Barefoot Season Part 10

"I know how," Carly told her. "I've taken business cla.s.ses at the community college. Brenda preferred to handle it all herself. When she got sick, I offered to help, but she refused."

"So it's not that you can't use the computer?"

"I know how."

"That's something. You'll let everyone know about the new schedule?"

"Sure."

"Then I guess we're done here."

Carly didn't stand.

As much as she hated to admit it, Mich.e.l.le had been completely reasonable. Was that a temporary phenomenon or could she count on a boss who was even-tempered and rational? It was a heady thought.

"You have something else?" Mich.e.l.le asked.

"A couple of things. They're related."

Mich.e.l.le leaned back in her chair. "Go ahead."

"How are you feeling?"

"We're not talking about that."

The words came quickly, forcefully. Mich.e.l.le's attention immediately went back to the computer screen. Carly wasn't sure if her work was that interesting or if was a defense mechanism. She would guess the latter.

"You're tired," Carly continued. "I know what I'm doing here. I can help."

"Do your job. That helps."

"That's it? You have nothing else to say?"

Mich.e.l.le rolled her eyes. "What more do you want? Should I tell you I'd be lost without you? That you complete me? That working together is great? I don't know what it's going to be."

"Meaning if the bank weren't forcing you to keep me, I'd be out on my a.s.s?"

"I honestly don't know. I have no reason to trust you."

Carly wanted to point out that the truth was, in fact, the reverse. She shouldn't and couldn't trust Mich.e.l.le.

"Whether you trust me or not, you need me. You've told me how things are here, so I'm going to do the same." She stood, partially to give herself a sense of power and partially to be able to bolt. "You need to dress better."

Mich.e.l.le's expression hardened and a muscle under her left eye twitched. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. This is a place of business where we deal with our guests on a personal basis. Your s.h.i.+rts are hanging on you and those cargo pants you wear are hideous. Dirty and stained and falling off. You need to dress more professionally."

Mich.e.l.le slowly, painfully stood. She braced her hands on her desk and leaned forward. "Get out."

Carly stood her ground. "You're giving our guests the wrong impression."

"Get out."

"Get your hair cut and try a little makeup."

"Get out!"

The last two words were delivered at a volume that could shake windows.

"Fine. I'm leaving. But you know I'm right."

Still fuming from her run-in with Carly, Mich.e.l.le stalked out into the warm afternoon. Okay, not stalked. She walked slowly, limping, but she was moving purposefully in her heart.

She stepped into the watery sunlight and let the quiet peace of the outdoors calm her. Unfortunately, as she moved, she felt her cargo pants sliding down her hips, which reminded her of Carly, which made her want to scream. And she'd never been a screamer.

She wanted to blame Carly, but knew she was fighting a whole lot bigger battle than simply an annoying friend. Former friend, she reminded herself. And dammit all to h.e.l.l, Carly was right about the clothes and her appearance. In truth, she was almost embarra.s.sed about how she looked. She avoided mirrors-not a huge challenge these days. There was only a small one in her bathroom. But still, she knew she looked bad.

She eyed the gra.s.s on the expansive lawn, wondering if she had the strength to deal with the uneven ground. From there her gaze slid to all the daises. They were a cheerful flower and they also annoyed her.

The call of a crane caught her attention. Nature annoyed her, too, with her daisies and birds and- Her gaze narrowed as she realized there were three or four cranes at the far end of the lawn, by the trees, their clawed feet stepping on the gra.s.s as they headed toward something she couldn't see.

Knowing walking on gra.s.s would count as exercise and make Mango happy, she set off to find out what they were doing. The afternoon was relatively warm-nearly the mid-sixties-and being outside was...nice.

She walked slowly, taking her time, being careful not to do anything stupid. When she was only a dozen or so feet from the trees she realized the cranes had their attention on Carly's daughter. Or at least on the small plate of cookies on the blanket next to her.

The girl was reading, her attention completely caught up in the book. Mich.e.l.le took a second to study the blond hair, the slight body. She still had trouble believing Carly had a kid, but here was proof.

As she watched, she realized Gabby wasn't reading at all. That she was tense, her shoulders hunched, her head pulled close to her chest, her breathing rapid. Mich.e.l.le recognized the symptoms of fear, but it took her a second to find the cause.

The cranes.

Like every other student on the island, Mich.e.l.le had studied cranes in grade-school science cla.s.ses. She knew the Puget Sound cranes were on the small side-maybe forty inches tall. They migrated every year, lived in pairs during breeding season and their dove-gray body feathers darkened to an almost blue-gray by the tail.

"Hey," Mich.e.l.le said softly, before she could stop herself.

Gabby jumped, then looked up. The cranes hopped back.

"What are you doing here?" the girl demanded.

"I came outside because I couldn't stand being inside anymore. You ever get like that?"

Gabby studied her. "Maybe."

Mich.e.l.le looked toward the chattering cranes. The boldest of the three started toward the cookies again. "When I was about your age, the cranes had it out for me. I spent the whole summer getting p.o.o.ped on. It was disgusting."

"Really?"

Mich.e.l.le nodded. "They're hard to avoid around here."

"I know. We have scientists who come and do research on them."

"Have they figured out how to stop them from p.o.o.ping?"

Gabby smiled. "No."

"Figures. They're probably studying things like population and eggs and stuff."

The smile widened. "They are. You should talk to Leonard. He knows all about them. You can ask about the p.o.o.p."

"There's a way to start a conversation. 'Hey, Leonard. About that crane p.o.o.p.'"

Gabby giggled.

Mich.e.l.le pointed to the cranes. "Are you afraid of them?" she asked bluntly.

The humor faded. "They always follow me."

"You have cookies. They want food."

"Not always. Sometimes I'm just out."

Mich.e.l.le glanced at the blanket and thought about sitting down. The problem was she couldn't figure out how she would manage to get back on her feet. She didn't think the visual of her crawling back to the inn would help their guests feel more comfortable.

"I read this article once," Mich.e.l.le said. "Puget Sound cranes can recognize human faces and somehow they tell other cranes about certain people. So if somebody is mean to a crane, the whole flock learns about it."

"I know," Gabby said, glancing at the nearby birds with more than a little fear in her eyes. "Scientists thought that only crows had facial recognition, but they've realized our cranes have it, too. They're special."

"Interesting. How do you know that?"

"I'm smart."

"And modest."

Gabby grinned.

"Okay, so one crane tells the other cranes and somehow everyone in the flock knows about the latest gossip." Mich.e.l.le shrugged. "Obviously they a.s.sociate you with food, which is why they're hanging around, trying to intimidate you into giving up your cookies."

Gabby's eyes widened. "You're right. Because when I read out here, I usually bring a snack. Do you think if I stopped having food around, they'd stop bothering me?"

"Sure. They'd figure it out. You're not the only smart one here."

Gabby tilted her head. "Does your leg hurt?"

"Pretty much all the time."

"You were injured in the war, right? That's what Mom said. That you were protecting our country."

Mich.e.l.le s.h.i.+fted, not sure what to say to that. Carly being nice made her uncomfortable. Mich.e.l.le was old-school. Enemies should be clearly defined, like in cartoons.

"I was serving, yes."

"That was really nice of you. Thank you."

Despite her resistance to the compliment, she found herself touched by the girl's sincerity. "You're welcome."

"Next time I come out, I'll bring a chair so you can sit down."

Mich.e.l.le smiled, pleased by both the gesture and the proof that Gabby wasn't afraid of her anymore. She had enough demons to deal with. Especially ones that involved another little girl in a faraway place.

"I'll bring a book," she said, "and we'll read together."

Ten.

"She's so annoying."

Carly made the p.r.o.nouncement while stacking dishes in the sink and running water over them. Robert had joined them for dinner as he did at least once every couple of weeks. She appreciated the adult conversation and the chance to cook for someone with more adult sensibilities than Gabby, but there were times when she missed having a girlfriend to rant to. Robert was a typical guy. He had trouble simply listening and mostly wanted to fix the problem.

"Don't get me wrong. I'm happy to have a job."

"And job security," he said from a chair at the tiny kitchen table.

"That, too. That more than anything."

With her raise and careful planning, she could grow her nest egg. And if Mich.e.l.le really did mean for her to work fewer hours, then she could get serious about getting her a.s.sociate's degree in business.

"She's going to be different," Robert said. "It's been ten years and she's been through a lot."

"I know."

"She's wounded."

Carly sighed. "I should be more patient."

"You're not the only one figuring it all out."

She wasn't thrilled with him taking Mich.e.l.le's side, but knew he was actually being reasonable.

"It is a lot to take in," she admitted, plunging her hands into the soapy water and scrubbing the first plate.