Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
W hy did standing outside his office door feel so serious?
After a nap and a shower, Ashley had dressed for their evening activity. He was probably joking when he’d said all-nighter, but she prepared all the same. She was ready for vindication, looking forward to this chance to prove herself correct. But until she paused in the hallway, she hadn’t considered that whatever happened tonight would impact her future.
She had grown up in this building. She knew every nook and cranny. Here, in converted attic space, she could see through the drywall and paneling to her spooky childhood memories.
His domain hadn’t been her father’s, thankfully. She had too many bad memories from the lectures and disappointed headshakes she’d received in that spot. She should have no qualms up here.
But it was like she had wandered onto the set of a beloved sitcom in time for a very special episode. Or, worse, a preachy public service announcement only vaguely connected to the other zany antics aired weekly. She was an outsider in her home. She hadn’t considered the true cost of leaving.
She pinched her cheeks, adding a bit of color, before raising a fist and knocking on the door. She didn’t want to look like she had gone to too much trouble with her appearance. But neither could she show up without making some sort of effort. She smoothed her hands over the extra-large black sweater, tugging the hem over her hips and leggings.
The door opened.
Christopher appeared on the other side.
Her heart flipped.
He was dressed in black, too, although his crewneck sweater hugged his torso like an expensive, tailored fitted suit. Inside her slip-on, canvas sneakers, she curled her toes. The white fabric was no longer spotless but faded and shabby. Like most of her life. She hadn’t purchased anything new in years, only replacing what she absolutely could not mend.
She was focusing on the wrong aspect. He took the plan seriously enough to dress the part. Even if he still didn’t believe in every facet, his outfit showed some real understanding.
A tiny flicker, a lot like hope, flared inside her chest. She rubbed her palms together before tucking her clammy hands under her arms. “Hi. Can I come in?”
“Please.” He pushed the door wider, stepping back.
She passed into his sanctum and took a deep breath of the hint of pine and leather in the space. The room was calming because it was so high up, perched in the treetops. Climbing stairs was a wonderful exercise, and with such consistency, his butt must be rock hard.
She flushed. Why did her mind go there?
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
She whirled around.
He shut the door and crossed toward the leather chairs, waving her to sit.
She crossed the room, unsure how to answer. Her hot cheeks betrayed her.
“Any fever? I hope you didn’t catch something from the lake water.” He frowned.
“Oh, no. I’m fine.” She waved off his concern and sat in one of the chairs, slipping off her shoes and tucking her feet underneath. She liked to sit twisted up and tight. Making herself small wasn’t the goal. She liked feeling in control, holding onto herself. Sometimes, the physical was all she could restrict.
“Are you sure? If you don’t feel well…”
He’d what? Get her a blanket? She was tempted to wait him out and hear what he intended. But she might end up with more than she bargained for or less of what she wanted. “I’m fine.” She released a heavy sigh.
He pierced her with a knowing look.
“Yeah, sorry. That wasn’t very convincing.”
He lifted the corner of his mouth in a smile.
“I guess, if I’m being honest…” She nibbled the corner of her lip. Every truth she hid whirled through her mind. She wanted to reveal everything. But how much honesty could she share before he turned away and stomped on her heart?
“I’ve never known you to be anything otherwise. Please don’t start pretending to be someone else now.”
“Good point.” She shrugged. “I feel sort of… silly.”
“Why?” He narrowed his gaze and tipped his head to the side.
But he didn’t stare at her with condemnation. He wasn’t judging her. Instead, he studied her with contemplation and slight confusion, like he hadn’t known her his whole life.
The idea of a fresh start was surprising and tempting, a hint of what they could have been if they’d met as adults without a lifetime’s worth of baggage and experience between them. Like he hadn’t been her first everything, and she was someone mysterious and worth getting to know. Like she wasn’t his free gift with purchase.
She raised a shaky hand, pushing a loose tendril behind her ear. “I’m nobody’s first choice. I’ve never let that bother me before. With the Inn, though,” she exhaled a heavy breath. “I took everything here for granted. Coming back, I’ve had to reassess. Everyone is here but different. Mature. And me? I’m stuck. I guess I worry about you laughing at me,” she murmured.
The soft words delivered a heavy punch in the silence that followed.
Bullseye. Her verbal arrows accidentally hit the truth with pinpoint accuracy. She wished she hadn’t said anything. She wanted to crawl inside her sweater and disappear. She fought the urge to do just that. Only since coming back did she fully appreciate what she had relinquished and could never get back.
He’d always been there. She’d taken him for granted, too. She’d been so blind that she missed the incredible person who—at one point—had loved her and devoted himself to her. He agreed to her whims and plans for years. Now she couldn’t trust that she wasn’t tied up in his ultimate goal of owning the Inn because of the games she’d played. With her previous departure, she’d done the hard work of removing herself, his obstacle, from the path to his success.
“I’m not laughing at you.” He reached a hand over to her chair, resting on the arm. “I’ve only laughed with you.”
“You didn’t choose me,” she whispered, too scared to speak louder. She stared at his hand so close. She placed him in the center of an unwinnable situation. As someone who had prided herself on setting him up for the easy answer, she’d tossed him into the middle of a storm without warning. “I’m sorry for… what happened. I shouldn’t have put you on the spot.”
“I am, too.”
She met his gaze. “You are?”
He nodded. “I should have picked you.”
“I didn’t make that a compelling choice.” She scrunched her nose, fighting the burning sensation. She’d wanted him to follow her without question. Would she have respected him for doing so? She’d put them both in an impossible position that produced bad results no matter the decisions.
She’d needed a decade to understand that. And she couldn’t tell him what she’d realized, or she’d lose him. She glanced at her purse. Inside, the mysterious envelope sat. She imagined it beating like a heart under the floorboards. She should want him to go. He broke her heart years ago. Realizing he still had the power to shatter the pieces was an awful discovery.
“Mr. Brixen stopped me in the lobby earlier. He said he handed you a package?” Christopher asked.
She flushed with embarrassment. How clearly he could read her face even after all these years. She opened her bag and slipped out the thick envelope, extending it to him.
He grabbed it. “Thank you.”
“What is it? A job offer?” she asked, unable to stop herself from getting at least a few clear answers.
“Is that what you want?” He studied her as he dropped the envelope to the table.
No. She forced her shoulder to lift in a lame attempt at nonchalance. With any luck, he didn’t notice the shake in her hands. Winning would be a hollow victory at best. She understood now how much she stood to lose by claiming the prize. He’d leave. She’d had a life without him. She didn’t want that again.
He wiggled an eyebrow. “Maybe I got you a job offer.”
She lightly jabbed him in his shoulder.
He chuckled, low and long. “I’m kidding, of course. You were right to come home. You belong here. You’re part of the fabric of this place.”
“I’d say the same about you.”
He shook his head. “Not really. I only belong because of your family. No one will miss me.”
I would. I already lost you once. Don’t make me live it again. Starting over hadn’t worked out the way she’d wanted. Could she move to Hawaii and try again? The new setting would only hide her pain for a little while. She probably should offer to leave but couldn’t bring herself to consider it.
“On to other topics. You went to the coffee shop today. How was Soupy?” he asked.
She met his pleasant smile with a fake one of her own. He’d given her the cue, and she’d follow suit. He wanted to back away from real talk. If she stopped, she wouldn’t push him away. She could survive a little longer without any progress or answers.
* * *
Seated on one of the two leather club chairs, Christopher studied the arrangement again, wishing he could pretend he hadn’t just asked such a pointless question. He’d really had no choice. Fear forced him to stick to the plan and avoid anything even hinting about them .
Too easily, he could picture her at the Hotel Lavande. She’d run it with aplomb. He’d teased her about finding her a job far from his domain. But he couldn’t argue the merits. She could soar anywhere. She’d shine in Hawaii. He could help her financially. He’d do anything. He could buy the resort for her, taking on the mortgage.
Because he couldn’t bear listening to her tell him he was her default and never her choice. He’d shouldered a lot. But he could never come back from that.
Treating her like an equal, he should fill her in on Zach’s machinations. She should know how the man attempted to manipulate her. He didn’t want to weaken their fragile bond by sharing painful information. He wasn’t much better than Zach, and Zach at least gave her ghost far more credence.
Christopher had placed two flashlights, two walkie-talkies, two notepads, and two pens on the low coffee table. A neat and tidy pairing of items for their mission. Before they could use the tools, they’d first need to work out the details, and discussing their feelings wasn’t part of it.
He was relieved to have something to focus on because he was more confused than ever. He’d never claimed to understand women. Any man who did was a clown. At one time, however, he’d known her heart better than his own.While he couldn’t claim expertise anymore, he’d swear he heard an invitation in his SUV. Of course, he had to be wrong.
What he needed was time to get himself organized. He needed a plan. His lawyer would have plenty. First, however, he needed to understand what she wanted. He’d have the lawyer draw up paperwork with a payout that would be more than generous. She considered the property a winner-take-all scenario. He wanted to fight fair.
But now he wasn’t sure what to do or say.
In such situations, he typically kept silent. But she hated quiet. He had uttered the ridiculous question that popped into his mind. And then he decided to repeat it. “How was Soupy?”
A knock sounded at the door, saving her from an immediate reply.
“Sorry, I ordered some food. I hope you’re hungry.”
“I am.” She licked her lips.
He got up from the chair and crossed the room, glad to put some space between them.
A uniformed server stood on the other side of the door, holding a tray.
“Thank you,” Christopher said, grabbing the wooden handles.
With a nod, the staff member shut the door.
“Can you clear a space on the table?”
She nodded.
He crossed the room and lowered the burden to the top, lifting off the silver lids on several plates piled high with meats, cheeses, dried fruit, and crackers.
“No candied pecans? Or the rosemary-cured olives?” she asked.
He frowned and stared at the tray. It was a plate of food to him, nothing more and nothing less.
She crossed to the desk and picked up the phone, calling in a request to the kitchen.
“Sorry. I guess I’m out of my depth.”
“It’s okay. I love food. But if I’m going to eat, I don’t want to just mindlessly consume. I want to enjoy my meal. Bring out flavors with contrasts. Sometimes, the most surprising combinations make the most delicious treats.”
He liked hearing her talk like that. He was curious about the changes she would make if she stayed.
Another knock came at the door.
She answered and accepted a smaller tray.
He made room on the low coffee table and grabbed a plate, serving himself some sustenance. He’d been a fool to think a salad was enough to keep him going. He hadn’t wanted to trouble anyone by asking them to make him a meal outside of regular kitchen hours.
She looked at his plate and added a few things here and there to it.
“Maybe you should stick to your strengths,” he said. “You like food.” And he liked the glow on her skin. More than the late afternoon light, she shone from the inside out.
“It’s nothing.” She waved him off and gathered food for herself.
“It’s something. If I don’t eat in the kitchens here, I’m great at making a bowl of cereal. I don’t know how to feed myself. You have a passion for food.”
“Hardly. I just think life is too short not to enjoy every second, including meals. What’s stopping any of us? Worry about tomorrow and a few extra pounds? Who cares?”
Or fear of losing those we love . She was right. He glanced away, grabbing a skewer of olives and stuffing it in his mouth. Unintentionally, he had encouraged her into danger by not taking her ghost story as fact. She’d put herself in harm’s way because she hadn’t had his full support. At the lighthouse, she could have been seriously injured.
He probably lost a few years of his life after the stress of seeing her so fragile and tiny on the hospital bed. He had to go with her, even though she’d try to dissuade him. He wouldn’t waste the energy or the words. He’d keep tabs on her and watch her as close as he dared. “It’s something worth considering.”
She shook her head. “No, working in the food industry isn’t my future path. I’m not sure what is. But I don’t want to devote years to something I’m not passionate about.”
Coming up with off-the wall ideas. Reinvigorating these old walls. People. He had a list a mile long of her strengths. “Let’s talk about tonight,” he said. He hated to jump topics, but he didn’t want to linger on her weaknesses. She was so creative and inventive. She saw everything from a different perspective. There was a value to her eternal optimism. But he knew he’d only fluster and frustrate her if he continued the discussion. “This office has the best view of the lighthouse. I’ll order some coffee, and we can take turns keeping watch after ten. I don’t think we’ll have long to wait. If someone is going to head to the lighthouse, they’ll go early or lose their nerve.”
“Do you still think the ghost is a human hoax?”
Her flat delivery didn’t persuade him to drop his beliefs. She had no proof of a ghost. The destruction of the lighthouse left tangible pieces of evidence. He failed to understand her grip on the story she told herself. What am I missing? “I want to take every precaution we can. We can’t protect ourselves against an other-worldly being. But we can be prepared for a mortal.”
“Fair enough.” She smiled. “But, if it’s a ghost?”
The little tilt of her mouth, the self-deprecating charm, tugged his heart. He’d been tempted to chase along with her for years, following every scheme, because of that effervescent quality he couldn’t quite pinpoint.
She included him in her jokes. It was always the two of them against the world until he’d suddenly had grown-up responsibilities. She’d had no clue about the weight on him.
Slowly, one secret at a time, he chose the real world over her. He couldn’t go back, no matter how much he longed to. She had no idea what it meant to stay.
“Why do you think it’s a ghost?”
“Because why not?” She arched a playful brow.
But he’d hit her armor, missing the bullseye but piercing the protective shield all the same. Was she swamped with regret? Was that the feeling holding her down? He wouldn’t burden her on his behalf. He’d prefer a fresh start if possible. “I actually ran into Seth. He’s started a local paper of sorts. He wanted you to know he had it in production before your meeting.”
“Why is that important?”
“Because his lead headline is about Soupy in his current, awe-inspiring murder spree self. But inside he found space for something you’d be interested in. Zach wrote an article about your ghost.”
Her breath caught. “Oh. He did?”
Christopher turned to study her then. She looked unsteady and unsure. “He brought up the old treasure rumor and alluded to a conspiracy on the part of the Inn.”
“Of course, he did.” She shook his head. “I don’t want to be used in a game between the two of you.”
I’m not using you . But he wasn’t sure that was entirely true. At the start, when he knew she was back, he wanted to manipulate the situation to his best advantage. He was still trying to work every angle. Zach was doing the same, albeit from a different side. If it was a game, though, Christopher would admit one thing. He played for keeps.
* * *
Maybe it’s my dad sending me a message. If Ashley told him why she needed, more than anything, to believe the ghost was real, would she be brave or pathetic? Putting her heart on the line with him never really got her to where she wanted or expected to be.
She wanted Dad to be watching out for her. Desperately. Otherwise, she had to accept the truth. He was gone for good, and she never had a chance to say goodbye.
Right now, however, she needed to find some sort of common ground. Their shared interest in the resort probably qualified. “Hey, what’s going on at the old sawmill.”
A few yards away from the mouth of the channel stood a crumbling sawmill and dock. From its stone foundation rose a three-story timber structure. The original planks had been patched and covered with vinyl siding, creating a patchwork, rectangular eyesore along the shoreline.
Christopher didn’t care because it didn’t directly impact the business. She knew he should. He might not be able to see the building now. But if the land sold to a developer, they’d probably be able to see the condos, mansions, or whatever monstrosity was erected to capitalize on the space. At the least, the dock jutting out into the lake would become crowded and noisy.
They’d been downstream from a sleeping giant. Once awakened, all sorts of trouble could erupt. The region didn’t have any specific building code restrictions. The area thrived on community spirit and a system of respect and shame that served better than any formal legalese. Could it last?
“What do you mean?”
“It looks almost abandoned. Has the old lady passed?”
“She’s in hospice. She moved out of the building six months ago. Should I send a team by? Did you spot trespassers?”
Ashley shook her head. “I’m sure it’s fine. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. It was more like…a feeling.”
“Like your ghost?” He narrowed his gaze.
Exactly. She didn’t pretend to be an empath or somehow attuned to the supernatural. But buildings gave off energy. And the sawmill emoted sadness. She couldn’t remember a time it had ever been operational. The industry had moved on from the old methods practiced at the Maguire Lumber mill since the nineteenth century.
If she wracked her brain, however, she remembered the cheer of the building. Colorful planters overflowed with petunias and impatiens, dotting the fa?ade and outlining the private dock every few feet. The flowers brightened an otherwise green patch of the shoreline.
She remembered boat rides with the Prims past the tallest structure on their shore. She imagined it as a tower fit for a princess. Now, the building was shuttered and closed. The planters were empty. The whole space looks vacant. “She hasn’t appointed a caretaker? Has she considered selling the property?”
“She has too much respect for the history of the place to let it go to a developer. Of that, I’m one hundred percent certain. I’m sure she’s considered who will inherit and has a plan in place after her passing.”
“She should give it to the historical society and be done.”
“Maybe. Elise has been working that angle for years.” He shook his head. “If anyone can convince her, it’ll be Elise. She’s tenacious.” The corners of his mouth lifted.
Ashley didn’t like his smile at the mention of another woman. Nor did she much care for the melodic sound of the other’s name on his tongue. “I guess tenacious is one word for her.” She lifted her shoulder.
“You and Elise could probably be friends. If you tried…”
She let the statement hang heavy in the room. Elise was everything Ashley wasn’t. They’d been rivals in school because neither could understand the other. Ashley had no desire to suddenly become the woman’s friend, especially not if she was after her husband.
“The old legend could hurt all of us,” he said. “Some call it a curse.”
She rolled her eyes. “ A Maguire in possession is prosperity for all ? You think the reverse is also true? Without a Maguire, we’re doomed?”
“The community is superstitious. Old lore has a habit of becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy here.”
She crossed her arms. “I’m surprised you support the legend. Isn’t there some sort of rumor about treasure tied up in the mill? I would think you’d be team no treasure on all fronts.”
“I don’t mind a Maguire treasure hunt. That would restrict the explorers to the opposite side of the lake. Specifically, the Timber Triangle.”
“That’s another thing I’d never heard before that everyone acts like it’s a part of our town’s founding.” She hated feeling so out of the loop.
“Seth’s revelation about Soupy led to a series of confessions about strange occurrences in and around the lake. The Timber Triangle was actually Elise’s contribution based on her research.”
Why did everything include Elise? “What? Like the Bermuda Triangle? Did aliens abduct a plane flying in the area?”
He grinned. “Not quite. A ship sank out there. And other reports of malfunction have appeared in various maritime records. But if you start probing, you’ll probably learn somebody had an extraterrestrial abduction. In Loon Lake, everything is possible.”
Why not her ghost?
“Maybe,” he dragged the word, “something is out of the ordinary at the lighthouse.”
“A ghost?”
“I don’t know. I like that it protected you.”
Good. Because she needed every ounce of safety she could get. If a spirit from the great beyond wanted to help, she wouldn’t turn it away. She’d feel safest with her husband on her side. “Well, I find the Maguire legend a bit ridiculous. The mill has hardly been prospering. Are the rest of us supposed to be quaking over what happens if the ancient laws of primogeniture fail?” Because the town won’t have to wait long. She didn’t see much purpose in further explaining the situation. Without her blood claim, she’d be out of luck. She was a hypocrite to argue the other side.
“Why do you pick and choose which myth to believe in?” He leaned his chin in his hand.
She almost sighed in relief that he hadn’t jumped on her argument to turn her words against herself. “I have to accept all or nothing? Like you? No middle ground?”
He frowned.
And she dropped it. Because they’d both hit too close to the heart of the matter for the other’s comfort. “If I support Soupy, will that make you feel better?”
He groaned.
And she chuckled. Her first real belly laugh in years, the tickle in her throat turned into a bending over, holding her stomach guffaw. “I have offered opinions. I think we had a good meeting. Seth is clever. It’s up to him now. If he can hire an illustrator, he might be okay.”
“Illustrator?”
“Children’s book is the best way to market the creature.” She pressed a hand to her heart. “In my humble opinion.”
He chuckled. “Yes, very self-deprecating and modest. I don’t think he’ll take you up on that. He seems convinced he has to educate everyone about Soupy. But I’m glad you’ve come around. Dreamers need each other.”
“Soupy wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to town. Not like the idea to have a Fourth of July regatta.” She grinned.
He groaned. “Oh, don’t remind anyone. They’ll want to do it again.”
The regatta had been Christopher’s first attempt at getting involved in the Inn during their teenage years. He’d pitched it as a fun, community-wide parade. In the end, a handful of boats had been pulling rafts of various buoyance in the frigid water. She could still remember the calls to the EMTs for help warming up the passengers on the rafts when one of the Prims tour boats got too close and soaked everyone with their wake.
Had that been his last creative idea? She wouldn’t accuse him of quitting when he struggled with trying something new and met with disaster. She hated if he’d missed opportunities to think outside the box over the years. Soupy might be his way to make up for his years of hard-nosed management and embraced a little fun. She hoped so.
“Elise and Seth seemed to really hit it off. He’s working with her on the new slogan.” She paused, waiting for a reaction.
Christopher stuffed a bite into his mouth.
Had she misread his feelings about Elise? She hoped so. “Seth has a catchphrase I like.”
“Really? What is it?”
She was toeing the line between them, inching towards the dangerous topics they seemed so much better off avoiding. But whatever happened, wouldn’t they need a reckoning of the past? Maybe not. Maybe we can just pretend we start over. “You don’t choose other people’s memories. Make good ones together.”
“Wow. Seth came up with that?”
She nodded. “He did. It gives me hope for his work with Soupy. That and the connection with his dad.” Understanding what the lake monster meant to Seth helped. What must total parental support, despite the illogical conclusion, feel like? Her dad loved her but didn’t really believe in her, dismissing her ideas as frivolous. Her nose itched, and unshed tears stung her eyes. She sniffed. Better to focus on the present. “I dropped off the final batch of menus in the restaurant. Do they earn your approval?”
“Whole-heartedly, he did a great job. He’s working through the process and learning. Without anyone else to guide him, he’s got to take ownership of every step and the end result. But he’ll get there. Seth’s a good guy.”
Takes one to know one . She tucked the blanket more firmly around herself. “Stop distracting me from my job, please. I’ve got to catch a ghost.”
Christopher chuckled and faced the windows. “Right you are.”