Barefoot Season Part 34

She grabbed the phone from Carly and dropped it to the floor, then stepped on it, as if trying to crush it.

"I want them to go away. Just go away."

The fear grew. Not for herself. Carly wasn't concerned that Mich.e.l.le would physically hurt her. Instead, she worried for her.

"Mich.e.l.le," she began.

"Don't. Don't say it. Just don't." Mich.e.l.le turned in a circle, as if trapped and looking for a way out. Her eyes were wide, her face ashen. "I can't be here. I can't do this. Go away. Just go away."

And then she was running down the hallway. Carly hurried after her. Mich.e.l.le moved quickly, her hip obviously better. She made it to her truck, then started the engine. She roared out of the parking lot, narrowly missing a tree at the entrance.

"Mom?"

Carly saw her daughter carrying Mr. Whiskers. "Yes, honey?"

"What's wrong with Mich.e.l.le?"

"I don't know," Carly admitted, touching her daughter's hair and forcing herself to smile. "But she'll be better soon."

"Promise?"

Carly wondered how wrong it was to lie to her child. Not that she had a choice-Gabby was too young to deal with the truth.

"Yes. I promise."

Mich.e.l.le sat in a chair in the back corner of the bar, shaking. She wasn't sure how long she'd been there or how much she'd had to drink. She half expected the bartender to refuse to serve her, but he didn't seem to notice how close she was to snapping. Apparently what mattered was that her credit card cleared.

She told herself she had to eat something, even if the thought of food made her stomach cramp in protest. She was sinking-she could feel it. Every day was harder. It wasn't even what had happened in Afghanistan, although that still haunted her. It was everything else. Being here, being anywhere, was too hard.

But she didn't have anywhere else to go. Which meant what? That it was time not to be anywhere? Was that the answer?

She closed her eyes, then opened them, nearly as afraid of the dark as she was of the light. She reached for her gla.s.s, but was shaking too hard to pick it up. Weakness invaded her. She wondered if she could simply die right there and no one would know why.

"Come on."

The voice came from in front of her. She blinked, then saw Jared standing by the table.

"What?"

"Come on. We're getting out of here."

He took hold of her arm and drew her to her feet, then half led, half carried her to the door.

He was going to make her do something, she thought. Make her face what was wrong, force her to get better. He wasn't going to let her talk her way out of it. With the realization came both fear and relief. Maybe he could show her another way out.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Home."

Not to a hospital? Not to a rehab center or intervention?

"And then what? I'll just leave. I'll come back here." She wanted the words to sound defiant, but had a feeling her voice was too small.

"That's up to you."

The drive back to the house took less than five minutes. Jared helped her out of the front seat and onto the ground. He led her to the back door.

She knew there was going to be a lecture and a part of her hoped he was able to get through to her. She had her doubts, though. What could he possibly say that she hadn't already told herself? He wasn't magic. He was just a guy with a weak spot for those in need.

Despite the fact that it was after nine, it was still light out, so she could see everything clearly. Even the dog tied up by the door.

She came to a stop and stared. The dog was a good size-a mixed breed with a lot of Lab and maybe some shepherd. It had short hair, like a yellow Lab, with a dark muzzle and dark ears. When it saw them, it cowered, moving back as far as the rope around its neck would let it. The animal half turned.

Mich.e.l.le gasped. She could see welts on the side of the dog and all its ribs. The animal radiated fear. It began to shake so hard it collapsed, then scrambled, trying to get into the corner of the small porch.

She felt sick. "What happened to him?"

"Who knows? A friend of mine works with animal rescue. This little guy was picked up this morning. He'd been abused, then abandoned. I brought him here. He needs to be taken care of. Fed and rehabilitated."

She tore her gaze away from the dog and stared at Jared. "You're going to do that?"

"No. You are. He doesn't have anyone in the world, Mich.e.l.le."

She took a step back. "I don't know anything about dogs."

"Then you're going to have to learn pretty fast. The vet says he's not sick. Just hurt and starving. Scared as h.e.l.l. The people who were supposed to take care of him didn't. He might have been tortured. We're not sure." Jared fished his keys out of his pocket and started back toward the truck.

"There's some dog food in the house. You can figure the rest of it out as you go."

Twenty-Nine.

Carly carried the tray of flatware, napkins, gla.s.ses and mugs to the next table. The weekend before the Fourth of July was crazy busy on the island. Between the cutback in people at the inn and dealing with the transition after Damaris had been fired, she was scrambling to get everything done. Mich.e.l.le was supposed to be the one working the restaurant this Sunday morning, but since their encounter the previous afternoon, she hadn't been seen.

Carly wasn't sure what to do. Should she call Jared and ask if she was okay? Call the police? Keep her mouth shut? She reminded herself that if anything bad had happened, she would have heard. Sam would let her know. But worry was a constant companion, nibbling at the edge of her mind, making it tough to concentrate on anything else.

She set the first table, arranging the napkins, flatware, gla.s.ses and mugs automatically. At least the rest of the inn was going well. The restaurant business was as strong as ever. Helen was a G.o.dsend, providing great food and appealing specials. They'd sold out of her chicken salad on focaccia bread every time she'd made it. Carly wanted to talk to Mich.e.l.le about making it part of the menu. a.s.suming Mich.e.l.le was ever around for them to talk business.

She moved to the next table. The door to the restaurant opened. Carly turned to say they weren't serving lunch for another hour, but stopped when she saw Ellen.

The well-dressed blonde smiled as she approached. In her tailored suit and heels, she looked professional and attractive, but Carly saw the essence of shark in her smile. Bracing herself for the inevitable attack, she squared her shoulders and forced a pleasant expression.

"h.e.l.lo, Ellen."

"Carly. You're still here. I'm surprised."

What? Here as in working at the restaurant or here as in still at the inn? "I don't understand."

"I would have thought Mich.e.l.le would have fired you by now. You're hardly an a.s.set to the business."

"Mich.e.l.le can't fire me. You made sure of that. You told her the board insisted..." She stopped talking, finally understanding the game. "It wasn't the board, was it? There's no committee telling Mich.e.l.le what she has to do or not do. With the loan being made current, there aren't any rules. Just whatever sick game you're playing."

Ellen's pleasant expression never changed. "I'd be careful, if I were you. You don't want to upset the one person who holds your destiny in her hands, do you? That would be very foolish. Especially considering you have a small child to take care of. If you didn't have a job here, where would you go? What would you do?" Her smile widened. "I've seen the books, Carly. Part of my due diligence. I know how very little you make. Considering you have to pay for a sitter to keep working, you must have a tough time making ends meet. There's not much of an emergency fund, is there? So losing your job, and subsequently your home, would be a disaster."

Three months ago it would have been, Carly thought bitterly. But Ellen didn't know about the ten thousand dollars. She didn't know Carly would hate to lose her job but that it wouldn't be as devastating as it could have been. She and Gabby would make it, thanks to Mich.e.l.le.

"I'll take your silence as a yes," Ellen told her. "After all this time you have nothing. You are nothing. Payback's a b.i.t.c.h, isn't it?"

"Payback isn't the only one," she said calmly, refusing to let the other woman see that she was shaken.

"I want you to remember that every day," Ellen told her. "Remember how close you are to losing it all."

She gave a little wave, then left.

Carly waited until she was alone again, then allowed herself a brief second of fist-clenching before returning to setting the tables.

There was good news, she told herself firmly. Ellen's conditions about the inn might not be legal, which meant they weren't enforceable. On the downside, Mich.e.l.le didn't have to keep Carly around, but maybe that was okay. She knew she'd more than proved herself. Why would Mich.e.l.le want to get rid of her now?

Helen walked into the dining room. "Was someone just here? I thought I heard voices." She smiled. "Not in a way to alarm anyone."

Carly laughed and felt her tension ease a little. "Good to know."

"At my age, one needs to make the distinction. So, who was our visitor?"

"Ellen. Her bank had the loans on the inn. She stopped by to torture me a little. She does it for sport."

Helen sniffed. "I never could abide a bully. But you have nothing to worry about. She can't hurt you."

"She can influence Mich.e.l.le."

"I don't think so. Mich.e.l.le needs you. You're an integral part of the inn. She deals with the behind-the-scenes part of the business, but you're the face the customers see. And they like you. That's invaluable."

Carly hoped she was right. But even if she did lose her job, she and Gabby would still be all right.

"Why does Ellen dislike you?"

"Because of a few things that happened in high school. I stole her boyfriend."

"Some people love to live in the past," Helen said. "A waste of time, if you ask me. It can't be undone."

"Not Ellen's philosophy."

"That is going to be a problem for her, but not for you. Not if you don't let it. Now I'd better get back to work or people will go hungry at lunch."

Helen left and Carly returned to setting the tables. The realization that Ellen might be manipulating Mich.e.l.le shouldn't be a surprise, but it was. Like Helen said, the past couldn't be changed. At some point Ellen had to figure that out or let it go. More easily said than done, Carly thought.

Still, she was going to have to share the latest revelation with Mich.e.l.le. Based on their last conversation, it wasn't going to go well. But she wouldn't be keeping any secrets. No matter how ugly the telling.

Mich.e.l.le sat on the floor in her bedroom. Afternoon light spilled into the room. The windows were open, letting the warm air drift inside, but the fact that the temperatures had finally warmed to close to eighty didn't help at all with the shaking.

She held up her hand and watched her fingers tremble. Not that she needed to look at them to confirm what she could feel in every cell in her body. She alternated between cold and hot, between wanting to throw up and a tightness in her chest that made it nearly impossible to breathe.

She'd been drinking so much lately, it had probably been weeks since her system had been free of alcohol. Vodka couldn't help her to forget, but it blurred the edges enough to make the flashbacks manageable. Letting it go meant dealing with reality. Not something she looked forward to.

She stretched out her legs, staring at her thin thighs and bony knees. She'd pa.s.sed fas.h.i.+onably thin ten pounds ago. Now she looked like a refugee. There were bruises on her legs-probably more from a lack of nutrition than because she'd b.u.mped anything. Her feet were dirty, her toenails too long. She hadn't shaved her legs in weeks. Which meant she should rethink shorts right now. Not that there was anyone to see.

A soft cry made her turn. The dog lay on the makes.h.i.+ft bed she'd created out of several blankets, finally asleep.

Neither of them had gotten much rest last night. She'd sat on the floor, waiting for the alcohol to slowly metabolize out of her system while the dog had cowered in the farthest corner from her. It had gulped the food she'd offered, lapped up some water, then had stood watching her. Obviously waiting for the next round of pain.

Sometime after midnight, she'd put the collar on him she'd found on the bed. The dog had nearly collapsed from fear as she'd approached, then shook as she fastened the strip of leather. She'd put on the leash and practically had to drag it outside to go to the bathroom. They'd repeated the process again this morning.

But sometime around noon the dog had crept to the stack of blankets and lain down. He'd watched her with his sad brown eyes until his lids had slowly closed and he'd gone to sleep. She'd been sitting as quietly as possible ever since.

Now she watched him twitch in his sleep, soft whines coming from his dreams. She didn't know much about dogs and less about what they thought, but she sensed his sleep had produced nightmares. Something she was all too familiar with.

Not sure what to do, she hummed quietly, hoping the sound would be calming. The dog came awake with a jerk.

"Hey," she whispered, staying in place. "It's okay. All right, it's not okay. It sucks, but you're safe now. I'm not going to hurt you." She watched him watch her. "This would be more helpful if you spoke English."

The dog's head was low, his body tense.

"It's been a while," she murmured. "You probably need to go to the bathroom and we both need to eat."

She stood and reached for the leash. The dog stood, as well, and backed into the corner.

"It's all right," she told him. "Shh. Shh. We're going outside. It's okay."

He trembled as she approached, but didn't run. She snapped on the leash and walked toward the door. He braced himself.

"Come on," she said, opening the door and patting her leg. "Let's go out."

His wounded eyes locked with hers, as if he were trying to figure out what threat she offered. Just when she was sure she was going to have to drag him again, he took a step toward her.

"Good boy. That's it. Let's go out."

He took another step.