A Shore Thing (18 page)

He chewed his lip as he thought. “And I read that her father’s one of the new council members too. Busy family.”

“She’s a nice girl and Jer likes her, so she’ll be helping me out here and there.”

He released his hands, plopping them on the desk in front of him and leaning forward. “Good. If I can, I’ll stop in and check on them.”

Suz stopped pacing, her face filled with relief. She propped both hands on his desk. “Really? Thank you, Gage. I appreciate it.”

“Go on now.” He winked at her. “I’ve got work to do.”

She hesitated, her brow knit by new concern. “You’re moving forward on the Kitteridge property, aren’t you?”

He nodded once. “Yes. We’re in the design development stage and I’m ready to draw it up.”

“Is that hard?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it hard, per se, but it is time consuming.” He turned the computer screen so she could see. “This is when all those drawings you’ve seen me working on are fed into the computer, and we’ll be able to see how far-fetched my plans might be. By the way, they won’t be.”

“You sound pretty confident.”

He turned the computer back around and shrugged. “Never let them see you sweat.”

“I see. So then what? You give it to the builder?”

“Almost, but not quite. After my client approves these plans—there’s usually quite a bit of back and forth in that phase—I’ll need to plot it all out to the highest degree of accuracy.”

She stepped back, casually crossing her arms. “Sounds intense.”

He nodded his agreement. “That it is. I probably won’t be much fun in the coming days, but I will help you as much as I can.”

“Do you run anymore? Swim?”

He pursed his lips. “That was random.”

“With all this work you’re going to need some kind of outlet to de-stress. I remember when we were kids, you would run for miles or swim at the park pool. Don’t you do those things anymore?”

“Rarely. Well, I do run when I can.” He thought back on the recent day when he found Callie’s dog. It took deliberate strength to keep from smiling over the memory. He shoved it away. “I haven’t been swimming in at least a year. Might drown if I tried now.”

“Maybe you can get back into it by teaching Jer like you taught me.”

“That’s right, I did. Wow. How did you remember that?”

“I may have been little but I remember a lot, like what a great teacher you were—unless a bikini strolled by. You left me hanging on the side more times than I count!”

“Categorically untrue.” He laughed.

She tapped her chin with a fingernail and peered at the ceiling. “Maybe I ought to rethink this idea of you teaching Jeremiah. Especially with that Callie around.”

His smile faded and he rocked forward, dropping his eyes to the work on his computer screen. “No worries there.”

“Why not?”

He exhaled a groan. “Don’t you have work to do?”

She forced a laugh into the awkward moment. “C’mon. I’m just teasing you, though I really am serious about you finding a way to let off some of that stress. You will try, right?”

Her face held the fear that both of them knew. Their mother died from a heart attack at fifty and that fact lived somewhere behind their quest for healthy foods and protectiveness of each other. Still, Suz didn’t need to keep meddling in his love life, now did she?

The phone rang and he reached for it but not before acknowledging his sister. “I will try. Promise. I have to get this.” He put the phone to his ear. “Gage Mitchell.”

“What do you know about this SOS group?” Redmond. His client cranked his gruffness up a notch.

He took a breath. “I know they’re a serious group of locals who are opposed to development on the Kitteridge land.”

“There’s nothing they can do about it.”

He thought about Callie and her plans, knowing Redmond was probably correct. “My understanding is that they are trying to raise enough money from the community to buy the property from the Kitteridges themselves. I agree that theirs is a tough hill to climb.”

“You got that right.” He swore. Twice. “This project’s been moving as it should from day one. Ain’t no little band of yokels going to stop it.”

“Any chance of their fight slowing us down?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“May I ask how far along escrow is? If they were to be able to raise enough money—”

“They won’t. And don’t worry about the other logistics—I’ve got that covered. You just get those drawings done and fast. Where are you on those plans? We have to be ready to pounce ASAP. We don’t want that group to think they’ll have any chance to win this fight.”

Gage swallowed. “I should have something to you by the end of the week.”

“Good. Do that. I’ll be in touch.”

They hung up and Gage fought off a swirl in his gut. Why did he sense that, despite his words to the contrary, Redmond was more worried than he let on?

Chapter Nineteen

Twelve cell phone messages. Twenty-eight e-mail messages. And a driver sped up to greet me at a stop sign on my way home from camp. After the long, hot weekend I’d just endured with two hundred kids and a laundry list of duties that left me caked with dirt and longing for a cool bath, the last thing I felt compelled to do was attend Sunday supper at Sheila’s house.

After missing last week, however, I saw no way out of it. I scanned all messages, answered two of them, grabbed a shower, and headed outside. The cool breeze brought on by a descending sun wrapped around me like a soft shawl, and I embraced every minute of my walk opting to leave the cell phone at home rather than endure its penchant for interruption.

Daffodils and tulips dotted the yard around Sheila’s sprawling home, but that pretty packaging did little to help me forget my sister’s late night phone call. Why did I let her bother me? My parents would be here after their latest trip, and I had not seen Brenna and Blakey since our last Sunday supper together. Reasons enough to chin up.

The door swung open at my touch and I stepped inside. As usual, the rest of the family had arrived before me and noshed on appetizers around Sheila’s massive kitchen island. Thankfully that meant Bobby and Greta were here, my allies in the often strained world of my sister’s home.

As the aroma of fresh baked food made my stomach tumble. My mother kissed my cheek. “Callie, my famous daughter! I’ve heard all about it. My you look . . .” She knit her brow. “Do you ever eat, my child? Come, come, and have some of Sheila’s feast.”

“Hi, Mom.” I glanced at my father who sat in a chair drinking a beer. “Hey, Dad.” I gave him a peck on the cheek, his smooth shaven skin cool to the touch. He smiled in his bland but congenial way, but said nothing.

My mother wore a scarf around her head, its colors reminiscent of an Impressionist painting. Her matching skirt swished as she moved. “Darling, we had the most fabulous time in Carmel. We visited every gallery and bakery in town and your father, the romantic devil, coerced me to walk for miles along the beach. You do know the sand is like powdered sugar, don’t you?”

My father gave a guarded shake of his head, letting on that my mother, as usual, was exaggerating. In all likelihood, their walk was not much more than several yards.

“Well, you look very rested, Mom.” I waved at the rest of the clan and threw my arms around Greta’s neck, although it was getting tougher to do. “How’s our baby today?”

Greta glanced down at her belly. “Weatherbee or Fruitashia has been keeping me up all night.”

I laughed and searched out Bobby. “Keeping you up too, then?” I asked him.

He gave me a weak smile that disappeared quickly. His gaze flitted away.

Sheila swung through the kitchen, a stack of folded cloth napkins in her arms. She spied me. “Good, Callie, you’re here. Take these and put them around the table.”

If I weren’t so startled that my usually punctual sister had yet to lay out her formal table, I might have been put off by her order. Since my hunger had been replaced by an awkward, sinking feeling in the hollow of my stomach, I was grateful for the opportunity to step away from the family, if only for a few moments.

Blakey stumbled into the room and scampered into a chair. Brenna followed close behind, tiny hands on equally miniscule hips. Her eyebrows furrowed. “We have a bone to pick with you, Auntie Callie.”

I stopped. “Oh, really? What have I done?”

Blakey tipped his chin up. “Where you been, Auntie Callie? We never see you anymore.”

I continued on with my table setting duties. “Well, I’ve been working and volunteering for all sorts of things.”

Blakey pumped his legs beneath him, causing him to rock on his mother’s good dining room chair. “Like what?”

“Yeah, what? Mother says you’re making a lot of people really angry.” Brenna’s face, which made me chuckle when I first saw it, turned darker. I saw her future and my heart twisted.

“She said that? Well, honey, I don’t think anyone is all that angry with me. Did your mother say she was?”

“She said other people.” Her tone sounded too sharp for a six-year-old.

I bent to face her. “You might as well learn now that you can’t control what other people think about you. My philosophy is to do what I think is right and
que sera sera!
”

“K what?” Brenna’s face had gone from sinister to cute and confused. That was the girl I knew.

Blakey laughed. “I think she has a friend named Sara!”

Sheila marched in and set a stack of her best china onto the buffet adjacent to her table. “Blake and Brenna, you both go get washed. Hurry.” She pulled a hinged, wooden box from beneath the buffet and set it on the table. “Here’s the silverware.”

She left without making eye contact. I stood wondering if I should bother setting a place for myself as the kitchen ought to be much warmer. I didn’t have time to ponder this as the rest of the family trickled in and took their seats: Jim, Nancy, Vince, Mom and Dad, Greta and Bobby. Brenna and Blakey stomped to their places with Sheila pulling up the rear. The usual chatter came along with them all, but I neither jumped into the conversation nor sensed I was invited to do so.

Still I sat and joined hands with my family. After Vince said grace, Mom began to regale us with detailed descriptions of every morsel of gourmet food that she and Dad had tasted. “. . . and the lamb, braised with mint jelly, was superb . . .”

I spooned several in-season strawberries onto my plate and kept watch on Bobby, waiting to catch his eye. He and I used to pick wild strawberries behind an old lean-to shed by the camp. We never washed them and the telltale sign of red berry juice splotching our skin got us into trouble every time.

He hadn’t looked at me since the meal began.

Vince spoke from the head of the table. “Maybe you ought to ask Callie.” He motioned toward me with the tip of his knife.

Startled, I glanced around. “Sorry? What did I miss?”

My mother’s hands froze in the air as she awaited my response. “I was just telling everyone that Carmel is filled with celebrities of all sorts, bit actors and politicians, we saw many of them.” She turned and touched my father’s wrist. “Didn’t we, darling?”

My father nodded and touched the hand Mom had laid on his wrist.

“And I was wondering aloud what it must be like for those whose names are in the press to enjoy a breezy walk through downtown Carmel.” She turned to Vince. “Are you saying that our Callie is becoming a celebrity in town?”

His shoulders rose and fell as he sliced a hunk of roast pork on his plate. “Some might think so. In a relatively short amount of time she has managed to whip up some of the town’s folk into a frenzy. Listen to this, yesterday one of my clients wanted to talk more about Callie and her tenacity than his insurance policy. The guy wanted your number too, but Sheila wouldn’t let me give it to him.” He smiled and pushed a bite of pork into his mouth.

“Really!” Her mother clapped her hands and held them, her mouth agape.

I gasped and looked to Bobby for support. He just chewed his meal, giving me an occasional glance. “Is everything all right over there, Bobby?”

Greta patted his arm. “Poor man. Works all week, then paints all weekend.”

I leaned my head to one side. “So you’re tired?”

Bobby kept chewing, his eyes glaring, angry, like we were kids and I’d just eaten all the strawberries without offering him one. He swallowed his bite. “Something like that.”

Jim coughed. “So, Bob, how’s business?”

Bobby dropped his silverware onto Sheila’s good china, its rattle sharp and reverberating.

Greta jerked. “What’s wrong, honey?”

My brother glanced sideways at her, then back at me. “You couldn’t just leave this one alone. Had to get involved and shake up the whole town.”

I touched my fingers to my chest. “I don’t understand. I thought you supported the fight for the Kitteridge property.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure, make a little noise. Get them to lower the density of their plans or dedicate a portion of it for parkland, but out-and-out purchase the property? Do you know how much money has already been invested?”

“No. Do
you
?”

The family peacemaker looked like a bull ready to charge. “I know you’ve been getting a lot of props lately, Callie. Some people do love what you are doing, but there are a whole lot of others out there affected by this campaign of yours. Have you thought this all out?”