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The clock ticked past the big three on the dial and her mind wandered. Since leaving the school, for every five minutes she’d spent working on the renovations, she’d spent twenty more thinking about Emmett.
How the sun shone against his jet-black hair. How her hand felt in his. Mostly about that moment on the stairs, the moment she thought he might kiss her. How ridiculous was that?
She hadn’t spent the past ten years pining for Emmett Deal. He’d left. She’d moved on.
Emmett being back didn’t mean anything in her life had to change. In fact, since he’d made it clear this was a short—and very final—visit, nothing in her life would change. She tapped the folder on her lap. These projects would keep her busy. She liked busy. Busy meant days with no time to wonder and nights when she was too tired to dream. Everyone knew she liked busy.
Tom opened the office door, thanking someone on the other side for stopping by. Emmett’s voice inside the office kicked her heartbeat into overdrive. That was as ridiculous as wondering about Emmett’s life in Cincinnati.
“No problem, it’s a solid project and several of my guys were interested.” Emmett stopped when he saw Jaime sitting in the hall. Her heart pounded harder and her mouth felt dry. What was happening to her? First, she drooled over the man in the diner, now she couldn’t be in the same room with him without losing control of her body.
“Tom mentioned you had trouble finding a crew the first time around.”
Jaime quickly stood, holding the folder to her chest. “H-he did?” And now she was stuttering. Perfect.
“Emmett called about the estimate and one thing led to another. Are those the papers?”
“Yes, Laura mentioned you wanted to take a look,” she said, pointing toward the empty secretary’s desk at the opposite wall. She should have known something was going on when Laura wasn’t at her desk.
In the twenty-four hours since Emmett had landed on the island Ronda at the post office had waved her inside to pick up a package that had mysteriously disappeared and, of course, to ask if Emmett was really back on the island. Since Ronda was the second person any of the island gossips would call, the innocent-sounding question was a ploy to find out why he was back, and not if. Anna had avoided eye contact this morning over coffee. Anna never avoided eye contact; the waitress was usually direct to the point of pain. Now Laura had called Jaime about the estimate, disappeared and Emmett came strolling out of her boss’s office.
“And the final decision?” Jaime had a feeling she already knew and she didn’t like it. Not even a little bit.
“I called in a couple of favors and found a crew willing to come up here for the summer.”
“You did?” She focused on Emmett. Okay, a crew was good, especially since she’d had no luck this afternoon.
Tom saluted them with the folder and shut the office door, mumbling something about meeting with the trustees over drinks.
“Wasn’t too hard. I already knew they were available.”
The sinking feeling in Jaime’s stomach grew to a gaping hole.
“Your crew?”
“One of them.”
“One of them,” Jaime repeated.
“Yeah, I have a crew that focuses on older homes in Cincinnati and another that goes where the projects are—”
“That would be the television crew.”
“Right, but they’re on summer hiatus and thought this sounded like fun.”
Jaime felt as though the project was slipping away from her, which was silly. She was never on the actual project team. Her job was to write checks and meet scheduled deadlines. Not knock down walls and install windows. “I thought you said you were here to fix up your dad’s house, not renovate the old school.”
“I am. Was.” Emmett squinted. “Am. Mostly, I’ll consult. Like you.”
“I’m not a consultant.”
“And you don’t think this is a good idea.”
Jaime led Emmett to her office and motioned him to one of the chairs. He crossed one jeans-clad leg over the other and she swore his abs rippled under the tight shirt he wore as he sat.
From her seat Jaime folded her hands together and leaned her elbows on the cherrywood desk. She wanted to move, but she settled for tapping her toes against the cool leather soles of her sandals.
“I think you’re trying a little too hard.”
Something flashed in his eyes. Anger, maybe? Whatever it was Jaime refused to apologize just as she refused to pace.
“I think you’re dreaming if you think you’ll find a quality crew by cold-calling out of the phone book. Hoping one of them will drop their deck-building, roof-replacing, pool-installing summer isn’t going to give you a renovated school for the reunion.”
“You’ll complete the main floor by July first?” Jaime took a breath, hating that her words were nearly an echo of her father’s from the day before. “We’ve already had one false start, so if you aren’t going to see this through you can leave now.”
He stood and held out his hand. “I always see my projects through.”
Jaime hesitated but then stood and took his hand. The contact zinged along her nerves, but she didn’t pull back. “Then I’ll see you Monday morning.”
Emmett closed the door softly on his way out. Jaime rubbed her palm down the leg of her trousers.
And began to pace.
Finish what he started.
When the project was finished Emmett would leave. She would stay here, on Gulliver.
Alone.
Jaime watched the closed door for a long moment. She didn’t want to be alone.
Where did that leave her?
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_02b94175-8826-5493-bb5a-339366aec329)
EMMETT REPLACED THE keys to the old golf cart on the peg near the front door. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He’d gone to Tom Gulliver’s with the intention of giving him a few names and reassuring the man the project would be a good investment for the island. How he’d wound up volunteering his crew he had no idea.
He couldn’t back out, though. Not now. Not after Jaime’s veiled certainty he would walk out on the project. Thankfully his guys lived for projects like the old school, and an extra payday was always nice.
Emmett frowned and looked around carefully. The house was too quiet.
“Dad?” he called into the crowded space. No reply. No shuffling of feet. He glanced out the front windows, but there was nothing in the front yard besides his golf cart and the overgrown and untrimmed trees that hid the house from the street.
Continuing through the living room and kitchen, Emmett looked for his father. A steamer released little puffs of moisture into the dining room, but none of the wallpaper was off the walls. Emmett checked the upstairs bedrooms. Empty. The back porch. Nothing. His breathing quickened and he hurried into the backyard.
Gibson’s old Jeep sat under the carport with Emmett’s truck behind it. At least he wasn’t in a motorized vehicle.
“Dad?” he called again, louder this time, and his voice echoed back to him from the thicket of trees at the rear of the property. Their home was one of the few on the north side of the island; most of the development was on the south side because that harbor was less rocky. The first Gulliver built his general store there and the town had grown up around it. Another reason Emmett needed to get him off the island and into a care facility.
There was an old deer trail that led into the woods and eventually to the rocky north shore of the island. Gibson used to walk the trail a couple of times a day with his camera. If he’d gone alone, if his memory failed, there was no telling what might happen.
Briefly, Emmett considered calling the township police, but to say what? No one on the island knew about Gibson’s condition yet. Sunlight slanted across the green leaves of oak and maple trees and he started for the short trail. He’d find Gibson and bring him home. Protect the older man’s secret.
Emmett hadn’t been on the trail in years and it looked as if no one else had, either. There were clumps of composting leaves left from the winter months, families of chipmunks and squirrels rustling in the underbrush. In a few places it seemed the trees were closer together than he remembered. Probably he had been smaller back then. There was no sign of Gibson in the woods. No stray buttons or pieces of fabric caught on a branch. That was silly. The man wasn’t running for his life. He was out for a stroll. At least Emmett hoped that was it.
Finally the trees opened onto the rocky beach. Emmett inhaled a long breath and for a short moment closed his eyes. The water smelled fresh, no hint of washed-up or decaying fish bodies. Here the tree line seemed closer to the water, but he supposed that was natural. No one came to this side of the island. Years before the quarry companies had owned it. When they’d left, the beach had fallen into township hands. But locals and tourists had wanted sand. Removing the big slabs of rock would have eroded most of the island to nothing so they left it alone.
A blue windbreaker fluttered against the rocks on the far side of the beach and Emmett started in that direction.
He finally spotted Gibson kneeling over a tide pool, running his hands through the cold water.
“Dad?” Emmett spoke quietly, not wanting to startle the older man.
“Emmett. How’d you find me out here?” Gibson continued running his hands around the pool, a content expression on his face as if he’d never felt the sides of rocks smoothed by centuries of running water.
“Followed the trail, like I did when I was a kid and Mom would send me out to bring you in for dinner.”
“Mary Margaret was always a stickler for five-thirty dinners, wasn’t she?” Finally he wiped his damp hands on his khaki pants and stood. “Is it time for dinner?”
Emmett’s belly clenched. The rabbit hole was opening again. “No, maybe lunch. Dinner’s a while off. What made you come down here?”
Gibson shook his head. “Nothing, really. I thought maybe I’d find a piece of sheared rock to take with me to Cincinnati. And it’s been a while since I walked down here.” He patted his pocket. “Your mom convinced me to downsize to a pocket camera a few years ago, so I took some pictures, too.”
Emmett took his father’s elbow and tried to help him back to the grassy area but Gibson shook him off. Emmett blew out a relieved breath. His father hated accepting help. It wasn’t the rabbit hole opening with that question about dinner, just the simplicity of losing track of time. He could relate to that. Somehow being in the old school had made him feel as if he’d been back in high school with Jaime, not facing an uncertain future with his father.
“I’m not an invalid yet,” Gibson said and turned on his heel. “If your being here means I can’t take a walk without checking in, you can just haul yourself back down south and I’ll hire a crew to clean up the house. Toledo or Cleveland has assisted-living apartments I could move into, too, you know.”
Emmett knew that. Of course he did. But Toledo and Cleveland were too far from Cincinnati for him to get to his father if he was needed. He wasn’t budging on this. He’d missed too much of his mother’s last years. Too many of his father’s. He might only have a few months left and he damn well wasn’t going to lose them, too.
“Toledo and Cleveland don’t have Skyline Chili.” He used Gibson’s favorite Cincinnati treat as enticement.
“They do in the freezer section.”
Emmett chuckled. “You tried that before I left home, remember? One bite and you tossed it in the trash.”
“Maybe my tastes have changed.”
“We have Graeter’s,” Emmett said, mentioning an ice cream chain where his father always managed to eat on visits to Emmett’s home. “And you know the hot dogs are better at the Reds games than at the Mud Hens or Indians.”
“True.” They began walking back to the trail leading home. “But according to one celebrity Toledo is the Paris of Ohio,” his father said.
“A river running through town doesn’t make Toledo Parisian.” Not that Emmett had been to Paris.
“Well, that actress is hot.”
“I don’t—Dad—which actress?” Emmett stumbled over his words. “Nevermind. When I was a kid you said hotness was more a state of mind than body.”
“You paid attention. You know, the one. Blond hair, pretty eyes. In all those black-and-white movies.” No, Emmett didn’t know. Gibson could be describing one of about twenty starlets, but before he could ask anything more Gibson patted his shoulder as if Emmett had just won the national spelling bee. “Beauty is still only skin deep, it’s the mind that keeps us coming back.”
Emmett wasn’t sure what to make of his father. He’d never seen Gibson so much as notice a pretty girl, and now the old man was crushing on an elderly actress. The doctors didn’t tell him dementia would turn his father into a teenager again.
“Those actresses would be about a hundred and fifty years old.”
“So am I.”
“You’re seventy-two.”
“I always did like cougars.” Gibson looked at him, an innocent expression on his face. “What? You thought after seventy a man’s needs became irrelevant?”
He’d hoped not, but wondering what his own sex life would be like post-retirement and knowing what his dad thought about...those were two very different things. “I really don’t want to talk about this.”
Gibson shrugged. “A man has needs. We had this talk when you were about twelve.”
They’d talked about girls and kissing and where babies came from in a very abstract way. Emmett was so not having the sex talk with his dad. Especially not when the talk was about his dad.
“Dad.”
“Do you know your mom never let me watch game shows? Those great old dames used to guest star and she knew I had little crushes on a few of them.”
“Mom was afraid you’d run off to Hollywood to have an illicit affair with a star because she was on a game show?” His mother jealous of a woman Gibson would never meet because he’d never wanted to leave the island? Didn’t sound like the Mary Margaret that Emmett remembered. His mother was feisty. Single-minded, completely head over heels about Gibson, and confident he was crazy for her.
The tree line thinned as they neared the house. “Nah, Mary Margaret knew she was the only girl for me.” He was quiet for a moment and Emmett watched him carefully. A twinkle came into his eye. “It was because of the letter.”
“Letter?”
“I wanted to be a contestant so I wrote to the show.”
They stepped up onto the back porch. Emmett opened the drink refrigerator on the porch, pulling out two cold bottles of water. They sat on the old porch swing.
“Sure. I’d have taken any of the shows, but Password was my favorite. It would have been fun. I was always good with clues.” He chuckled. “Funny, my mind used to be sharp. I could remember anything.” He didn’t say anything for a moment. “Now, some days I wonder if I’ll remember who I am.”
“We’re getting you help, Dad. They have treatments.”
“They’ll work for a while, I know.” His dad’s voice was stoic. Resigned, maybe. “I remember today, and I’m not going to ruin that. Where was I? Right, the letter. So I wrote the show and made it through the first phase, and that meant a trip to LA for a screen test.”
“You guys never left Ohio.”
“Sure we did.”
“Not once. We might have crossed the lake to Detroit a time or two, but I can’t remember ever leaving the state when I was a kid.”
“Huh. There was the trip to Gatlinburg. No, that was before you were born. St. Louis. No, that was our honeymoon. We never did get that cruise we talked about. Maybe we didn’t travel much when you were younger. I’m sorry, son.”
Emmett swallowed some of his water. “It isn’t a big deal. I always thought the two of you, or at least one of you, was kind of afraid to travel.”
“Huh.” His father was quiet for a moment. “I never did tell her.”
“Tell her what?” Emmett’s mind reeled. His father had a whole life he knew nothing about. He’d wanted to be on game shows? And his mom had been jealous of Gibson’s crush on an actress?
