A Shore Thing (17 page)

Suz’s eyes popped open wide. “You ran into her tonight! You did. I can tell.”

He slipped one hand into his pocket and glanced around the room, as if continuing to admire his sister’s handiwork. “Yes, she happened to stop by the diner tonight and we talked.” Gage turned his focus on Suz. “About you.”

She blew a raspberry. “Right. You want me to believe that I was the main topic of conversation between the two best looking, single people in town. I’m not daft.”

He threw his head back, laughter barreling from him. “You are too much.”

She poked his shoulder with a paint-encrusted finger. “And you, my brother, are in denial.”

He gave her a mock glare. “Are you interested in the job or not?”

“I’m more interested in that look on your face every time you run into her.” She paused and when he did not react, she let out a sigh that threatened to awaken Jeremiah. “All right, yes. I’m interested. Guess I should give her a call, unless of course, you’d like to make it for me?”

He tried not to laugh at the sneaky grin lighting up her face. He rolled his eyes. She made him feel young with this high school style banter.

She slapped him on the upper arm. “Fine. I’ll call.”

Much like a teenage boy with his heart hung out for a wrenching, Gage’s spirit lifted at the thought of his sister working closely with Callie. Strangely, it threatened to plunge at the very same thought.

Chapter Seventeen

“Why don’t you ever answer your phone?” My sister Sheila’s voice in my ear at half past eleven at night startled me. “I’ve been calling all evening!”

“I’m here now.” I tossed my keys onto the table and slid into a chair as Moondoggy danced around me like a starved animal. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“I saw the article, Callie.
Everyone saw it. Well, I would have seen it if I had the luxury of time in the morning—like certain people.”

Pow. Punch number one.

She continued. “I didn’t need to read it anyway. That article was all
anyone
wanted to talk about. I could not shop or bank or pick up children without someone, somewhere stopping me to discuss the SOS campaign.”

I bent to pet Moondoggy and he nudged my face with his wet snout. I returned the favor with a quick back-of-the-ears massage while balancing the phone between my own ear and right shoulder. “I’m so glad to hear that. We need all the support we can to make this happen.”

“You’re serious.”

“Of course. Did you expect anything less?” I said this knowing she probably did. Sheila always seemed to have an opinion about how I spent my time. She never got past the fact that I had moved beyond baby-of-the-family status into full-fledged adulthood.

“Callie, this isn’t a bake sale to raise money for kids in Africa; this is a war you are embarking on. People with money and a lust for developing prime land do not lay down their weapons at the first sign of retaliation. They turn up the heat.”

“Who cares?” Moondoggy sat, so I flipped through the stack of mail on my kitchen table.

“And have you thought at all about how dragging the family name through the mud will affect our parents and your siblings?”

Pow. Punch number two.

It was always about her or them. My sister had been annoyed with me since I was two and refused to allow her to dress me in chiffon. Oil and water. That’s how we’d always been. She broke in to my meanderings. “I don’t think you’re even listening to me.”

“On the contrary, I heard everything you said and I’m disregarding it.” I gave Moondoggy one more long stroke of my hand along his back, thankful for the friendly face that greeted me at the end of the day. “Sheila, you are the only soul in this town who seems to have a problem with me and/or this project.” I stuffed down the vague memory of Squid’s skepticism. “Even the architect and I have talked and he’s not standing in our way.”

Sheila snickered. “Well, of course not, Callie. He’s no dummy. He knows you don’t stand a chance of winning against his client, so why would he want to burn a bridge? There’s no doubt I’m right about that, and if you tell me he’s single and handsome, then I’ll
know
I’m right.”

Pow. Punch number three. Only this one hurt. It may have even done some damage. I watched as Moondoggy scampered away. The adrenaline that gave me the boost to drive home withered and disappeared. She was right, of course. Gage and I may have called a truce, his sister Suz may freshen up these walls and paint me something fabulous, but in the end, my new architect friend hoped—probably even prayed—that I would fail.

“Can I ask you a question, Sheila?”

“You may.”

“When all these people you talk about—the ones who approached you on the street about the newspaper article—when they mentioned my work with SOS, well . . .”

“Spit it out.”

“Did they sound unhappy? Were they upset about the community raising funds to buy the property?”

Silence.

“Sheila? Did I lose you?”

“No. I’m still here.” She sighed and in my mind’s eye her mouth and eyes were closed and she was breathing deeply through her nose. “If truth be told, they were surprised and excited. Every one of them.”

“Well good. I’m glad to hear that.” My eyes shut. “Sheila, I know you and I haven’t always agreed on environmental things, but I want you to know that I understand what I’m doing. It’s just so hard for me to worship God with one eye and watch while every last bit of his creation is destroyed with the other. Know what I mean?”

“Fair enough, I suppose.” Sheila’s voice lost its edge. I knew she felt the same, even if she didn’t have it at her mind’s forefront. “Let me ask you something, Callie.”

“Go for it.”

“Why in the world, if you have been sponsoring all those children, did you not share that with the rest of the family?”

And then I knew—the real reason for my sister’s late night call. Should I tell Sheila that I had hidden certain things in my life in order to protect myself from the opinions of my older siblings? And what if she learned that Bobby and Greta knew about my children in faraway lands? I had not set out to hurt her.

“Listen, Sheila, it just never came up. Come to think of it, Brenna and Blakey have seen their pictures when they’ve played in my bedroom. Hadn’t they mentioned it?”

She let loose an exasperated, motherly sigh. “They are children. Of course they didn’t mention it. I’m just disappointed that I had to read such important aspects of my little sister’s life on the front page of the newspaper.”

I frowned. “You mean the paper you didn’t have a chance to read today?”

“Don’t be so literal. You know what I mean.”

She meant I’d snared her in a white lie and she hated that. In the long pause, I wondered what it might be like to have a big sister to share things with. Although if I tried harder . . . “Listen, Sheila—”

“It’s late. Get some sleep, dear. I read that a cold snap might be blowing in this weekend, probably the last one before summer, and with all you are involved in, you will need your beauty sleep.”

“Sure. Thanks. Kiss the kids for me.”

We clicked off for the night and I couldn’t have been more grateful.

Chapter Eighteen

The flurry of interviews and phone calls and canvassing had made me more tired than a camp counselor after a night hike with a hundred ten- and eleven-year-old boys. Still, with several large sponsors pledging their support—including the possibility of a large contribution from the Otter Bay Banking Association—I could smell success on the horizon.

It was Friday morning and my other duty called, the one that helped me pay my mortgage. If Moondoggy hadn’t poked his nose beneath my comforter, I would have slept clear through the sunlight and my alarm and everything.

At the first sign of my eyelids lifting, Moondoggy whined and chased his tail. In dog language, I interpreted this to mean he wanted breakfast.

“C’mon. Let’s eat.” I padded to the kitchen, slower than usual. Why my dog would not interpret my body language and hush up was beyond me. “Okay, I’m moving.” I poured kibble into his dish and gave him fresh water, but he had disappeared.

I peered around the corner. “Moondoggy?”

He whined and stood nose to door at the front of the house.

I cinched my robe tighter. “What is it?”

He didn’t budge so I cracked open the door. No one there. No cat or errant bird. No one, yet when I tried to shut the door, Moondoggy threw himself against it. “Oh brother. Wait.” I gave him the command we’d practiced and he stopped short so I could slip onto the porch and investigate further.

There. A white envelope stood out among the green of my rain garden. The moist air licked my bare legs as I hurried to retrieve it. Unlike the foliage dressed in dew after a foggy night, the envelope felt dry to the touch. I glanced around, but saw no one.

Back inside Moondoggy continued to act agitated. “You are one perceptive pup.” My words did nothing to calm him or my own growing unease. It took some effort, but I finally coerced him to settle down and eat by hand-feeding him. He developed a one-track mind for his breakfast after that so I sunk into my couch, tore open the envelope, and read the note inside:

Leave the land alone, lady.

I turned it over. Blank. That’s it? Leave the land alone? My eyes narrowed. Or what? The sparsely worded note was in pencil, written as if done hastily in a moving car. I tossed it aside and watched it flutter to the wood floor.

Coward. I figured there might be some opposition to my idea to raise funds to buy the Kitteridge property, especially from the developer with plans to denigrate the land, but perhaps I had given him too much credit. I figured that at some point I might receive a phone call or an unannounced visit to the next SOS meeting.

But this? A threatening note left in my rain garden?

My cell rang, jarring the eventful morning. I touched my chest where my heart resided, neglecting to check the number on the screen. “Hello?”

“Callie? It’s Steph Hickey, from the library. Great news!”

Blood raced through my body. “Hi, Steph.” I steadied my breathing. “What’s your news?”

“The Friends of the Library have decided to hold a book sale the weekend after next and here’s the news: all proceeds will go into the fund to save the Kitteridge property! Isn’t that wonderful?”

A shaky smile found its way to my face. “That is good news, Steph. It truly is.”

“And already, a man from the valley stopped in and donated a very nice collection of books to sell.”

I nodded, my thoughts in a jumble. “That’s great. Really great.”

“I couldn’t wait to tell you. Remember, the rest of the prayer team and I’ll be praying! Enjoy your day, Callie. Ta-ta.” She clicked off.

What might a good book sale bring in? Seventy-five, maybe eighty dollars at best? I wagged my head. I had been fielding these types of calls for the past two days, thankful that so many had gotten behind the cause. Local businesses such as The Italian Bakery, Mott’s Shoes & Pearls, and Simka’s Shop on Alabaster Lane had all pledged significant amounts. Just last evening, only a day after my impromptu dinner with Gage, I learned that Holly over at the Red Abalone Grill had named an all-organic, dolphin-safe salad after me: the SOS Callie.

With a huff, I retrieved the unwelcome note from the floor and stuffed it into the pocket of my robe. Moondoggy laid at my feet and I brushed his fur. I felt my eyes flash. “I refuse to be scared off by a coward, Moondoggy.”

My companion only quirked his head, but somehow, I knew he understood.

GAGE

“WHAT ARE YOU SCARED of?”

Suz paced in front of Gage’s desk. “What if she doesn’t like my painting?”

“Callie?” He leaned back in his chair, wincing slightly at the squeak. He stretched out his arms, threaded his fingers together, and cradled his neck into his open palms. “She’ll love your work.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because she appreciates art, and what you do qualifies. Trust me on this, okay?”

She slowed her pacing. “I’m meeting with her this week and Tori will be babysitting Jer.”

“Tori Jamison?”

“You know any other Tori’s?” She grimaced, flashing her eyes at him. “Sorry to be short. I’m just nervous. Yes, Tori Jamison. Her mom works at the preschool—I think I mentioned that, right?”