There was a possessive quality to his voice, and for just a second, Leah liked it and didn’t know why. It didn’t make any sense. Why would she be satisfied with that? She didn’t like Liam in that way, even if he had become hot over the winter. But the idea that she was desirable, that men might want her, it was a heady feeling. First Him, and now Liam. It was a little intoxicating.
She sort of wondered if her grandmother Lola had felt like this, if it had been the driving force in her apparently bad behavior. She shook her head. She had always been told she was nothing like her grandmother.
She chalked her feelings up to crazy female hormones and changed the subject, and they hung out in her room the rest of the day, listening to old Bob Marley vinyls and talking about life.
Life on the island was easy and slow, but having a friend to talk to made everything better.
When the text came in, she quickly and subtly shielded her phone from Liam’s view. It was an instinct.
Do you mind that I’ve been texting you? I find that I rather like it.
Liam was scrolling through his own phone as Leah answered.
Of course not. Why would I?
Because my jokes are corny, he texted back. And I don’t want you to feel weird.
I don’t feel weird. Ok, maybe just a little. I don’t know why things are changing.
I don’t know why either, he texted. I only know that my feelings are changing, and I’m drawn to you and I don’t know why. It’s a little scary.
Yeah, it is.
But I never want YOU to be scared, he texted. Maybe we’re gravitating to each other because we’re both lonely. I think you understand me.
He hit the nail on the head. She was lonely, and his attention was filling a hole. Maybe being lonely was normal, she decided. Everyone got lonely, right?
You’re right, she told him. I’m lonely, too.
You’ll never have to be lonely as long as I’m around. I promise.
Her heart glowed at his words. His promise buoyed her up, and she felt like floating. He was becoming a friend, somehow. It was different from before. She decided she liked it.
“Here, check out this clip.” Liam thrust his phone at her, breaking up her thoughts. “It’s hilarious.”
She watched the video, and they laughed, and they fell down the rabbit hole of funny videos on YouTube for a long time. Her phone was tucked back into her bra, and even though it buzzed many more times with texts, she didn’t pull it out to look with Liam sitting so close. It felt like a secret she should keep.
They were curled up on opposite ends of her bed sleeping when Emmy came looking for them at dinnertime. Emmy had no doubt that everything was on the up-and-up. They were just two buddies, exhausted from spending the day together.
Regardless, she left the door open when she went back down to work.
Chapter Seven
August 17
I stand outside Leah’s door, my hand on the burnished copper knob. I’m determined this time.
I’m going to open it.
I stand forever, staring at the white wood in front of me.
It takes me a few minutes more of deep breathing, but finally...finally...I turn the handle, and push it open. It swings wide, and Bo barges in ahead of me, while I’m still frozen at the door.
Everything is how she left it.
I take a deep breath, inhaling the smell. It smells like her in here, of her perfume, her lotion, her hair. It’s Leah.
The walls are aquamarine, the bedspread and window sheers white. She’s got jars and jars of shells scattered here and there, having collected them over the years. Her white Converses are by the door, her favorite hoodie is hanging on the back.
I swallow hard.
Jesus.
I try to enter, I really do. But my feet won’t move. Inside, Bo sniffs at this and that, at her dirty clothes hamper and the volleyball next to her closet. Finally, he sits by the bed and whimpers, looking at me as if to ask, Where is she?
I gulp back a sob and I can’t make myself go in there. Not yet.
So I do what I do best.
I go to work. But at least, this time, I leave the door open.
That’s progress.
I take my frustration out on the empty rooms, pulling used bedding off beds, replacing it with clean, fresh linen. I scrub at the tubs, at the showers, at the sinks. I place fresh flowers in crystal vases on the nightstand in each room. When I’m done, each of the eight guest rooms is sparkling clean and waiting to invite the next guests.
Next, I take my beach cart, the one with the inflated wheels and loaded down with fresh towels, bedding and cleaning supplies, down the trail toward the bungalows. Only one is occupied at the moment, bungalow three, but I’m expecting guests for the other two later this afternoon when the plane comes in.
I stop at bungalow three first. I knock, three short raps, and Derek Collins answers immediately. He’s dressed casually, in khaki shorts and a chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. He’s handsome. No one can deny that, not that I’m looking at anyone that way these days. My heart is closed and full of jagged edges, pieces that can’t be reconstructed.
Derek smiles at me, and his dark eyes crinkle when he does.
“Good morning,” he greets me. “You’re up early. Would you like some coffee?” He gestures toward his little café-style table in front of the sliding glass doors. They face the sea, and the view is panoramic and breathtaking.
I shake my head. “No, thanks. I’m already caffeinated.”
“Of course, you are,” he agrees. “Do you ever sleep, Emmy?”
“Once every full moon,” I confide, trying to joke. Humor doesn’t reach my heart these days, but I can pretend.
He nods as if he understands, and takes the armful of fresh towels that I hand him. “The sheets don’t need changing,” he tells me, then glances at me. “How are you doing, Emmy?” he asks, and his voice is quiet now. He searches me with those dark eyes, and I find that I have to look away. I don’t want people to know the depths of the pain I feel. It makes me vulnerable, and I don’t like that.
“As well as anyone could,” I answer. “I guess.”
“If you need anything at all,” he tells me, and I can see he means it. “An ear, someone to have a drink with...just come down. Sometimes a vodka tonic with a friend can help when nothing else will.”
He should know. He experienced a different kind of pain when his wife cheated on him with his business partner.
“Thanks, Derek,” I say, and I mean it. “I might take you up on it sometime.”