CHAPTER NINE
AT LIZZY’S INSISTENCE, they called at Agnes’s every morning to walk Cocoa. Resigned to her new role as dog walker, Emily paid a trip to the Outdoor Store, equipped them both with hiking boots, rain slickers, insect repellent and a small rucksack, and each day they took the dog and explored a different part of the island. On the first day they followed the road out of the harbor and along the trail that wound its way through overgrown fields to the south of the island, accompanied by song sparrows and butterflies. The trail skirted the edge of the Warrens’ farm, sixty-five acres of mixed hardwood, pasture and hay fields. They stopped to admire the herd of dairy cows who provided the organic milk for the ice cream at Summer Scoop, and walked on through meadows crowded with Queen Anne’s lace and goldenrod.
On another day they walked the coastal path around to the east of the island. Emily chose the route that went a little way inland, rather than the path that clung to the rocks and rose up over the bluff. Here, the mossy woods crowded the shoreline, sending dark shadows across rocky coves. Gulls bobbed in the water, and seals played hide-and-seek in the surf around the rocks. Cocoa strained at her leash, desperate to explore, but the one place Emily refused to walk was on the beach itself.
She tried to retrace the walk she’d done with Ryan into the woods, but Lizzy was nervous and Emily was afraid of getting lost. She insisted Lizzy wear her hat whenever they were outdoors, but the people she passed were either tourists or locals and none of them showed any interest in a young woman and her daughter. Gradually the acute fear of discovery faded to a dull, background throb.
They returned from their walks at lunchtime, and Emily called into the delicatessen to pick up something for lunch. They then took it back to Agnes’s and ate it picnic style, either on the covered porch overlooking her garden or, if mist had blown in, at her kitchen table.
Occasionally Emily left Lizzy with Agnes while she went and bought provisions, but otherwise she kept the child close.
“Do you think I’m overprotective?”
Lizzy had fallen asleep on the sofa after an exhausting morning with Cocoa, and Agnes and Emily were drinking iced tea in the light-filled living room.
“I think you had a bad experience, and you haven’t had to rebuild your confidence.” Agnes was sorting through another box of children’s books for Lizzy. “You lived a life that didn’t include the sea or young children, so you didn’t have a reason to challenge your fear or push yourself out of your comfort zone. But you will, now you’re living here. You can’t live on Puffin Island and ignore the sea. It’s essential to island life. It feeds us, and it keeps us connected to the mainland.”
“I think I preferred the mainland. There was no chance of drowning in Manhattan, and I never went near the Hudson.”
“But Manhattan has other dangers.”
Emily sipped her tea. “I didn’t really think about them.”
“That’s because we’re all a product of our experiences. Someone who had a bad experience in a city might think differently.”
“Do you think I can change?”
“You already are. Look where you’re sitting.” Agnes added another book to the pile. “A week ago you sat with your back to the window, but now you’re in my favorite spot on the window seat, looking at the boats on the water. It’s a pretty sight, isn’t it?”
Emily turned her head. “There’s glass between me and the water.”
“But you’re looking at it. That’s progress. And I’ve made progress, too. Lizzy and I have cleared four boxes of books this week.”
“Most of them are now in Castaway Cottage. Thank you. It’s generous of you. And I love books.” Books were almost all she’d brought with her from her old life. Old battered copies and first editions she’d collected over the years. “Whenever I had something to celebrate, I bought a book.”
“I need to reduce all the clutter, but I’m not good at parting with anything.” Agnes reached for another box. “This is something else I can’t bring myself to clear out.”
“What is it?”
“All of Ryan’s stories. Of course, a lot of it is online, but I’m not good with the internet, so he used to send me the paper versions.” She opened the box, and Emily saw neatly sorted stacks of newspaper clippings.
“There were stories about him in the press?”
“He wasn’t the subject of the story, he wrote the story. He didn’t tell you that? He’s so modest. He won a Pulitzer Prize, you know, for news reporting.”
No, she didn’t know. Emily’s mouth dried. “Are you saying he’s a journalist?”
“Was.” Agnes leafed through the clippings, pride on her face. “The best. He had a way of getting to the emotion of a story. He’s a good listener. People tell him things. Things they would never tell other people.”
I’m not afraid of emotions.
Emily stood up, feeling as if she were sleepwalking. She’d told him things. Things she’d never told other people. She’d done things with him she hadn’t done with anyone else. “Would you look after Lizzy for a while? There’s something I need to do.”
“Of course.” Agnes glanced up from her news clippings. “She’s perfectly safe here with me.”
It took Emily less than five minutes to walk the short distance to the Ocean Club.
She strode through the door and into the crowded Bar and Grill where Kirsti was circulating.
“Hi, Emily.” Kirsti gave her a friendly smile. “No Lizzy today?”
“She’s with Agnes.” Her voice sounded robotic. “I need to see Ryan.”
“Of course you do.” Kirsti behaved as if Emily’s unplanned visit was the most natural thing in the world. “He’s in his office. He’s had a hell of a morning, so I know he’s going to be pleased to see you.”
No, Emily thought grimly as she walked to the back of the Ocean Club. He most definitely wouldn’t be.
Ryan’s office faced the water, and he was on the phone with his feet on the desk, when she walked in.
“He was supposed to fix the pump. I told him we’d—” He broke off as he saw Emily. “I’ll call you back, Pete. Go check it out. Don’t delegate this one. If necessary I’ll dig out the tools and do it myself.” He hung up the phone and smiled.
That assured smile was the final straw. “I need to talk to you.”
“Just when I thought a bad day wasn’t going to turn good, you walk in.” He lifted his eyebrows as she slammed the door shut. “Is this about sex in public places? Because—”
“You lied to me.” The anger was like a burning coal inside her. Later there would be other emotions, but right now fury overrode everything else. Fury and a deep sense of betrayal.
Ryan removed his feet from the desk. “Calm down.”
“I’m calm. Just angry.”
“I’m not sure it’s possible to be calm and angry.”
She paced across his office and stood in front of him. “I won’t ask why you didn’t tell me, because that part is obvious, but I will ask what your intentions are. I have a right to know that.” She needed to know whether she was going to have to leave the island. The thought made her stomach churn because she had no idea where she’d go.
“My intentions?”
“You lied to me. You sat there and talked to me about how the press wouldn’t be interested. You reassured me. You sat in my kitchen and acted as if you were my friend. As if you were someone I could trust. You bought Lizzy a hat, for God’s sake, to hide her from prying eyes and all the time you’re—you’re—”
“Wait a minute. Slow down. We’re talking about Lizzy? I thought you were talking about this thing we have.” The look he gave her could have singed the edges of her hair. “The chemistry. I thought it unsettled you. That’s why I backed off. I was giving you space.”
Her gaze met his, and for a moment she was knocked off balance. “I’m talking about the fact you’re a journalist, Ryan. When were you going to tell me? After a piece on Lizzy came out with your byline?”
He stilled. “How did you find out?”
“I’d like to say I looked you up on the internet because anyone in my position with a shred of common sense would have done that, but I didn’t.” After they’d had waffles on the deck that first morning she’d looked up the Ocean Club and spent half an hour on their slick website. She’d read his bio and been impressed. She hadn’t thought to put his name alone into a search engine. “Agnes was sorting through a file of all the stories you’ve written. She’s proud of you. She didn’t seem to know you’d conveniently kept that part of your life from me.”
His gaze didn’t shift from hers. “Did you look at the stories?”
“No. I wasn’t in the mood to mull over your career success. I was too busy wondering why you’d chosen to keep it from me. And the answer is pretty obvious.”
“Emily, listen—”
“I listened when you suggested Lizzy and I join you for lunch. I listened when you said I could trust you. I told you everything. And you’re such a good listener, aren’t you, Ryan? So good at parting people from their secrets. For a while I thought you had a gift with people, but now I realize it’s one of the tools of your trade. You even won a prize for it. Tell me, is sex another part of your superior technique to get people to tell you everything?”
His face was blank of expression. “You know it isn’t.”
“I don’t know anything.” She felt an ache deep in her gut because even now part of her wanted to believe that what had happened between them was real. “All I know is that you lied.”
“I was going to tell you. I was waiting for the right moment.”
“And when was that going to be? When you’d told everyone the whereabouts of Juliet Elizabeth Fox?” She saw the brief flare of anger in his eyes.
“Do you really think I would do that?” He stood up so suddenly the chair scraped on the floor. “Hell, Emily. I’ve been doing everything I can to make the two of you feel safe here.”
“For what purpose? So that you can tip off a journalist as to exactly where Lana Fox’s child is living and get the credit? Is this what you journalists call an exclusive? You deliberately withheld information about yourself. If your past had no impact on the present, then why didn’t you tell me the truth? You told me about your childhood, about your brothers and sisters, your parents, Agnes—but not once did you mention that you used to be a journalist.”
He swore under his breath and ran his hand over the back of his neck. “Listen—” He broke off and scowled as the door to his office opened, and Kirsti put her head around. “Not now—”
“Sorry, boss.” Kirsti slunk away, closing the door behind her again, and Emily turned and walked toward it.
“You didn’t need to send her away. I’ve said all I have to say.”
“Good. So now it’s my turn. Sit down.”
“There is nothing you have to say that I can possibly want to hear.” She reached the door at the same time he did, and he stretched past her and pushed it shut with the flat of his hand.
“Except the truth. You don’t have to believe me, but you’ll at least listen.” He was standing so close to her she could smell that elusive male scent that made her knees weaken.
“Why are you suddenly so keen to tell me the truth?”
“Look around you, Emily. What you see is a man who has plowed every last dollar and cent into this business and this island. I’m not a journalist. I haven’t worked as a journalist for four years, and even when I did I wasn’t reporting the sort of story you’re describing.” There was a hardness to his jaw and shadows in his eyes that she hadn’t seen before.
Or maybe she hadn’t been looking.
“So why didn’t you mention what you used to do?”
“Because it isn’t part of my life now, and once I discovered why you were here, I knew I couldn’t talk about it. You needed someone to trust, and if I’d told you, you wouldn’t have trusted me.”
“You’re right, I wouldn’t have. But that should have been my choice to make.”
“Brittany trusts me. Isn’t that enough for you?”
“She should have told me the truth instead of telling me you were a friend.”
“I am a friend. And the reason she didn’t tell you is because she didn’t think it was relevant.”
“You were a journalist! How can that not be relevant? And whatever has happened before, I need you to be honest with me now, for Lizzy’s sake, if not for mine. Should I be worried? Have you told anyone she’s here?”
He hesitated for a second too long. “I made one call after that day you saw the photo in the newspaper, but only to try and get a sense of how interested people were.”
Her heart started to race. “You called someone?”
“An old friend. And he didn’t know why I was calling.”
“How do you know? What if he guesses? They could come here.”
“The media is losing interest. Lana was the story, not her child. They’re not going to come.”
“If they do—if they find her and scare her—there is no quick way off the island. If they come, where do I run to?”
“You won’t need to run. They won’t come.”
“That first day when you came knocking on my door—” it was painful to ask the question because she was afraid of the answer “—it wasn’t because you were looking for Lizzy?”
“I’ve told you. Brittany asked me to keep an eye on you.”
“Why would you agree? I’ve known you long enough to know you don’t do anything that doesn’t suit you. What is this relationship you have with Brittany that you’re willing to put your life on hold to keep an eye on a stranger? What do you gain from this if it isn’t a story you can sell? She told me that you owe her.”
He gave a tired smile. “That’s a private joke.”
“I’ve had enough of private. Exactly what do you owe her?”
He turned and paced across to the window of his office to stare out over the water. “I was best man at Brittany’s wedding.”
Of all the things she’d expected him to say, it hadn’t been that. “Her wedding? The wedding? So you’re friends with the bastard who walked out on her at the end of their honeymoon? Oh, my God.” A suspicion formed in her mind. “We saw him. He was flying the plane Skylar took last weekend. I recognized him. The first thing Brittany did when she arrived at college was pin a large photo of him on the wall to remind her never to be stupid about a man again. I stared at his face long enough to be able to recognize him when I saw him in person. Did you know he was back here?”
“Yeah, I knew. Zach is the best pilot you’ll ever meet. He owns his own plane now and flies the mega-rich to their yachts and beach cottages. The rest of the time he does his own thing, and it so happens he’s chosen to base himself on Puffin Island.”
“He was flying for Maine Island Air.”
“He helps them out sometimes. I didn’t think it was something that needed mentioning as Brittany isn’t here anyway, and their marriage was over before it started.”
“You are the master at withholding information.”
“Whereas you clearly support the principle of full disclosure, so by all means go ahead and tell her he’s here if you think that’s going to make her day and lift her mood.”
She knew it wouldn’t. “If you were best man, then you must know him well. Are you two still friends?”
“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate. “Friendship isn’t something you throw away just because someone makes a bad decision.”
“Bad decision? You don’t think he should have left Brittany?” She saw tension ripple across those wide shoulders and he turned to look at her.
“What I think,” he said slowly, “is that he should never have married her in the first place. That was the bad decision.”
“So why does Brittany blame you?”
He gave a humorless smile. “Because I knew it was a match made in hell. He got cold feet and wanted to ditch her on her wedding day, and I drove him to the wedding instead of the airport because I knew she’d be devastated. I didn’t want him to hurt her. Turned out he did that anyway, and I made it worse. Ditching her at the altar would have been a hell of a lot less complicated than ditching her at the end of the honeymoon.”
It was a lot to take in.
“What about the rest of it?” She forced herself to ask one more question. “Did Brittany tell you to kiss me? Was that part of the deal?”
His eyes darkened. “You know it wasn’t.”
“I don’t know anything, Ryan. And I don’t know you.” With those quiet words she turned and left the room.
*
HE WAITED UNTIL he knew Lizzy would be in bed and then knocked on the door of Castaway Cottage, unsure whether she’d even open it.
The island was folded in mist and darkness, and behind him he could hear the rush of the sea against the shore. He was thinking how much courage it must have taken to choose this place as a refuge, when the door opened.
Emily’s feet were bare, and her hair fell soft and loose around her face.
She didn’t look pleased to see him, but he’d braced himself for that.
“I need to talk to you.”
“We’ve said all there is to say.”
“I want to show you something. Give me five minutes. If you still want me to leave after that, I’ll leave.” The thought of what he was about to do made him feel as shaky as an alcoholic who hadn’t had a drink in a month.
She stared at the box in his arms and opened the door a little wider. “Lizzy is asleep.”
“Good, because this is between us.” He carried the box through to the kitchen. Given the choice, he would have destroyed it long ago, but he knew keeping it meant a lot to his grandmother.
He put it down on the table next to one of Lizzy’s paintings, a classic child’s drawing of a house with smoke coming from the chimney. There was a garden, drawn with careful strokes of green, and a curve of custard yellow sand next to an ocean bluer than anything he’d seen in Maine. It was obvious to him that this was his grandmother’s house. The innocent charm of the picture jarred uncomfortably with the dark reality he’d placed next to it.
He stood for a moment with his hands on the box.
He’d chosen to live life looking forward, not back, and he didn’t relish what he was about to do.
“That’s Agnes’s box.” She stood next to him, waiting. “I already know what’s in it.”
No, he thought. You don’t. “I want you to take a look. Read.”
“I don’t need to read.”
“You wanted to know about my past.” He felt distant and detached, as if someone else had climbed into his body. “This is my past.”
“Which you try and forget. Why? Do you regret the stories you wrote?”
“No. But they stay with you.” He flipped open the top and gripped the back of the chair until his knuckles were white. “Especially that one.”
She stared at his face and then down at the file. In slow motion, she picked up the clipping on top. Award-Winning Photojournalist Killed in Kabul?
“We worked with a translator and a driver. Together we made two trips into Iraq and four into Afghanistan. Me as foreign correspondent, Finn as a photojournalist.”
There was a long silence. “You were a war reporter?”
“I met Finn on my first day in Baghdad, and we hit it off right away. We had an ongoing argument about which was the better medium for telling a story—words or images. He said that I wrote about the truth whereas he showed it. Neither of us wanted to be embedded with the troops. We wanted to be free to tell the stories we wanted to tell. The ones other people weren’t telling.”
She sank down onto one of the kitchen chairs. “Ryan—”
“After a British journalist was killed, Finn decided he’d had enough. He said we’d ceased to see beauty in the world, only the bad and the ugly. Everything we saw was distorted and discolored by conflict. He wanted to take photographs that didn’t involve human suffering. I talked about this place all the time, and we were always making plans. I was going to run a sailing school, and he was going to use his photographic skills to raise awareness of the importance of marine conservation. On really bad days we decided we’d open a bar together and drink our way through the profits.” He stopped and heard the scrape of the chair on the floor as she rose to her feet.
A moment later a glass of water appeared by his hand.
He took a sip, embarrassed by how much his hand was shaking.
“We were about to fly home, but I wanted to do one more story, so we went with our translator and fixer to a local village. Finn was joking that he was going to sail my yacht while I did the work when our vehicle was hit.” Just for a moment he felt it again, the blinding flash and then the white and the lack of sound. “We were close to a military base. A helicopter pilot risked his life to get us out of there, but it was too late for Finn. He was killed instantly.”
Her hand reached across and covered his, slim warm fingers sliding between his.
“I’m sorry.”
“I was the one who was sorry. If it hadn’t been for me, we would have been on our way home. I was the one who pushed for one more story.” Even now, four years later, the knowledge left a bitter taste in his mouth and the gnawing agony of guilt. He reached into the file and pulled out a photograph. “This was one of his last photographs.”
She removed her hand from his and took the photograph. “It’s very powerful.” She stared at it for a long moment and then placed it carefully back in the box and closed the lid. “You were badly injured?”
“Bad enough. I had serious internal injuries and my shoulder was messed up. I was in and out of hospital for four months. I had eight rounds of surgery. And I was a difficult patient. Ask Agnes and Rachel. They took the brunt of it.” He stared at the file. “Rachel was home from college for the summer and she virtually moved into my hospital room and stayed there with me until I was discharged. The first day back on the island, she forced me to get dressed, and I managed to walk as far as the harbor before having to sit down. My legs wouldn’t hold me and my shoulder was agony. Every day she made me get up and walk a little farther until eventually I was walking as far as the lighthouse. I had no idea my little sister could be such a bully. When I was strong enough to walk as far as Shell Cove, she decided I should start swimming. I remember the day she and Alec forced me to go sailing. It was a perfect day, and I felt the wind fill the sails and knew this was where I wanted to stay.”
“So the sea healed you.”
“In a way, but I think it was more about the people. Before I left the island I couldn’t wait to get away. I felt trapped, I was going crazy. I thought anywhere in the world had to be better than this place, living among people who know everything from how much you weighed when you were born to what you liked to eat for dinner. Then I discovered differently.” He licked his lips, not sure whether by being economical with his words he was sparing her the detail or himself. “I guess you could say my priorities changed. An honest person would probably say it was a shame I had to be blown up to discover something I should have known all along.”
“I think we don’t always see things clearly when we’re living in the middle of something.” There was a long silence. “I owe you an apology.”
“No. I’m the one who owes you an apology for not being honest, but I was afraid you wouldn’t trust me. And I wanted you to trust me.”
“Because you feel you owe Brittany.”
He could have told her the truth. He could have told her that the reason he couldn’t stay away from her had nothing to do with Brittany, but that would have led the relationship in a direction he suspected she wasn’t ready for it to go. And he wasn’t sure he wanted it to go there, either.
Whatever she thought about her suitability for the role of parent, she’d shown herself to be fiercely protective of Lizzy. That fact alone meant he should stay the hell away from her.
“That’s right.” He kept his face blank. “I owed a friend a favor.”
“The other night—”
“You had a bad experience. Neither of us was thinking straight.” Finding willpower he didn’t known he possessed, he stepped back and reached for the file. “I should go. I have a pile of paperwork waiting for me before I turn in. If you need anything, you know where I am.”
He saw something flicker in her eyes. Hurt? Confusion? Either way, he saw her register the dismissal and draw the conclusion that his attentions had all been driven by nothing more than a Good Samaritan inclination and a debt owed to a friend.
It was a measure of her inexperience that she believed his words over her own instincts.
If she’d looked into his eyes, she might have questioned it because he was pretty sure that the words coming out of his mouth were not backed up by the expression on his face.
He wanted to drive her back against the wall and kiss her until she could no longer articulate her own name. He wanted to strip off those clothes and fill his hands with those voluptuous curves.
Instead, he ground his teeth and walked to the door.