Barefoot Season Part 37

Lana looked past her to Sam. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Carly's mother."

"Sam," he said, s.h.i.+fting the dog bed to the other arm and shaking hands with Lana and Frank. "A friend of Carly's."

And hey, Mich.e.l.le's ex-husband, but why get into that?

Sam stepped back. "I'll, ah, put this in Mich.e.l.le's office, then unload the truck."

"Good idea," Carly said, thinking escape sounded like a great idea. Too bad she couldn't.

He nodded and touched her shoulder. "You know how to get in touch with me if you need anything, right?"

"I promise." She sighed and lowered her voice. "Brace yourself. I mean that in a scary stalker way."

"I can handle it."

Sam ruffled Gabby's hair, then walked back around the inn. As Carly watched him go, she told herself at least she had something to look forward to. That she would get through the next few days and then her mother would be gone. Having Sam as a reward would certainly help.

Mich.e.l.le arrived back at the inn to find Carly pacing back and forth on the front porch. She parked, then held the door open for Chance. He jumped down easily and stayed next to her as she walked toward the building.

Carly turned and Mich.e.l.le saw the panic in her eyes.

"What happened?" Mich.e.l.le demanded, not sure how much she could handle.

"n.o.body's dead," Carly said. She hesitated, then swore. "I just don't understand. Don't they have a d.a.m.n phone? Sure, they couldn't call you, but what about me? I'm here all the time. I'm easy to reach. But did they call? Of course not."

Mich.e.l.le carefully regulated her breathing. She knew she was not at her best and any unexpected hiccup would be enough to put her back in danger.

"Okay," she said slowly. "Tell me."

"Your dad is here. Along with my mother. They showed up in a motor home." She twisted her hands together. "I don't get it. I talk to my mother maybe twice a year. It's not like we're close. She's met Gabby once. My daughter knows her grandmother from pictures. I've never spoken to your dad. And yet here they are. In the flesh."

Carly's near-hysteria was oddly calming, Mich.e.l.le thought as she made her way up the stairs.

"It's okay," she told Carly. "We'll get through this."

"How do you figure? They're here."

Mich.e.l.le probed her feelings. She knew she wasn't at her best, but somehow this new crisis wasn't so bad. Maybe because it wasn't important to her. Yes, her long-lost father had returned after eleven or twelve years. Yes, she had questions and even anger. But compared to what she'd been through, this was nothing.

"They're here and then they'll leave," she said, pleased by her sense of tranquility. By the knowledge that they couldn't touch her. Not where it mattered. Maybe that was the result of emotionally shutting down, but that was okay, too. She could resurrect her feelings after they were gone.

"How can you be so calm?" Carly demanded. "This is a nightmare."

"Now who's the drama queen?"

Carly stared at her. "You're really not upset."

"I'm really not. Probably because I don't have anything to spare. He's here. I'll deal. You have more to worry about."

"Gabby," Carly said with a sigh. "I hope my mom doesn't hurt her."

"You'll be there. You'll get her through whatever happens." Mich.e.l.le patted Chance. "We both will."

Carly nodded, some of the panic fading from her eyes. "I like the new you."

"I'm withholding judgment, but I see potential."

Carly hesitated, then said, "Don't take this wrong."

She moved forward and wrapped her arms around Mich.e.l.le.

Mich.e.l.le stayed very still, accepting the embrace and the support that went with it. Slowly, carefully, she hugged Carly back, letting herself remember what it had been like when they'd been best friends. Just the two of them against the world.

Mich.e.l.le walked into her office to find a stack of dog supplies in one corner, with a bed draped on top. A second bed lay by her desk.

She took Chance off his leash. He checked out the water dish-a cheerful yellow one with paw prints on the front-then walked over to the bed. His brow furrowed slightly as he glanced from it to her and back.

She smiled and crouched down, then patted the bed.

"Come on, Chance. This is for you."

He put one paw on the bed, then another. After turning around a couple of times, he collapsed with a sigh. She stroked his back and was rewarded with a thump of his tail.

"See," she told him. "This is how your life is going to be."

The issue of keeping him had not been a question, she realized. From the second Jared had shown her the skinny dog, she'd accepted him in her life. They were going to heal each other, she decided. The rescue agency had been in touch the morning before, making sure all was going well. She'd been given email access to the records they had on him, including a report from their veterinarian. According to the vet, Chance was about two years old, with no obvious health problems, except for those from his abuse.

She glanced at the time. He'd had a decent-size breakfast, but nothing since then. She got him a dog cookie from the ones Carly had left. His dark eyes perked up.

"Come here," she said, motioning for him to get out of the bed.

He stood and walked to stand in front of her.

"Chance, sit."

He sat.

She laughed. "Good boy. Look at you. We're going to have to figure out what else you can do."

She handed him the cookie. He took it gently and carried it back to his bed where he settled down, then chomped the cookie into dust and swallowed it. Contentment relaxed his doggie face as he gazed at her.

"You're welcome," she told him.

"That's not much of a dog."

The voice was familiar. There had been a time when the man behind the voice had been her world. Or at least the anchor in a swirling storm that was Brenda. She turned in her chair to study her father as he walked into her office.

"He's a rescue. I've only had him a few days. He'll get better."

She took in the graying hair, the lines around her father's eyes and mouth. He was a little thinner, a little older, but not much else had changed. If she had to point out a difference, she would say he looked happy. "h.e.l.lo, Dad."

"Mich.e.l.le." He hesitated, as if not sure if he should do something else, then settled in the chair by her desk. "I called a couple of times to tell you we were coming. I couldn't reach you."

She thought about the calls she'd ignored, followed by the breakdown that had included her destroying her phone. "I've been a little out of touch."

He studied her. "How are you?"

There was concern in the question. She'd only been sober and relatively sane for a couple of days. Her clothes were still too big, her skin pale. She looked like what she was-someone holding on by a thread.

"Better. Seriously, this is an improvement."

He swore softly. "Why didn't you call me, baby girl? I would have been here."

The familiar "baby girl" wormed through her defenses, making her feel small again. Like when she'd been little and had huddled in her bed, the covers pulled over her head as she tried desperately to shut out her parents' night fights.

She drew in a breath and looked at Chance. The sight of the sleeping dog centered her. She returned her attention to her father.

"You were gone. You left me, Dad. You walked out on me with no warning. It's been over a decade without a word. Why would I call you now?"

Her father s.h.i.+fted in his seat. "I know it looks bad, baby girl."

"I doesn't just look bad. It is bad."

"I know. It was so many things. Your mother. I never should have married her. But she was pregnant and I'd been raised to be responsible. You were the only good thing to come out of that marriage."

"I wasn't good enough to make you stay."

His expression turned pleading. "I waited until you were seventeen. I wanted you to be old enough to handle yourself. To take care of things." He leaned toward her. "I wanted to come back, but I knew Brenda would punish you if I did. So I stayed away, thinking when you were a little older, I'd swing by. But you left for the army and I didn't know how to get in touch with you."

It was all c.r.a.p, she thought incredulously. Justifications. The man she'd loved and trusted, depended upon, had no real reason for what he'd done. He'd chosen his mistress over his child. For all his proclamations of love, he was more like her mother than she found comfortable.

The edges of the room didn't seem as focused. A sharp longing for oblivion ripped through her, making her ache for just a sip of vodka. One swallow. That's all she needed.

She grabbed the bottle of water on her desk and drank it instead. The cool liquid did nothing to make her feel better. The trembling began inside. It radiated out and she knew she only had a few minutes until she would be shaking all over.

"How long are you staying?" she asked.

"A couple of days. Lana's excited to see Carly and Gabby."

"I'll bet," she murmured, wondering if he would hear the sarcasm or accept the words at face value.

She drew herself up straighter in the chair, then sucked in a breath. "Dad, I have some work I need to do. Can we talk later?"

"Ah, sure." He gave her a quick smile. "I'll go round up Lana and we can find a place to have lunch. The island's grown while I've been gone."

She nodded, suddenly weary to the bone.

After her father had gone, she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Slowly, too slowly, the need to drink faded and she was left with a hollow sensation. For all her Zen calm with Carly, she didn't have the skills to cope with this invasion. She had a feeling that telling her father and Lana to go away wouldn't solve the problem, which meant she needed help from another direction.

She got up and called to Chance, who immediately hurried to her side. They walked toward the registration desk, his nails clicking on the floor.

She found Carly at the computer, viciously jabbing on the keys.

"They went to lunch," Carly told her. "They don't want a room. That's something, I suppose. They have a reservation at the camping site at the north end of the island. I told them we were busy through the holiday, so I think we get a couple of days' reprieve." She paused. "You okay?"

"Less okay than I would like. You're right. Having them back is something to get upset about."

"This is one time I don't want to be right."

Mich.e.l.le felt Chance standing next to her. When the dog leaned in slightly, she rubbed the top of his head. His presence comforted her.

"Thanks for getting all those supplies. I'll write you a check for the amount."

Carly nodded. "No problem. It was fun. Gabby's very excited to have both a dog and a cat at the inn."

"The p.o.o.per-scooper was a nice touch."

"Sam's idea."

Mich.e.l.le raised her eyebrows. "You back together?"

"We're taking it slow. Is that okay?"

"I think taking it slow makes sense."

Carly wrinkled her nose. "You know what I mean. Does it bother you?"

Mich.e.l.le thought about everything going on right now. "No," she said. "Honestly, it doesn't. Go for it. He's a pretty decent guy."

"I hope so."

A loud hissing sound interrupted them. Mich.e.l.le turned to find Mr. Whiskers had strolled into the room. He stood about ten feet from Chance, his back arched, tail puffy and standing straight.

The hiss was impressive, Mich.e.l.le thought, startled by the volume and intensity. More cobra than cat.

Apparently Chance thought so, too. He whimpered, then slid behind Mich.e.l.le and began to tremble.

Mr. Whiskers stared at the dog for several more seconds, then slowly relaxed. His status as the superior pet established, he turned and walked to the far end of the room, jumped up onto the sunny windowsill and began grooming.

Mich.e.l.le dropped to her knees and took Chance's face in her hands. "You have to stand up for yourself, big guy. You outweigh that cat by a good forty pounds. Once we get some muscle on you, it will be more. You could take him. I'm sure of it."

Chance didn't look convinced.

"Maybe if you work on his sense of self," Carly offered.