On Ocean Boulevard Page 20

  “I’ll do a little feng shui first,” Julia said. “I have to see where the most propitious spot would be to put my office.”

  “What are you going for? Fame? Fortune?”

  “Both,” Julia replied smugly, and they both laughed.

  They moved the paper stock from the dining table onto a side table, talking as they worked. Then Linnea followed her mother into the kitchen where she was preparing dinner. As Julia put a pot under the cold faucet, Linnea began washing lettuce. They discussed Cooper’s latest news from Oxford, laughing at his use of a few British words and phrases, Linnea’s progress at the aquarium, and her plans for the Beach Sweep. Julia had her back turned to Linnea at the stove and remarked, “You were out late last night.”

  Linnea leaned her hands on the counter and groaned inwardly, thinking, This is it. “Was I?”

  Julia spun around. “You didn’t come home!”

  “Oh, that’s right.” She acted calm but in her head she was wildly groping for an excuse.

  “Did you stay with Cara?”

  She couldn’t pretend she had. It was too easy for her mother to find out the truth. “No, I was out with a friend in the city.”

  “Out? On a date?”

  “Sort of.”

  “All night?”

  Linnea wanted to tell the truth. It felt ridiculous to have to lie. But seeing her mother’s shocked face, she changed tactics. Shrugging nonchalantly, she began cutting the cucumber and radishes.

  “It was no big deal. We were at a bar, we drank too much, and I was not fit to drive. I stayed with a friend.”

  “You spent the night with your friend?”

  “Like I said, no big deal.” Then, accepting it, Julia turned back to the stove and said, “Okay. But call next time.”

  Linnea dumped the cucumber and radishes into the bowl, then paused, staring at the greens. “Mama, I’m twenty-five years old.”

  “It’s not that. I just worry.”

  “Okay. I will.” Linnea waited, counting the seconds.

  “So, who is this fellow?”

  Linnea held back her laugh. It had only taken her mother ten seconds to ask. “You don’t know him. His name is Gordon Carr. He’s British, here for a few months doing research on plastics in the ocean. Gordon was the speaker at that meeting I went to yesterday. He’s a PhD and presented his paper. It was very impressive. Published in Science magazine. Everyone was all over him, asking questions, wanting to get to know him.”

  “He must be very intelligent.” Julia smiled knowingly and turned to add pasta to the boiling water.

  “Brilliant.” Linnea leaned against the kitchen counter, knife in one hand, a large ripe tomato in the other. “He’s different from other men. I like him. A lot.”

  “Well, that’s fast. Though you’ve always gone for the smart ones. Even Darby Middleton.”

  “Mother…” she warned, not wanting her to beat that dead horse again. She turned and began slicing the tomato neatly into sections, digging out the seeds. “First of all, Darby is not that smart. Second, lest you forget, he’s engaged.”

  “Oh, I know, dear. I was just saying.” She stirred the pot. “John is smart too.”

  Linnea realized that she could hear John’s name and no longer feel a prick of pain. “He’s a whiz-kid kind of smart.” She paused and looked at the eviscerated tomato. “But he’s careless.”

  “Yes, very.”

  “I heard from him, by the way.”

  “You didn’t tell me!”

  “It was no big deal. He texted.”

  “When?”

  “Last week.”

  “What did he say?”

  Linnea could tell her mother was getting into the topic and she found it mildly annoying. She answered tersely: “He asked how I was. Like I said, it was nothing.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Mama, stop,” Linnea said harshly. She went to the fridge and opened the doors, staring inside. “I didn’t say anything. I didn’t respond.”

  Julia drew back, wounded. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  Linnea immediately felt remorse. She didn’t want to ruin the moment, especially not over John. “You didn’t,” she said, grabbing a bottle of salad dressing, then closing the fridge door. “I guess I still get a bit prickly when it comes to him. I really don’t want to talk about him.” She carried the dressing to the counter. Her salad was done.

  “Actually, Mama, I need your advice on something.”

  It wasn’t that often anymore that Linnea asked for her mother’s advice. Julia responded promptly, turning off the heat on the stove and giving her daughter her full attention.

  “I’m all ears.”

  “It’s about Gordon, the man I was telling you about.”

  She saw her mother’s interest peak at hearing this.

  “I first saw him on the beach, surfing. We met independently. Just a wave and hello kind of thing. But I admit, I was attracted to him. Then, again at Darby’s engagement party.”

  “At Darby’s party? He knows the Middletons?”

  She noticed that her mother was suddenly more interested in this man. She could almost hear the clicking of her mother’s mind as it made connections. If Gordon knew the Middletons, he couldn’t be all that bad.

  To her credit, Julia remained quiet and waited for Linnea to continue.

  “Here’s the thing,” Linnea said speaking honestly. “I found out at the party that Pandora had an interest in Gordon too. In fact, she invited him to it. I could tell she was after him, so I was good. Even though I had a crush on him, I figured if Pandora claimed him, then I had to step aside. Girl’s code.”

  Her mother’s nod was barely perceptible.

  “Then I saw Gordon at the meeting. Total surprise.” She paused. “Mama, I’m not exaggerating when I tell you he was chasing me. At the party too. He admitted it. So, when he invited me for drinks. I said yes.”

  “But Pandora…”

  “I know. I asked him bluntly about Pandora, right off the bat. I asked him if they were a couple. And he told me no, that he liked Pandora as a friend. That he thought of her as a sister.”

  “Ah.”

  “Exactly,” she confirmed. “There wasn’t any dating going on. He said he didn’t think of her in that way,” she couldn’t stop the slight blush on her cheeks, “that he thought of me. So… I went out with him.”

  Julia shrugged. “What’s the problem?”

  “Why do I feel guilty?”

  Julia crossed her arms and thought for a moment. “All is fair in love and war,” she said, “only as long as you are not breaking up a couple. Whether they’re married, engaged, or even just dating. A friend doesn’t do that to a friend.”

  “I’d never.” Then, “Are you saying you think I did?”

  “It doesn’t sound to me like that’s what happened. You and Pandora were both interested in the same guy and he picked you.”

  Linnea nodded.

  “But now, you have to deal with your friend. Linnea, you have to tell her. And, she’s likely to be upset.”

  Linnea looked at her feet. “She will be. Pandora thinks she’s the queen bee.”

  “So, you might get stung. What you have to decide is which relationship you want to keep if it comes down to it.”

  Linnea didn’t know what to think.

  “And give Pandora a chance,” Julia continued. “She might surprise you. Have a heart-to-heart with her. Tell her all you told me. You don’t have to ask her permission, but do let her know how much you like him. You can’t control how she’ll respond. In fact, who dates Gordon is not up to her or you. It’s up to Gordon. Chemistry cannot be dictated. Love always wins out.” She leaned forward to place a kiss on Linnea’s cheek. “But do tell her before she hears it from someone else.”

  Linnea brought her hands to her scalp and gave it a good rubbing. The thought of telling Pandora gave her emotional hives. “I will. Thanks, Mama.”

  Julia smiled and went back t
o her dinner. She brought the pot of hot noodles to the sink. Linnea grabbed the colander and set it in the sink for her. With a gush, the hot water splattered and steam rose into the air. Efficiently, Julia returned the pasta to the pot, poured a bit of olive oil on it, gave it a quick stir and covered it.

  Her pasta done, Julia smiled and asked cheerfully, “What else shall we talk about?”

  “How about what’s going on with Daddy’s house? It’s still quiet over there. Cara mentioned she didn’t see anyone working.”

  A frown creased Julia’s perfectly made-up face. “Really?” She walked across the room to the china cabinet and reached up to pull out three white dinner plates.

  “I’m not eating at home tonight,” Linnea reminded her. “I have that sustainable seafood dinner.”

  “Oh, yes,” Julia said, returning one plate to the cabinet. “Be a dear and fetch some basil from the porch.”

  Linnea plucked leaves from the terra-cotta pots overflowing with a bounty of basil, thyme, oregano, rosemary, sage, and parsley. The scents filled the air. Even on the islands, her mother’s green thumb would not be denied. She rinsed the basil and tore the leaves from the stems while her mother poured a jar of sauce into a second pot on the stove.

  Julia stirred the basil and oregano into the sauce, then stopped, looking at Linnea with an intensity that was beyond curiosity. “Cara said the work stopped on the house?” she clarified. “The one your daddy is building?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “She thought it might be because of the Fourth of July.”

  Julia measured salt into her palm, then tossed it into the pot. “Possibly.”

  Linnea heard something odd in her mother’s tone. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m just wondering,” she said, wiping her hands on a towel. “The project was moving along so well, at a clipped pace. It’s just odd that it would suddenly stop, even with a holiday. It’s not the Fourth yet. Usually there’s someone there. There’s always so much to do.”

  “I thought the same thing.”

  “Your father”—she looked at her—“have you talked to him about this?”

  “No. I hardly see him. I leave early if I surf, and when I get back he’s already gone.”

  Julia stirred her sauce again, then stopped suddenly. “Something’s wrong,” she said. “I can’t put my finger on it. But he’s not himself. Or rather, he’s more like the old Palmer—the one who kept secrets.”

  Linnea felt her stomach tighten. “Are you sure?”

  Julia turned down the heat and faced Linnea. “I’m not certain, but I think he’s been drinking again.”

  “Surely not…” Linnea said with a heartfelt groan.

  “I smelled alcohol on him the other night. When I accused him, he denied it. He said he was at a meeting and someone spilled some bourbon on him. But his breath smelled heavily of peppermint.” She shuddered. “I hate that smell. He always uses it when he’s trying to cover up.”

  “But why?” Linnea said in a frown. “He’s been doing so well.”

  Julia’s fingers tapped the counter. “Has he? Now you tell me that the work stopped on the house?” She shook her head. “Something’s not right. I can feel it.”

  “What should we do?”

  “You do nothing,” she said, pointing her finger in Linnea’s face. “Hear? This is between Palmer and me. And Cara.”

  “Are you going to tell her?”

  “Of course I am. I’m going to call her this very minute.” She tossed her towel on the counter and walked away in search of her phone.

  When Linnea began to follow, Julia turned and put out her hand. “Girl, you stay put. Go on and get ready for your dinner. This is not for you to get involved in. You’ll embarrass him and it’ll make things worse. Focus on your own life now. I mean it.” Her gaze brooked no argument.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Plastic debris has formed giant garbage patches in the oceans. There are five of them around the world, and the largest—the Great Pacific Garbage Patch—covers an area twice the size of Texas.

  THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON, Cara spotted Palmer sitting at the bar at Halls. It was his favorite hangout—a place where he’d spot an old chum, arrange a quick game of golf or a meeting. It was the equivalent of a locker room for some of Charleston’s old guard.

  The restaurant was cool and dark, a respite from the rising summer heat. Still, she closed her eyes as a sinking feeling washed through her. Here we go again, she thought. He was fifty-eight years old. When would she have to stop being her brother’s keeper?

  Never, she knew, and hoisted her resolve, put a smile in place, and, after a quick wave to Bill at the desk, walked over to the gleaming bar and took a seat beside her brother. He was neatly dressed in khakis and a polo, his blond hair trimmed, clean-shaven. But there was something off about him that she couldn’t identify. A slouch, an aura of dismay that was alarming.

  “Hello, Brother,” she said.

  He jerked his head up and turned to look at her, his surprise evident on his face. His eyes were rimmed in red, but they brightened at seeing her.

  “Cara! Sister mine. What a surprise. What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

  “I was searching for you,” she said, and glanced at his glass. “What are you drinking?”

  He grinned wryly and lifted his glass toward her. “Sweet tea. Care for a sip? Or to smell my breath, perhaps?”

  She laughed and shook her head, though inwardly she was immeasurably relieved. When the bartender approached, she pointed to his glass and said, “I’ll have what he’s having.” Cara leaned her elbows on the bar and turned to face him. He had regained his slender form in the past two years of sobriety and exercise. Julia had even signed him up for a weekly yoga session. He’d seemed on top of the world with the progress of his house. Now, suddenly, once again his shoulders slumped.

  Palmer took a long sip from his tea, his thick gold wedding band catching the light. “Julia got you checking up on me?” he asked nonchalantly, but his gaze sharpened.

  Though it was the truth, she sidestepped it. “Why would you ask that?”

  He merely shrugged.

  The waiter brought her iced tea. She took a sip of the cool sweetness and it fortified her. Setting it on the bar, she turned back to him and said, “I wanted to talk to you about the house.”

  Palmer’s pale eyes grew hunted. “What about it?”

  Cara cleared her throat, feeling the tension spike between them. “Well, you know I live right across the street from it. I can’t help but notice that all the work has stopped. For more than a week. The place is deserted. What’s going on?”

  She saw a small muscle twitch in his jaw. “I’ve got it all under control.”

  Cara cringed and tried to cool her rising concern. Whenever Palmer said he had it all under control, the opposite was likely true. Up until now, he’d been open about the progress of the house. Boasting. Sharing news like a boy coming home from school and wanting to show off his gold-starred project. Lately, though, he’d been silent. Cara’s mind had been preoccupied with the wedding plans—frankly, she was relieved not to have to think about the house. But yesterday, when Julia had confided that she thought something was bothering Palmer, and worse, that she suspected he was drinking again, Cara’s razor-sharp focus had turned directly to the house. She’d walked the property. The tools were gone, the trucks nowhere to be seen, and the place deserted. Holiday or no holiday, something was off.

  “Palmer, this is me. Your sister. Your business partner. Please, don’t push me away. We’re in the project together. My land is invested in this deal too. But more, I’m invested emotionally in you. What’s going on? You can tell me.”

  Palmer’s face fell, and she remembered the boy he’d been at the dining table when their father ranted about his failure to do well in school, or on the football team, or one of a hundred different things. Stratton might have been hard on Cara, but he’d doubled
down on his only son. Nothing Palmer did was good enough. And God knew the boy had tried. He was smart, but he wasn’t as smart as Cara. He was good in athletics, but never a star. Palmer was short, slight in build, and blond like his mother. Cara had inherited the tall, athletic, dark Rutledge looks.

  Cara had always defended her brother to their father. She’d volleyed with Stratton at the dinner table, going point for point, often deflecting his drunken ire from Palmer to herself. It was Cara’s nature to fight back, to defend the underdog. Palmer’s nature was to draw inward, to cave under pressure. It was only with alcohol that he found his bravery. Unfortunately, Palmer, like his father, was a belligerent drunk. She’d been so proud of his sobriety these past two years. It broke her heart to think that he might’ve fallen off the wagon.

  “What’s going on?” she prodded again.

  “I’m just having some problems with cash flow. Nothing to worry about. I had to let the guys off for a while.” He put his hand up, seeing Cara’s reaction. “Just for a while,” he repeated, making as if he was dodging a blow. He chuckled.

  Cara did not.

  “I’ll get it all sorted out.”

  Cara frowned. This could only mean trouble. She wasn’t going to allow him to play the big brother card. She had to play this scene in the language he’d understand.

  Cara’s face grew stern. “Don’t even try to play that don’t you worry your pretty little head shit with me. I’m your goddamn business partner. Tell me what the hell is going on. All of it,” she said in the voice that had always had her staff jumping when she was an executive in Chicago.

  Palmer understood that tone, and his eyes flashed. With a set face, he said, “Fine. You want to know? Here it is. I got scammed. I was a goddamn prize fool.”

  Cara closed her eyes for a moment, took a breath, but didn’t speak. Opening her eyes again, she waited for him to continue.

  “Do you remember Simmons Pinckney?” he asked.

  Cara snorted, remembering the entitled, mealy-mouthed boy who for some reason her brother had called his friend since they were in short pants. When Cara was thirteen, pock-faced Simmons had trapped her in the garage and tried to feel her up. Cara had kicked him in the family jewels and stomped off, shouting with fury that if he ever tried that again, she’d make sure he sang soprano for the rest of his life.