Sweet Waters (18 page)
Authors: Julie Carobini
I perk. “Mayor?”
“Former
mayor,” Josh says.
mayor,” Josh says.
Therese ignores him. “Josh's dad was the longest running mayor Otter Bay ever saw. We all love that man. The whole town's honoring him, you know.” She scolds Josh with her eyes. “Didn't you tell your new girl about your family? Really, Josh. The strong-silent type is
so
yesterday.”
so
yesterday.”
Josh shrugs. “I'd have gotten to it eventually. Yes, Dad's fine, the family's fine, we're all good. Some of us, better than others.” Josh winks at me, but the gleam that had sprung to his eyes earlier now appears dim. Like he was keeping up a front somehow.
“Well, I'll leave you two kids to enjoy each other.” Therese clears away the other two place settings. “Any pepper before I go?”
We both decline, and she leaves us, as promised.
“So protecting the good citizens of Otter Bay runs in the family?” I take a bite of my salad, reveling in the fresh shaving of Parmesan.
“You could say that.”
“Why do I have the feeling you don't like talking about your personal life?”
“You're beautiful
and
perceptive. It's not that exactly, but I'd rather hear about you. Tell me about your parents. I remember that your father passed away, and your mother?”
and
perceptive. It's not that exactly, but I'd rather hear about you. Tell me about your parents. I remember that your father passed away, and your mother?”
His question jolts me, and I draw in a breath too quickly, inhaling a vinegar-laden lettuce leaf. It catches in my windpipe, and that, along with the saltiness of the food, makes my eyes water. I begin to cough, and then lunge for my glass of water, holding up my index finger to let him know I'll be out of this ridiculous situation in seconds. Hopefully.
Josh quirks a brow. “You okay there?”
I offer him a halted smile as I recover. That fleeting thought I'd had earlier, the one about sharing my newfound secret with Josh, seems reckless now. How would a man whose own father has such a stellar reputation accept my uncomfortable news?
An awkward silence drops between us, until I hear my heart pounding in my chest. It's as if I am standing high on a precipice, contemplating the distance to the ground. Should I stay where it's safe? Or jump into the unknown?
The waiter appears then to refill our water glassesâand to buy me more time.
Chapter Seventeen
Along with the obvious need to get out of small town Dexton, and to search out the area where my family once lived, I realize my other reason for making this move. I sit here across from Josh, that realization so emblazoned across my mind that I wonder why I've not considered it before. At least not openly. I want to be liked.
More to the point, I want to be loved.
I don't know what causes me so boldly to admit this now, at least in my head, but I do. It's not that I have felt unloved by any member of my family, except for perhaps Mel, who sometimes acts as if it takes great pain on her part to consider me fondly at all. I've always felt, though, like an outsider, like wherever a party's going on, I'm more like the forgettable neighbor instead of an honored guest.
I take another bite of my salad, careful not to talk and chew at the same timeâthe very thing that makes me cringe about Camille's eating habits. Piano music fills the room, along with muted gusts from the blowing wind outside, and I'm wondering how my muse, Eliza, might handle similar feelings. And just how would she respond to Josh's statement about the wall that seems to rise every time the conversation turns personal?
I set my fork down, knowing I should save room for the rest of my dinner. Eliza's an open book; the woman has no secretsâor at least she makes it
look
like she has no secrets. True, she's been keeping her pregnancy a secret for monthsâjust gathering enough time to make sure Maurice, the father, has truly fallen in love with her. Can't say that I blame her completely. Maybe those around her will be peeved, but she has handled everything with such grace and style, and with a boldness that would certainly backfire in less capable hands.
look
like she has no secrets. True, she's been keeping her pregnancy a secret for monthsâjust gathering enough time to make sure Maurice, the father, has truly fallen in love with her. Can't say that I blame her completely. Maybe those around her will be peeved, but she has handled everything with such grace and style, and with a boldness that would certainly backfire in less capable hands.
I'm still not ready to divulge what I've heard about Daddy to the girlsâwhy spoil things for them now? I do know that, somehow, I have to make things right. Even if it means paying back every penny to Peg myself, a thought that weakens both my appetite
and
my pulse.
and
my pulse.
Josh gazes at me. “You seem preoccupied.”
How long have those mesmerizing eyes of his been focused on me?
“Just thinking about my parents, and why they left Otter Bay.”
“Just thinking about my parents, and why they left Otter Bay.”
“Why did they?”
I shrug. “Well, I don't exactly know. My mother has a friend in Dexton, Anne, and my father worked for her many years, so I always thought they were following the work.”
“With three girls to raise, that's understandable.”
“There's something else, though. Please don't mention this to the girls, because I'm still working through some things here.”
He sits straighter. “Sounds serious.”
“It is.” I take a breath, then push it back out. “Apparently, my father once worked for Peg.”
“Pegâfrom the diner?”
I nod. “According to her, he, well, she says my father took a large amount of money from her.”
Josh's eyes widen, and a steady breath escapes. He leans his elbows on the table and observes me, as if contemplating how to phrase what's on his mind.
A busboy removes our salad plates, and I lay my clasped hands in the empty spot. “I'm sure there's more to the story, though. Burton says something like that happened . . . but he also said that my parents were great people with, unfortunately, many troubles.”
“And your mother? What does she say about it?”
“If I could get her to respond to e-mail, I'd tell you. Mom's always been kind of carefree, I guess you'd say. She's really good at answering deep, dark questionsâlike why is the sky blue?âwith some kind of fairy-tale answer that has nothing to do with anything. It made us laugh as kids, but . . .”
“But now you're not laughing.”
“Right.”
Therese sidles up to our table with our dinners, and we put on polite smiles and wait as she places them in front of each of us. She opens her mouth, but shuts it quickly, and bustles off.
Josh clears his throat. “It's tough finding out the sins of our fathers, isn't it?”
“What do you mean?”
He gives me a wry smile. “Just a phrase. I just meant that it's not easy when a parent lets us down.”
“Mom's still in la-la land, on her honeymoon and all. I'm sure she'll eventually come down to earth and talk to me.”
I hope she will.
I hope she will.
“I was talking about your dad.”
My fork stops. “Daddy? He just made a mistake, I'm sure that's all it was.”
“But didn't you say that he stole from Peg?”
“I never used the word
stole.
I've been told that he took some money, yes, but no one seems to want to fill me in on the details. Or the reason he would supposedly do such a thing. Since he's not here to defend himself, I will. My job is to make sure he's remembered for all the good things he did. I wish you could've known him as I did.”
stole.
I've been told that he took some money, yes, but no one seems to want to fill me in on the details. Or the reason he would supposedly do such a thing. Since he's not here to defend himself, I will. My job is to make sure he's remembered for all the good things he did. I wish you could've known him as I did.”
“I didn't mean to put you on the defensive.”
I cross my arms. “You didn't.”
“Listen, my father's a popular guy. You heard Thereseâeverybody loves him. But there are things . . . things I've had to come to terms with so that I don't fall into the same traps he has.”
My salmon filet has lost all flavor. Joshua Adams had seemed so different from Trent, but now? Not so much. Maybe definitive judgment is hard-wired into most men these days. I shake my head, my eyes focused on my partially eaten fish. “For some reason, I thought I could share all this with you. What was I thinking?”
He reaches across the table. “Tara.”
I withdraw my hand. “Listen, maybe it's best we stop this conversation now.”
Before I say something that'll send us to the point of no return.
“I've run across a hitch in my plans, but I've been there before, and I can handle it.”
Before I say something that'll send us to the point of no return.
“I've run across a hitch in my plans, but I've been there before, and I can handle it.”
“Are you sure? Maybe you should tell your sisters about the allegations.”
I look up. “No!” My heart races, but not in a good way. “Camille's too immature, and Mel has reservations about being here in the first place. If she heard this, she'd probably flit off forever. I like having them around.”
“Mm. To mother them.”
I recoil. “That's not fair. Why does everyone think that just because I'm the oldest, that I have some deep-seated need to mother my younger siblings. Well, sister and cousin anyway.”
“Your cousin? Wait . . . have I met her?”
I sigh, and sit back, all traces of an appetite vanished. He can go ahead and change the subjectâdoesn't matter anyway. “Camille's really our cousin, but we've always been like sisters. My parents got custody of her after my mother's brother Grant died. He was her real father.”
“And her mother? Is she in the picture?”
“No. She had a history of drug abuse and disappeared soon after Camille was born. After my uncle was killedâhe died in an accidentâmy parents took her in. Daddy always hoped to adopt her, but Mom never wanted her to forget her real father, I guess.”
Soberness spreads across Josh's expression. “You shouldn't be handling all this alone, Tara. They're big girls, and it sounds like they've already been through plenty of turmoil. Besides, they're bound to learn about your father's . . . indiscretion eventually.”
I nod, but beneath the surface of my forced, bland expression, my blood simmers at a low and steady roll. For as long as I can remember, the burdens of our family life stopped at my door. Until now I haven't wanted to admit the number of times that Mom shared with me her disillusionment with life, then told me to keep it “just between us.” I'd learned early on to keep family matters to myself . . . so why did I let myself crack with Josh?
Our waiter appears and offers to wrap up our dinners, since neither of us ate all that much. Josh gives him a succinct nod. “Two doggy bags would be perfect.”
Together we wait in silence for our leftover food and the check.
THE MORNING AIR LAY cool and still, unlike my life, which has been a blur since the moment I awoke. It started last night when Josh brought me home and had to rush off to an emergency before we could come to some sort of truce satisfying to both of us. Aren't days off sacred anymore? You'd think that after working that many days in a row, the fire station could handle new business without him.
It didn't matter anyway, because for me the night ended when Josh took the stance he did about my father's past. Just why did he have to look and smell so good doing it?
I sit here in this pew, in the back of the church, watching the morning worshippers file in. They're a quieter bunch than those who attend the later service, and I don't know why I've come, but I'm here, feeling confused and more than a little battered.
The ushers arrive after me, men with smooth hair split on one side like a lopsided parting of the Red Sea, except for Burton whose shiny head reflects the dappling of stained glass. They move in unison, with vigor and spirit, and a whole lot of eye contact. I slink down against the wooden seat back. Hopefully, no one will point out how I've disrupted the symmetry of their art of packing them in.
“May I sit?” Norma grins, and I slide over, still hoping not to attract attention. She follows my line of vision, notices a compact man stuffed into a powder gray suit scrutinizing us, and waves him away.
A boom resonates, drawing our attention to a thick, open door. Twelve men and women dressed in flowing green and burgundy robes enter through what resembles a secret passageway from beneath a choir loft I'd not noticed on my first visit here.
“We sing hymns at the early service,” Norma whispers.
I nod as if to say,
of course
, when really, this is news to me.
of course
, when really, this is news to me.
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