Barefoot in the Rain (26 page)

Will shrugged, not sure how to answer that one.

“But I have noticed you’ve got a lot going on the past few days. Our schedule’s good, if you need some time off.”

“I’m okay,” he said. “I’ll let you know if I need it.”

Clay gave him a long look. “What happened in the car this morning?”

Shit. Clay had seen him the very minute he had found the pictures. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? You looked like you saw a ghost and damn near ran over the DOT inspector’s boots.”

“Did I?” He made a face. “Hope we passed anyway.”

Clay laughed softly, propping on a stool Will used when he sawed. “You really weren’t paying attention in that meeting. Yeah, we passed, and I chalked your driving
up to morning fog. But do you know how many times you spoke in our sub meeting?”

“I’m more worried about what I said.”

“No need. Because you didn’t say a word, but that’s the thing about you, Will. You don’t have to.”

Will met Clay’s sharp blue gaze, quite used to the younger man’s longer hair, earring, and tattoo. Clay might not look like a hard-core professional, but he was one. And wise beyond his barely thirty-one years.

“What are you saying?” Will asked.

“Not saying anything, just offering an ear. I know you’ve got some things going on with Jocelyn and her dad. Thought maybe you’d want to talk.”

Did he? Did he want to tell Clay about Jocelyn being beaten? Hell, no. About her keeping it from him and him wearing blinders to protect himself? Not particularly.

But feelings bubbled up, and the words that had tormented him all day were right at the surface. “I just found out that the one time in my life I should have done something even if it cost me everything, I did nothing.” He cleared his throat, looking away. “Now I have to do something and it might be too late.” He paused, the echo of his vague confession hanging in the air. “Did that make sense?”

Clay laughed. “Enough. I know what it’s like to feel like you should have done something years ago and didn’t. I don’t want to pry, so I won’t ask specifics, but I’ll tell you this. Jocelyn and Lacey have been friends for a long time, so I suspect they’re made of the same basic stuff. Which includes the ability to forgive someone who’s acted like a moron, or an asshole, or a stubborn bonehead.”

Will laughed. “Why do I think that’s the voice of experience?”

“It sure as shit is. But the thing is, Lacey made it all worthwhile.”

“So you fucked up and groveled back to her good graces?”

“More than once,” he said with mock pride. “You have to know how important she is to you.”

Will just nodded, unwilling to admit that even the thought of Jocelyn made him soft in the gut and hard in other places. He’d worn his heart on his sleeve enough for one day.

“So take the time you need.” Clay pushed off the chair. “But get that marble inlay done soon.”

“Will do, boss.” Clay grabbed his hammer. “I’ll be done here before the end of the day and then I’ll start the bathroom marble job.”

As Clay walked out of the villa, he stopped in the doorway. “What happens if you get that call?”

Will frowned, not following.

“From a baseball team. You
are
still waiting for a coaching job, right?”

“Oh, yeah. But don’t worry, Clay. The pickings are slim and that call isn’t coming soon. Even if it did, I wouldn’t leave you in the lurch. I’d help you find carpenters to replace me.”

“I meant what happens to you and Jocelyn?”

Inside, his chest squeezed. “There is no me and Jocelyn.” Yet.

This time Clay frowned, confused. “Oh, then I misunderstood. I could have sworn Lacey said that was one of the reasons Jocelyn is thinking about moving here to manage the spa. Geographic desirability and all, so I just thought…” His voice faded, probably due to the look of
disbelief and hope and utter shock on Will’s face. “Never mind. I’ll check in with you later.”

Clay turned and jogged out before Will could ask any questions. Jocelyn was thinking about staying here?

Hope nearly strangled him. And then everything was crystal clear: He’d do anything and everything to get her to stay. What was that whole life-coaching business about, anyway? Finding your passion. The thing that gives you joy.

Well, he’d found his passion. And he’d do anything to make her stay.

I
s that what I think it is?” Tucked into the pew at the helm, Zoe gripped the sides of the boat and stared at the charcoal-colored gator sunning along the side of a grassy hammock, not ten feet away.

Jocelyn just smiled. “Stay in the boat, Zoe. You can’t wrestle him.”

“I just want a picture,” Zoe said, patting her pockets.

From her perch in the center seat, controlling the oars despite her threats to Zoe, Jocelyn threw a glance at Guy, who sat on the aft bench, his face tilted toward the sunshine like a prisoner who’d just gotten an hour of freedom.

She tried to squash the guilt that image brought on, and the mess of memories churned up like the muck under the oars. Back in the earliest days of her childhood, long before his first “episode” ever turned Guy Bloom into a monster, Jocelyn and her father had spent entire days
together on these canals, fishing, talking, spotting gators just like the one they’d just passed.

“I don’t have my phone,” Zoe said, reaching toward Jocelyn. “Give me yours, quick. I have to get a picture for Aunt Pasha! She’s never seen a gator, I don’t think.”

“Zoe, you went to the University of Florida. That’s our mascot and they were all over the lakes up there.”

“But my great-aunt hasn’t seen one. She may never get the chance. Phone, please.”

Jocelyn fished the phone from her pocket and handed it over, using the paddle to slow them down and turn so Zoe could get a good shot.

“You know you have your phone on silent?” Zoe said as she looked at the screen to figure out the camera.

Because she didn’t want Will to call and find out where she was, and come after them. For all she knew he’d throw Guy to the gators. “Too peaceful out here for phone calls.”

“You missed a text.”

“Henry! Look, it’s Henry!” Guy called excitedly, leaning far enough to rock the boat slightly. “Henry the Heron!”

Jocelyn sucked in a gasp and Zoe laughed, automatically counterbalancing the weight by tilting to the port side to straighten them out. “Don’t worry, Joss. We’re not going to capsize.”

The boat wasn’t, but her heart had just tipped over and sunk.

Very slowly, as if she were afraid of what she’d see, she turned to look over her shoulder at Guy.

“Henry?” she asked, her voice thick with emotion. “You… remember him?”

He grinned, crinkling up his whole face, his eyes dancing behind his glasses. “Isn’t that a miracle?” He slapped his hands on his thighs and then tapped his temples. “Every once in a while, the old popcorn popper comes through with a kernel of goodness.”

“See?” Zoe said, wildly snapping pictures. “Fresh air and wildlife is good for him.”

“Darn right it is! Look at that big blue fellow. I’ve always loved him.”

Jocelyn stabbed both paddles into the water, digging deep.

How could he remember a blue heron they’d adopted on a fishing excursion—and this was probably the great-great-grandson of that heron—and not remember
his own daughter
?

Or what he’d done to her?

She stole another look at him. Maybe he did remember. Maybe this was all an act, so she’d forgive him. Oh, she hated that thought, but every once in a while it sneaked into her head.

“C’mere, Henry,” Guy called, making clicking noises that would no doubt spook the bird, who balanced on one long, skinny leg, his bright-orange beak aimed skyward in a regal pose. “Wish we had some bread crumbs. He loves those.”

And he remembered
that
? Pain squeezed her throat, making it almost impossible to breathe. Why did this disease work so randomly? Why did he conveniently remember the nickname of a bird, yet not remember his wife or child?

Because he never
beat
the bird.

“Hey,” Zoe said softly, balancing herself on two knees right in front of Jocelyn. “You okay, hon?”

She managed to nod. “I’m fine. It’s hot out here.”

“You want me to row for a little while? I think I could handle it.”

She shook her head. “Who was the text from?”
Will
. Say Will. Please, please say Will.

Zoe tapped the screen and read. “La Vista d’Or.”

An assisted-living facility in Naples. “What does it say?”

“Unexpected opening.” She spoke in a whisper, even though Jocelyn’s position in the middle of the boat blocked the conversation from Guy. “An unexpected opening is never good at those places.”

Someone had died, and made room for Guy. Guy and his superselective memory. Guy who really did deserve to go to jail and not some high-end home. Guy who—

“Good-bye, Henry!” he called out. “Next time we’ll bring bread, won’t we, uh… Missy?”

Guy who couldn’t remember her name
.

Zoe leaned closer and read. “They want you to come for a tour today. You’re next on the waiting list, but if they don’t see you today, they give it to someone else.” She looked expectantly at Jocelyn. “Want me to text back that you can’t?”

She closed her eyes, trying to imagine what she wanted. Will. She’d always had Will when she needed to escape from her father. But it was fifteen years later, and she had to fix this problem herself. Now. This text was a sign, and she should follow it.

“No,” she said. “I’ll go this afternoon.”

“You will?”

But she couldn’t do it alone. And she couldn’t call Will. “Can you come with me?” she asked.

For a second she thought Zoe would say no because it looked as though everything in her expression was gearing up for an argument.

“Guy’ll be fine,” Jocelyn assured her. “We’ll tell him not to answer the door.”

“All right,” Zoe agreed, reluctant. “But I promised him we’d have a barbecue at his house tonight.”

Jocelyn gave a look of total disbelief. “You did what?”

“C’mon, Joss…” She peeked over Jocelyn’s shoulder, but Jocelyn didn’t turn to look at Guy. “Have a heart.”

That was just the problem. She did, and it was all torn up instead of nicely encased in its usual protective covering.

“Let’s go,” Jocelyn said loudly, digging the paddle in. “Party’s over. I have work to do this afternoon.”

“Me, too,” Guy said from the back.

“What are you going to do?” Zoe asked brightly, leaning around Jocelyn to smile at Guy.

“I’m going to clean out this boat and give ’er a paint job.”

“You are?” Zoe asked.

“I want to bring my boy William fishing like we did when he was little.”

Jocelyn felt her jaw drop, but Zoe grabbed her knee and shook her head. “Let it go,” she whispered. “Just let it go.”

The problem was Jocelyn had never let anything go in her whole life. Except the one thing she should have held on to.

An hour later, with Guy happily ensconced in front of a
House Hunters International
marathon, Jocelyn and Zoe climbed into the hefty Jeep Rubicon Zoe had rented.

Zoe tapped the steering wheel with love. “I am so glad Hertz had my baby available. Remember how much fun we had in this thing when we were here last year?”

“Fun?” Jocelyn choked. “I don’t remember any fun.”

“That’s ’cause you don’t know how to have it. God, I really need to work on you.”

“I had fun today,” she admitted, the words tasting like sand in her mouth. “Until Henry came along.”

“You know what you need, Joss?”

Oh, boy. “Ah, Dr. Zoe Tamarin doles out advice. I know this prescription. Sex, travel, and a cocktail.”

“God, I hate when I’m predictable. So just to throw you off, I’ll tell you I was going to say you need a life coach.”

“Very funny.”

Zoe wove her way through the light traffic and crossed over to the causeway, hitting the accelerator so more wind whipped through the open top.

“You do.”

“Stop it.” Jocelyn tugged her baseball cap and shades, holding them in place. “I’m fine.”

“Really? Let’s review, shall we?”

“No.”

Zoe settled deeper into the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, one tangled in her mess of hair that flew like a curly platinum flag behind her. “First, you have been falsely accused of single-handedly breaking up one of the most famous marriages in the world, and yet you refuse to clear your name.”

Jocelyn shifted in her seat. “I have my reasons.”

“So you are forced into hiding or wearing a disguise. That’s totally normal.”

“Extenuating circumstances.”

“Second, you hate your father—”

“For good reason.”

“And yet, you care enough to find him the right place to live, make sure he’s not alone during the day while you do so, and you kissed him good-bye when we left.”

Ugh. She’d hoped Zoe hadn’t noticed. “He kissed me. He does that now. Trust me, it’s a result of his disease.”

“His disease that makes him kind and affectionate, despite the fact that Alzheimer’s famously makes people nastier, not nicer.”

Damn it, she hated when Zoe got deep. Couldn’t she just stick to sex and booze jokes? “His case is unusual, I suppose. But I still hate how he treated my mother.”
And me. And Will
. “It was… bad.”