Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
W hy do I do this to myself? Georgette knew a Chamber of Commerce meeting was the wrong time to become philosophical, but she couldn’t seem to help it. For the last eighteen months, she had willingly put herself through the emotional wringer, and for what? So she could say she was a member of something? So she could hope to make a difference in the way the town handled tourist season? So her inn could try to make its mark? So people would finally recognize Georgette as a human, separate from her brother and her tragic backstory?
Jenna Archer spoke, but of course Georgie had no idea what she said. How could she? The woman kept her face averted. At first Georgette thought it might be an accident. She explained, when she joined, that she read lips and needed to see people’s faces as they spoke, in order to understand them. When people continued to turn their faces away, she chalked it up to forgetfulness and sent a politely worded email as a reminder, also requesting a written summary of the meetings (notes and minutes were already kept by their secretary.) When the summary failed to appear and people kept turning away from her, she got the hint, and still she kept showing up. Why? Punishment? Stubbornness? She’d like to think she was gritty and plucky enough for that to be the case, but she suspected it was a more pathetic reality: she wanted to be acknowledged and accepted.
I can’t do this anymore, she realized. It was so much safer and easier to stay in her little corner of the world. Before, she only had Brody. But now Elyse was here, a real friend who liked and accepted her, exactly as she was. That was enough, wasn’t it? It would have to be, because she couldn’t keep this up.
Someone eased into the chair beside her. She caught sight of him in her peripheral, and at first thought it must be Brody. He had an open invitation to the Chamber of Commerce, and Jenna, coincidentally his former high school girlfriend, had been bugging him for months to attend. Georgette wondered if perhaps her acceptance onto the committee was because they thought it might induce Brody to show up. All eyes were on the newcomer, who tapped Georgie’s arm, snagging her attention.
“They asked who I am,” he said, when he had her attention.
She blinked at him before turning her attention back to the women. “He’s my handyman.”
That earned her more stares. “Really,” Jenna said, gaze wandering between them. “I didn’t know you were hiring.”
“I didn’t know it was your business who she hires,” Burke said. He seemed grumpier than usual, arms crossed over his chest. Before she could wonder why, he continued to speak, “Do you always exclude Georgette from these meetings, or is it only today?”
Jenna’s lashes fluttered. Busted, Georgette thought, even as Jenna tried to paste on an innocent expression. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I’m guessing that’s what Georgette has been thinking,” Burke said.
“Maybe we weren’t aware…” Jenna began, but Burke interrupted.
“Are you new to this town?”
“Er…no,” Jenna said.
“Because I’ve known her a short time and have already learned to face her when I speak. How long have you known her?” Burke demanded.
Jenna’s eyes darted guiltily toward Georgette. “A while.”
“What about the rest of you?” Burke said, his eyes circling the small group, who all looked studiously away and shifted in their chairs.
“It’s a meeting, we’re not really set up for handicapped people,” Clara tried. She glanced around the group for support, but no one would look at her. No one would look at anyone, everyone was too busy trying not to look at Burke.
“I didn’t realize common courtesy was a special accommodation,” Burke said.
Jenna’s eyes actually watered. Georgette would have felt bad, but she had vivid memories of Jenna being horrible in high school. She had always been that girl who was nice when she needed something from you, and horrible when she didn’t.
“Sorry,” she gasped and visibly swallowed, blinking rapidly. Whether it was fear or remorse, Georgette had no idea and didn’t care. At least she felt something, after so many years of bad behavior. The other women cleared their throats, too, and angled their chairs facing Georgette, waiting for her to speak. She glanced at Burke but he was no longer there, and that unsettled her. Was he imaginary? How did he seem to show up when she needed him and disappear soon after? Was she the only one who saw him, an actual ghost now living in her attic? But, no, the women in this meeting had talked to him, and Elyse knew him. He wasn’t made up.
She faced forward and smoothed a nervous hand along her pants. “So,” she began. There was a not-so-small part of her that wanted to smooth over the awkwardness, to wave away Burke’s chastisement and make everybody feel better, but she resisted the urge. The reality was that the women had been horrible to her, repeatedly and for too long, and she knew it. Part of growing up meant offering forgiveness, but also allowing other people to own up to their mistakes and attempt to change them. “Let’s talk about the winter festival.”
A fter the oh-so-public airing of grievances, it was only a matter of time before Brody arrived. He did so while Georgette was on day two of sorting the linens. Unlike with Burke, she could sense her brother’s appearance. Maybe negative feelings like disapproval and resentment created stronger vibrations, announcing his presence like Darth Vader’s theme music.
She saw his shoes and glanced up, offering a tentative smile she hoped did not look guilty. I am a grown woman and a business owner. I can do what I want.
“Georgette, is a man living in your attic?” he began, by way of greeting.
“Do you mean that literally, or was that a euphemism?”
He grimaced and sank beside her on the floor. “I don’t want to know what you think that might be a euphemism for. Gross. Just answer the question.” Of everyone in her life, she could hear Brody the best, was so attuned to his voice, expressions, and modulation that she could puzzle together his words without needing to rely on visual cues as much. She allowed part of her attention to return to her work, to give herself a reprieve.
“I have a handyman,” she admitted.
He sighed, longsuffering. “What’s his name and social, I’ll run him, see if I can pick him up on any relative warrants.”
“What makes you think he has them?” she asked.
“Aimless drifters who live rent free in attics always do,” he replied.
“You’re too young to be this cynical,” she said.
He gave her a flat look that she guessed was a big brother expression but also might now be a cop expression. Becoming chief of police had taken what little hope and joy he had and crushed it, and she kind of hated that for him. She could still remember the Brody he was, before their parents were killed, a daredevil kid whose exuberance often landed him in trouble. Losing them and becoming her guardian at eighteen had aged and sobered him to the point of severity. Georgette felt guilty about that, and so many other things. It was always between them, the weight of his responsibility. She’d been trying to relieve him of the burden for the last thirteen years, but hadn’t so far succeeded. Even when she went away to culinary school, he’d called and checked in every night, making certain she was home, safe, and okay.
“He’s not a criminal,” she said with far more certainty than she felt. Was Burke a criminal? He was certainly on the run from something . No way would he arrive here and agree to live in her attic, otherwise.
“How do you know?” he demanded.
“Because he’s friends with Elyse. He presented the conference here a couple of weeks ago.”
That gave him pause. “What was the conference about?”
She shrugged. “I have no idea. He made me turn off my hearing aids whenever I entered the room.” She scowled, still stung by that.
“What?” Brody exclaimed. “He can’t do that. You shouldn’t have complied.”
“He was my guest, it seemed like it was for the best.”
“Why?”
“Because he didn’t want me to hear what he was talking about.” She looked around and lowered her voice. “Spy stuff.”
“Elyse is out of the spy game,” he returned.
“Not completely. She works for a private investigator and security firm, there’s probably a lot of overlap.”
“I don’t like this, Georgette. It’s a terrible idea to let a stranger in here.”
“Brody, I let strangers in here every day,” Georgette pointed out.
“They don’t set up shop in your attic,” he returned.
Brody’s head whipped around, and they saw Burke standing at the edge of the room. Georgette wondered if he cleared his throat, as an introduction.
“The Burke,” Georgette announced, unnecessarily.
Burke ignored her and focused on Brody. “The brother.” His tone was so unusual. Everyone in town revered Brody. He was like a hero of old, their stoic chief of police, the athletic young Adonis who gave up his future to raise his little sister. Georgette couldn’t think of one person who didn’t alternately like or respect him, even girls he’d dumped. And now this odd drifter who inhabited her attic stared at him like something he’d scraped off the bottom of his shoe.
“I’m Brody,” he said, as he unfolded himself from the floor and stood to his full height.
“Have you been out of the country?” Burke demanded.
Brody blinked at him, confused. “No, why?”
“I’m trying to figure out why else you have abandoned your sister here,” he motioned recklessly toward Georgette, who gasped. Brody glanced at her in dismay.
“What? What are you talking about? I haven’t abandoned her.”
“Really? You let her buy this place, with the condition it’s in?” Burke demanded.
“Hey,” Georgette interjected. Meanwhile Brody’s eyes skimmed over the inn, as if seeing it anew.
“You let her be treated like a pariah all over town?” Burke continued.
“What are you talking about? Everyone loves Georgette.” Brody’s eyes landed back on his sister, demanding she back him up.
She froze. “Er…”
His expression dimmed. “Georgette, what’s the problem? Has someone in town been giving you a hard time? Harassing you?”
“Er…” she repeated. For some reason her gaze landed on Burke, who faced Brody with an annoyed huff.
“They treat her like she doesn’t have a brain, they exclude her, purposely look away from her while they’re talking, ignore and belittle her.”
“What?” Brody said softly, a little stunned. “No, that’s not…Georgette, tell him that’s not…”
Georgette couldn’t say anything, though, because she’d started to cry. This time when Brody and Burke looked at each other, it was in mutual discomfort. Neither was naturally gifted with a woman in tears.
“Wait, I know what to do with this,” Burke said, as if just remembering this was a problem he’d previously solved, conveniently forgetting it was also a problem he’d previously created. He sank to his knees next to Georgette, put an arm around her, and pulled her softly against his chest.
“What is going on?” Brody whispered, when Georgette leaned into the stranger like they were new best friends, like she’d been waiting all her life for a hug like that. Why should she, though, when she had him? True, he hadn’t exactly been overly affectionate with her, but he hugged her. Didn’t he? He tried to remember the last time he hugged his sister. To his shame and embarrassment, he thought it might have been the day she graduated culinary school, years ago. He swallowed hard, fighting a wave of guilt that threatened to drag him under. He’d screwed up a lot of things in his life, but he felt certain he’d always been a good brother to Georgette. Now, though, an unidentified stranger was insinuating he hadn’t. That people had been mean to Georgette, people in their town. And what was the part about the inn? He looked around again, but to him it looked the same as everything else in town—dilapidated and salt-worn. Fighting against the ocean spray was a losing battle most people in town gave up long ago.
“Georgie?” he tried, for the first time in his life uncertain where to go next. He crouched next to her but didn’t sit, in case he needed to make a quick getaway. Women confounded him, always had. His little sister had always been immune to that rule, and now she was one of them. How badly had he messed her up?
She held up a finger and sniffed, trying to get herself together, while the stranger patted and soothed her. Brody scowled at the man, who returned his scowl, measure for measure. It disconcerted him that this man had slipped under his radar. Not only was he living in Georgette’s attic, but he was touching her, comforting her. He would definitely be having a word with Elyse about it.
“It’s not your fault,” Georgette assured him, as if reading his mind. “I’m a grownup.”
He almost smiled a little, because she didn’t look like a grownup, huddled on the floor and crying. “Are people in town mean to you?”
She lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Not mean, exactly. Just…” She glanced at Burke, as if trying to frame her response. “Dismissive. I wanted…” She paused again and swallowed. “I thought if I went to culinary school, it would be different, that I would go away and come back and everything would be magically different.”
“Why would you want it to be different?” Brody asked. This community was everything to them, the fabric of their lives. They wouldn’t have made it after their parents died, without the help of their neighbors.
“It’s different for us,” Georgette said, pointing between them. “They see you as capable, selfless, brave. Every good descriptor. I get the leftovers: helpless, handicapped, young, incompetent.”
“No one sees you as incompetent,” he insisted.
“Because no one actually sees me,” she said.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“Do they see me as a full-fledged member of the business community? Do they realize and understand I’m a classically trained chef, capable of working in some of the priciest establishments on the planet? Do they know I chose to return here, that I had offers from restaurants all over the world? Do they understand that I’m not lacking in intelligence, just because I can’t hear what they’re saying?”
Brody’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. If he were honest, he’d never given it much thought. Georgette was Georgette. Of course people loved and accepted her, why wouldn’t they? But now, hearing and seeing it from her point of view, he began to understand how easily she’d been dismissed, overlooked, ignored. She’d never had a lot of friends in school, but Brody had blamed that on the rough years after losing their parents. Who wanted to make friends while they adjusted to being an orphan? Besides, she’d had him, and he had tried desperately to be enough. Clearly he hadn’t been. The shock of that hurt as much as being dumped by his long-term girlfriend had. Maybe he wasn’t the person he thought he was, maybe he was someone else, a person who hurt the people closest to him, for instance, who let them down when they needed him.
“I’m sorry,” he croaked, but that was apparently the wrong thing because Georgette looked in danger of crying again.
“Please don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault. You are an amazing brother, and I love you. Everyone loves you. Sometimes I want to be my own person, to be accepted for being me, not for being your sister, that’s all.”
Despite her words, Brody felt bad, and he half resented the newcomer for stirring everything up. Was he the one who put these thoughts in Georgette’s head, or were they already there and he’d merely uncovered them? Brody narrowed his eyes on him in suspicion, but the stranger returned his glare.
“Now that that is over, we can all be friends,” Georgette happily declared.
Not gonna happen, Brody thought. At least on this he and the new guy seemed to agree. They might not be openly at war, but he would remain cautious and on watch. When it came to his little sister, his motto was to trust his gut. Right now his gut told him the mysterious Burke wasn’t all he purported to be. No one sane gave up everything and moved into a dusty attic on a whim. One way or another, Brody would figure out what was up with the new guy. But for now, and outwardly, he kept the peace, for Georgette’s sake.