Once in a Blue Moon (12 page)

“I’m afraid it’s not an option for some of us,” she replied stiffly.

“Nonsense,” he countered in the same agreeable tone. He blew on his coffee before taking a careful sip. “Studies have shown higher productivity levels among workers who take longer vacations and more frequent breaks than employees who don’t. So what you see as hard work and dedication is actually a case of diminishing returns. Which is why I make sure to build in plenty of recreation time. I’m an avid golfer. Do you play golf?”

“No, I don’t. And I have no intention of taking it up.” An edge crept into her voice. “What did you want to see me about, Mr. Heywood?”

He took another bite of his sandwich, regarding her bemusedly as he chewed. “All right, then, I’ll cut to the chase,” he said at last. “I have a proposition for you.”

“I told you my property isn’t for sale.”

“Yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear, and I’m not here to beat a dead horse. What I have in mind is something far more interesting—and, I hope, attractive.” His blue eyes twinkled like those of a merry Santa holding out the promise of untold delights on Christmas morning.

“And what would that be?” she asked warily.

“Come work for me.”

She almost fell out of her chair. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Please. Hear me out,” he said, raising a hand to still any protests before they could form. “What I’m proposing is that we relocate your bookstore to the resort once it’s built. You would continue to manage it as you see fit—no interference from us. The only difference would be that you wouldn’t have to worry about overhead and you’d be paid a handsome salary to boot. I would also provide you with living accommodations on the premises. In exchange, you sell me your land. For which,” he was quick to add, “I’m prepared to make an extremely generous offer.” He flashed her an ingratiating smile. “What do you say, my dear? It would solve both our dilemmas, don’t you think?”

Lindsay didn’t know what to say. It sounded so reasonable, the way he put it: the perfect solution to her current financial woes. She would still have her business and a roof over her head, and in addition a secure income, which would take the stress out of doing what she loved. Plus she’d have the profits from the sale of her land to invest. The only catch—and it was a big one—was that it would mean giving up the solitude and serenity of her little piece of paradise: No more early-morning runs along the cliffs with only her dog as company; she’d have to contend with golf carts zipping by and tourists wandering about. There would be manicured greens where wildflowers and coastal grasses now grew. Instead of being serenaded by the sounds of the surf and the wind whipping in off the ocean, she’d have the sputtering of lawnmowers, the crack of golf balls and thwock of tennis balls.

It would also place her squarely under this man’s thumb.

It was all an illusion, she realized. A clever artifice designed to lure her into his trap. She would still wake up each morning to the same view, but it would be unrecognizable—the Ralph Lauren do-over of its natural state. And the book café? It would be patronized mainly by guests of the hotel, tourists who wouldn’t be around long enough for her to develop any kind of relationship with them. The majority of the locals would no doubt stay away, deterred by the off-the-beaten-track location and fancy new digs. Not to mention she’d be at the mercy of corporate maneuverings, however many promises Mr. Heywood made to her now.

In that moment, she almost wished her sister were there to provide a few choice words on the subject. Instead she said in a polite but firm voice, “It’s a nice offer, but I’m going to have to pass.”

His laser-like gaze didn’t waver. “Won’t you at least consider it?”

“What would be the point? I’m not going to change my mind.”

His smile faded. “In that case, you’re making a grave mistake.”

“Maybe so, but at least it’ll be
my
mistake.”

“One that will end up costing you dearly,” he predicted. “Because this resort
will
get built, I assure you—it’s just a matter of time. Of course there are always obstacles with any project this size, but I didn’t get where I am today by caving in to every local official waving ordinances at me or every property owner digging in his or her heels.” He paused, pushing aside his plate and reaching for the check. “Let me leave you with one final thought: the Panama Canal.”

She frowned. “What does this have to do with the Panama Canal?”

“Think of the achievement,” he went on as if she hadn’t spoken, “how staggering it is to this day. What it must have taken, and not just in terms of manpower. Think of the delicate negotiations, and the colossal feat of engineering. And that’s not even taking into account the inhospitable terrain: the heat, the mosquitoes, the constant threat of disease. Then ask yourself this.” He leaned in, his gaze locking with hers. “If such an enormous undertaking could be brought to fruition against such impossible odds, what’s to stop me from building a mere resort?”

Lindsay all at once felt defeated. He was right, of course. What was
she
to a man like him but a temporary nuisance? A mosquito, to use his own analogy, that was almost certain to get squashed. Didn’t men like Lloyd Heywood always get what they wanted in the end?

Lindsay was so unnerved when she returned to work that she could hardly concentrate on what she was doing. She dragged from one task to the next, putting on a smile with her customers that felt carved into her face, until finally, blessedly, it was closing time. As she locked up, she caught Kerrie Ann eyeing her intently and was reminded that she had one more unpleasant duty: She was going to have to tell her sister that she couldn’t move in with them. She’d made the decision on her way back from the meeting with Heywood. It wasn’t just that she and her sister were polar opposites who were bound to clash, as they had last night, or that Kerrie Ann had more baggage than the cargo hold of a jetliner. How could Lindsay help fix her sister’s life when she couldn’t even fix what was wrong with her own?

As soon as the three women returned home, Lindsay disappeared into the bathroom for a long soak in a hot tub. When she finally emerged, wrapped in her terry robe, the air was filled with fragrant cooking smells. She hadn’t given much thought to supper and was gratified when she poked her head into the kitchen to find Kerrie Ann, frying something in a skillet while Miss Honi chopped greens for a salad.

“I found some hamburger in the fridge.” Kerrie Ann turned to look over her shoulder, saying in an ingratiating tone, as if aware that she was on probation, “I hope you’re okay with sloppy joes.”

“Sure, sounds good.” In truth, Lindsay was too drained to care what she ate or whether she ate at all.

Leaving her sister and Miss Honi to finish making supper, she went to throw on some sweats. When she returned, the food was on the table along with a small bouquet of wildflowers stuck into a jelly jar. “Shall we say grace?” said Miss Honi when they were all seated.

Lindsay gave her a surprised look. They never said grace when it was just the two of them. But she supposed Miss Honi felt the need to honor the occasion of their first supper as a family. Lindsay felt a fresh stab of guilt, reminded of the uncomfortable task that lay ahead.

“Dear Lord, bless this food we’re about to eat,” Miss Honi began, her head bowed and her hands clasped in prayer. “And thank you for bringing my baby girl home to me. It’s a blessing having her under our roof again after so long a spell.” Lindsay caught the glimmer of tears beneath her lowered eyelids. “Thank you, too, for mending this poor ol’ family by bringing these two sisters together just when I was beginning to think I’d never live to see the day. Amen.”

Lindsay’s fork, when she finally brought it to her mouth, felt as if it weighed a ton.

She was subdued while they ate. Kerrie Ann, as if picking up on her mood, kept darting anxious looks her way. If it hadn’t been for Miss Honi drawing them into conversation with her blithe chatter, Lindsay and her sister might have been strangers seated next to each other on an airplane. When supper was over, Kerrie Ann leaped to her feet to clear the table before Lindsay could beat her to it. Lindsay knew she was doing her best to make herself useful, probably in the hope that Lindsay would keep her around, which only made her feel more guilty for what she was about to do.

She was stowing the leftovers in the fridge, steeling herself against the difficult conversation ahead, when a loud crashing noise caused her to whip around. Kerrie Ann stood by the sink looking down in dismay at a plate that lay in a dozen pieces on the floor. “I’m sorry,” she said, dragging her gaze up to meet Lindsay’s. She looked stricken. “It . . . it just slipped out of my hand.”

“Don’t worry about it, hon. It coulda happened to anyone.” Miss Honi was already scurrying over, broom and dustpan in hand.

“But it didn’t happen to just anyone.” Kerrie Ann’s voice rose, the strain of the past couple of days showing on her face. “It happened to
me—
the fuckup. Isn’t that what you’re thinking?” Her blue eyes homed in on Lindsay.

“No, of course not. It was an accident,” said Lindsay, but her words sounded insincere even to her own ears. At the same time, in her mind, she was seeing a tiny spun-glass angel shattered at the feet of a small, frightened girl.

“Guess I must be prone to accidents, then,” Kerrie Ann went on in the same self-deprecating tone as she stood facing Lindsay, her face flushed and soapy water dripping from her hands. “After all, it was an accident that I ended up here. One that’s shaping up to be a regular three-car pile-up, wouldn’t you say? Isn’t that why you’re not exactly welcoming me with open arms?”

“What’s all this nonsense? We’re family. Why wouldn’t we welcome you?” Miss Honi straightened from sweeping up the shards. “Ain’t that right, sugar?” Broom in hand, she swung around to face Lindsay.

Lindsay was suddenly at a loss for words. “Of course,” she said lamely. “You’re always welcome.”
To visit
; the unspoken words lay heavy in the air.

“But not when I need help?” challenged Kerrie Ann. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“Will somebody please tell me what all this is about?” Miss Honi demanded, hands on hips.

Lindsay could see there was no use beating around the bush. “Kerrie Ann needs a place to stay. She asked if she could move in with us,” she explained to Miss Honi, not taking her eyes off her sister.

“Just until I get my little girl back,” Kerrie Ann hastened to add.

“Your—you have a daughter?” Miss Honi turned to face Kerrie Ann, wearing a look of astonishment.

Kerrie Ann nodded. A deep pain flickered in her eyes as she gave the abbreviated version of the story she’d told Lindsay the night before. At the end, she turned her gaze to Lindsay, shoulders squared and chin tilted in a stance Lindsay recognized from the early years, whenever she’d tried to get Kerrie Ann to obey her and Kerrie Ann had stubbornly refused, a look that was part defiance and part appeal.
Either help me or put me out of my misery
, her eyes seemed to say.

Lindsay realized that she couldn’t go through with it; her decision had been guided by her head, not her heart. And whatever Kerrie Ann’s shortcomings were, she was still her sister.
My responsibility
, she thought, as she had so many times when Kerrie Ann was small. Even as misgivings rose inside her, flapping and squabbling like a flock of crows, she put a smile on her face and said, “You always have a home with us, for as long as you need it.”

There were plenty of occasions to regret that decision in the days to come. It wasn’t that her sister didn’t make an effort, just that all too often her efforts fell short of the mark. “Not everyone can be as perfect as you,” Kerrie Ann snapped one morning when Lindsay pointed out that she’d left her wet towel on the bathroom floor—again. Kerrie Ann accused her of failing to recognize all the times she
had
remembered to hang up her towel or the clothes that, more often than not, were left strewn over the carpet. Kerrie Ann didn’t seem to understand that it wasn’t about being courteous and respectful some of the time—you had to be that way
all
the time, unthinkingly.