Storm Shells (The Wishes Series #3) (20 page)

Alex wrote it in. “It’s the right thing to do Charli.”

February 19

Adam

My demons were huge – the kind that jolt you awake at four in the morning. The lack of sleep and constant bad mood wasn’t working for me. I was more of an ass than usual and had developed a low tolerance for idiots.

My circle of friends was very small because of it.

I’d ignored Parker’s many attempts to make peace. I did enjoy his efforts though. I usually let him get through his whole speech before cutting him down. Kinsey skipped town some time after Christmas, humiliated and destroyed by her so-called boyfriend’s indiscretions. Kinsey and I had never been close so I was glad not to have to deal with her, but I still felt terrible. No one deserved that kind of treatment. I remained civil to Whitney, taking heart in the fact that running into her was always a million times more uncomfortable for her than me. She was the one person I was overly nice to. It seemed to intensify the awkwardness. She’d bumble her way through a few minutes of strained conversation and then practically run away.

That left Sera and Jeremy. I was lucky to have them. Every time I came close to claiming hermit status, they’d call me up and drag me out. I wasn’t very good company, even on my best day. But they persevered, and I was grateful for it.

Trieste Kincaid was persistent too. She was also funny, intelligent and forgiving. I needed her to be forgiving because I often behaved badly. It wasn’t unusual for me to cancel pre-planned study sessions with her – or worse, just not show up. I found it to be a pointless exercise, especially when I was busy with my own study. Trieste was a brilliant student. There was nothing I could help her with.

She also turned out to be a fairly decent server. I’d expected Ryan to fire her the minute I left town, but he hadn’t. In the few weeks that I was away she’d proven herself quite an asset to Billet-doux. Impressing Ryan was no mean feat. When I’d asked him how her job was working out, his answer surprised me.

“She’s quick, polite, and can add without a calculator. The girl’s a machine.” That was as close as he ever came to complimenting one of his members of staff.

* * *

Despite the bleak February weather, I made good on my plans to meet Trieste in the park that morning for coffee.

“I thought you’d stood me up again, Adam,” she scolded, handing me a cup that was barely warm. “This coffee cost me five bucks.”

“I’ll pay you back.”

“Why are you so late?”

I sat beside her.

“I got side-tracked.” That was the best I was going to give her.

She cocked an eyebrow. “By your own dark thoughts?”

Trieste read me pretty well. She also didn’t judge me. Perhaps that’s why I’d confessed just about all of my Charli-related sins to her in the weeks since I’d been home. Beside Ryan, she was the only person who knew the whole story.

Maybe I’d been subconsciously expecting her to run away in disgust upon hearing it. She didn’t, though. Trieste continued calling me at seven in the morning to invite me out for coffee and study.

“What are you working on at the moment?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Property law. What about you? What are you working on? Obviously not yourself.”

“Do I look that bad?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “You look really sad.”

I took a sip of the cold coffee. “I like being sad.”

“Well, you do it well. Sad likes you too.”

Trieste and I made an unlikely duo. Beside school, the only thing we had in common was that we were social misfits. I was unpopular because I was a jerk who couldn’t be bothered with people. Trieste had very few friends because she was odd. Her motor mouth and strange fashion sense were only the surface of her strange quirks. But I liked her. And for some unknown reason, she liked me.

“You should come to Billet-doux for lunch today,” she announced, tossing her cup in the trash. “I’m working the lunch shift. I’ll get you discount on your meal.”

I laughed humourlessly. “That’s very generous of you.”

“What can I say?” She shrugged. “You’re a fabulous tipper. It’s a win-win.”

* * *

I went to Billet-doux for lunch, mainly because I had nowhere else to be. Charlotte always maintained that lone diners cut a pathetic figure. I wondered what she would’ve made of me sitting at a table by the window by myself. Perhaps noticing how dismal I looked, Trieste stole a few minutes with me while I ate.

“See that guy over there?” she asked with an upward nod.

I looked past her. “The guy behind the bar?”

“Yes. His name is Felix. I think he’s dreamy,” she said wistfully.

I grinned at her juvenile choice of words. “Dreamy?”

“Yes, dreamy. He’s twenty-one. He doesn’t have a girlfriend. He has a dog called Windsor and he lives with his brother.”

I set my fork down. “Don’t go there, Trieste,” I teased. “Any guy that lives with his brother is a loser.”

She giggled, a loud cackle that I’d become used to. “I think he’s cute.”

I took another look past her, studying the dreamy Felix. I couldn’t really see the attraction. Felix was average looking, short, and trying very hard to grow a moustache.

“Are you going to make a move?”

Her eyes widened. “No! Of course not.”

I picked my fork up and began pushing food around my plate. “Why not?”

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t know how.”

“Well, how do you normally approach a guy you like?”

“I never have. I’ve never even been on a date.”

She wasn’t the least bit embarrassed by her admission. I, on the other hand, could feel the heat in my face.

“You should put yourself out there, Trieste,” I told her.

“I’m waiting for the right one,” she replied.

I half-smiled. “Do you think Felix might be it?”

She stood up, preparing to get back to work. “You never know your luck in a big city, Adam.”

February 21

Charli

Shopping had never been a favourite pastime of mine, but the Parisienne could be very persuasive. She won me over by inviting me to dinner afterwards. Gabrielle was a spectacular cook, and lately I had become a spectacular eater. We ended up in Hobart, wandering around Salamanca Place, a lovely precinct made up of rows of old sandstone buildings that are almost as old as Australia.

It was market day, which meant Gabi could get lost for hours checking out the arty wares on offer at the stalls. At least it wasn’t clothes shopping. Fiona Décarie had permanently scarred me with all-day dress shopping expeditions.

By late afternoon I was getting tired and trying not to let it show. I’d been trying not to let a lot of things show lately, and had resorted to wearing ugly oversized hoodies to hide my little pot belly.

“Oh, look at this,” crowed Gabrielle, fanning out a dress hanging on a rack. “This would be perfect for you.”

In another lifetime
. The pale pink chiffon dress was lovely, but the waist looked tiny.

“I don’t think so.”

“Nonsense.” She thrust it at me. “Try it on.”

The lady manning the stall pointed to a curtain. “Go behind there. There’s a mirror.”

Gabrielle nudged me toward the makeshift changing room, leaving me with little choice.

I put the dress on as best I could, reappearing a minute later holding the side of it to hide the fact that I couldn’t do the zip up. Gabrielle took one look and pulled a face. “No. That won’t do.”

I could’ve told her that without trying it on. “Can we go now?” I begged.

She nodded, frowning at me. “Yes. Let’s go.”

* * *

We arrived back at the house, exhausted and famished – at least that’s how I was feeling. Gabrielle had a little more energy. She headed straight for the kitchen and set about rustling up a meal.

Alex was in the shed. I didn’t quite know what to do with myself. I was tired enough to sleep the rest of the day away but hungry enough to wait for whatever Gabrielle was concocting.

“What are you cooking?” I asked, venturing into the kitchen.

“Chicken,” she replied brusquely. “I shall make extra.”

I sat at the table, a little afraid of her sudden mood swing. The Parisienne was not to be underestimated when angry and wielding cooking implements.

“Why are you making extra?”

She took a pan out of the cupboard and slammed it down on the stove, making me jump. “Because I am astutely perceptive,” she barked, waving a big spoon at me. “And I’ve realised that you are now eating for two.”

My heart dropped. My secret was out, and she wasn’t exactly jumping for joy at the news.

“Calm down, Gabi,” I muttered.

She continued waving the spoon. “Alex will hit the roof!”

“He already knows.”

“Your father knows?” She pulled out a chair, laid the spoon on the table and buried her face in her hands. “Of course your father knows. Of course you would have told him.”

I wanted to run from the room. Gabrielle was truly distraught. When she finally moved her hands from her face, angry tears rolled down her porcelain cheeks. “You have no business having a child!” she yelled. “You can barely look after yourself. What were you thinking?”

I didn’t respond. She stood up, slamming both palms on the table. I shrugged, incensing her even more. Her fist smashed on the laminate, making me jump. “How does Adam feel about it?”

“Adam doesn’t feel anything about it. Adam doesn’t know yet.”

“Unforgivable!” I didn’t even know she was capable of yelling that loudly. “That child is a Décarie!”

“What does that have to do with anything?” As far as I knew, Décarie babies weren’t born with superpowers – unless being obscenely good looking was considered a superpower.

Gabrielle marched across the room, ripped the phone from its cradle and thrust it at me. “You call him right now. You tell him everything.”

I had no idea how to handle her. She was under the assumption that I was doing Adam a disservice by keeping him in the dark. How was I supposed to explain that he would want no part of it anyway?

“I’ll call him when I’m ready,” I said calmly. “He doesn’t need to know yet.”

Gabrielle smashed the phone on the table, which worked in my favour. The chances of getting a dial tone now that it was in three pieces were slim. “That child has a birthright beyond anything you can imagine, Charli.”

My temper finally gave way. I stood up, shoving the broken phone at her. “Despite what you all might think, you’re not freaking royalty, Gabrielle. This kid is a Blake.”

The conversation was way off track now, and I wasn’t sure how we’d got there.

Alex rounded the doorway so quickly that he practically skidded to a stop. “What the hell is going on? I can hear you from the shed.”

“Your daughter is with child,” hissed Gabrielle, like a seventeenth century witch.

“I know,” he admitted.

“I know you know,” she said, slumping into her chair. “What is shameful is that Adam doesn’t know.”

Alex grimaced. “She’ll tell him when she’s ready. It’s early days.”

Gabrielle punched out a sarcastic laugh that I hadn’t heard before. “Early days? I can
see
that she’s pregnant.” She pointed at me but looked at Alex. “It’s hardly early days.” As suspected, the pink chiffon dress had been my undoing.

“Getting upset isn’t helping,” said Alex gently.

“I shall tell Adam myself,” announced the Parisienne, trying to piece the phone back together. She’d begun sobbing again, which killed Alex. He took the broken phone from her and held her hands. “You’re not going to call him, Gabrielle. Adam won’t hear about this from you. Do you understand?” His voice was gentle but there was seriousness in his tone. He was ordering her to keep quiet. “We’ll talk about it later. Now isn’t the time.”

Gabrielle caved instantly, pressing her head against his chest. “This is most unfair,” she whispered between sobs.

He swept his free hand through her auburn hair, trying to soothe her.

I felt terrible. I also felt guilty. I had stumbled headlong onto the path of motherhood, neither planning nor preparing for it. For me it had been a simple and careless process, which was clearly the crux of Gabrielle’s distress.

There was nothing left for me to say. I slipped out the door without another word.

* * *

I thought I’d have a few days’ grace when it came to dealing with the Parisienne, but she tracked me down at the beach the next morning. It was the first time I could remember seeing her there, and she wasn’t handling the sand well.

I halted my walk and watched as she staggered toward me. I considered making a run for it. I didn’t want to be around to see something wound as tight as Gabrielle unravel again. When she got closer and I could see that she didn’t look too distraught, I relaxed a little.

“Can we sit?” she asked, sounding breathy and worn out. “Please?”

We walked up to the dry sand. She crumpled as if she’d lost the use of her legs.