16. August
16
AUGUST
Wade: M is upset about the race.
I’d had a feeling. Morgan hadn’t been that responsive for the last few days after texting that she’d “gotten my message but needed time to decompress.” I figured it was about the car. It could also have something to do with Wade renting the apartment from me. She’d put on her “I love that so much for you” face when I’d told her on our FaceTime chat, but I could tell she was still suspicious that I was leaving something out.
I absolutely was, but I wasn’t ready to alleviate those concerns, no matter how much it seemed to bother her. What I was still omitting—the sexy mischief Wade and I had been up to—really wasn’t any of her business. I refused to feel guilty about something I was enjoying so much. Something I was going to enjoy more tonight, as soon as I tied him to my bed and finally had my way with him.
Go ahead and laugh, but I was seriously considering it at this point. The man was making me crazy .
“Bernie, hang—Gus?”
I looked up from my phone to see Wade and his sister staring at me from the end of the driveway. Bernie was decked out as if she were going on a date, and Wade?
He cleaned up really nice. Not a speck of dirt or grease to be found on his clean-shaven jaw. His hair was free of his usual ball cap, thick and dark and framing his handsome face so perfectly I wanted to run my fingers through it to mess it up.
Or drag him back home and make him finish what he keeps starting?
Right. Or that.
Bernie stepped in front of her brother, distracting me with a glare that practically breathed fire. “I made you godmother of my child,” she started without explanation. “ And I kicked Sidney Straus’s ass when she teased you about your period.”
She was clearly upset about something.
“I remember both of those things,” I answered carefully. “I also remember taking your English final and covering for you when you borrowed Wade’s car for a joyride around the block when we were twelve.”
Because whatever this was about, I had ammunition too.
Wade turned to his sister with a horrified expression on his face. “You did what?”
Bernie didn’t spare him a glance, holding up her hand as if to block him from view. “The point is, you owe me, August Retta. That means if you’re entering the race, I am too. I’m not being excluded by the bro club again. Where you and Jiminy go, I go.”
It seemed that everybody knew now. Which was fine with me. And Bernie wanting to be a part of the race wasn’t remotely shocking. What was shocking was that she hadn’t joined them years ago. Had she been deliberately left out of it?
I turned accusing eyes on Wade. “You excluded your own sister?”
“I never excluded anyone,” Wade said defensively, looking vaguely pissed about the entire situation. “I didn’t know she wanted to be a part of it. I didn’t know you wanted to be a part of it.”
I believed him since, based on what he’d said the other night, he didn’t even want to be a part of it. But we did.
“But we do,” Bernie said, staring me down and unknowingly echoing my thoughts.
“Yes, we do.”
“Well, there’s no hope for it now, is there?” Wade said in resignation beside us. “If memory serves, whenever you two decided to tag-team on a thing, nothing could get in your way.”
Bernie blew out a breath, a grin starting to emerge when she realized I was on her side. “So, if they want the car…?”
“They’ll be getting two drivers and Chick, who’ll be rooting for us on the sidelines.”
“The guy you’re moving in wi—” Wade stopped and glanced at his sister. “The guy coming to stay with you wants to join the team too?”
“Don’t worry, he doesn’t drive. He only wants to participate and cheer us on. And write about it.” And hide from a lovelorn wrestler.
“Chick?” Bernie asked thoughtfully. “That’s the screenwriter, right? He wrote Mutant Bounty , didn’t he? Phoebe made me watch it once.”
“Lord love a fucking duck,” Wade muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “Kingston wants to film it. Your sci-fi buddy wants to write about it.”
Kingston wanted to film it? This was the first I’d heard of it.
Bernie’s grin was devilish. “Gene’s going to be impossible to live with now. He’ll start thinking he’s the chosen one. The Luke Skywalker of Lemons.”
I chuckled. “Lemons in Space, starring Ham Never-Solo. ”
We were still laughing at that when Rick joined us with his signature scowl. “Coming?”
I followed the three of them into my sister’s house. The living room was spotless and elegant and not covered in dog hair, which meant the cleaning service must have shown up before we did. Morgan had great taste in artwork and furniture, but that was where her forays into domestic goddessing ended. At this point in her life, she refused to clean and she barely cooked.
Secretly, I always wondered if her family potlucks were her way to get out of frozen dinners or her Taco Tuesday offering, which was her go-to meal, no matter what day of the week it landed on.
She’d purchased a table precisely for these dinners. A long, beautiful rustic piece that looked like it would be at home in a garden in Tuscany. It was my favorite piece of furniture in her house. It felt welcoming. Warm. The whole room did. It was almost bigger than the living room, connected as it was to the open kitchen. The walls were tastefully decorated with artistic friends-and-family pics. One of Gene’s family. One of Morgan’s father and our mother. The wedding. Morgan and me as children. The Hudsons made several appearances, but the third wall—the travel wall—was by far the most colorful and impressive.
It was funny that the one Retta who’d wanted to put down roots had seen more of the world than the other two combined. Saving for vacations versus life on the road. A pantsing-versus-plotting debate for the ages.
I saw Morgan walking swiftly from the living room to the kitchen. “I’m feeding the dogs and then we can eat,” she said, looking me over and giving me a quick hug. “You look good, August.”
She looked frazzled and tired, but still Morgan. “You too.”
The rest of the room was currently crowded with people and conversations, so I snuck in with my bag and searched for the space to set it down.
“Place your offerings on the altar,” Phoebe joked, holding her bulging stomach with one hand and gesturing to the takeout-laden table with the other. “I can’t eat any of it, but I can live vicariously.”
“Are you supposed to be out of bed, young lady?” I asked, noticing as I always did, that she was a softer version of her mother. Her dark hair bounced at her shoulders instead of being confined to a braid that arrowed to her waist. And her style was more cotton casual than leather troublemaker, but they had the same smile. The same wide streak of stubborn with a helping of something to prove.
“I’m not on bed rest, just voluntarily taking it easy. But I wasn’t about to miss the cruise recap.” When Wade quietly set a cushion on the chair behind her, she lowered herself onto the seat. “Thank you. Sit next to me, Auntie. I need bar gossip.”
Wade met my gaze over her head, his brimming with a heat and frustration that I understood. I’d wanted to touch him since I got here, but that would be a bad idea. This dinner was already going to be uncomfortable enough as it was. Though not for the usual reasons, I thought as Bernie took the empty seat on my other side and sent me a conspiratorial grin.
At first, everyone was too busy passing takeout containers around and listening as Gene, with numerous asides from Morgan, described their grand adventure at sea. They joked about sunburns in unfortunate places, discussed the friends they’d made at one of the ship’s bars and passed around phones filled with pictures that were all stunning enough to go on their wall. I wasn’t sure how she was going to pick one.
I could feel Morgan glancing over at me whenever I wasn’t looking. While they were repeating part of their last story for Lucy, who’d had to duck into the bathroom, I told Phoebe about my experience with one of her regulars who never bought the same beer twice.
“He always tips in scratch-offs too,” she said with an amused grin. “He says it’s because hope is better than certainty.”
“I might agree with him if I ever won anything.”
“What are you two talking about over there?” Morgan asked suddenly, turning to study us from the other side of the table.
I sat up a little straighter, suddenly wishing I’d told her this last revelation before coming tonight. “We’re talking about beer.”
“Beer?”
“She’s giving me a few bartending tips. I’m covering her two evening shifts at the icehouse until the baby comes or they find someone better.”
Their surprise was a palpable thing, but Gene recovered first. “That’s great news. Hudson’s is Rick’s favorite hangout lately. I’ll have to visit more often if I can get a family discount now.”
“No family discounts,” Phoebe said cheekily. “Uncle Wade might fall for that at the garage, but I’m not going to.”
“You’re working at the icehouse too?” Morgan asked, the words quiet but sharp as a razor. “When did this happen?”
“After the storm.” Bernie casually reached for a slider and a fried chicken leg to add to her plate. “We had no staff, so I talked her into helping out one day, and the customers liked her so much I begged her to take Phoebe’s shifts so I wouldn’t have to.”
“My mother is a very bad server,” Phoebe teased, sotto voce.
Bernie’s smile was sweet like a shark’s. “Because people who expect me to serve them get on my nerves.”
“August hates waitressing too,” Morgan said flatly. “And it’s a lot of time on your feet. Are you sure you’re ready for that much activity?”
“I seem to be.” She had no idea how much activity I was capable of now. “Anyway, it’s not like those fancy restaurants you worked at in college. This is a beer-and-nachos crowd and I’m sitting at the stool behind the bar most of the time. I think being more active is actually helping me build up some stamina.”
Phoebe squeezed my arm supportively. “I can tell you that having those shifts and the billing done by someone I can trust has been a load off my mind and cankles. She’s not even on the payroll, because she’s a stubborn Retta, so she’s doing it all for tips. Uncle Wade is so happy he doesn’t have to deal with the computer anymore, he said he’d pay her more than my current salary to do it.”
“That’s the truth,” I heard Wade mutter.
“She’s also agreed to do a little yoga with me,” Bernie lied through her teeth. I’d never agreed to yoga. “Well, I offered her free lessons. I’m still talking her into it.”
Morgan sat back in her chair, her expression mystified. “I wasn’t gone that long, was I? Did we slip into an alternate universe? How is it that no one told me this was happening? Do you still write books for a living?”
At least I knew she’d be happy about this. “I do still write books. In fact, I think I’ll have something to send my publisher as soon as Chick finishes his read-through. He’s coming to stay for a few months, by the way, so you’ll finally get to meet him in person.”
They’d talked on the phone once or twice over the years, and I already knew they’d like each other.
I saw a moment of genuine relief on her face. “That’s wonderful news, August. But I feel like I’m still catching my breath here with the rest of it. When I left, you were standing at the airport in pajamas with steam pouring out of your car. Before that you barely left the house. Now you’re working at the bar, renting out the apartment, having company and making all sorts of unexpected decisions. It’s a lot to take in. Even if you decided to give it to me in manageable doses instead of all at once.”
Had it been that obvious ?
The silence at the table was uncomfortable. I really should have given her more warning, but since she’d left for Italy, things had been too busy for me to dwell on how easy it was to make all these changes that had felt impossible a month before, or how she might react to them.
“I decided it was time to do more than talk about next steps,” I finally said, remembering her last words at the airport. “So, I started taking some.”
“It’s perfectly understandable to me.” Saint Lucy came to my rescue again. “Hurricanes have a tendency to make a person reevaluate their priorities.”
I’d take the assist, even though I’d made the car and apartment decision before the hurricane.
“That’s the truth,” Gene tossed in helpfully. “Remember Ike, babe? Two weeks with one generator and no water, apart from the neighbor’s pool.” He shuddered dramatically. “I haven’t been the same since.”
The set of Morgan’s shoulders relaxed microscopically and she smiled at Lucy and Wade. “Whatever the reason, I’m grateful you were both there. Especially you, Wade. I can’t imagine what would have happened if she’d been alone.”
“She would have been fine.” Wade’s voice was more gravel pit than melted honey at the moment. “She took care of all three dogs after Ann dumped yours and helped me deal with most of the damage before Lucy even showed up.”
Was he defending me? I didn’t need it, not with my sister, but I couldn’t say I hated the feeling.
“Please don’t get me started on Ann,” Morgan muttered.
“I’d like to point out that both of my friends did the same thing Wade did,” Gene said to his wife. “Left their homes in the dead of night and brought generators and ice to your sister as well as checking on Wade’s.”
“Yes, but your friends are crazy, dear,” she responded, swift and sweet. “They’d make house calls in a tornado to prove they could. Wade is too sensible for that.”
“That’s fair,” Rick and Lucy agreed in unison, making the rest of us chuckle in relief.
Maybe now we could change the subject.
“It sounds like we owe all of you for taking care of things while we were away.” Morgan pushed back her chair, ignoring the groaned denials as she got to her feet. “We’ll talk about paybacks later, but right now I need to borrow my sister for a few minutes.”
Or maybe not.
She held out her hand for me and I rose, not looking at anyone but her as she led me to her bedroom, where we could talk in private.
“Morgan, I’m sorry I didn’t?—”
She wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tight. It wasn’t what I was expecting, but I automatically lifted mine to return the squeeze. “Are you okay?”
When she pulled back to look at me, her deep-set green eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Do you know what I did every day on the cruise?”
“I’m hoping you’re about to say you had fun.”
“I read Mom’s journals on the balcony.”
“Oh.” The knots returned to my stomach with a vengeance. She’d taken Mom’s journals on that trip, and she wanted to talk about them now ?
She tugged me to the bed and sat me down beside her. “Reading them, being in Lesa and walking in her footsteps… August, I can’t tell you how deeply it affected me. I feel like I understand her better now. How she felt about us. Why she made some of the decisions she did. It was illuminating.”
“I’m glad you got to experience that.” Instead of illuminated, I felt nauseous. I had no desire to know what Mom had said in those journals .
People always bought me diaries and journals for birthdays and Christmas. I assumed it was like a teacher getting an apple. You’re a writer? Have a journal. They were usually lovely to look at, but I couldn’t delete or edit an entry without making a mess, and my inner thoughts were nowhere near as interesting to me as my characters. In the end, I’d left most of them blank and sitting attractively on my shelf.
Sam Retta, however, had been a journal addict. She was always writing in one and always adamant that they were private, and to be viewed by her eyes only. I used to tease her about secretly writing reports on us for the CIA.
Was Morgan saying she’d written how she felt about us—about me—in them?
Why wouldn’t you want to know that?
When I was young, I wanted to be telepathic. Then I wrote about a telepath and her life was miserable, because eavesdroppers—whether they’re scanning your brain or reading your journal—never hear anything good about themselves.
I was afraid that the image I had of her, and of how she felt about me, would change too much if I looked through them. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
Morgan squeezed the hand she was still holding to get my attention. “Anyone seeing your situation from the outside might be worried, August.”
“What? Oh.” She’d switched topics again. “I know a lot has happened since you left.”
“‘A lot’ is putting it mildly. In less than three weeks, after a year and a half of nothing, you’re suddenly the busiest person I know.” She laughed without a trace of humor. “I’d ask if you were taking antidepressants, but the last time I suggested them, you didn’t respond well.”
Because the gynecologist had said my hormones were fluctuating too much for antidepressants to be a reliable form of treatment and suggested I meditate or see a therapist instead. She was also the one who said my lady store was closed, though she’d been completely wrong on that score.
“This is just me, Morgan.” I tugged lightly until she released my hand. “All natural and organic. I’m doing better, with no medication required.”
She stared at me with a small frown crinkling the skin between her eyes. “I’m not trying to insult you. I’m trying to get a handle on why you’d let Wade help you out by renting the apartment and giving you a job—bartending and billing?—when you’ve barely spoken to him in years.”
I’d called it. “I knew you’d think he was giving me charity. But I put the apartment up for rent before he showed up. That’s why he showed up. He had an app that notified him it was for rent and he wanted a place that wasn’t his sister’s couch and didn’t have a dog sitter straight out of Fatal Attraction trying to put the moves on him.”
She scowled. “I’m never hiring her to take care of the kids again. And after the phone call we had when I got back, I doubt we’ll ever speak again either.”
“At least you have your priorities straight,” I sniped quietly.
“What do you mean by that?”
“You stand up for your dogs while accusing your sister of taking advantage of your friend.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything, but thank you for explaining. I understand the Wade situation better now, and I might have done the same in his shoes. And like I said, I’m thankful he was there when a tree fell on your roof. But that doesn’t account for the rest of it.”
“I think it does.” It seemed fairly straightforward to me. “He asked for a place to rent. Bernie asked me to help at the icehouse. Wade also asked if I’d help my goddaughter out by doing her work while she got ready to have her baby. They asked and I said yes instead of no. Because it felt good to be needed, and I was tired of my life being in ‘shambles.’”
She pointed at me. “I knew that’s what this was about. You were upset when we left and you reacted by making out-of-character decisions. Like renting the apartment when you said you never would.”
I couldn’t argue with her about that. I had done it in direct response to that morning at the drop-off. But it ended up being the right call, hadn’t it? “I’m not sure what you’re upset about, Morgan. These are all good things.”
She took a breath, as if bracing herself. “I think you’ve gone too far the other way. You’ve put so much on your plate now that you’re setting yourself up for failure.”
I frowned. “Don’t hold back. Tell me how you really feel.”
“I’m serious, August,” she said earnestly. “You’re writing again and finally feeling better. You should be focusing on that. On finishing your book, fulfilling your contract and getting your life back. Instead, you’re doing computer work for Wade and waitressing for Phoebe, inviting Chick over and yes, deciding to sell the car that’s in better condition than your own so you can race in it, instead of keeping it as your backup. Racing, ” she emphasized. “Putting yourself in danger in a speeding vehicle doesn’t sound like something I should be worried about? Something you wouldn’t normally do?”
“That’s the point. I wouldn’t normally do it, so now I’m literally taking the wheel. Trying something new.”
“It’s like you’re being deliberately obtuse. You were like this when you were younger too. You wanted to take on everything, then when one thing went wrong, you holed up in your bedroom and escaped into a book until one of us dragged you back out into the sunshine again. When I mentioned taking steps, I meant one at a time. You can’t make up for two years in under a month. It feels a little manic to me. ”
Manic? I was manic now?
“I know I haven’t been in a great place for a while, Morgan,” I said quietly, getting to my feet. I didn’t want to have this argument. “But I lived for a very long time before moving here without you deciding what my behavior meant and what I should and shouldn’t do. Maybe I didn’t do things as perfectly as you could have, but I managed.”
“I’m only trying to help you.”
I thought about what Bernie said. That she wasn’t supposed to bother me. Morgan was trying to handle me like I was a situation to be sorted. She knew what she wanted me to do, and she didn’t appreciate any deviations. “I know you mean well, and you were right that things weren’t fine with me. But I’m trying to fix that now. And I’m being productive again. Can’t you be happy about that, instead of poking holes into everything and expecting me to fail?” I shook my head, genuinely baffled. “I swear you seem more upset now then you were when I was hiding at home.”
“Because you weren’t making bad decisions then.” She covered her mouth and closed her eyes for a moment before reaching out to me. “I meant hasty, not bad. I just think?—”
“I know what you think, Morgan.” My face felt frozen. “And what you meant. Maybe you’re right. Maybe all my decisions are shit sandwiches and I’m better off going back to my cave until you tell me what my next step should be.” Part of me wanted to tell her she wouldn’t have to worry about me soon enough, because I’d be selling the house and moving back to California.
I couldn’t form the words. I wasn’t sure why. All I knew was I needed to leave before one of us said something we couldn’t take back.
I stood there stiffly, trying not to cry. “You said I could help with her last request. I’d like to handle the details on my own, if that’s okay with you. ”
Morgan’s eyes were red-rimmed as she stared at me. “You want to be responsible for the boat, on top of everything else?”
“You took the trip. It’s my turn. If you think I can manage it.”
Nodding, she turned away quickly and disappeared into her closet. She emerged with a black urn with an engraved gold plate on top. “You should take her home. You’ll need the…measurements and everything. August, I hate this. I’m sorry, okay? Can I take it back, please? I don’t care if you join the team or work at the icehouse. It’s fine. It’s wonderful. It’s entirely up to you.”
“I wish you’d started with that.” I sighed and blinked against the sting in my eyes. I couldn’t cry yet. “I love you and I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? And I will do this.” I clutched the urn against my chest.
“I know you will.”
I wished I believed her.
Before she could hug me again, I walked swiftly out of the room and toward the back door, where no one but the dogs would notice me. I felt too fragile. She’d read Mom’s journals and they’d been illuminating…but they hadn’t changed the way she saw me at all. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who thought I was a helpless mess.
It wasn’t easy, but I managed to get myself home and inside the door without letting go of Mom’s ashes.
“I need a drink.”