Fallling for the Prodigal Son (15 page)

Probably they had slept together, he decided. Lucy had fallen into his bed, after all, three times now—if you count that first time when they were teenagers. Douglas wasn't a bad-looking man and he certainly didn't have much competition in St. Caroline. There weren't many options for Lucy in town either.

He signaled the flight attendant standing at the front of the cabin and asked for a scotch. He needed a drink. Maybe it would help him sleep the rest of the flight and forget about the woman lying next to him.

When Lucy stepped out of the gangway and into the bright flickering light of the terminal at Dulles International, her back and neck ached, her mouth was dry and fuzzy, and she didn't even want to think about what her hair must look like. At least she didn't feel as awful as she normally did after flying coach. First class had definitely been nicer, even if she
had napped on and off for the entire flight.

She hoisted her carry-on bag up onto her shoulder and jogged after Sterling, who was making his way toward the mobile shuttles at a brisk clip. They hadn't said twenty words to each other since the plane took off in San Francisco. Sterling seemed distracted, as though he had a lot on his mind. He probably did, Lucy acknowledged. The thought flashed through her mind that he might have had news about John Matthew's condition. Surely he would have mentioned that to her.

She caught up to Sterling right at the entrance to the shuttle. Dozens of other travelers were filing stiffly through the narrow door, as well, pulling their rolling suitcases or tired children whose short legs couldn't keep up with an airport's pace. Inside, the shuttle was standing room only. She took a spot next to Sterling in the aisle and touched his arm gently.

"Thanks again for the upgrade," she said. "Though I may be spoiled for coach from here on out." She directed a rueful grin his way, but Sterling's face remained impassive.

"Don't mention it," he said.

It struck Lucy that he didn't want her to mention anything else either, so she stood quietly as the shuttle lurched and jolted its way across the concrete to the main terminal. Lucy had always loved Eero Saarinen's swooping, mid-century design of the main terminal but these shuttles could stand to be updated into the 21st century, she thought. It was worse than riding a subway. At the front of the shuttle, an infant began to wail. Lucy was glad to be almost home. 

She was a homebody at heart. She was glad to have seen San Francisco—or a little of it anyway. She hadn't been as sad as she had expected to be. San Francisco had been one of the cities she'd always thought she'd visit with Josh. San Francisco. Paris. Barcelona. Cities one should visit with a lover.

Oh well. It is what it is, she thought. Life throws you unexpected turns sometimes.

The shuttle lurched to a stop at the main terminal. Automatically, the crowd of people inside began surging toward the door. Lucy let herself be pushed along, like riding a wave into shore. In the terminal, Sterling stopped at one of the television monitors hanging from the ceiling to see which baggage carousel their luggage was being routed to. Lucy followed ten feet behind him. Clearly, he didn't want to talk to her. She didn't understand why, given the past several days they had spent together, but she knew enough about men to know when to give them their space.

At the long, oval baggage carousel, Lucy stood off to Sterling's side. She would collect her bag, get on board the bus shuttle to long-term parking, pick up her car, and then start the drive home to St. Caroline. If traffic was decent, she'd be home in two hours. Of course, there was no guarantee of that in the Washington area. Traffic on a Sunday evening could look like Monday morning rush hour. She crossed her fingers that there wouldn't be a Nationals game letting out soon.

She glanced at Sterling out of the corner of her eye. He looked much like he did the evening she saw him at John and Sarah's house. Was that really just a few weeks ago? Sterling was wearing creased and rumpled cargo shorts and a wrinkled linen shirt. His hair was a mess of waves, his jawline sported a dark five o'clock shadow. She watched as his body gave a quick little jerk, as though he'd dozed off there for an instant and then woke up. He reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out his cell phone. He pressed the button and began scrolling through messages.

The baggage carousel stuttered to life and began spitting out a motley assortment of suitcases. Lucy watched the metal conveyer belt like a hawk, looking for her small black bag with its bright red luggage tag. Sterling's bag came around the turn. Lucy looked over at Sterling, expecting him to stride over and pluck it off the carousel. Instead, he was still furiously scrolling on his phone.

Then, just as quickly as he'd begun, he snapped the leather phone case closed. He strode over to the baggage carousel, picked up his suitcase, waited a few seconds for Lucy's to come around and grabbed hers too. He walked over to her and dropped her bag, with a thud, onto the floor in front of her feet.

"Do your expense report and submit your travel receipts to accounting tomorrow morning by 10 am. Then clean out your office." Sterling turned on his heel to go.

"Wait! You're ... firing me?"

Sterling turned halfway back to her, a look of pure disgust on his face. "Yes. Immediately." Without another word, he turned again and walked away.

Lucy looked down at her suitcase, sitting forlornly by her feet. She felt a sharp stabbing pain in her chest. The look on Sterling's face ... he'd looked at her as if she had some contagious disease. She willed herself not to cry. Not here, not in the middle of a busy airport on a Sunday evening, with hundreds of people rushing past, with lovers, husbands and wives saying feverish goodbyes before business trips or trips back to school or home.

What just happened?
Lucy thought as she struggled to corral her emotions. Suddenly, it hit her. Derrick. Hadn't he said that his article was going to run in Sunday's
Post
? It seemed like years ago that she had spoken to him. So much had happened since then. Muir Woods, North Beach, the sauna.

Lucy dragged her suitcase and carry-on over to a bench along the wall. She sat down and rooted around in her carry-on for her iPad. She powered it back up. Lucy was one of the few people who always turned her electronic devices off on planes. She was a stickler for rules that way.

She squinted at the screen as she pulled up the Washington Post web site. She hurriedly looked for Derrick's byline. Yup. There it was. "After 30 Years, It's Lights Out for Chesapeake Inn's Kids Kamp." Great headline, she thought. She scrolled some more. "New CEO Sterling Matthew is ending the camp that has provided a summer respite for thousands of underprivileged teens over the past three decades ... The camp sits on prime waterfront property in the town of St. Caroline, an Eastern Shore summer haven for the rich and powerful of the mid-Atlantic ..."

Lucy sucked in her breath. Derrick Jones had managed to talk to one of the bankers. "'The Chesapeake Inn needs to make more profitable use of that land,' James Toth said."

She read on. "Grammy Award-winning singer Simone Adkins is staging a fundraising concert in St. Caroline on July 23 to raise money to save the camp. Opening for Adkins will be The Hiptones, who are interrupting their summer tour to participate ... Janice Wilson, CEO of the Back Bay Tea Company and camp alumni, announced her intention to donate five percent of the company's July and August sales to a special fund set up for the camp ... CEO Sterling Matthew was unavailable for comment." Somehow, Lucy doubted Derrick had really tried to interview Sterling. The campers had never "pounded" Sterling in person, as a teenager, but they were certainly pounding him now in the press.

Lucy sighed. No wonder Sterling was pissed. Derrick was bringing a lot of publicity crashing down on Sterling's head. No wonder she was totally and officially fired. Well, she'd known that was a possibility as soon as Derrick had told her that former campers were rallying to the camp's cause. She just didn't think Sterling would actually do it, not after ... well, not after they'd made love. Twice. Lucy scrubbed away a tear before it could work its way past her eyelashes.

Plan B.
Huh. What was I thinking?
Lucy made a terrible scheming, conniving woman. Her mother had been terrible at that role, too. Well, maybe Lucy would succeed in saving the camp, after all. But she'd also succeeded in getting herself fired ... and succeeded in falling for Sterling Matthew once again.

Lucy slipped her iPad back into her bag. It was eight o'clock. If she didn't get on the road soon, she'd be too tired to drive all the way to St. Caroline. Outside, the airport was cloaked in the air of a hot, hazy Washington summer. Lucy accelerated her car onto the Dulles Toll Road, headed east for Washington, DC, and—beyond—t
he Eastern Shore of Maryland. 

An hour and a half later, she was cruising over the graceful, gently curving span of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, the last vestiges of daylight glowing orange behind her. White seagulls swooped and dipped against the deep blue backdrop of the bay.

Lucy turned off the radio and opened her car window to take a deep breath of fresh air. She was almost home. But for how much longer would she be able to call St. Caroline home?

Chapter 17

Lucy went into her office bright and early the next morning.
Might as well get this over with.
She wanted to pack up and get out of there as quickly as possible. News traveled fast at the Inn and it wouldn't take long for everyone to learn about her firing. She really didn't want to deal with everyone's sympathy and pity right now. Not to mention, how long would it be before people found out what had happened between her and Sterling in San Francisco? All that sympathy would evaporate in the blink of an eye when people found out she had slept with the boss. Slept with John and Sarah's son. They might even assume that was the reason for her firing.

Lucy groaned as she scanned her travel receipts into her computer and attached them to an email. Her last official act as marketing director at the Chesapeake Inn. She took a deep breath and held it, to stave off the tears. She had loved this job, loved this place, loved this town. She couldn't even imagine living somewhere else. She let out her breath. She'd have to look for a new job, update her resume, call her network and let people know she was on the market. How to explain that? Sterling couldn't even let her resign. No, he had to fire her and put a black mark on her resume.

She had played with fire and got burned.

She hit "send" on her email. There. Job number one finished and it was only 7:30. Outside, the watery early morning light was still clearing out the haze over the bay. It was going to be a beautiful July day, normally a perfect day to take her kayak out onto the bay. But Lucy knew she wasn't going to be in the mood. She was going to have nothing to do today and yet nothing was all she felt up to

She took a pair of scissors and sliced open the plastic shrink wrap on the package of white cardboard boxes that had been sitting in her office when she arrived.
Wonder who put those there?
Obviously, she couldn't leave soon enough for Sterling.

She made quick work of putting the boxes together and began putting in her personal belongings. Photographs, notes from campers, seashells and craft projects that kids had given her over the years, her favorite coffee mug. When all was said and done, there wasn't much really. She'd be out of here in no time. She looked over at her spider plants on the windowsill. She had bought those, but she'd leave them for the next marketing director. Whoever that was going to be.

She couldn't help it. The tears began to flow, fat drops spotting the cardboard. Had she made a mistake, after all? Was sacrificing her career the right thing to do? She sniffled.
Yes.
Someone had to stand up for the camp, for the kids. That's what she had done.
But is it going to make any difference?

"Hey! You're back! Welcome home!" Gina stepped into her office and set down on Lucy's desk a to-go cup of coffee and a paper plate with a hot, just-from-the-oven cherry danish. Lucy didn't look up. She didn't want Gina to see her crying.

"Thanks," Lucy mumbled, still kneeling over her box.

"What are you doing down there?" Lucy listened to the long moments of silence as Gina looked around her office. "Why are you ... packing up?" Gina asked.

Lucy said nothing.

"Are you leaving?" Gina kneeled down across from Lucy and the box. She reached out and tipped up Lucy's chin. Lucy looked at her through her watery eyes.