Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Goodness, it was good to get out again. Even better to wake up to a cloudless sky for a change.
Camille had almost forgotten what the warmth of that big, ol’ golden sun felt like upon her skin.
As she rolled down her car windows and let those rays filter in, she finally understood why cats always curled up in patches of sunlight.
It felt like a hug, something she needed so.
Tabitha was right. The news hit early that morning that Assemblyman Taylor was a match for the living donor transplant.
The way the media spun the story was impressive, Camille had to give them that much credit.
What began as a harrowing, seafaring tale turned into a story of hope, perseverance, and newfound friendship.
Too bad it was all a bald-faced lie.
She knew better than to believe anything that came out of Mark’s office. And while the assemblyman had his own team to spin his story, this one reeked of Mark’s voice. His tone. His ideas. His agenda. What was he setting up with all of this?
She couldn’t be certain, but there was one thing she was grateful for: so far, Foster’s name had been left out of everything completely.
Not even a mention of Jim having a brother.
It was as much a relief as it was depressing, because now what?
If Foster truly was a match, how would it look for him to swoop in and change the story?
And why was it taking so long for him to get his results?
Camille tried not to think about these things. At the very least, not be consumed by them. She awoke to two new reservations on the books, so that was where all of her effort and energy would go. On tidying up the Inn and getting it ready for guests again.
The first item on her list was a trip to Morgan’s bakery to place an order for pastries.
She loved this sweet shop with its mouthwatering baked goods, cakes, and pies. Today, as she stepped through the entrance door—a little bell above chiming her arrival—she inhaled to her lung’s capacity, savoring the scent that simultaneously made her stomach growl.
Morgan popped up from behind a pastry case, all smiles.
“How is my favorite Seascape Shores baker?” Camille stepped forward, surprised there wasn’t a line or even any other patrons at this time of day. But based on the empty trays and plates within the case, she figured most customers had arrived much earlier than she.
“Survived the ‘storm of the century’.” Morgan made air quotes around the words. “How about the Inn?”
While the actual weather pattern had proven to be less dramatic than originally forecasted, the resulting story with the sailors—and now Jim’s situation—certainly deserved that headline. The unwelcome news had definitely stormed its way into Camille’s life.
“The Inn rode it out like a champ.” She smiled at her friend. “Which is why I’m here. We’re back up and running and a few new guests will be joining us later today. I was hoping I might be able to place an order for pastries for tomorrow morning, if it’s not too late to do so.”
“The usual?”
“Yep. Sounds perfect, unless you have anything you’d like to add?”
Morgan dipped back to pull something from the glass case. She passed a small puff pastry over the top toward Camille. “This is a new recipe I’m working on for the gala. It’s my take on a Nutella hand pie. Go head.” She nudged her chin. “Give it a try and let me know what you think.”
Morgan didn’t need to ask Camille twice to taste a treat. She bit into the flaky dough, suppressing the groan of satisfaction that wanted to come out when the pastry met her tongue. It was delicious, bordering on heavenly. Morgan sure had a way with sugar and sweets.
“Morgan, this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
Morgan grinned, obviously pleased. “You don’t need to flatter me, Camille. You know you’re one of my favorite customers.”
“One?” She feigned insult, clutching her chest dramatically. But her theatrical show went unnoticed, Morgan’s attention fixated on the door and the man now passing through it.
“Oh, hey there, Camille.” Josh looked at his sister, apparently surprised to see her even though they’d passed one another in the Inn’s hallway just thirty minutes earlier. “Didn’t know you were headed this way.”
“Just placing an order for pastries for tomorrow.”
“Shoot.” He came up to the register where Camille stood. “If I’d have known, I could have done that for you.”
“I wasn’t aware you were headed this way.”
“Josh is one of my faithful regulars.” Morgan was busy putting together a box of cinnamon rolls, croissants, and chocolate chip muffins. “He’s here almost every day.”
“Is that so?” Camille cocked her head. She was aware that Josh had been working with Morgan to finalize the menu for the gala, but this felt like more than that.
“I’m just picking up some pastries to take down to the rec center. Meeting Cal there to talk about possible charities we can donate proceeds from the gala to.”
“You and Cal are still getting along?”
“Yes, Camille. We’re getting along.”
“And what about you and Edie?” She cut a look over toward Morgan to see if there was any reaction, but the baker had occupied herself with another task as she folded the lid on the pink box and sealed it with a beautiful Sugar Blossom Bakery sticker.
“What about me and Edie?” Josh’s voice was a murmur.
“You two are getting along?” Camille wanted to add the little bit about them sharing a kiss, but this was not the time, nor the place.
“We’re getting along great.”
He moved in front of her to hand Morgan his credit card, and while the baker rang up his order, Camille studied her brother.
Watched the exchange taking place. Was there something more going on here?
She honestly couldn’t tell. Josh didn’t interact with Morgan the way he did with Edie.
There was less intensity, more friendly smiles.
Where it was obvious that Josh had feelings for Edie, here things felt more lighthearted.
But she still didn’t think she was wrong to believe there was more to their interaction than met the eye.
Josh left promptly after that, hurrying out with his purchase.
But even after he was fully gone with the door closed behind him, Morgan’s gaze still lingered.
Even if Josh wasn’t interested, Morgan no doubt was.
“I take it he’s your other favorite customer?”
The woman’s stunned eyes slid to hers. “I…” She swallowed to clear her throat softly. “He’s a good customer. And a nice friend.”
“But you want something more?” This was bold, but Camille was curious, and Morgan seemed willing to answer.
“I’d like to get to know him better, if that’s what you’re asking,” Morgan admitted, shrugging. “But I think he has his eyes elsewhere.”
“He might.” He did. Camille knew that. “But maybe that’s because he hasn’t given himself the opportunity to really look around.”
Josh had been fixed on Edie since the day they’d met. They’d had an instant connection, one that was dramatic and surprising, consistent with Edie’s romantic patterns.
But Camille needed to stay out of all of it. She had more pressing issues to deal with, and her brother’s love life ranked at the bottom of that list.
“I’ll be by in the morning to pick up the order.” She passed Morgan the payment for the pastries. “Thank you again for always being so willing to help us out. You truly put the breakfast in our little B&B.”
The phone was ringing again.
Not her cellphone, but that archaic landline.
The instant it trilled, Camille’s heart took off in a gallop. Since living at The Getaway, the only one to ever attempt to reach them on that line was the dang hospital.
And today, she wondered if it might be them again, attempting to contact Foster. Maybe they had the results. Maybe this would be the phone call to change their lives forever.
Each ring sped up her heart rate until it was fully thundering in her ears, so loudly she couldn’t hear the person on the other line when she lifted the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Hi, may I please speak with Foster Spaulding?”
Camille feared she knew where this was going. “He’s not here at the moment, but I’d be happy to take a message.”
“Yes, that would be great. Please tell him that this is Katie Carlson with The Seascape Shores Tribune. I am trying to reach Foster for a comment about the lost fishing vessel.”
“No comment,” Camille said quickly.
“I was hoping to reach Foster Spaulding for a comment.”
Wasn’t Camille allowed to give one in his stead? She was his wife, after all.
“Can you please have him call me back at his earliest convenience?”
Camille squared her shoulders and pulled in a breath. “Yes. I will give him the message.”
And she would. It just might be several weeks from now. Or months. Possibly years.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Camille placed the receiver back onto the wall, and then slumped against the doorframe leading to the dining room. She needed to do better than this. Be better than this. Shouldering into the strap on her purse, she marched out of the Inn, into her car, and headed to Foster’s current jobsite.
She’d give him the message right now. Along with one of her own.
It was a busy day at the construction site.
Clear skies and warmer weather meant all hands on deck to work on the new office building, but it also meant a load of cleanup.
There were mucky puddles everywhere, sodden pieces of sheetrock and boards strewn about.
Camille was not dressed for any of it, and she tiptoed through the site, stepping over one hazardous trap after another.
“You’re missing something.” She felt the heavy weight of a hard hat come down on her head. Foster grinned when she spun toward him. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
She was about to burst that hopeful bubble, but it couldn’t be helped. “Someone from the Tribune called for you. They want a statement about everything going on with Jim.”
“Do they?” His prominent brow line buckled over those blue eyes that always pierced her right down to her soul. “And you came all the way down here to deliver that news?”
“Foster.” Camille took his hand, so rough from years of construction. His fingers instantly clasped around hers. “I’m worried about you. You’ve hardly talked about any of this since you found out about Jim. I’m beginning to think you don’t trust me with your feelings anymore.”
“Why would you say, or even think, something like that?”
“Because you haven’t told me what’s going on in that head of yours.”
Foster pulled his eyes from Camille’s. His junior foreman, Todd, strode past with a group of younger workers, but Foster jutted out a hand to halt him. “Hey, Todd. I’m going to take an early lunch with my wife. You good here for an hour or so?”
“I’m good, boss.”
Camille didn’t spend much time at any of Foster’s construction sites, but she loved seeing him at work.
Loved witnessing the respect the guys had for the man she loved—and also respected—with her whole being.
Foster had worked tirelessly to rebuild a life for himself, from the ground up.
And maybe that was why this whole thing was eating her up inside.
She wouldn’t allow this to upend everything he’d created. He didn’t deserve that.
“You hungry?” Foster kept Camille’s hand in his as he led her toward the gate where his pickup was parked.
She wasn’t. There were too many nerves swimming in her stomach to allow for anything else. But she just nodded.
They drove to a little sandwich shop just up the way.
Camille ordered a bowl of tomato soup and a grilled cheese, and Foster had a pastrami with the works, his favorite.
It was still early for lunch, so they had the place to themselves.
Foster had picked a little table at the back, flanked by big windows that looked out over the shore.
While they waited for their orders, Foster reached out for Camille’s hands again, like he needed this physical connection. Like he needed to hold onto her while he spoke, a link between them.
“I’m not a match.”
Her little gasp was barely audible, but she knew Foster heard it. Whether it fell from her lips out of relief or regret, though, she couldn’t be sure. “You’re not?”
“I found out yesterday. And you’re right, I should have told you.”
“No, Foster. You have every right to keep that—”
“You don’t need to make excuses for me. I should have told you, plain and simple. You were and are a part of this decision. It involves you. I should have let you know as soon as the hospital called me with the news.”
That was reasonable enough. “So why didn’t you?”
“I wasn’t sure how to tell you without…” His eyes cut to the window quickly, then flickered back. “Without losing my composure. Without falling apart.”
Even now, she could see the water brimming his eyes.
Over the years, Foster had worked hard to control his emotions.
Namely, his response to his anger. But a side effect of that was that he often kept a tight lid on all of his emotions.
Visibly, at least. She could count on one hand the times she’d ever seen the man’s eyes mist over, ever witnessed his chin tremble.
And those times were tears of joy, unlike the ones that threatened to fall down his cheeks now.
Foster looked like he was just short of losing it all.
“It’s okay to be emotional about this,” Camille reassured.
“I know.” He tugged his hand free from their hold and swiped the back of it over his eyes before sniffing loudly. “In my head, this was how I was going to reconcile everything that happened. How I finally paid for my sins and moved on.”
“You’ve already done that.”
“I did what was required of me, Camille. I had no choice in it. I was going to go to prison whether I wanted to or not.” His throat moved with a swallow.
“But this? Choosing to go through with this surgery to help him? This was something I could do—a choice I could make—that wasn’t required or mandated. ”
“And now you can’t because you’re not a match.”
“Right. Now I’m stuck right back where I was,” he said.
“In some ways, it feels like I’m in an even worse position because I can’t just pretend Jim is some strung-out lowlife out there ruining lives while also ruining his own.
He’s turned things around, Camille. He’s let go of who he once was.
” Foster sighed heavily. “I don’t know why I’m having such a difficult time letting go of it, too. ”