Wish I May (12 page)

I hang my head. Because she’s right.

“Just let her go.”

N
EW SCHOOL,
day one. Drew walked, since the high school is only a couple of blocks from Dad’s. I offered to walk with her but she rolled her eyes and accused me of trying to make her the laughingstock on her first day at a new school, so I let her go on her own.

Now it’s Gabby’s turn, and my stomach is a mess with worry. Aside from her one-word request last week—
Stay
—she hasn’t spoken. I already had a meeting with the school counselor and exchanged emails with her teacher. Everyone assures me they’ll work with her, but I hate that I can’t be at school with her to see for myself. My only reassurance is that at least I’ll be here. Here in New Hope, living with Dad for the foreseeable future.

My boss at the spa back in Vegas has agreed to hold my job until the first of the year. I fought so hard to get into a position where I could support myself, and that job is an important part of the equation—great tips, decent salary, benefits. I need the income to help Dad support the girls. I need the income so I don’t have to rely on Brandon again.

Would I have quit if my boss weren’t willing to work with me? Probably. Gabby needs me, so I’ll do what needs to be done. I always have.

We drive to the elementary school. It’s only about a mile and we could walk, but it’s a hot day and I don’t want Gabby feeling self-conscious in sweaty clothes.

I offer her my hand as we approach the building. She shakes her head, reminding me that despite currently having the speech patterns of a toddler, she is in fact ten years old and doesn’t need her big sister holding her hand.

We walk through the front and head into the building. Once we get to the heavy oak door to her new classroom, she stops me, her hand squeezing my wrist.

“I have my cellphone,” I tell her. “I’ll be looking for a job all day, but you call if you need anything.”

Worry is written all over her face, and I find myself questioning our move for the hundredth time. I didn’t have a home for them in Vegas, so I assumed they’d be better here. I assumed I’d be able to work and send Dad part of my monthly check. But now that part of the plan is gone. What if I was wrong? What if uprooting them from their lives after Mom’s death was the worst thing for them? And now that I’ve chosen to stay, what if I can’t find a job?

Finally, Gabby squeezes my wrist again, takes a deep breath, and heads into the classroom.

When I turn around, I see Lizzy Thompson. She’s practically glowing, her smile is so bright. “Lizzy! What are you doing here?”

“Student teaching!” She rubs her hands together. “Well, it doesn’t actually start for a few weeks, but Mrs. Monroe said I could come meet the kids for the first day of class and I just found out Gabby’s one of the students. This is going to be great!”

Relief swamps me. “I’m so glad you’ll be in there.”

She squeezes me into a tight hug and whispers, “She’ll love it. Have some faith.”

“I know.” I shrug. “This is what parents must feel like, huh? I think I’m more nervous than both the girls today.”

“They’ll be fine. But you? You look like you need some stress relief, and I know just the thing.” She grins. “I’ll text you the details.”

“Stress relief” sounds like code for “party,” and I don’t have time for that right now, not with finding a job and working on Dad’s house. I don’t want to seem unfriendly, though, so I return her smile. I can always let her down after the invitation comes. “Okay. Thanks.”

I’m heading out the front door when the secretary from the front office calls my name. She’s a tiny little thing with a gray bob and a sweet smile. “You’re Gabby Fisher’s sister?”

“I am.”

She presses an envelope into my hand and drops her voice low. “Your father’s textbook rental check bounced.”

“Oh.”
Shit.
“I’m sorry about that. He can be kind of…absentminded. I’ll have him…um…move some funds and write a new check.”

Her smile suggests she knows there are no funds to move. “There’s paperwork in that envelope for assistance. You just have your father fill it out, and Gabby’s textbooks will be taken care of. I also included the application for free lunch.”

Of course. Because the Fishers always need handouts. Nothing changes. I force myself to thank her before rushing from the building.

I’m unlocking the car when I hear someone call my name. I pin on my smile before turning.

“Cally Fisher, right?” the woman repeats. I don’t recognize her. She’s gorgeous and sophisticated in a black pencil skirt and a button-up pinstriped shirt, her long, blond hair pulled into a low ponytail.

“Yes, that’s right.” I offer my hand. “And you are?”

She drops her gaze to my hand and then brings it back to my face. “I’m Meredith Palmer. Owner of Venus Salon?”

She still hasn’t taken my hand. Feeling like an idiot, I tuck it back into my pocket. “It’s nice to meet you,” I manage. This woman may be smiling, but coldness radiates off her. For whatever reason, she doesn’t like me.

“I saw that you were interested in working as my massage therapist.”

I shift uncomfortably. I already know where this is going. “I was looking into it.”

“Yeah.” She straightens her shirt and repositions that plastic smile. “But you see, we’re not that kind of establishment, and I would rather watch my business
wither and die
than have someone like you giving—” she lifts her hands and makes air quotes, “ —‘massages.’”

Tuesday morning brings sunshine and clarity. Maggie’s right, of course. I need to let Cally go. Not that I have a choice. She’ll leave town soon—hell, maybe she’s already left—and I’ll forget there was ever a woman who owned me, body, heart, and soul, as much as she did.

I turn on the gallery lights and start up the computer. Maggie will be in soon, and she can watch the floor while I take care of some paperwork in my office upstairs. I need to finish the grant proposal for the downtown arts event and hopefully finish the syllabi for my fall classes.

When I unlock the front doors, I find Cally waiting on the sidewalk.

“William?” She blinks at me, as if she can’t figure out why I’d be here. I’m wondering the same about her.

“Good morning.” God, she’s beautiful. She left down her silky, dark hair today and it’s like a curtain over half her face. I clench my fists against the temptation to touch it, tuck it behind her ear to reveal the smooth skin of her cheek, kiss her lips.

I should send her away quickly. When she’s looking at me, I can’t lie to myself about being at peace with letting her go.

“I’m here about some rental space? Do you know the owner?”

“Rental space?”

“Yeah.” She raises onto her toes and peeks into the gallery over my shoulder. “God, it’s such a gorgeous place. Do you mind?”

I step back and motion her in. “By all means.”

Her eyes are wide as she surveys the space and studies the art hanging on the walls. First, she approaches a work done in pastels. A child’s face is lit up with laughter as she squeezes a large male hand between both of hers. “Wow.” Cally’s mouth drops into a perfect circle of awe.

“Maggie Thompson did that.”

“Who’s the child?”

“Her name is Zoe. She’s Asher Logan’s daughter.”

“Asher Logan has a daughter?”

“Yeah. She lives in New York with her mom most of the year, but she spent most of July here. She and Maggie were inseparable.” I shake my head, remembering the look of pure contentment in Maggie’s eyes when she brought Zoe around. “Maggie and Zoe might not share any blood, but they were meant to be mother and daughter.”

“She loves her. You can see it on the canvas.” She moves to the next wall and stops at the five-by-two-foot panoramic of the New Hope River.

I’d taken a photograph from the same spot every week for a year, then I’d digitally merged the images together so they appear to be a single photo. The seasons change by the slightest degrees from left to right.

She lifts her fingers to the placard with my name just below the photo. “You made this. It’s amazing.”

My heart is pounding. Cally in my gallery. Cally looking at my photographs. Cally close enough to touch.

She spins toward me and sinks her teeth into her bottom lip.

I shove my hands in my pockets, temptation three inches away.

“Good morning?” someone calls from the front door.

Maggie stands just inside the gallery, her brow wrinkled with worry as she takes in Cally and me standing together.