Chapter 7
seven
SKYLER
I wake up the next morning determined to finish cleaning out my dad’s closet, just as soon as I’ve hunted down a good cup of coffee. Not that I’ve even started going through it yet. My plan to get everything done is going a little awry, much to Lee’s amusement.
Timetables and lists have never been my thing. On the plus side, I’ve been through every record Dad had and listened to each of them. I worked out how to change them over in the Wurlitzer so I get to dance in the bar alone to them, thinking of how he might have done the same.
In a weird way, I feel closer to him now more than ever. Maybe that’s why I’m putting off cleaning out his clothes. I’ll never get him back, but it just feels so final.
Because I’m the ultimate avoider, instead of facing my task I slide my feet into a pair of sandals that are decorated with shells and head up the road to the main town. The sun is out in her full late spring glory, her rays bouncing off the ripples in the ocean, making them sparkle like diamonds. By the time I reach Main Street there’s already a healthy number of visitors here, all talking excitedly and popping in and out of the Island Treasures Thrift Shop and the Liberty Book Nook , two shops that I make a note to visit later when I have more avoiding to do.
But right now I head straight for the coffee shop that stands proudly at the top of the hill, my lips twitching when I see the sign hanging above it.
Brewed Awakenings is painted in swirly gold letters, with little beans scattered around on the sign. Whoever named it is a fellow pun lover at least.
The café is busy, filled with the hum of conversation and a radio playing softly in the background. The aroma of roasted beans is enough to set my blood racing in anticipation of caffeine.
“Hello,” the familiar woman behind the counter says as I walk up. “What can I get you?”
“Hi,” I say smiling at Eileen. She looks even older than I remember as she stands behind the counter, which isn’t a huge surprise. Is the woman so poor she has to run a guesthouse and a coffee shop? Maybe Hudson Fitzgerald should concentrate on making the people of Liberty’s lives easier rather than making mine harder.
“Hello.” She doesn’t smile back and my own grin falters. Oh, is she annoyed with me about Ayda? Did Hudson say something? Maybe the whole town hates me now.
Still, I’m nothing if not a trier. “Thank you for your help the other day with the little girl,” I say.
Eileen frowns. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Not only is she overworked, she’s losing her memory. “With Ayda Fitzgerald,” I remind her. “You messaged Autumn for me when I found her.”
“No I didn’t.” She sounds completely sure about that.
“You did.” Now I’m starting to doubt myself. “You were on the guest house porch.”
“I haven’t been on that porch in years,” she says. “Horrible place. So many bad memories.”
Somebody behind me laughs softly. I turn and Autumn Fitzgerald stares at me with an amused gaze. “Hey,” she says. “How are you doing?”
Not great, but I won’t tell her that. Or that I think I might be the one losing my mind. “Um… in need of caffeine.”
“Well I can help you with that, dear, if you’d just give me your order,” Eileen says, sounding peeved.
“An iced latte, please.” Because I’ve decided I should go for a walk to clear my head, and it’s already warm outside. Spending too much time in the bar must be addling my brain.
“Of course.”
“I’ll have the same, Mylene,” Autumn tells her.
Wait. What? “ Mylene ? I thought your name was Eileen.”
Eileen – or Mylene – looks like I’ve just slapped her with a cold dead fish. “Never say that name in here.” Her voice is almost a growl. Conversation in the coffee shop stops dead.
“What name?” I’m so confused now.
“It’s okay,” Autumn whispers, touching my arm with her warm palm. “Just get your coffee and I’ll tell you.”
When our coffees are ready, Autumn and I walk outside to sit at one of the white painted metal tables on the sidewalk. Autumn sits, crossing her legs, a smile still playing at her lips.
“Okay,” she says, looking delighted that she can share some gossip with me. “So Mylene and Eileen are twins but they haven’t spoken to each other in decades.”
I look back to see Mylene serving another customer. Surely this is a joke, right? A way to tease the newcomer.
“There are two of them?” I ask her, suspiciously.
Autumn nods. “Yes. Apparently, they left the island for a few months when they were twenty-one and when they got back they weren’t talking to each other.” She leans forward. “It’s been almost forty years. They’re both pretty stubborn.”
“But they live on this tiny island.” It’s so weird. “They must see each other all the time.” I point at the guest house, with the sign clearly visible. Eileen’s By The Sea .
“They ignore each other completely. It’s like they can’t even see each other.”
“And nobody’s ever tried to reconcile them?”
“Oh hell no,” Autumn says, taking a sip of her iced coffee. “They’re both way too fierce and scary. We all just pretend it’s fine.”
I try to imagine not talking to Lee for forty years and the thought makes my chest feel tight. We can barely go a day. “That’s so sad.”
“Ah, they thrive on it. Just never get them mixed up again. Mylene will give you one chance, after that she’ll probably poison your coffee.” Autumn looks cheery about that. “Anyway, I’m glad I caught you. I meant to come over yesterday to say sorry about my brother.” She wrinkles her nose. “Maybe I should stop talking to him for a few decades.”
“You don’t have to apologize for him.” It’s weird how my mouth feels dry at the mention of Hudson Fitzgerald. “He’s a big guy, he can apologize for himself.”
“He did say sorry, right?” Autumn asks. “Because he told me he did, but I wouldn’t put it past him to make things worse.”
The memory of his half-assed apology and my stupid flirting make my cheeks feel hot. “Um, yeah. Kind of.”
“Ugh, I knew he didn’t.” Her brows knit. “He’s such an ass.”
“Honestly, he did,” I say quickly, because if there’s one thing I don’t want it’s to bring Hudson Fitzgerald’s fury down on me once again.
I like Autumn. She’s funny and chatty and so easy to get along with. It’s not her fault her brother is a grade A dick.
“He better have,” she says grimly. “I do a lot for that man. He owes me.”
“Do you watch Ayda a lot?” I ask, changing the subject because I really don’t want to talk about her brother anymore. Every time I think of him I break out in hives.
“Yeah,” she says, a soft smile pulling at her face. “We all try to help out. When Hudson isn’t in meetings he has her with him. And she has tutoring a couple of times a week.”
“She’s so young for that,” I say.
“She’s almost six,” Autumn says. “Most kids her age are at school. And Hudson’s determined that her lack of talking won’t hold her back.” That soft smile is still there. Another thing we have in common, we’re both doting aunties.
“Is that where she is today?”
“Oh no.” Autumn shakes her head, nodding to the dock. “They’re heading out on the ferry, see? It’s her therapy day. She and Hudson go to the mainland for it once a week. They dropped me off here on the way.”
I follow the direction of Autumn’s gaze, to the Liberty Ferry at the end of the jetty, where Hudson is climbing out of the expensive car parked at the back, all black shiny metal and gleaming grilles. He lifts Ayda out of the backseat, swinging her into his arms and making her laugh loudly.
And then he laughs too and I swear my heart stops.
Hudson Fitzgerald knows how to laugh? Seriously ? I wasn’t even sure he knew how to smile.
But that’s all I see because the next minute the boat is revving up, the crew untying the ropes and taking their positions.
I let out a long breath, wondering what I’ve got myself into by coming to Liberty. It’s an island full of secrets. Twins who don’t talk to each other, a little girl who doesn’t talk at all, and the most attractive man I think I’ve ever laid eyes on who only scowls whenever I’m around.
And then there’s my dad. The reason I’m here, even though I have no idea why he was so insistent I stay.
Maybe I shouldn’t have come. I’m not sure anymore.
* * *
HUDSON
“Do you really think this party is a good idea?”
Dr. Methi, the psychiatrist who’s been monitoring Ayda since we came back from England and moved to Liberty, lifts a brow at me. He practices on the mainland, in a pristine office at the top of a shiny steel-and-glass building overlooking the water.
“As I told your sister, I think it’s a wonderful idea,” he tells me. Nothing phases this man. Not Ayda still remaining mute after months of therapy. Or my outbursts when we’re alone because I’m so damn frustrated that nothing is helping.
Today’s session has followed the usual pattern. Ayda and I come in and either color together or play with Legos at the center of Dr. Methi’s office as he talks to us. Then he focuses on Ayda for thirty minutes, where he interacts with her and asks her to point at pictures to show her emotions.
And then she gets sent out to color with his assistant while I sit here and am grilled about how my week has gone, because he has some stupid idea that I need therapy as much as Ayda.
The first week we came I tried to leave at this point, but he insisted that he couldn’t treat her without treating me. If I wanted her to keep coming here I had no choice but to comply. He’s the most highly recommended child trauma specialist within a thousand mile radius. My daughter will always get the best.
“I did have one thought though,” Dr. Methi says, steepling his fingers so the tips are all touching.
I look at him like a drowning man looks at a life raft. “That we should do it next year instead?” I hate parties. I hate small talk and I hate having to be nice to people I don’t like and I particularly loathe dealing with people who’ve been drinking too much.
And yeah, this is a kid’s party, but I know that Autumn wants to invite adults too. I already saw a charge on my card for ten crates of wine.
He laughs like I’m joking. “No, this year is good. I just think you should be the one to go with Ayda to hand out invitations.”
He has to be joking. “I’m too busy. Autumn can do that.” It’s her damn idea after all. The least she could do is help Ayda decide who’s coming to this hellish gathering.
“She could…” he muses. “But from a therapeutic point of view it would help Ayda feel more relaxed if she knows you want this party as much as she does.”
“How do you know she wants this party?” I ask, because as much as I pay this man, I’m pretty sure he’s not a mind reader.
“When I asked her about it she lit up.” He shrugs. “And then she saw your expression and the light immediately went out.”
Ah fuck . “She did?”
He nods. “She loves you. She wants to please you. I don’t know if you realize how often she looks at you for approval, but I see it all the time. Maybe next week I’ll video our session and show you.”
My jaw tightens. “It’s just been a bad week.”
“How so?” Dr. Methi leans forward, suddenly interested. The man thrives off actually breaking through my barriers.
“Nothing. Just work and island issues.” I cross my arms over my chest. “But back to the invitations, what if we just address them together? I have meetings all week.”
“Do you think that would work?” Dr. Methi asks, turning it back on me. The asshole looks smug, because he knows the answer.
“I don’t know,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. Another fucking headache is threatening. “Isn’t that your job to know?”
He says nothing for a moment. I look out of the window at the blue sky with little wispy clouds, wishing I was anywhere but here.
But I have to be here. Ayda needs it, and I need her to heal. To get over the trauma of being taken to a different country, losing her mom, and then being brought back here to a life she can barely remember.
Christ, I hate this. I hate that she’s been through so much at such a young age. I hate myself for letting it happen. She’s the center of my fucking world and I let her down.
“Is everything okay?” the doctor asks, his voice more gentle than I’ve ever heard it. “You seem more… tense than usual.”
I bring my eyes back to his. Is he being serious right now? “Of course I’m tense. I’m running a multimillion dollar business. I have a daughter who won’t speak, a sister who seems to think inviting strangers into my house to celebrate my daughter’s birthday is a great idea, and a fucking woman who seems to have a personal mission to drive me to distraction.”
The words come out in a stream of consciousness. Methi doesn’t even lift his brows.
“What woman?” he asks.
“I’m sorry?”
“What woman is driving you to distraction? Are you seeing somebody?”
I frown. “Of course I’m not.”
Immediately the image of her mouth comes into my mind. The way her lips were so fucking soft as she clashed eyes with me.
The way I got hard in response. Once upon a time I would have fucked her out of my thoughts. I’d have shown her that I’m not the stuffed up asshole she thinks I am.
But that was then. This is now.
Dr. Methi tips his head to the side. “It would be okay if you were. It might be good for you. And for Ayda, in time. I’d be very happy to work with you on the best way to introduce her to a new romantic attachment.”
“I don’t have any romantic attachments,” I tell him firmly. “And if I did, I wouldn’t need to work with you on them.” The mere thought sends ice through my veins.
“Maybe that’s the problem,” he murmurs. “Maybe you should be having attachments.”
Jesus Christ. As if my week hasn’t been bad enough. “How much do I pay you?” I ask him.
“I don’t know,” he says, not even blinking at my question. “But I can have my billing department resend you the invoices if you’d like.”
This is the problem with an emotionally intelligent man like Dr. Methi. He knows exactly how to respond to me.
He’ll never engage in a back and forth with me. He’ll just diffuse the situation and move on. That’s what he’s trained to do. And it pisses me off.
In every battle we have, I’m the loser before we get started.
“There’s no love interest in my life,” I tell him, just to make myself clear. “The woman I’m referring to is the one who has inherited the bar I want to buy on the island. Ayda wandered off earlier this week and she ended up in the bar with her.”
“Ah yes, your sister told me about that, too. When she called about the party. I hear Ayda was missing for a good while. How did you feel about that?”
“Annoyed. Afraid. Mostly annoyed.”
“Why annoyed?”
“Because Autumn knew better than to let Ayda wander off.”
“But the island is safe. You’ve made it that way.”
Yes I have, as much as I can. I know nearly everybody who lives there. Plus the people who come to stay at the hotel are extremely rich and vetted. But it’s not exclusive. Anybody can get on the ferry and arrive at their own whim. In the summer it’s full of tourists and I’m already uncomfortable about that.
“I didn’t know about this woman coming to stay at the bar,” I say. “I was blindsided.”
“I imagine that made you feel uncomfortable.”
“Mostly annoyed,” I say, my throat feeling itchy.
“But Ayda was okay, yes?”
“She was fine.”
“Autumn says this new woman is about her age. Is that right?”
“I guess so. Is that it? Can I go now?”
“This isn’t a prison, Hudson,” Dr. Methi says mildly. “You’re always free to leave. Whenever you want.”
“But it’s not about what I want, is it?” I reply. “It’s about what’s best for Ayda. I don’t come here for me, I come here for her. So I guess what I’m asking is if it’s okay for me to leave now, and still bring my daughter back next week so that we can work on getting her talking again.”
Christ, my blood pressure feels like it’s peaking. I need to get some exercise. Hit the gym or go running.
Or fuck somebody until we both collapse on the bed, sated and spent. Like I used to, before my life became… this .
“Of course it’s okay,” Dr. Methi says. To my immense relief he stands and walks over to the door, gesturing me to follow. When I reach where he’s standing, I wait for him to open it, but instead he puts his hand on my arm.
“It is okay for you to think of yourself sometimes,” he says gently. “I know that you want Ayda to speak again. That’s what we all want. But you’ve both been through trauma and you both need to heal.”
He pats my arm softly, and for some reason that makes my throat feel tight. I’m not used to being touched. I don’t like it.
I’m used to being the one in charge, in control. I prefer it that way, because then I know where I stand.
“Just be kind to yourself,” he murmurs as he opens the door. “You deserve to heal as much as Ayda does.”
As soon as she hears the door open, my daughter’s face lifts from the page she’s coloring and looks up at me. And then I see it, that fucking lit-up-face that Dr. Methi talked about.
The twist in my stomach tightens even more, but I ignore it, smiling at my girl as I walk toward her and pull her into my arms. She laughs – along with crying and coughing it’s the only sound she makes, so it feels very damn precious. I hold her tight and she buries her face against my neck, the smell of her strawberry shampoo filling my senses.
“Ready to go?” I ask her.
She nods happily.
“Good.” I glance at Dr. Methi. “Because we have work to do. Tomorrow we’re delivering your birthday invitations.”
He smiles at me, then turns and walks back into his office.
Dr. Methi 1. Hudson Fitzgerald 0.
The story of my life right now.