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CHAPTER FIVE

AWKWARD DID NOT come close to describing the painful, stuttering conversation that unfolded at the breakfast table. Cy could not shovel in the food fast enough, and Bitsy conducted a gracious symphony of small talk on every possible subject from tile to typhoons. That was fine with Rosa, as it filled the conversational void while keeping her father from getting a word in edgewise. Cy forked up the last pancake and Manny scanned the table, in search of a refill for his coffee.

“Okay,” Rosa said, springing from the chair and stacking all the plates within arm’s reach. “I’ll put these in the kitchen and we’ll get going. Thanks for breakfast, Bitsy. It was delicious.”

Cy mumbled his agreement around a mouthful of pancake.

Rosa did not give Bitsy any time to consider issuing a lunch invitation. She changed clothes in an eye blink, collected Manny and walked briskly from the inn out to her Nissan, Cy trailing behind into the fog-misted morning.

“I could have used another cup of joe,” Manny said.

“I’m on a tight schedule, Dad, and you didn’t exactly call ahead.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not gonna get too far in that,” Manny said, pointing to the Nissan’s left rear tire, which was flat to the rim.

Rosa groaned. “Why me?”

Manny looked closer. “Got a nail in the tire. Roofing nail, I think.”

Rosa huffed.

“No worries, sis,” Cy said, removing the keys from her hand and popping the trunk. “I’ll have her up and running in half a second.”

Perhaps it was to make up for the fact that he did not drive that Cy strove to be a master at all things automobile. She’d caught him reading over the Nissan’s owner’s manual to kill time between appointments, studying the diagrams of braking systems and trunk release mechanisms with fervor. In truth, he was the world’s worst auto mechanic, though Rosa didn’t have the heart to tell him so.

“Um, maybe we should call for roadside assistance,” she proposed. “Since we’re in a hurry. I think we’ve got one of those membership cards.”

“Nah, this is easy. You just get that lug wrench thing and whip the bolts off. Or is it nuts?” Cy began rummaging through the trunk.

Rosa heard a soft sigh from behind her. She turned to find Pike watching Cy as if he was a rare animal at the zoo. “Can I help?” he said with a slight grimace.

“No,” Cy called, voice echoing in the trunk space. “I’ve got this. Piece of cake.”

“He never lets me help, either,” Rosa said, though she could change a tire in half the time it took her twin. She considered commandeering the lug wrench, but there were some things one did not do, especially to a brother as incredible as Cy. If he needed to change that tire, she would let him.

“This is going to take a while,” Manny said, and Rosa agreed.

“I’ve got a roofing nail in my tire,” she said, skewering Pike with a look. “I wonder who spilled those everywhere.”

Pike chewed his lip, a flush stealing across his cheeks. “I suppose I could drive you.”

She wanted to say no. Actually, she wanted to say, absolutely not while I still have one measly living breath in my body. Cy emerged, saluting them with the lug wrench and an enormous smile. “All right. I’m goin’ in,” he sang out, as he dove under the car.

“He knows the lug nuts are on the outside of the vehicle, right?” Pike asked.

“Sure I do,” Cy hollered good-naturedly. “But it’s important during an automotive crisis to check over the entire undercarriage for any signs of collateral damage.”

Manny whistled. “He’s still got that weird love-hate relationship with cars, doesn’t he?”

Rosa breathed deep to steady her nerves. “Yes, yes he does.”

“Would have thought he’d get over it and start driving again.”

“Some things,” she snapped, “you just don’t get over.” As if her father could ever understand the wake of destruction he’d left behind. She looked at Pike. “It’s just up Highway One about fifteen miles. That’s where his trailer is. I’m really sorry to ask.” Especially you.

“You didn’t ask. I offered. Let’s get this over with.” Pike strode to his gleaming Mercedes and opened the door for Rosa.

“Please stop doing that,” she said.

“Doing what?”

“Pulling out chairs and opening doors for me.”

He arched a brow. “Sorry if it offends you, but the Matthews men were trained to be chivalrous.”

“The Matthews men. Now I remember,” Manny said, with a snap of his fingers. He fixed his eyes on Pike. “You’re Ben Matthews’s kid.”

Pike stiffened. “You should remember. You tried to send him to jail.”

Manny pursed his lips. “I investigated. That’s my job.”

“You defamed us. That’s illegal.”

Manny’s eyes narrowed and his slumped shoulders straightened. “Good-looking boat, wasn’t it?”

“Dad...” Rosa warned.

Manny continued. “Sank on a perfectly calm evening. Insurance paid a hundred thousand on it.”

Pike’s face darkened in rage. “Get in,” he snarled. “Or you can walk back to your trailer, if you prefer.”

Rosa shoved Manny into the car before he had a chance to add any more gasoline to the fire. She sank into the plush leather passenger seat, pulling the door closed quickly before Pike could slam it. Pike took the driver’s seat.

“Nice wheels,” she said.

Pike didn’t answer. A vein throbbed in his jaw as he slid on a sleek pair of sunglasses.

“Law business must be treating you well,” she tried again.

“Well enough.”

That concluded the small talk between Rosa and her chivalrous enemy.

Manny was silent as well. Probably for the best, Rosa thought, as they drove along the highway, past fields of pumpkins that, in a month, would greet the visitors who came for that pick-it-yourself experience. She’d been too mature to indulge in such fantasies when they’d moved to Tumbledown. Fifteen-year-olds did not scurry about in pumpkin patches hunting for that perfect squash. At least, that’s what she’d told her family, but nothing would dissuade Manny and Cy until they’d rolled away the most enormous specimen—one that required both of them to heft it into the station wagon.

She remembered the expression they’d carved into that orange flesh. Intending eeriness, Cy and her father had somehow captured the mournful, contemplative look she’d seen on her mother’s face in her more sober moments, a hint that she’d let something pass her by while she was otherwise occupied. Or was it grief for something she’d lost? If she closed her eyes, Rosa could picture the pumpkin’s visage, illuminated by the candle flickering inside. If only there had been such a candle to illuminate her mother’s soul. Would it have revealed the dark impulse that drove her to drink herself to death? What could Rosa have done, or Manny, or any of them to drive that darkness away before it consumed her? She swallowed hard.

“Penny.”

She jumped. “What?”

“A penny for your thoughts,” Pike said. “Ten miles of awkward silence is my limit. I’m a trained talker.”

“The conversation lagged, so I guess I drifted.”

“Yeah,” Pike said, eyeing Manny in the rearview mirror. He appeared to have dozed off. “Took him a while to remember who I was.”

“You’ve changed.”

“More handsome, huh?”

He grinned. Darned if he wasn’t right, but she’d never tell him that. And not only more handsome but lithe and lanky, intelligent. Worst of all was that terrible, wonderful, dimpled chin. “I was going to say more stubborn.”

“Stubborn, sayeth the pot to the kettle?”

“Yes, sayeth the pot. Aunt Bitsy wants her inn reborn and I can do that better than anyone. It’s the best thing for her.”

He cut his eyes to her, a flicker before he focused again on the highway. “And you’re sure about that?”

“Yes. It’s what she wants.” Rosa twiddled with the hem of her linen coat, noticing for the first time a spot of paint staining the fabric. Why had she not thought to put on the green blouse, which brought out the spark in her hair? Get a grip, Rosa. He wouldn’t notice a spark if it leaped out and burned a hole in his retina. And why would you want him to? Remember Foster, the handsome guy from law school? The one who ruined you?

He chewed on his lower lip. “Maybe we shouldn’t always have what we want.”

She twisted on the seat. “Why? What do you know?” She lowered her voice. “Is Bitsy sick?” Bitsy’s pale face and trembling fingers swam into her memory and her stomach contracted.

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Oh, quit the lawyer jargon.” Rosa would have grabbed his arm if he hadn’t been negotiating a narrow section of highway that pinched them against the dark cliff side. “You have to tell me.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Pike, I love Bitsy. I need to know.”

“It’s for her to discuss with you, not me.”

“How can you be such a...” Rosa heard herself emit a sort of choking sob. She swallowed it and stared stonily out the window.

Pike shifted. “I’m sorry. I know she’s like a mother to you. All I can tell you is I’m going to make it all turn out for the best.”

So condescending. As if she hadn’t experienced and survived plenty of challenges in her life already. “Yet you still refuse to tell me, even though you know what she means to me?”

He kept his eyes on the road. “Not my place.”

Who was Pike Matthews to withhold information about Bitsy? He was the owner of the luxury vehicle in which she was now being chauffeured, with butter-soft seats and a top-of-the-line sound system burbling a blues song that made her want to cry. He had a career, a living and a future that did not depend on winning some nutty contest. He was, in a word, a success.

She thought about how ashamed she’d felt when she’d realized that Foster had been using her teacher’s assistant password to hack into the law school’s computer system and alter his grades. And again how she’d burned with fury when her professor believed it was her doing, a lovestruck girl risking her future for her boyfriend. Maybe if her father had been a benefactor at the school, as Foster’s had been, the administration might have believed her. As it was, Foster claimed he had no idea that poor, addle-headed Rosa was changing his grades. She was a crazy stalker. Obviously.

She fixed her gaze on the horizon, watching the fog ease away from the ocean. Inside her, fear ebbed and flowed like the waves below. Could Bitsy be seriously ill? She forced her hands to unclench. The very first thing she would do after they dropped Manny at his trailer was to sit down with Aunt Bitsy and ask for the truth. They turned into the Seascape Trailer Park.

“Dad, which one is yours?”

Pike lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t know?”

“I’ve been busy,” she sniped. “I haven’t seen the trailer.”

Manny didn’t answer.

“Dad? Wake up. Which one is your trailer?”

Manny blinked and stared at Rosa. “What?”

She forced out a breath and kept her voice in what she hoped was a pleasant range. “We’re here at your trailer park. Which unit is yours?”

He sat up and peered out the window, scanning the neat rows of trailers, which were separated by low picket fences. Some were permanent residences and others more likely vacation rentals. Pike slowed the car to a crawl. The trailers perched on small plots of grass, with lush patches of hydrangea and bougainvillea adding a blaze of color. The nearest yard was crisscrossed by a clothesline with children’s garments flapping gaily in the breeze. Clearly that one wasn’t Manny’s.

Rosa turned to Manny again with a stir of unease. “You can’t remember which one is yours?”

“Yes, I can,” he grumbled, passing a hand over his eyes. “Just takes me a minute.”

Pike watched in the rearview mirror and Rosa wondered what he was thinking. Probably that the Francos came from substandard mental material. With an alcoholic mom and a deadbeat dad who couldn’t find his way home, she could see where some might make the connection.

At least my dad didn’t sink his own boat, she thought uncharitably. She pointed to a sign. “Sea Cliff Lane,” she read off. “Is that the one, Dad?”

He smiled, relieved. “Yes, that’s the one. Turn there.”

Pike slowed to let a couple of kids whip across the narrow graveled lane on their bikes and continued on at a snail’s pace, grimacing when a rock pinged against the side of his Mercedes.

Rosa cringed, too. She didn’t want any more damage inflicted on Pike because of her family. The sooner they could deliver Manny back to his trailer, the better for Pike. And for Rosa.

With everything else on her plate, her father’s presence might just push her over the edge of sanity.

The Mercedes crept along at the specified five miles per hour.

“It’s on the end, left side,” Manny said. “Number six ten.”

Rosa rolled down the window and caught an odd scent, like the smell of an extinguished campfire. The grass that was doing its best to spring up along the side of the road was smashed and blackened.

“Dad?” she said.

“Yes, princess?”

She ground her teeth. I’m not your princess. You don’t run out on princesses. “Why does it look like there’s been a fire around here?”

“Because, there has,” Pike said, pointing to the charred remains of trailer number six ten, Sea Cliff Lane.