Читать книгу The Way Back - Stephanie Doyle, Stephanie Doyle - Страница 10

CHAPTER TWO

GABBY FOLLOWED THE scent of coffee downstairs the next morning. She could only hope Adel and Zhanna hadn’t made it a point to stop by the B and B to rat her out to the owners. Their reaction to the news she wanted to write a book about Jamison was startling, and took her completely off guard. She understood wanting to protect a friend’s privacy, but their instant hostility had been extreme. Even after explaining she wasn’t some seedy journalist from a trash magazine, or a person looking to earn a quick buck by writing a lurid tell-all, the two women had still been cold. They’d accepted payment for the food, but had refused to take any tip.

Gabby had left the café with her head down and her enthusiasm for a new start somewhat diminished.

She’d left without a taste of that gorgeous pie, too.

Based on their conversation last night when she’d checked in, the inn’s owner Susan had seemed like a nice middle-aged woman with a gift for making people feel welcome. Gabby didn’t peg her as the type to withhold essentials such as coffee and toast simply because she didn’t like what Gabby was planning to do.

Unfortunately there really was no way of knowing. If Zhanna and Adel were any indication, Gabby probably wasn’t going to be the most welcome person on the island.

But this was a new day and she’d woken herself up with a pep talk.

She’d been fired. Nothing remained to go back to so she needed to make this new job work. If she could accomplish what no editor had accomplished to date, maybe she could leapfrog over a few people in the company and have an above entry-level position. If she actually convinced Jamison to tell his story to her while she wrote it, maybe the publishing company would line up more biographies for her. That was a role she could get behind.

Jamison’s biography, as written by her, would hit bestseller lists. She would be back on the talk-show circuit, only this time as the interviewee. A sneaky thought drifted through her conscience, pointing out this crazy need to have more instead of being happy with what she had, but she squashed it before it fully formed.

Gabby stopped at the bottom of the stairs and poked her head into the dining room. There was one table for all the guests and on it sat a pitcher of juice and what appeared to be a pot of coffee. With not a little awkwardness, she took the seat over the single place setting laid out and hoped it was for her. Then the door on the opposite wall—that presumably lead to the kitchen—opened and Susan entered wearing a crisp white apron which made her look like a young Julia Child. She set a basket of assorted breads next to Gabby and smiled.

“Good morning.”

Gabby felt a little more confident now. The diner women had not been in contact. “Good morning.”

“I hope you don’t mind eating alone, but you’re my only guest right now.”

Actually, Gabby preferred it. She’d been living on her own since she was eighteen—except for that brief stint with Brad—and she’d always felt mornings were sacred time. Silence was needed to get your head straight for the events of the day. Silence was also needed until the coffee kicked in.

“Not a problem.”

“Now there is juice and coffee…”

Gabby didn’t wait for the rest. She turned over the cup in front of her and reached for the pot. The smell of it as it poured out was life changing.

“Here are some pastries. But what can I make you? I can do eggs and bacon. Or, if you don’t mind waiting a bit, I can do homemade French toast.”

Gabby tried to pretend her mouth wasn’t watering over the French toast. Strength. Willpower. “Just wheat toast if you have it. Dry.”

Susan’s expression fell. “Dry wheat toast? That’s it?”

“I’m watching my figure.” Gabby patted what she considered to be an only slightly larger than average hip.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Your figure is fine.” Susan sighed. “But I suppose if it’s all you want, then that’s easy enough. You know, this isn’t a normal time of year for vacationers. Not that I’ve ever had that many. Even in the summer the water is too cold to swim in, which puts us low on most people’s lists of vacation spots. But in the fall folks like to come for the foliage. You’re darn near my first guest in the month of April.”

“Do you run this whole place on your own?”

“Yep. Just me. My husband—sorry ex-husband—used to be around to help, but it wasn’t his life. He said, ‘Susan, I’m not living my life.’ I said, ‘George, then you go do what you need to do.’”

Gabby nodded as she sipped her coffee. Her separation from Brad had been slightly more acrimonious with a great deal more foul words.

Even before Susan spoke next, Gabby could sense her purpose. “Back to you, April is somewhat of a strange time to take a trip north.”

“Actually, I’m here working.”

“Oh. That makes more sense. Working on what, dear?”

“A novel,” she lied. “I’m a writer. Fiction. Pure fiction. I want to set my story on an island, so I came here to do some research.”

Susan clapped her hands. “Oh, isn’t that fascinating. A writer. Have I heard of you?”

Gabby wondered how much trouble she would get into if she lied and said her pen name was Nora Roberts. Best not to go too far out on the limb. “No, I’m just starting.”

“Well, good luck to you. You’re welcome to stay with me as long as you like. I’ve got no reservations for at least the next six weeks, which means you’re going to be spoiled, spoiled, spoiled. I hope you don’t mind.”

Spoiled, spoiled, spoiled. That would be a first for Gabby. One of the downsides of living alone was you had to do everything for yourself. She never minded it really, but she also had no problem trying on spoiled to see how it fit.

Susan left Gabby to her coffee and thoughts. She’d gone to sleep last night thinking about what her next step should be. Obviously, Jamison wasn’t open to the idea of his story being told. And as obviously, some of the locals were hostile, too. That meant she was going to have a hard time getting people to talk about him. It would be a lot easier to write this book with his buy-in.

A story like the one she imagined McKay wanted would have to be big in scope. It would need the color and depth of the perceptions from the locals who he’d lived among for the past eight years to help shape it. That wasn’t going to happen, not unless she got him to trust her.

The next step was clear then. She needed to get to know Jamison Hunter—not as an editor who had an agenda, but as a person he might consider working with. She needed to let him see she didn’t intend to sensationalize him or vilify him. Gabby wasn’t interested in salaciousness for the sake of selling books. Of course, McKay might have a different view—scandal sold. But she imagined anyone interested in the story of Jamison Hunter was looking for more than a few sordid facts about his infidelity.

People wanted the truth. They knew what he did. What they wanted to know was why. Why a man of seemingly high honor and definite bravery could become a lying, cheating scumbag. It was the contradiction that made him so fascinating. That’s what she wanted to write about. That’s what she wanted to read about.

She needed to go to his house. At the very least she wanted to get a sense of how he lived and why he chose to live here. Not that it was all so far-fetched. Hawk Island was a perfect backdrop for a recluse. Accessible from the coast only by ferry, it was almost its own country separated from the U.S. by a couple of miles of cold north Atlantic water.

Where else would a man hunted by the world go to hide? Anyone not a local was easily identifiable. And if he’d done something to win over the locals here, which he’d obviously done with Adel and Zhanna, they could take extreme measures to make life difficult for anyone trying to pursue him.

Like denying people pie.

Adel and Zhanna. What had he done to win them over? Given his reputation it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that he’d seduced them. Adel was close to fifty if she was a day, but she was lean and strong and probably closer to his age than Zhanna.

But Zhanna was young and beautiful and exotic. The perfect target for a man on the prowl. Had he had his way with both? And if they were that loyal, did it mean he was that good?

Gabby shook the image from her head. Sex—especially Jamison having sex—was the last thing she needed in her head, combining with all the stuff about him in there. She’d had a crush on him, she’d been hurt by him. She’d even cried tears over him. Hell, she’d had a whole relationship with the man and she’d never met him until last night.

Bottom line was none of it mattered. Her crush, her anger, her wounds…none of it. She was over him, over the infatuation. She needed to be if she going to be objective in helping him tell his story.

Gabby Haines was a professional and she would act like one. Even if it meant working with and getting to know a man who was—she had to face it—a liar.

Gabby hated liars. She’d had enough of them in her life. From the father who always said he would come to see her after the divorce, but didn’t, to her fiancé who said he loved her, but didn’t, to her half sister who said she hadn’t meant to fall in love with Gabby’s fiancé, but did.

When Susan brought the toast out it was exactly as ordered—dry and consequently difficult to eat. Or it might have been thinking about Kim and Brad that left a bad taste in Gabby’s mouth. Fortunately, the quality of the coffee almost made up for it. Either way she had enough fuel to start her day.

Brand-new start plus good coffee equals a great day, every time.

She had parked the rental car on the street in front of the B and B, but that didn’t seem to bother anyone. There were no posted signs about places and times to park. Definitely not like Manhattan where there was a plethora of signs telling people where they couldn’t park—among other things—and people choosing to disobey those signs.

Looking at the practical beige Ford rental, Gabby couldn’t help but remember the powder blue Beemer with gray leather interior she’d bought herself as her thirtieth birthday present. It had been a declaration of her success and she loved driving it. But once she’d decided to move to New York City, it was clear she didn’t need a car. So, her heart breaking one more time, she’d sold it and used the money to help pay the rent on her apartment in Brooklyn until she found a job.

Besides, after losing her job, she’d felt like a fraud in the car. It was a reflection of everything she had been, but no longer was. Its perfection ridiculed her whenever she got behind the wheel.

Look everyone. See how far Gabby Haines has fallen.

Not allowing herself to descend into doom and gloom mode, she focused on the task at hand.

Jamison’s house was about ten minutes up a winding road from where the main street cut through the island. On the map there were only four documented roads that crisscrossed the island leading north, south, east or west from the main street that occupied the epicenter. In reality, there were also a number of smaller roads that looked more like paved driveways, which led to the scattering of homes and cabins peppering the tiny island.

Jamie’s house was situated on what must be the highest point of the island. That position probably guaranteed him a view of the water from the second level of the house. It also set him far apart from the other homes guaranteeing no neighbors within at least a half a mile of the place.

Perfect for a recluse.

Parking the car where she had last night, Gabby didn’t relish climbing the stairs again. Nor did she anticipate a friendlier welcome simply because it was morning.

So how did a person go about striking up a conversation with someone when said target would not allow her into his home?

Confront him outside his home.

It seemed plausible. Your basic run of the mill, bump into you, hey, good to see you again, type of moment. Gabby peered through the windshield and spotted the dirt path which must be his driveway. She could hang out in her car, wait for him to leave, follow him to wherever he was going then pounce when he least expected it.

What if he’d already left to go to work? Did he even have a job?

She would ask him when they spoke. She couldn’t imagine what he would do on this island. The man had been an astronaut for crying out loud. How did anyone, disgraced hero or not, come down from a job like that?

She didn’t picture him selling screwdrivers in the local hardware store or flipping burgers for Adel. There wasn’t much else in the way of labor on the island. It was possible he ferried to the mainland daily, but the commute would be enough of a hassle to outweigh the privacy of island living.

Since there was no point waiting for someone who wasn’t even home to leave, Gabby got out of the car.

Wind whipped around her and she snuggled into her winter coat. She’d worn jeans and a sweater today, adapting to the local climate. But the only real practical shoes she had were her loafers. She had packed sneakers since step two in her new life was to transform her body and she had the vague notion that daily, hour-long speed walks would accomplish that. But she couldn’t fathom the idea of using them for any other purpose than to work out. Did Barbara Walters interview people while wearing sneakers? Did Oprah? Certainly not.

Her feet managed to go from cozy to frigid in minutes, but she didn’t let it stop her. She walked up the dirt driveway making sure to stay to one side in case a vehicle came down and she had to make an emergency dive into the bushes.

She laughed at that image of herself attempting to hide in the foliage as Jamison approached. She suspected her feet in the air might give her away. Still she clung to her plan as she climbed—or more accurately stumbled since the loafers provided little traction—up the driveway.

Gabby couldn’t help but wonder what type of car he might have. Something sleek and fast. High performing and responsive. A man who had flown jet fighters would need something to keep up with him, wouldn’t he?

What if he had a motorcycle?

The image of him on a bike, flying down the road without fear or caution seemed accurate. Definitely a motorcycle, she decided. Or, at the very least, a convertible.

Which is why the old white truck was such a letdown. It sat alone at the top of the driveway parked a short distance from the house. Gabby remembered the dog from last night and listened for the sound of barking to announce her presence, but she heard nothing.

A dumpy, old white truck. Not fast, sleek or high performing. Maybe when he’d walked away from his former life he felt he needed to go to extremes. This truck was it. And a pretty good symbol of a man who once had everything and now had nothing.

Yeah, when they did finally talk, they were going to have a lot in common.

A muffled woof startled her. The sound wasn’t close and followed by an even softer bark, so she could tell it was moving away from her.

Circling the vehicle she looked toward the house and could see the new deck extending from the rear. The deck McKay Publishing paid for apparently.

In the summer it would provide a magnificent vista of green leaves and blue water. But the leaves had yet to come out and all she saw was a barren landscape leading down a hill to what she imagined was a narrow shoreline. The gray water seemed to blend with the overcast sky.

“Shep. Come on, old man.”

Gabby instinctively ducked at the sound of Jamison’s voice, not sure she was ready to announce her presence. She could see he was already heading down the hill that ran away from his house. She spied the top of his head, then a few seconds later his dog followed.

The dog stopped briefly, turning his head in her direction, but another command from Jamison had Shep moving forward tentatively, until eventually his master met him on the path, picked him up and carried him out of sight.

The plan had been to wait for Jamison to leave the house then meet him on neutral ground. A beach was fair game, wasn’t it? Gabby couldn’t imagine he owned all the property from the house to the water, so it wouldn’t be trespassing. She was just a regular tourist, out for a walk on the beach on a blistery April morning in Cole Hahn loafers.

Okay, not great. But it was better than if she’d been in stilettos.

Scrambling, she reached the edge of his deck and saw a path down the rocky hill. She waited a good two minutes to follow because she didn’t want to risk him spotting her on the approach. Not to mention each oomph, ow, oh, yikes she muttered as she tried to descend would certainly give her away. By the time she actually reached the beach, which was no more than a stretch of rocky pebbles approximately twenty feet wide, her ankles, calves and thighs were screaming.

“Don’t suppose you’re lost?”

Gabby shrieked at Jamison’s comment. There he was standing not ten feet away with his arms crossed over his chest.

He looked different in the daylight. A little older—maybe because of the gray hair. But there was nothing old about his physique. In a tight zip-up jacket and jogging pants he looked younger than she did. Lean, fit and strong. Definitely strong.

He should have been several minutes ahead of her on the beach by now. The fact he wasn’t meant stealth was not her strong point.

“You heard me coming.”

“Even Shep heard you coming.”

The brown and black German Sheppard tilted his head in acknowledgement.

“I was out for a walk.” Gabby tried not to cringe at the way her voice went up at the end of what should have been a statement.

“You were trespassing. We do have a sheriff on the island. I have every right to call him and have him pick you up. A few hours in a holding cell in the mainland might cure you of your curiosity.”

“Please don’t.” It seemed like a silly plea but she couldn’t stop herself. She’d made all that effort to get down the stupid path. Her feet were like blocks of ice. Here closer to the water the wind had picked up and was throwing her hair all around. And she was hungry because she’d only eaten dry toast for breakfast. So, no. Being arrested was not a good way to start her life over.

“Look, lady—”

“Gabby. Remember? Gabby Haines.”

“Gabby, I’m not going to give you what you want.”

“Why not?”

That seemed to give him pause. He opened his mouth and then closed it. “Because.” Then, as if realizing it was a ridiculous answer, he added, “What makes you think I would?”

“Because it’s been, what? Eight years?” she said taking a step forward. The dog let out a warning growl and she stopped. “It’s time people heard the whole story. There were so many rumors, so much speculation. You walked away without any explanations and left people assuming the worst about everything. As bad as what you did was, I can’t imagine you were as awful as the media painted you at the time.”

The rumors had been awful. He was cast as a high-flying jet jockey with women all over the world. Illegitimate children spread from Russia to China to Brazil and beyond. Alcohol, drugs, sex. One article said he used to take cocaine before getting in his F-16 to fly missions over Iraq.

He grimaced. “I never— Some of those rumors— Well, some of them weren’t true.”

“I know. Talk to me. Tell me who you were. Let me tell others.”

“What makes you think anyone would even care? Like you said it’s been ten years since the space station event, eight since my personal life imploded. Other stories have come and gone. The days of my infamy are long over.”

Gabby nodded as if in complete agreement. But they both knew he was leaving out a very significant reason why people might be interested in Jamison Hunter again.

“You’ve heard the reports about the trouble they’re having with the Space Station again. I know you have. Even on this island they must have cable.”

“Satellite. It’s the only way to go,” he muttered. “You think NASA might come and call me out of retirement for one more space walk, huh?”

“You don’t?”

He shook his head. “You don’t get it, lady—”

“Gabby or Gabriella,” she corrected. She wasn’t sure why she offered him her full name. Nobody ever called her by it.

“Sorry, Gabriella. I’m an old man. A washed-out hero whose day is over. They have younger and more qualified men and women for whatever space mission they are cooking up. Trust me.”

“You talk like you’re ready for the nursing home. You’re forty-five.”

“I might as well be eighty-five to NASA.”

“John Glenn went into space when he was seventy-seven.”

“I’m no John Glenn.”

“No, you aren’t,” she admitted. The sad fact of his disgrace would forever separate him from the other astronaut heroes. “But you did what Glen didn’t do. What so many astronauts before you never did. You saved fourteen lives that day. You should be remembered for your achievement.”

“Isn’t that what the internet is for?”

Gabby sensed a stalemate approaching. She had to be happy she’d gotten this far. They were talking. Communicating. She’d made her opening pitch. Now it was time to back off.

“You don’t have to make any decisions today.”

He chuckled. “I’ve already made my decision.”

“Look, can’t you take some time to get to know me? You’ll see I’m not all that bad and I’m not out to destroy you or rehash the terrible things said about you. Maybe you’ll come to trust me.”

“Doubt it,” he said. He considered her for a moment, but she had a hard time interpreting the gleam in his eye. “You want me to get to know you, huh? Are you asking me out on a date?”

As if. Gabby couldn’t reign in her laughter. A date. With Jamison Hunter. Yeah, right. Pigs could fly and the sky was green. A date. The word was so foreign to her it might as well have been…well, foreign.

“Uh, no.”

His face fell a little bit then. “Right. No point in going out with someone you think will cheat on you.”

That had nothing to do with her reaction, but now he said it she figured it was true, as well. Gabby had been down the betrayal path and had scars to prove it. As a result she’d spent every day since avoiding situations where she might be betrayed again.

Of course, that hadn’t really worked out, either. Her boss at the station, a woman she considered a friend, had been the one to fire her.

“Can’t we just talk a bit? I can go with you on your walk.”

“I don’t walk. But if you can keep up, you’re welcome to talk.” He turned and started jogging, his dog valiantly trying to follow close on his heels.

Seriously? He wanted her to jog with him? Actually, no. He wanted to get rid of her. He probably thought this was the best way. Outrun the girl with the chubby cheeks, why don’t you.

A fit of anger overtook her. She wasn’t an invalid for Pete’s sake. She’d eaten a few too many French fries was all. She could run. At least as fast as that. Ready to shove his words back down his throat, she started off on a pace slightly faster than what he was doing so that she’d catch up.

The loafers on the rocky soil weren’t helping though. After a few steps she could feel sand filling up the spaces around her feet.

Cursing, she stopped once to shake each shoe out, then started after him again. She’d almost caught up to the dog when she tripped. She stumbled on the ground, her hands sliding out to break her fall, collecting some scrapes along the way.

Jamison turned back, scowling at her the entire way. He lifted her to her feet as if all those French fries were a figment of her imagination. For a second their hands brushed and she tried to pretend her stomach didn’t flip as a result.

“Are you all right?”

“I guess,” she said grudgingly. Except she was embarrassed, her knee was throbbing and she suspected she was about to burst into tears at any moment. She’d fallen down in front of him. He’d had to pick her up. How much more pathetic did it get?

“If you can’t keep up, you can’t keep up. See you around.”

Great, she thought as she stood there watching the man and his dog take off down the beach without her. She knew it was probably her imagination, but the dog’s tail seemed to wag a little harder.

Even Shep was mocking her.