Chapter Two
“Figured you’d still be in bed,” Clay Marlow said when Evan emerged from his bedroom the next morning. “Sleeping for a change.” The amusement on his roommate’s face told Evan he and Selena had made too much noise. All night.
“What time did you come home?” Evan asked, rubbing his eyes.
“I saw you leave the Shack with her. I stayed till the bar closed. Then I went for a run about four in the morning. Spied her sneaking across the parking lot just after five.”
“Sorry, man. Didn’t mean for our … uh… Didn’t mean to drive you away from the apartment.”
“Not the first time. Probably won’t be the last. Why aren’t you asleep now?”
“Going to look at a boat.” Evan went into the kitchen and rummaged around for something to eat. He wasn’t a breakfast guy, but he’d burned off some serious energy over the course of the night and was ravenous.
“By yourself?” Clay asked, pouring coffee from the coffeemaker into a mug and sticking it into the microwave.
“With Chief Peligni. Going up to Corpus.” Evan opened every cupboard, looking for anything edible. “We need to buy some food.”
Clay took his mug out, swallowed a gulp, and frowned. “Coffee too. This is yesterday’s. What kind of boat did you find?”
“Marine Trader … twelve years old. One owner, guy who’s babied it. I gather it’s killing him to sell it, but his health is failing and his wife is forcing the issue.”
“Sounds promising. You thinking seriously about buying it?”
“If it’s as good as it seems, I’ll have it out on the gulf before the end of the year.”
“Finally got the money?”
“If I can get him down about ten grand, I have enough for the down payment.” He’d been saving for years for his own trawler yacht, and the reward was so close he could taste it. He found a half-crushed granola bar on top of the fridge and opened the wrapper.
“Hope it works out,” Clay said. “So the girl from last night...”
“Yeah?” Evan’s mind wandered to Selena’s smooth, milky skin, her soft, perfect curves, the way her glossy dark hair had draped over his chest. They hadn’t slept at all, and yet, he wanted her still. Again.
“You going to see her again?”
Evan bit off the uncrushed end of his granola bar and chewed, eyeing Clay. “Why? You got a thing for her?”
“Don’t need your rejects, thanks.”
“Who said I rejected her?”
“You’re testy today.”
“Didn’t sleep much.”
“Trust me, I know.” Clay studied Evan between swigs of leftover coffee. “Did you get her number or what? Why are you holding out?”
“I’m not holding out, man.” Evan leaned his head back and dumped the remaining crumbs — half the bar — from the wrapper into his mouth, wishing like hell Clay would lose this nosy interest in his sex life. He took a few steps toward the living room and back. “I tried more than once. Believe me, I’d very much like to see her again.” He crumpled the wrapper into a tight ball and met Clay’s stare head-on. “She refused to give me her number.”
He threw the wrapper on the counter and strode out of the apartment.
oOo
It was after two in the afternoon when Selena dragged her tired, sore body out of bed. Sore but sated, she thought with a grin.
She’d gone out of her ever-loving mind last night. Had become a different person. One that had a heck of a lot more fun than her usual self.
Her smile faded as thoughts of her family flooded her. Unfortunately, her reckless night hadn’t done anything to dull the pain, the fear.
She took a quick shower, then headed to the kitchen for food. Or drink, rather, since she hadn’t bought groceries yet. Settling for a can of root beer, she went to the unlit fireplace in the living area and sat on the hearth.
When her dad had had this place built, he’d been told he wouldn’t need a fireplace. This was the beach. Southern Texas. But her father had loved a crackling fire and stubbornly insisted on it. He’d had to convince her mother too. She’d argued for a gas log, because wood-burning fireplaces were more work. Her dad had prevailed, though, since this house was his domain. Her mother had gotten her way on the Nantucket property.
Selena traced her finger along the rectangular perimeter of the fireplace, then pulled back the wire mesh curtain. The inner concrete walls were charred from use. She leaned against the wall next to it and closed her eyes, feeling so close to her dad right now it made her chest tight.
When she was about ten, her family had flown down after Christmas, before school started up again. Every evening, the four of them — her dad, brother, mother, and her — would stay up much later than she was usually allowed, sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, playing dominoes. Their version was no sedate, polite game — it was high stakes for bragging rights, loud and raucous. Those were some of the happiest memories of her childhood, back before her dad died and the family bonds had died with him.
Selena stood and wandered to the tall pine entertainment center. She pulled out the wide drawer, wiggling it just so to get it unstuck. Tears unexpectedly filled her eyes when she saw it — the hand-stitched cloth bag of dominoes.
She carried it back to the hearth, sat on the ceramic tile floor in front of it, and dumped the dominoes out with a clatter. One by one, she stood the ivory pieces on end in a wavy line almost without thought, and again, she was carried back to years when her dad was still living.
It was a different trip, this one in the summer, a rainy afternoon. Her mom had been sitting quietly on the sofa watching the three of them with the dominoes, content to be there with her family even though she wasn’t part of the action. Selena often wondered if that content woman still existed somewhere inside her mom. She hadn’t seen signs of it since her dad was killed on an FBI assignment.
She hit the end domino and watched the chain reaction work its way down the line, tumbling each ivory-colored tile in turn.
They hadn’t been back to this house since. It had been his favorite place, and his presence, his personality, was discernible in every single room. This was the only place where her memories hadn’t been soiled by the Cambridge-Jarboe discord since they’d become three instead of four — unlike the main house and the Nantucket house they visited each summer.
When the domino train had crashed, she picked up the pieces, stacking several at a time, and dropped them into the bag.
Enough moping. She needed food and a little shopping pick-me-up. Anything to get her mind off the family she’d walked away from.
oOo
Access denied.
The automated teller machine seemed to scream at Selena. She glanced behind her to see if anyone was close enough to notice she was having problems.
Again she punched in the personal identification number she’d been using for the past, oh, twelve years or so to access her allotted part of the bottomless Cambridge-Jarboe bank account.
Trying the number a third time didn’t make a difference. Rejection was rejection.
Her mother had cut her off.
“Dammit.” She punctuated the curse by hitting the machine.
“Thanks, Mom,” she muttered, smacking the button to cancel the transaction when what she really wanted to do was pound a hole through the ATM with her fist.
She had exactly $423.07 left of the cash she’d taken with her when she’d fled Boston. Had she known this would happen, she would’ve been a lot more careful with her money. Now, unfamiliar panic pumped through her. What did she know about stretching her dollars?
She rubbed her upper arms and shivered, then gritted her teeth.
Okay, then.
She’d been the one to walk away from her family. Had promised herself she’d be all right on her own. And she would.
Somehow.
Her mother might be laughing at her now from the Cambridge-Jarboe estate, but Selena wasn’t about to go crawling back.
She should’ve guessed her mother would cut her off. Clara Cambridge-Jarboe — don’t you dare forget the Cambridge — had become the type to use money to her advantage. Selena supposed she herself had been a perpetual victim without really thinking about it since she lived off her mother’s money. The monthly paycheck had never been a bone of contention between them. Rather, Selena suspected it made her mother feel important and needed and, yes, superior, to have her daughter dependent on her. In her mother’s mind, it was monthly confirmation that she was right — art was an impractical, useless pursuit for a career.
The ridiculous thing was that Clara had never earned a penny of the family money herself. Her family’s wealth dated back several generations, and the only thing she had done to increase their fortune was to hire one of the best money guys to take care of her precious portfolio.
Selena needed money. She’d have to get a paying job for the first time in her life.
She was so far out of her realm of experience she wasn’t sure where to start. She turned and walked blindly across the street, toward Lambert’s Ice Cream Shoppe. Once she had a double dip, almond fudge and caramel swirl, she sat at one of the small indoor tables and took out her phone.
“Talk to me, Google.” She did a search for jobs on San Amaro Island and starting going through the results.
Now, if only she had some employment experience beyond volunteering and some marketable job skills besides artistic talent, she might have some hope.