Chapter 23
Calista
“Some truths are only revealed when we’re capable of facing them.”
—Eloisa Hobby
“Athena,” Calista called, rising to her feet.
Eloisa reached across the table to touch her arm. “Let your sister have some time alone, my dear.”
Calista hesitated, torn between the urge to follow Athena and the spiral of her own spinning thoughts. She sat back down stiffly, the chair creaking under her. The silence that followed felt charged, unspoken truths hanging heavier than any words.
Cantu cleared his throat, drawing her attention. His caring gaze settled on her, steady and unflinching. “You’ve always been the one who needed to run.”
She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Cantu’s lips twitched as if suppressing a smile. “You were always searching for something—something that wasn’t in your father’s world. Your mother saw that, you know. She admired it.”
Calista blinked, startled. “She did?”
“She told me you’d be the one to leave first. She hated how much her banishment hurt you, but she was proud of you for making your own choices. She said you had the courage she never had.”
Calista stared down at her hands. She thought about all the times she’d felt untethered after leaving golf, the nights she’d doubted her choices, the times she tried to find her mother but didn’t know how.
“I was so in awe of you when you walked away at Chevron,” Cantu said. “You were magnificent.”
“Oh, Cantu.” The words came out on a sob.
Everyone fell silent, giving Calista space to collect herself.
“Fresh coffee?” Eloisa asked the group, bringing her back to the moment.
That seemed to break the spell of Athena’s exit, and everyone went back to eating.
The food was excellent, but Calista barely tasted it, her mind wrapped around her sister. Calista remembered how unmoored she felt when she walked away from professional golf—adrift, alone, anguished—and her heart went out to her sister.
“You okay?” Reid leaned close, his voice low and comforting.
She bobbed her head, unable to speak.
“How can I support you?”
It was a touching question, and she appreciated he asked it. Over the past three weeks, a genuine friendship had bloomed between them again, echoing their closeness when they were teens.
A highlight reel played through her mind from this most extraordinary summer so far.
On one early morning beach walk, Reid appointed himself Chief Crustacean Namer.
He christened a grumpy-looking crab “Sir Pinchy McScuttles,” and he narrated Pinchy’s life story in an accent that was less “British aristocrat” and more “guy who once watched Downton Abbey while tipsy.”
Calista laughed so hard she almost fell into a pool of sea urchins.
They took a basket weaving class together, a day that would live in infamy (or at least in the instructor’s nightmares).
Reid’s fingers, so nimble when it came to golf clubs or a keyboard, staged a rebellion against all things wicker.
Watching the teacher untangle Reid for the third time, a look of utter bewilderment on his face, Calista wondered if it was possible to pull a muscle from giggling.
The night of the astronomy club meeting was a revelation, though not in the way their star guide wanted.
Reid pointed out constellations that existed solely in the vast universe of his imagination.
“Ah yes, there’s the Great Cosmic Pineapple, locked in an eternal battle with the Celestial Hedge Trimmer.
A tragic tale of forbidden love and improper pruning. ”
That set the entire group into gales of laughter.
He filled each day with joy, and each night ended with hot kisses that tasted of sea salt, sunscreen, and tropical fruit drinks, although they never went beyond kisses.
They were both savoring this in-between space, this rediscovery of each other, and building trust before taking the leap into the point of no return.
Now peeking at Reid through half-lowered lashes, Calista felt a surge of affection.
He caught her eye and raised an eyebrow, waiting.
She shrugged, shy and nervous.
It hit her with all the subtlety of a coconut to the head. Somewhere between naming cranky crustaceans and butchering constellations, she’d gone and fallen in love with him all over again.
The thought should have terrified her and sent her running for the hills (or at least the nearest golf cart). Instead, she felt as if she finally got the punch line to a joke that the universe had spent years setting up.
God help her, she was in love with Reid Thornton.
Again.
Still. Whatever. English really needed a word for falling in love with someone you used to love but then didn’t, but now do again, but in a new way that’s also kind of like the old way but different.
Conversation fizzled. Dishes cleared. Calista’s brain felt like an overcooked noodle, limp and useless under the weight of the morning’s revelations. She locked eyes with Reid. His lips quirked. At that moment, she swore he could read minds.
“Well,” Reid said, stretching lazily, “I think it’s time for a joyride in one of those glorified lawn mowers they call golf carts. Calista? You in?”
Relief and gratitude hit her. “Yes, please.”
They said their goodbyes. Cantu gave her a big hug and whispered, “Your mother is up there in heaven, her heart busting with love for you. Know that. Believe it.”
Calista thanked everyone for their patience and understanding during the Dempsey drama. Eloisa promised to check on Athena and encouraged Calista to enjoy her day guilt-free.
“Appreciate the meal.” Reid waved goodbye. His arm locked around Calista’s waist in a way that made her feel special.
“Try not to scandalize the entire resort,” Luna called after them, her sly smirk implying that mild scandal was, in fact, the recommended course of action.
Away from the shelter of backyard trees, the sun assaulted their eyes, and Calista pulled sunglasses from her purse. A fleet of flower-festooned golf carts awaited, looking like the unholy offspring of a country club and a florist’s shop.
Gosh, but she loved this wacky place. Now she understood why her mother sought refuge here.
Reid swept his arm toward the carts with all the gravitas of a game show host. “Pick your poison, buttercup. We’ve got ‘Midlife Crisis White’ or ‘Lawsuit-Waiting-to-Happen Green.’ ”
Calista snorted, surprised by how good it felt to laugh. “Surprise me. Just promise you won’t name this one.”
“You wound me.” Reid clutched his chest dramatically. “Sir Wheelie McZoomZoom is deeply offended.”
He helped her into the cart, his hand lingering a beat too long and Calista’s heart flip-flopped.
They pulled away from the Lavender Lark, the breeze whipping through Calista’s hair.
For a moment, she let herself believe that they could outrun their problems. The golf cart zipped along on the straight parts of the road, but the electric motor protested every incline, slowing to a chug.
Reid, ever the knight in shining polo shirt, pretended he’d slowed down on purpose on a steep hill.
“You know . . .” Calista giggled. “When you suggested a joyride, I pictured something a little more . . . joyful. Less potential for death by golf cart.”
Reid gasped in mock offense. “I’ll have you know this is a top-of-the-line model. Zero to sixty in, well, never, but that’s not the point.”
“And the point would be?”
“Adventure, Calico. Living on the edge. Feeling the wind in your hair and the imminent threat of mechanical failure in your heart.”
Calista snorted. “Truly, you are a poet for our times.”
Laughing, they finally crested the hill, and the landscape opened up before them.
So much green, stretching out before her like some fever dream of Irish fields crossbred with country club aspirations.
Sand traps and water hazards stretched throughout pockets of trouble, waiting to ruin someone’s day.
The nine-hole golf course hosting the charity event in her mother’s honor on the Fourth of July.
They’d been all over this island, but it was their first time coming here because she’d wanted to avoid it. Calista’s heart did a weird little stutter step like it momentarily forgot how the whole beating thing worked.
Reid drove down the hill. No one was playing the course. They were totally alone. He killed the engine and turned to her.
“You okay?”
Calista nodded, not trusting her voice. She climbed from the cart on tentative legs, half expecting the ground to pull a magic trick and disappear from beneath her, but it was solid, real.
The grass tickled her ankles through her sandals, a gentle reminder that this wasn’t some elaborate hallucination brought on by brunch mimosas.
“It’s a beautiful little course.” He came to stand beside her, his shoulder brushing hers. The warm point of contact anchored her.
The breeze ruffled their hair and carried the scent of freshly mown grass and the sound of the distant ocean. A humid dampness hung in the air despite the sunny skies. Calista scanned the course. It was beautiful. Painful. Perfect. Everything she ran from.
“Yeah, it really is.”
“Wanna inspect it?” Reid gestured toward the first hole.
Did she? Maybe not, but if she decided to play in the charity tournament, smart money said to scope out the course before the competition.
“Okay.”
They walked the first fairway, side by side, step by step.
In the distance, a faint haze crept in from the shoreline, barely noticeable against the bright sky.
Her fingers twitched, muscle memory kicking in.
She hadn’t swung a club in years, but it all came rushing back—the weight of the iron in her hands, the satisfying thwack of a well-struck ball, the thrill of watching her Titleist soar toward the hole.
“Bet you wish we had clubs right now, huh?” Reid nudged her shoulder gently.
Calista snorted, the sound caught somewhere between amusement and disdain. “Please. I’d wipe the green with you, and you know it.”
“Big talk from someone who’s been out of the game for five years. For all I know, you’ve forgotten which end of the club to hold.”
“Hey, I saw that mangy golf set you brought. You’re at a serious disadvantage. And golf is like riding a bike, only with more opportunities to humiliate yourself in hideous plaid. I never forget how to crush dreams and look good doing it.”
He laughed. “Touché.”
They reached the first green, and Calista found herself reading the slope, calculating the break. Old habits die hard. Or they just went into hibernation, waiting for the right moment to pop up and remind you of who you used to be.
At the fourth hole, they took in the view. The ocean stretched out before them, waves crashing against the cliffs. A thin veil of mist clung to the water’s surface, slowly inching its way toward land. She felt both small and expansive beyond measure.
Together, they gazed out at the water, letting the peace of the moment wash over them. Calista stole a glance at Reid’s profile. The faint lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, softening his features and lightening her heart.
“So, Reid . . .”
“Yeah?” He turned to face her, that endearing quirk pulling up the corners of his full, angular mouth. A mouth she thoroughly enjoyed kissing.
“Why did you really come to Hobby Island?” she asked. “And don’t say you’re here just to vlog the tournament. If that were the case, you’d have arrived right before the Fourth like everyone else.”
His step faltered.
She stopped and turned back. “Reid?”
When he spoke, his voice was neutral, the verbal equivalent of beige paint. “Oh, you know. Right place, right time. I needed a break from the rat race.”
“Uh-huh.” Calista wasn’t buying it. If this were poker, Reid would be broke and owing his shirt to the house.
Reid’s laugh was too loud, too forced, like a sitcom laugh track played at the wrong moment. “Look at this bunker! Isn’t it something? The way the sand just sits there. Really makes you think about the fragility of human achievement in the face of nature’s sandy wrath.”
“C’mon, what’s really going on here?” she asked. “Why did you come to Hobby Island so early?”
His expression sobered. “Because I wanted to make amends. I’ve regretted what I told you five years ago at Chevron at the most important moment of your career.”
“That’s it?”
“And I . . .” He paused, his gaze finding hers. “I missed you.”
“Nothing more? No clandestine reasons?”
Reid looked at her for a long moment, distress in his eyes mingled with something else she couldn’t pinpoint. “It’s complicated. There’s a lot of history here, a lot of things aren’t what they seem.”
Calista felt a chill run down her spine.
It was cooler up here than down in the valley, but the shiver wasn’t just about the temperature.
“You’re freaking me out. Is something wrong?
Is it about my family? Because I’ve got to tell you, if there’s a secret sibling or a long-lost uncle waiting in the wings, I’m gonna need a flowchart to keep track. ”
A sudden breeze swept across the course, carrying with it the first tendrils of a thickening mist, giving the course a mystical feel. “I promise everything will make sense soon. Just trust me on this, okay?”
The plea in his voice tugged at Calista. Something else was going on, but he was asking her to trust him.
The question was, should she?