Barefoot Season Part 2

She stepped into the bright, hot kitchen and found her salads were ready. She grabbed them and returned to the dining room.

The motions were easy, for which she was grateful. Scattered didn't begin to describe how she felt. Terrified was probably closer.

Fired. She couldn't be fired. This was home. She'd lived here for nearly ten years. She'd put her heart and soul into this place. She loved it. That had to count, right? Possession was nine-tenths of the law. Would gathering cliches help? Something had to. Mich.e.l.le couldn't simply walk back in and fire her.

Only she could.

Fighting tears, Carly ducked back into the butler's pantry. The marble countertop was cool against her fingers. Marble she'd chosen, along with the cabinets, even the tables and chairs in the expanded restaurant.

She'd promised, Carly thought, hanging her head as her eyes burned. Brenda had promised that she would give Carly a share of the inn. Two percent a year until she owned half and they were equal partners. By rights Carly should now own nearly twenty percent of it. Only the inn hadn't been Brenda's to give.

All those years ago when Mich.e.l.le had claimed her daddy had left the inn to her, Carly had a.s.sumed her friend was just saying what kids say. "This will be mine." Because Mich.e.l.le lived there and worked there. But Mich.e.l.le had been telling the truth and Brenda had lied and Carly had nowhere else to go.

She wiped her face and forced a smile before returning to her customers.

It was nearly seven-thirty by the time she escaped back to the owner's suite of the inn-the rooms where she and her daughter had lived since Gabby's birth. Rooms she'd made her own, rooms with memories.

Gabby was watching TV, but looked up and smiled when Carly entered. Brittany, her regular babysitter, quickly set down her iPhone. Gabby scrambled off the sofa and rushed to her.

"Mom."

She didn't say anything else, just hung on.

Carly hugged her back, knowing that like nearly every other mother on the planet, she would do anything for her child. Including protecting her from the truth-that they might be evicted from their home.

"How was your evening?" she asked, smoothing Gabby's blond hair off her face and staring into her blue eyes.

"Good. I beat Brittany on two puzzles on Wheel of Fortune."

The teenager grinned. "See. All that spelling homework is helping."

Gabby wrinkled her nose. "I'd rather do math."

"Dinner was great," Brittany said, coming to her feet. "Thanks."

Carly had delivered the chicken Marsala pasta for them at five-thirty. She worked in the restaurant two nights a week, but at least was able to bring home dinner during her s.h.i.+ft.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"We did," Gabby said.

Brittany had already shrugged into her coat.

"Meeting Michael?" Carly asked, standing before walking the teen to the door.

The teenager smiled. "Yes. We're going bowling with friends."

"I should hear on the summer camp in the next couple of weeks," Carly said, catching her daughter's soft snort. Gabby wasn't a fan of summer camp, mostly because it involved getting outside and doing things like hiking and kayaking. Her daughter preferred to read or play on her computer.

"My summer cla.s.ses are from eight to twelve." Brittany pulled her long, red braid out from her jacket. "So afternoons are good." She hesitated, then lowered her voice. "That was her? Mich.e.l.le?"

Carly nodded.

"She's nothing like I expected. I didn't think she would be scary. Not that she did anything. It's just, I don't know..."

Carly's first instinct was to defend, which only went to prove one never outgrew being an idiot.

"She's not so bad," she said by way of compromise. Which was pretty big of her, considering she'd been fired.

"Okay. Have a good night."

Brittany left and Carly settled on the sofa. Her daughter curled up next to her, her head on Carly's shoulder.

"I don't like her," Gabby whispered. "Does she have to stay?"

Carly wanted to say she didn't like Mich.e.l.le, either, but knew that would be a mistake. Doing the right thing was a pain in the a.s.s, she thought, stroking her daughter's hair.

"Let's see how it goes before we make any judgments," she said lightly, ignoring a sense of impending doom.

"You always do that, Mom," Gabby said with a sigh. "Look at both sides. Sometimes don't you want to just be mad?"

"More than you'd think."

The reality was Mich.e.l.le needed her. At least in the short term. Someone had to run the inn and, with Brenda gone, that left Carly. Mich.e.l.le would need time to recover, to remember what it was like to work here. The firing had been impulsive. Words, not intentions.

It was like whistling in the dark, she thought, pulling her daughter close. Or not believing in ghosts, evidence be d.a.m.ned.

An hour and a half later, Carly kissed her daughter's forehead. "Sleep well," she murmured. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Mom."

The words were spoken in a sleepy tone. Gabby's eyes were already drifting closed. Even though her daughter had stopped asking for a good-night story years ago, she still liked being tucked in. She was nine, would be ten in the fall. How much longer until she started thinking of her mother as more of an annoyance than a friend?

Carly couldn't remember the age when she'd found everything her parents did either foolish or embarra.s.sing. At seventeen, she'd been desperate to be free of them. Funny how it had taken her mother running off for her to realize how much she needed her around. But it had been too late to say that, to find out the rest of what she needed to grow to be a woman.

She kissed Gabby again, silently promising never to abandon her child, no matter what, then stood. A night-light guided her along the familiar steps. For all Gabby's claims of growing independence, her daughter still preferred the soft glow while she slept.

At the doorway, Carly paused and looked back at the now-sleeping child, then at her room. She'd made the curtains herself and put up the shelves. Paint was cheap and she haunted the Blackberry Island Thrift Store for bargains, like the cheerful quilt still in its store plastic wrap. She kept a big jar at the bottom of her closet and put all her loose change into it. That was the fund for her daughter's birthday and Christmas. Despite the lack of money, they'd made it.

All that would change if she got fired. She wouldn't just lose her job; she would lose her home.

For a moment, she stood in the half darkness and remembered when this room had belonged to Mich.e.l.le. Most weekends they spent their nights together, usually here, because it was better. Safer. When they'd been Gabby's age, they'd made daisy chains to wear and offer to guests. They'd run down to the beach and thrown rocks into the Sound. Mich.e.l.le would wade into the cold water, but Carly kept to the sh.o.r.e. She'd always been afraid of the water. She had no explanation, no early trauma. The phobia simply existed. Unfortunately, she'd pa.s.sed it on to her daughter.

On her good days, she told herself she'd more than made up for that with love and caring and a stable home life. Their world was orderly and predictable. They were happy. No matter what it took, Carly had to make sure that didn't change.

The motel room could have been on any one of a thousand roadsides. The bed was small and hard, the sheets rough, the carpet stained. The dark drapes didn't quite meet in the middle. Car lights swept across the window, creating a pattern on the opposite wall. There was a steady drip from the faucet in the bathroom.

Mich.e.l.le supposed she could have found a nicer place, but she hadn't had enough interest. This place would do for the night. It had the added advantage of being close to the main highway into town and a favorite stop for truckers. She was unlikely to run into anyone she knew. Right now being anonymous was a win.

She ran water in the shower until steam filled the small bathroom. After stripping down, she stepped into the spray and let the hot water wash over her. She used the soap, rubbing the tiny bar into her hair, then rinsing.

Despite the heat, she s.h.i.+vered, eventually turning the taps off and drying with the small, thin towel provided. She couldn't see herself in the mirror, which was fine. It wasn't as if she was going to put on makeup. Her lone concession to her skin while deployed had been sunscreen. Now that she was back in the Northwest, she didn't even have to bother with that.

As she dressed, she avoided looking at the still-healing scars on her hip. She was sure the surgeon had done his best to tidy up the injury, to mitigate the blast marks from the gunshot, but he hadn't had much to work with.

In her head she knew she was lucky. She was all in one piece. A partial hip replacement was barely a footnote compared to what others had suffered. She'd survived, meeting every soldier's goal of not getting dead. The rest would take care of itself.

She left the small bathroom. A stack of take-out menus sat on the narrow desk in the corner. Food was probably a good idea. She was still on antibiotics and pain meds. Having something in her stomach would make them go down easier. Or she could avoid them completely, solving the problem in another way.

The paper bag stood on the nightstand. She crossed to it and removed the bottle of vodka.

"h.e.l.lo, you," she murmured, undoing the top. "I'm not looking for anything long term. How about just spending the night together?"

The counselor at the hospital had warned her that using humor as a defense mechanism would get in the way of her healing fully. She'd told him she could live with the flaw.

The night was quiet. The steady rumble of cars was practically a lullaby compared to what she'd heard just a few months ago. There was no threat of explosions, no roar of heavy equipment, no jets overhead. The night was cool instead of warm, the sky cloudy instead of clear.

Decisions would have to be made. She couldn't avoid the inn. She belonged there, or she had. There was also the issue of Carly. Saying she was fired had felt good. Maybe she should keep her around so she could fire her over and over again. A little gift to herself.

"That's bad, even for you," she told herself, still staring at the vodka.

Exhaustion pulled at her, making her want to lie down, to close her eyes. She resisted, despite the need to heal. Because sleep came at a price. Sleep brought dreams and the dreams were a new level of h.e.l.l.

"Not with you," she said, lifting the bottle. "With you, there's just a real good time."

She drank deeply, letting the liquor burn down her throat and swirl into her empty belly. She drank until she was sure there wouldn't be dreams, until she was sure that for one more night she got to forget.

Four.

The knock on the back door of the kitchen had Gabby scrambling out of her chair and racing toward the sound.

"I'll get it! I'll get it!" she yelled.

There was no point in telling her to be quiet, Carly thought. Gabby was a morning person. Most days Carly didn't mind, but after a night of tossing and turning, her daughter's high-pitched voice pierced her brain like gla.s.s.

Gabby fumbled with the lock, then threw open the door.

"Uncle Robert!"

She flung herself toward the man in the doorway, arms open, her entire being expectant. Robert caught her and swung her high in the air.

"How's my best girl?" he asked before kissing her cheek.

"Good. We're having blackberries on our pancakes."

Robert chuckled. "And that's news why?"

They laughed together, then he lowered her to the ground. Gabby returned to the table and Robert closed the door.

"How was it?" he asked, walking into the kitchen.

Carly knew what he meant and didn't know how to answer. She shrugged, then busied herself getting him coffee. Robert took his usual seat-he was a regular at their breakfast table, joining them a couple of times a week.

"Thanks," he said, taking the cup of coffee. He turned to Gabby. "Ready for school?"

She nodded eagerly, her blond hair bouncing with the movement. Gabby adored school, both the cla.s.ses and her friends. At least there she was happily social.

"So what are you studying this week?" he asked. "Calculus? You're in college, right?"

Gabby giggled. "Uncle Robert, I'm nine."

"Really? You look older. I would have thought you were twenty."

The conversation was familiar. Gabby adored her uncle and the feelings between them ran deep. Family was good, Carly told herself. Although it had taken having Gabby to convince herself of that. Her daughter was a blessing she wasn't sure she deserved, but the rest of the familial relations.h.i.+ps were iffy at best.

Robert had been more than kind, more than giving with his time and attention. Some of his actions were fueled by guilt, she knew. Robert was a good man, someone who took commitments seriously. Someone who expected the same of others. His brother, Allen, hadn't shared Robert's sense of obligation, walking out on Carly long before Gabby was born.

The leaving had been shocking enough, but having him clean out her bank account, taking every penny she had, had been worse.

Robert had stepped in, offering to let Carly live with him. She'd refused and instead had come to work at the inn. Robert had tracked his brother down, but Allen had refused to return and he'd already blown all the money. Their divorce had followed. He'd never paid child support, but he'd signed away his rights to his daughter. While Carly could use the money, she figured having him gone was a good exchange. He was one of those men who created trouble, then walked away without bothering to think about the shattered lives in his wake.

Gabby finished her breakfast and carried her bowl to the counter. She set it in place.

"I'm going to brush my teeth," she announced before das.h.i.+ng from the room.

Robert's gaze followed her. "I can't believe how big she's getting."

"She'll be ten soon." Collecting her own coffee, Carly sat at the table.

"You saw her yesterday?" he asked.

There was no reason to ask who "she" was. Carly had confessed her concerns about Mich.e.l.le's return to Robert. He'd also been witness to the trouble between them ten years ago.

"Yes," she admitted. "Briefly. She's...different. Thinner. She walks with a limp, which isn't a surprise."

"She was shot in the hip, right? That's what I heard."