward. It was dark back there and I had no idea what I might find. So instead I walked into the relatively bright kitchen. Dishes were stacked in the sink, crumbs all over the counter. Definitely not the worst I had ever seen it, but not as clean as Rebecca claimed it to have been last week.

“You want me to—” Andrew asked, nodding his chin toward the hallway. I shook my head. As tempting as it was, I wasn’t going to make him go find my mother. I flipped the light switch and nothing happened, the hallway still dark.

“I’ll get that,” Andrew said, heading back to the kitchen in search of a light bulb. For a second I considered calling out, asking him not to leave me to find what was behind her door all on my own.

Grow up, Riley
, I told myself. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been in this position before. I took a deep breath, straightening my shoulders, and knocked on her door.

No answer.

This time I didn’t give her a second chance. I pushed the door open to reveal a dark bedroom, the curtains pulled tightly against the daylight. The bed was a mess of un-tucked sheets and a rumpled quilt. And there in the middle, fast asleep, was my mother, snoring.

I felt a rush of relief so strong I had to lean into the doorjamb. Snoring meant breathing.

It took me only a few seconds to get myself together so I could approach the bed. I had encountered my mother passed out enough times to know the drill. I needed to turn the lights on, to get her on her side, needed to make sure her breathing was steady and regular. If I could wake her up I would feel a lot better. It was when she was unresponsive that things got really scary.

“Mom,” I said, proud of how steady my voice was. “Wake up, Mom.”

I moved to shake her shoulder but stopped when her eyes opened, blinking up at me. “Riley?”

“It’s me, Mom. How are you feeling?”

She groaned, rubbing her hands over her face. “I’m tired. Head hurts.”

“I’ll get you some painkillers and a glass of water.”

“Tylenol,” she mumbled, pulling the blankets up to her neck. “Works better.”

And it’s dangerous for your liver to mix acetaminophen with that much alcohol
, I thought, adjusting her blanket and heading out of the room. A fact the doctor had told me the last time she'd had to be hospitalized for one of these benders.

I found Andrew in the kitchen, throwing away paper plates and empty bottles. “You don’t have to do that,” I said, feeling suddenly tired.

He continued working. “She awake?”

“She was. By the looks of things she’s probably back asleep. But she asked for something for her head, so...” I trailed off, shrugging my shoulders. The exhaustion made my limbs feel heavy, my stomach a little queasy.

“Why don’t you sit for a minute,” he suggested, watching me.

“No, I’m fine.” I straightened and went to the cabinet in search of a clean glass but only found coffee mugs. I sighed. May as well brew a pot of that, too, in case she decided to stay awake for a while. I found the bottle of medicine and filled a mug with water before heading back to her room. Just as I expected, she was snoring again under her covers. I watched for a minute as her thin shoulders moved up and down. Steady. Regular. Then I left the mug and pills on the nightstand and went out to help Andrew clean up.

It only took us twenty minutes to get the place put back together. It was mostly cluttered, not having yet reached the really filthy stage. But she was definitely on that path. She’d been here enough times before for me to see how this pattern played out. First it was a little too much beer at night, passing out on the couch instead of her bed. Then she moved onto harder stuff. She stopped showering. Stopped cleaning up after herself. Stopped eating. We weren’t there yet. But we would be, more than likely. I would need to spend more time here, would need to check in on her. Exactly what I needed right now, with television producers on their way to our island.

I wish there was someone else
, I thought.
Someone else to deal with this
.

I felt a rush of guilt as my gaze landed on a picture on top of the television set. I was fifteen there, which meant it had been taken only a year before we lost Dad. A year before my world imploded. A car accident on the mainland on our way home from one of my track meets. I’d been the only one in the car with him. Had to sit there and wait for the ambulance to come, knowing he was gone. We looked so happy in that picture, Rebecca and I with our shining blond hair, our parents smiling behind us.

Who did you have in mind to deal with this problem?
I asked myself, staring at the picture. Rebecca? Should she be leaving her three children to come over here and look after our mother? Or should we be pissed at Dad for dying fourteen years ago? Who, exactly, did I think should come and save me from this?

“Why don’t you get her up, get her in the shower,” Andrew suggested, coming to stand next to me. For a moment I thought he might put a hand on my shoulder, comfort me, but he thought better of it. He knew me too well. “I’ll run the vacuum and make some food. I saw eggs in there when I was cleaning up.”

I nodded. It would be good to know she was clean, to get some food in her. I headed to the hallway, only stopping when I was far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to see my face.

“Thank you, Andrew.”

“It’s no problem, Riley,” he said, his voice gentle and more comforting than any touch could have been. I closed my eyes, letting the sound wash over me. “No problem at all.”

O
n the day
the producers were set to arrive, I woke up to bright blue, cloudless skies. “Thank you, Mother Nature,” I muttered as I looked out my window over the water of the bay. If this weather could hold out for a few more hours, the producer’s first view of our little island should be a breathtaking one.

The weather held. But favors from the universe seemed to end there. I had wanted to spend the morning organizing my notes, preparing for the questions that they would inevitably ask me. Instead, I spent the three hours before their arrival fielding phone calls from citizens all over the island.

“Riley, it’s me, Sherry,” my voicemail said when I got to my desk. “I was just thinking, wouldn’t it be nice for the producers to do a tour of some of the non-touristy businesses on Main Street when they get in? You know, the drug store, Jimmy’s place…maybe a salon?” I rolled my eyes. Sherry was the owner of one of the only two salons on the island.

“Real subtle, there, Sher,” I mumbled as I deleted the message. Unfortunately, there were three more just like it. Chrissy thought the producers might like to see her linen shop.

“It is the oldest surviving soft good business on the entire island, Riley. You told them that, didn’t you sweetie?”

Jerry Brooks thought they might like to come by and see the chicks that had just hatched on his farm. And both Fran and Crystal had called to make sure I brought the camera crew to each of their shops.

“I sell just as much fudge as she does, you know, Riley. It really wouldn’t be right for Fran to pretend to be the most successful shop in town.”

“Dear Lord,” I muttered, erasing the last of the messages.

“What’s wrong?”

I looked up to see Andrew standing in front of my desk, a cup of coffee in his hands.

“From the cafe,” he explained, handing it to me. “I figured you would need it this morning.”

“Thank you,” I said gratefully. “I definitely do.”

“So what was all that?” he asked, gesturing at my phone.

“Oh you, know. The usual. The folks of Lilac Bay being annoying and pushy. What else is new?”

He leaned back on the edge of my desk. “They’re excited.”

“I know. And I’m glad they are. We need to be enthusiastic, all of us. I just hope I don’t have to spend the next two months trying to keep them all from jumping in front of the camera whenever it appears.”

“They’ll get used to it after a while,” he predicted.

“Do they not realize that I’ve had this planned out for a solid week?” I asked him. “Or do they think I was just going to wing it on the most important day of my professional life? I mean, do they know me at all?”

“I’m sure once they calm down a little bit they’ll turn back into their normal supportive selves.”

Unfortunately, my phone rang at that exact moment, earning him a scowl from me, which only made him laugh.

“Want me to get it?” he said.

“No, I can deal with those nut jobs.” I picked up the receiver. “Mayor’s Office, this is Riley speaking.”

“Riley?” a familiar voice asked, and I groaned.

“Iris? Not you too!”

“I just wanted to let you know that if the TV people needed a place to relax and get off their feet, you’re more than welcome to stop by the cafe.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I practically growled.

When I finally managed to get her off the phone, I looked over at Andrew, who appeared to be trying to stifle a laugh.

“You were saying?”

“Actually.” He straightened, rubbing the back of his neck. “I kind of have a favor to ask you.”

“What favor?”

“Uh, see, my brother was wondering if maybe you guys might stop by the restaurant, you know. Grab a bite to eat.”

“Get off my desk, Andrew.”

“He said to tell you that he knows you love David’s desserts so much, and he’s sure the TV people will love them too.”

“Andrew.”

“—So, you know, if you brought them by he’d be sure to give you a box of something to take home with you.”

“Is Edward trying to bribe me with sweets?” I asked.

“Well, not a bribe, not necessarily—”

The phone started to ring again and I directed my irritation at him.

“Go. Away.”

He shot me a sheepish glance before heading across the room towards his own desk, leaving me to deal with whatever annoying neighbor was waiting for me on the phone.

* * *

S
omehow I managed
to get through the morning without killing anyone. I even managed to go through my notes a few times and brief the mayor. Of course, it helped that I set my phone to voicemail. Let them make their requests to the recording.

Around ten-thirty I went to knock on Mayor Jones’s door. “Come in,” he called. I peeked my head around the door to see him hunched over in front of a small mirror, apparently brushing out his mustache.

“We should probably head down soon, sir,” I told him. He looked up at me, his expression full of panic. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, pulling out a monogramed handkerchief and wiping his forehead. “Just the heat.”

It was a balmy sixty degrees out.

“Would you like me to get you some water before we go?”

He slid the mustache comb back in to his pocket, along with the handkerchief, and stood. “No, I’m fine, thank you.”

“We should probably get moving,” I reiterated, looking at my watch. The team was set to arrive in twenty minutes. It would take us less than ten to make the walk, but I wanted to be there early, just in case.

“Okay,” he mumbled, paling in front of my eyes.

“Mayor Jones, what’s the matter?”
Oh, God
, I thought to myself.
Please don’t let him be sick. Not today, please
.

“I’m just a touch—you know.” He laughed weakly and met my eyes. “I think I’ve got a bit of stage fright.”

“But I thought you said you were a great public speaker. All those commercials—”

He actually whimpered a little as he sank back into his chair. “Those were decades ago.”

“Decades?”

“Baby food,” he moaned, burying his face in his hands. “Baby food commercials. That’s the sum of my acting experience.”

“But—you said—”

“I may have exaggerated a little bit,” he said sheepishly. “I was just so excited! This is a huge opportunity for our town!” He whimpered again. “And I’m going to ruin it all.”

I knew I needed to get control of the situation, and fast. The man looked like he was going to throw up.

“You are not going to ruin anything,” I said firmly. “You are our beloved mayor. The people of Lilac Bay elected you seven times—”

“Eight,” he corrected.

“Eight! Eight times! That’s a record for this island, isn’t it?”

“It is.” A bit of his usual swagger seemed to come back. “Hasn’t been done in nearly two hundred years of the island having a government.”

“Well, that sounds damn impressive to me,” I told him, placing my hands wide on his desk and leaning across toward him. “You are Mayor William Jones. Respected. Admired. An All-American baseball player—”

“It was football, actually.”

“Whatever,” I said quickly. “The point is, you don’t need silly acting experience to go out there and put a good face on our island. All you have to do is your job, Mayor. You just have to be you, and I promise you’ll make us all proud.”

“You think so?” he asked, looking hopeful—and a lot more confident.

“I know it. Now let’s get down to that dock to show these people how hospitable we can be, right?”

“Right!” He stood, his normal grin firmly affixed to his face, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “Let’s go do this!”

I gestured for him to go ahead and he marched through the door, his head held high. As I followed him from the office, I saw Andrew standing just to the left of the door. He gave me a thumbs up.

“You heard that?” I whispered.

“Yup. You handled it perfectly.”

“Thanks. I just hope—”

“Riley?” the mayor called from the other side of the office. “Don’t dawdle, dear. We can’t be late.”

“Yeah, I’m the one that’s making us late,” I muttered. “Wish me luck,” I said to Andrew.

He patted my shoulder as I passed. “You don’t need luck, Riley.”

* * *

T
he producers weren’t
anything like what I expected. I think I had been picturing something a little more glamorous—I mean, these people were from Manhattan, which was basically a million miles from Lilac Bay—metaphorically, at least. I had pictured expensive suits and designer shoes—a cross between Olivia from
Scandal
and Miranda from
Sex and the City
. Instead, the two women who led the camera crew off the ferry looked pretty much like—well, like normal people. The blond looked to be around Libby’s age, maybe forty or so, while the brunette was probably my age. Both of the women wore jeans and light jackets; the blonde’s hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and both wore sensible sneakers on their feet. They could have easily lived right here on the island. The camera crew was even more casual, each of the three guys wearing cargo pants and hoodies, two of them with baseball caps hanging low over their foreheads.

“Hello!” the brunette said, and I immediately recognized the voice of Gina, the woman I had spoken to on the phone several times over the last two weeks.

I hurried forward to introduce myself and Gina shook my hand, smiling warmly. Up close I could see that she was probably a few years younger than me. She wore her brown hair in a shiny, not-too-sleek bob—which may well have been the effect of her journey across the windy bay. Gina had the perfect clear skin and bright energetic eyes that I myself had said goodbye to somewhere around my twenty-eighth birthday. The kind of face that indicated someone too young and carefree to know the meaning of the words
under-eye concealer
.

“I’m Gina Stanley. We spoke on the phone,” she confirmed, turning to the second producer. “And this is Chris Cunningham.”

The older woman shook my hand, smiling without much of the warmth of her colleague.

“Chris is the executive producer of the Heather Dale Show. She’s just here to get a sense of the town—she’ll mostly be running things from New York.”

“Gina will be here for all of your features,” Chris said, her eyes scanning the dock area. I got the impression that not much got past her. She exuded confidence and efficiency in a way that already had me feeling intimidated. “She’ll manage the crew and run your features and report back to me.”

“We’re going to have a lot of fun,” Gina said, and I wondered if she was trying to reassure me.

“Great,” I said, trying to exude some confidence of my own. “Why don’t you meet our committee?”

I introduced the others and the mayor stepped forward to give the little welcome speech I had prepared for him. Gina smiled and nodded while he spoke, giving every indication of listening, while Chris’s eyes continued to scan the dock. I wondered what this looked like to her, the entryway to our little town. There was a tackle shop up at foot of the dock and the ferry ticket booth across the sidewalk. The marina stretched to our left, small boats bobbing in the water. Directly ahead was the green lawn of Town Square. Walking paths crisscrossed the grass, while towering oak and maple trees provided shade for the benches and the small play set. The square was usually quiet this time of day, but there seemed to be an awful lot of activity for eleven on a Tuesday before the tourist season even started. Which I was sure had nothing to do with the fact that camera crew had arrived.

“We’re so happy to be here,” Gina said, once the mayor had finished his speech. “Why don’t you show us around, and then we can hash out the details for your initial shooting schedule.”

Within minutes of leaving the dock, I was thankful for Gina. She put everyone at ease—even the mayor had stopped sweating. The camera crew started filming the minute they got off the ferry, but Gina assured us they were just gathering B-roll, and told us to pretend like they weren’t even there. As we walked, she kept us talking. What did we do on the island? How long had we lived here? Why did we love it so much? And maybe it was just a facade because she worked in television, but she really seemed to be interested in what we had to say.