A Shore Thing (15 page)

Squid rose from the table. The faint lines at his eyes appeared deeper than usual. “Evening, everyone. Thanks for stopping by tonight. As you know I’ve been mulling over ways to make our weekend camps more viable for the kids. But before I get to that, we’ve got some quick business to discuss.”

Squid seemed preoccupied tonight. His eyes flitted about rather than conveying the directness that those of us who worked with him were used to seeing. He cleared his throat. “Camp’s busier than ever. We get calls every day with new registrations, but unfortunately we’ve had to turn away some great people.”

Luz piped up. “Not always.”

I slouched in my chair.
Really, Luz? Must my blunder of last weekend be brought up now? In front of both board and staff?

“There have been few exceptions.” Squid’s mouth lay flat. “The board and I have been discussing the possibility of building more cabins. The problem is we use every square inch of our outdoor space already, plus we’d need to raise funds before we could even begin.”

Natalia smiled, giving me a nod. You’d think this would make me feel honored and maybe even important. Instead, the idea of tackling anything larger than what I’ve already proposed to SOS boggled me.

Ted, one of the board members, held up a bent forefinger. “I have an idea, Tom. What about two-story cabins? More kids, yet we keep the same footprint.”

Natalia leaned back in her chair, arms folded. “Too costly. That and we would probably have the fire chief after us all season. Also, I think there may even be a rule against younger children sleeping on the second floor.”

Luz grimaced, elbow on table, and chin in hand. “So if we don’t have just the right mix of kids, we could still find ourselves with too many campers and not enough beds. Great.”

Squid fidgeted with his beard. I couldn’t recall seeing him do that before. He rolled his shoulders back from their slumped position and raised his hand. “Maybe we’re getting ahead of ourselves, eh? All of this is food for thought at the moment. We obviously can’t do anything about this right away, but we will be looking thoroughly at all ideas. If anyone comes up with the miracle solution, you can call me or Natalia.” He clasped his hands. “Moving on.”

For the next five minutes or so Squid proceeded to work through a boring checklist of maintenance items that needed fixing. Normally Squid ran meetings the way he ran a night camp gathering for two hundred kids. He’d spiral footballs into the crowd and tell some groan-worthy jokes then follow up by using his megaphone for effect. Tonight, however, my former crush was off his game.

My mind wandered. Maybe I only imagined Squid’s perplexing state. The past day and a half carried with it the low of nearly losing my dog (and having to humble myself, tear-stained cheeks and all, before Gage), and the incredible high from the huge community support for the Kitteridge property acquisition, complete with a media plug and name recognition. Not to mention that rather confusing phone call from Gage.

“I realize that we’re on opposite sides of the court, Callie,” he had told me. “But I’m not going to try to convince you to stop your fight. If you ever have any questions about my plans for this project, you just ask. Will you do that?”

I didn’t know whether to pitch my phone across the room or present him with a lengthy list of questions, the answers of which would give me ammunition to up the fight. Could I do that to another person? Take what they freely gave and then turn it against them? Or maybe that was exactly what Gage Mitchell surmised: that my conscience would not allow me to use someone that way.

He was a crafty one, all right.

Squid stroked his beard again and the motion yanked me back into the meeting. He had made it to the bottom of his list and I couldn’t recall a thing that had been on it. I set aside my plate and focused on him.

“Getting back to our campers, there’s always the danger that their experience with us will be the high.” He gestured to the airspace above him. “But we’re not about mountaintop experiences that have nowhere to go but down. Are you tracking with me here?”

The room fell silent. Squid dropped his gaze to the floor, his eyes shut. When he lifted his head, his eyes were sharp, focused. “It’s about giving them an experience that is so real, so vibrant, that they’ll go home changed. Different. My hope is that people around them will want to know what they’ve been up to. Not what camp they attended, not the name of their counselor, but what happened inside them that has changed them for the better.”

He spoke with deliberateness and passion. “At the same time, I don’t want the message to get so convoluted that they can’t even begin to live it. Does that make sense?”

I spoke out in the quiet room. “I think so. You want them to understand the essence of faith.”

Squid cast his attention toward me. “And that is?”

As a person of faith, I knew this one by heart. “To serve God, of course. To live for him.”

Squid watched me. “Exactly. Yet how can they do that if they don’t understand how to hear his voice?” He stared at me for a beat longer than felt comfortable. Had he heard my middle-of-the-night confession to the girls in my cabin? I had admitted to them my struggles, yet had not spent one minute sorting them out for myself.

Ted cleared his throat and raised a finger again, offering his own take on what direction he thought the message could go, and I sat back, trying to rein in my buzzing thoughts. One thing I knew, I had better think of a way to work faith into my plans.

GAGE

GAGE CRACKED HIS NECK. First the left side, then the right. He winced and rolled his shoulders, but it did nothing for him other than accentuate his fatigue. With a few clicks, he shut down his computer and waited for it to power down.

Suz had asked him to work late tonight, fixated on painting his entire living room. She had planned to put Jeremiah to bed early, then finish up what she’d started earlier in the day. He shut his eyes, remembering the first week she and Jer had spent with him. She had found some leftover paint in his shed, paint he had used in his former house and didn’t want to part with. While he was away at work one day, she painted his bathroom a rich shade of Chocolate Loam.

Initially, he reacted with a tinge of shock and a lot of apprehension. He had his own ideas of what he would like to do with his home once he had the time—and the resources. But Suz’s eye for design and the meticulousness of her work won him over. Vaguely he remembered their mother saying Suz had artistic ability, but for all he knew at the time, it was nothing more than motherly bragging. He knew better now.

Although he had the utmost confidence in his sister’s skill and designer eye, he was tired. Gage hoped she had all the time she needed to accomplish her goal for the day. He yawned, picked up his office phone, and dialed home.

Suz answered on the fourth ring. “Hey.”

He sat back against his chair. “How’s the painting coming along?”

“I’m in the homestretch.” Her voice was breathless, as if rolling paint onto walls as she spoke. “Because of all that sun we get, the first coat dried enough for me to add another.”

He shoved two soft pencils into his desk drawer and slid it shut. “Great. Can’t wait to see your handiwork.”

“Oh, but don’t come home yet. I have a surprise and don’t want you to see it until I’m finished. Okay?”

He stifled a sigh, and stretched his forehead in an attempt to hold his eyes open. “Well . . .”

“Stop at the RAG and have something to eat. I bet you haven’t eaten all evening.” She paused. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

He chuckled. “You’re such a mom.”

“Of course I am. Why are you laughing?”

“Not laughing at you. It’s just new to me, that’s all.” He glanced at the clock on his credenza and grimaced. “I guess I could use some dinner.”

“Great! Chew slowly and I’ll try to have this done and the place all cleaned up before you get home. See you.”

She clicked off. He grabbed his coat and slipped out the door, the rumbling in his stomach holding at bay his other pressing need—to crawl into bed. When he arrived at the RAG, much of the patronage consisted of teenagers gazing at each other and the occasional, solitary diner. The hostess, Mimi, doubled as a waitress. She led him to a table against the window and took his drink order. Coffee. Black. Decaf.

She delivered it in seconds along with a kind smile. “You’re in late tonight.”

He smiled up at her. “Hunger knows no schedule.”

She cackled. Mimi looked to be in her late forties. She leaned against the booth opposite him. “I’ve seen you here several times. New in Otter Bay?”

He sipped the coffee and nodded. “I am. Gage Mitchell. Glad to formally meet you, Mimi.”

“Same here. Most everyone comes in here if they’re in this town any length of time. I’ve been working for old Peg since my oldest was in diapers.”

“Really? How many children?”

“Four. All of them girls. I love ’em to death, but all those hormones in one house gets more than I can handle sometimes. Work is a blessing.”

He threw his head back, grateful for a hearty laugh. “I guess so.”

Mimi glanced across the diner as a bell jingled announcing another diner had entered the place. She smacked him on the rotator cuff. “Now don’t be getting the wrong idea about women from me. You fellas need us just as much as we need you!”

She laughed and Gage followed suit. He gave her an “I hear you” nod as she motioned with a flapping hand for someone to join them. Apparently his table was the designated gathering spot for the evening.

He held the mug in his hands and glanced over his shoulder. Callie approached. For someone who had sounded strained and suspicious during their five-minute phone call this morning, she sure had a nice smile on her face. Then he understood. She had no idea who sat in the booth next to where Mimi stood.

“There’s the girl of the hour,” Mimi called out and turning her back to him. “I heard you were in the paper this morning, Callie.”

“Yes, yes. Lot’s going on.”

“Well, now, I haven’t had a moment to read it myself, but it sure seems like a big project to handle.” Mimi rocked side to side when she talked, the bow of her apron rustling against his booth. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

Discomfort crept through him. He felt like he was eavesdropping even though the women stood not two feet from him on the other side of Mimi.

Callie spoke. “I’m doing this for all of us.”

“Oh!” Mimi jumped to one side, exposing his presence. “Where are my manners? Callie, this is Gage Mitchell. He’s new in town. And Gage—”

He didn’t bother putting out a hand, but offered a friendly smile, albeit somewhat forced. “We’ve met. Hello, Callie.”

Mimi bubbled. “How nice that you two know each other, what with him being new in town and you being a lifelong resident.” She reached over the table behind Gage and snatched a menu from the two teens who seemed to have eyes only for each other. “Here’s another menu. I supposed you’d like to sit together.”

He had decided to help Callie out, one last time. “No, I don’t—”

Callie plucked the menu from Mimi’s hand. “Sure. That would be fine. Thanks, Mimi.”

Mimi spun away still chattering. “I’ll come right on back with a hot pot. It’ll be just a second or two.”

Callie slid into the seat across from Gage, a blend of tired and pretty all rolled into one exasperating woman. He continued to cradle his mug, searching for something to add to the phone conversation that went nowhere this morning.

He needn’t have bothered because Callie had a lot on her mind.

“I don’t know what that phone call was all about this morning, or what kind of tricks you have up your sleeve, Mr. Mitchell, but I’m not leaving here until we understand each other. Completely.”

He took one last, slow sip, set down his mug, and realized his appetite had vanished.

Chapter Sixteen

Gage needed to understand that I was no damsel in distress. Nor was I naive. On the contrary, I wondered just how much he knew about the Kitteridge’s dire predicament and how that knowledge might be driving his own actions. Of course, I couldn’t ask, because that would be betraying June’s confidence. While his phone call from this morning may have caused me to wobble momentarily, I had been ruminating about it all day, and my suspicions had mushroomed.

Now as we sat with this table as a dividing line between us, I hoped to see on his face what I could not hear over the phone: his hidden agenda.

He set his coffee down and clasped his hands on the table. “As far as I’m concerned, my meaning was completely clear. But if you did not understand it, then I apologize for that.”

I ignored his sarcasm. “People don’t just call up their enemies and offer to help them. Did you really think I’d fall for that?” I stopped him with a raised palm. “Wait. Let me answer that. No. I would not.”

Although his lips remained in a flat line, it looked like he was hiding a smile. Faint crow’s-feet appeared.

I watched him through narrowed eyes. “Did you have something to add?”

He shook his head, but the smile in his eyes remained.

I gripped the table and slid from the booth. “This is a waste of time. You’re just laughing about this.”