Bolted (8 page)

Her first responsibility, after all, was to her family. But then responsibility had never been Greta’s strong point. Nor had common sense. Greta seemed to spend her life rushing from one disaster to the next.

As it was, Sophie’s only support had been Owen, Allie’s father, who’d stayed with her through the worst of the visitors and then taken her to dinner two towns over, where none of the wedding guests had been around.

In fact, if it hadn’t been for Owen… Sophie sighed. At least she and Owen shared a common disaster, although they’d both been looking forward to sharing a married son and daughter. And it certainly wasn’t Owen’s fault that Allie had panicked. With any luck, the girl would come to her senses and come back to Promise Harbor.

Assuming, of course, that Josh would take her back. Sophie wasn’t at all sure about that one. And to tell the truth, she wasn’t sure he should. Not after that wedding disaster.

She turned on the coffee, then stepped back out into the hall again. “Greta,” she called. “Breakfast.”

She had half a mind to let Greta do the cooking to make up for her absence yesterday. Let her put that fancy culinary school degree to work for once. Instead of wasting it as Ryan McBain’s wife. Sophie doubted Ryan and Greta ever ate at home, given all the social events Ryan attended as part of his job. And Ryan hadn’t seemed as interested in Greta’s skills in the kitchen as the rest of the family had been.

His loss. Greta really was a wonderful cook. Not that Sophie had ever admitted it openly before, given that culinary school had been another of Greta’s impulsive decisions.

“Greta,” she called again, louder this time. She glanced at the clock. Eight thirty. Surely the girl couldn’t have been out late enough last night to justify sleeping in. Particularly not on a day that gave every indication of being just as annoying as yesterday had been. She turned back to stomp up the stairs. Might as well vent some of her frustration on her daughter before she had to pull herself together to greet the nosy neighbors.

She knocked briskly on Greta’s bedroom door. “Greta, time to get up,” she called. Without waiting for an answer, she twisted the knob and leaned into the bedroom.

The empty bedroom. Greta’s bed was still neatly made, no evidence that she’d slept in it at all last night. Sophie stepped to the door of the guest bathroom, although she really had no hope Greta was in there.

She stood in the doorway for a moment, gritting her teeth. Just like Greta. When faced with a nasty situation, take off. Sophie tried to think who among Greta’s friends might be in town, who she might be staying with.

She sighed. She really hadn’t been paying much attention to Greta over the past few days, what with the wedding to plan and then the disaster to cope with. She had no idea what her daughter might do or where she might go, but maybe Bernice could help.

Calling Bernice on the landline meant Sophie had to spend fifteen minutes talking to Bernice’s mother, who happened to be Allie’s aunt. At least she was apologetic about her niece’s behavior. But then Owen had been apologetic too. More than apologetic. He’d been heartbroken. As had Sophie, of course. They’d both been so happy at the thought of having Allie and Josh together. She took a deep breath. No more dwelling on the whole might-have-been part of things.

When she finally came to the phone, Bernice sounded sleepy. “No, ma’am,” she mumbled. “I haven’t seen Greta since she left the inn yesterday.”

Sophie frowned. Greta was at the inn? “When was that?”

“Sometime in the afternoon. She went to the reception for a while and then she checked the dressing room where I was looking after Allie’s things.” Bernice paused. Apparently she was a little embarrassed about mentioning Allie’s name.

Sophie gripped the phone more tightly. “Did she say where she was going then?”

“No, ma’am. I thought she was going back to your house.”

A fair assumption. Unfortunately, wrong. “If you see her, would you ask her to call me, please?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll do that.” Bernice yawned again as Sophie hung up.

She headed back downstairs, ignoring the faint niggle of unease that made her shoulders feel tense. In the kitchen, she opened her cell phone again, checking the voice mail. Nothing. No messages. And there hadn’t been any messages on the landline either.

“You’d think she’d at least call,” she muttered.

You didn’t call her.
Sophie blew out a breath. No, she hadn’t, but why should she? Greta was supposed to be here at home. She dialed her daughter’s number now, only to be transferred to her voice mail. “Greta, where are you?” Sophie snapped. “You’re supposed to be here. Call me as soon as you get this.”

She stood for a moment, frowning at the sunlight filling her backyard. The child wouldn’t have gone back to Boston, would she? Without changing clothes? Without saying good-bye? Leaving all her things in her room? Surely she’d know better than that. Her hand hovered over the phone for a moment, and then she pulled up her address book. She must have Ryan’s work number somewhere. Greta claimed he hadn’t been able to get away from the office for the wedding, but surely he could take a few moments to talk to Sophie.

Of course, getting Ryan on the phone once she’d found the number wasn’t as easy as she might have hoped. By the time his secretary finally deigned to ring his office, Sophie was doing deep breathing exercises to keep from yelling.

When Ryan finally came onto the line, he sounded oddly tentative. “Yes?”

“Ryan, dear, it’s Sophie. I’m so sorry to bother you at work, but I wondered if Greta had gotten back to Boston yet. Have you spoken with her today by any chance?”

There was a very long pause before he spoke again, long enough so that the niggle of unease at the back of Sophie’s mind began to move toward full-blown anxiety. “I haven’t spoken with Greta in over a week,” he said slowly. “Not since the final decree was awarded.”

Sophie gripped the edge of the counter in nerveless fingers. “Decree? What decree? What are you talking about?”

This time there was a very, very long pause before she heard Ryan sigh. “She didn’t tell you, did she? I was afraid she might do something like that.”

“Tell me what?” But of course she already knew.

“We’re divorced, Sophie. We have been for about a week now. We were separated for a few months before that.”

“Oh.” Sophie closed her eyes, leaning against the counter.
Oh, Greta. Oh, damn it.
“No, she didn’t mention it. Well, I’m sorry I bothered you.”

“Wait,” he said sharply. “Why are you calling about Greta now? What happened?”

“She didn’t come home last night. I thought perhaps she’d decided to head back to Boston instead,” Sophie said stiffly. “It’s nothing for you to be concerned about.”

“Nothing?” He sounded slightly annoyed.

“No. It’s not your concern. Don’t worry about it. Thank you for your time.” She disconnected quickly, then leaned harder against the counter, trying to catch her breath.

Her mind was racing in a hundred different directions. Normally, she’d call Josh and ask for his advice. But she’d already called him three times since yesterday, trying to convince him to go after Allie. She had a feeling he wouldn’t be up for a conversation with her now, even if it was on a different subject.

She glanced down at the phone again. One of the little icon things had a red number in the top corner. She wasn’t sure what it meant since she never did anything with the phone except take calls and voice mail. She pressed it gingerly.

A screen popped up. Text message. All right, she knew about that. She stared at the green bubble in the upper corner with Greta’s name at the top.
I’m all right. Don’t worry.

Suddenly, her heart was thumping so hard she was afraid she might have palpitations.
Don’t worry.
To Sophie, that seemed to be the signal to be very worried indeed.

Greta tried to ignore her phone sitting on the bedside table.
Don’t want to run down the battery.
Yeah, right. Maybe she’d just check for messages. Sighing, she turned it on again.

A blinking icon showed she had a text message. She clicked on it—Josh.

Where are U? What’s up?
Greta gritted her teeth. Hell.
I’m fine
she texted quickly, hoping against hope he’d leave it at that. Maybe he was just checking on her whereabouts in a general way.

Vain hope. The text icon blinked accusingly.
Since when are you divorced?
Why didn’t you tell Mom?

Greta closed her eyes. Obviously, this had moved beyond the texting stage. She punched in Josh’s number and waited for him to pick up. “Greta?” he snapped. “What the hell is going on?”

“Well, hello to you too.” She gathered her hand into a fist in her lap, staring resolutely at the floor. “I’m assuming you talked to Mom and she told you I was taking a break from Promise Harbor. I gather she also told you that Ryan and I broke up, as in divorced.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” he said.

“No, actually, I’m not. We separated a few months ago. The divorce was final a few days before I came to the harbor. I really meant to tell you and Mom about it. But then things got all…complicated.”

“What happened, Greta?” At least he no longer sounded pissed.

“Long story short—he cheated and I threw him out. Do you want more details than that?”

“Seriously? I can’t believe this. Why didn’t you say anything?”

She closed her eyes. This conversation had all been so much easier in her mind. “I couldn’t think of how to explain it. And I knew Mom would be upset. I was going to tell her when I got home, but then she was so happy about the wedding and everything…”

The wedding probably wasn’t the most politic thing to bring up right then, but maybe he was tired of people tiptoeing around the subject. She swallowed hard. “I should have told you both, I know. I was just sort of scared, I guess.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I get it. Hell, Greta.” He sighed. “I thought you were there to look after Mom.”

“Look after Mom? Why would Mom need to be looked after?” Her mother had always struck her as a kind of force of nature. The only time she’d ever seemed less than totally in charge had been after her father had died. Of course, that had been a pretty dark period for everybody.

“Why?” Josh sounded slightly confused for once. “Because of the wedding being off. I’m sure she’s upset.”

Of course, Josh would be the one to think about other people before he thought about himself. Unlike his little sister. But she didn’t think he was right about this particular crisis. “She’s not upset, Josh. She’s pissed. I saw her at that church. Trust me, the biggest thing we need to worry about with Mom right now is that she’ll tell off one of the town gossips or kick Bernice in the rear end. She’s not going to crumble under this. She’s stronger than you think.”

He sighed again. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Where are you, anyway?”

“I’m staying at a hotel down the road,” she said carefully. “They needed a cook and I needed a couple of days off.”
Decision-free zone, bro.

“Goddammit, Greta,” he snapped. “Do I have to come and hunt you down too?”

“No, you do not. I’ll be back at the harbor by the end of the week.” She wondered if he could tell she was gritting her teeth. “And I’ll face up to whatever I have coming from Mom.”

“Fine. I won’t. But…” His tone softened. “Are you really okay? Are you sure you don’t want me to come and get you? Or head over to Boston and kick Ryan’s ass for you?”

Greta shook her head. “Tempting as that might once have been, no. I’m fine, bro. Honest. How about you?”

“Okay. Yeah, I’m okay too.”

She frowned slightly. Had anybody even checked to see if Josh was actually okay, rather than just saying he was? “Are you? I mean, really?”

“Really,” he said.

“What are you… I mean, do you have any ideas about what you’re going to do?”
Are you having any better luck in figuring out that whole future-plans thing than I am?

“I don’t know. I really don’t, but…whatever.” He paused. “Seriously, if you need anything, call me.”

“I will. Thanks, bro.”

She sat staring at the phone in her hand, then sighed.
One down.

At eleven, Greta took another cruise through the Dubrovniks’ pantry. It still seemed sparse at best, and some of the food was stuff she wouldn’t dream of serving. As Nadia had said, she seemed to have a preference for canned pasta.

Still, Greta found a couple of cans of tomato soup. And she knew there was American cheese in the refrigerator. She’d make grilled cheese sandwiches and soup, then bring Hank a Thermos, assuming that there was one hiding somewhere in the multitude of kitchen cabinets.

Hyacinth wandered in at eleven thirty, carrying what looked like a jelly jar full of dirt. Alice arrived just behind her, narrowing her eyes. “What’s in there?”

Hyacinth blinked, then shrugged. “Just a couple of beetles. I need to check my field guide to see what they are.”

“They don’t belong in the kitchen,” Alice said severely.

“They’re in a jar,” Hyacinth explained. “They can’t do anything.”

“I don’t want to have them around in the room while I’m eating. Take them out on the back porch.”

Hyacinth’s brow furrowed. “Grandma,” she muttered in a long-suffering voice.

“Hyacinth.” Alice folded her arms. “Outside.”

The child sighed, then headed for the back door.

Greta half turned from the stove. “Do you want your food here or in the dining room?”

“Here is fine.” Alice frowned slightly. “Usually we just make our own lunch. I never expected Nadia to cook it.”

Greta shrugged. “Soup and grilled cheese won’t need much fixing.”

“And you’re going to check on the absent-minded professor?”

She shrugged again. “Well, somebody needs to make sure he hasn’t killed himself.” The thought of Hank actually having a fatal accident this time around suddenly made her feel a little nauseated, but she fought it down.

“Agreed.” Alice served herself a bowl of soup and took a seat at the table as Greta flipped a golden cheese sandwich off the grill. “So you’re running away from a bad divorce?”