Читать книгу The Way Back - Stephanie Doyle, Stephanie Doyle - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

THE NEXT DAY, Jamison headed for his daily jog, but was stopped before he could even start. Perhaps he should have been surprised by the sight of Gabby on the beach waiting for him. He wasn’t. As a man who prided himself with being honest—at least with himself—he had to admit he was…delighted to see her again.

He really didn’t want to think about what that reaction meant.

Instead, right now he had the persistent editor who wanted to be a writer to deal with. He’d much rather deal with the attractive woman, but it was clear her professional persona came first.

Damn.

After leaving her in his dust yesterday, Jamie knew he hadn’t seen the last of her. She’d been wounded and humiliated, but he got the sense she wouldn’t quit so easily. He’d expected to find her stalking him into town. Or maybe hiding out in his bushes. What he didn’t anticipate was her making a second attempt to keep up with him running.

Her hair was tied in a ponytail. Those long dark waves hanging down her back were giving him fits at night. He was imagining all sorts of dirty things he’d like to do with that hair. Not the least of which was grip it tightly in his hand while he thrust into her from behind.

Swell, he was getting aroused before his run. That was not going to be comfortable.

“I wasn’t prepared yesterday so I went shopping,” she said, indicating the Lycra running pants and pullover she wore.

“I see that,” he murmured. Her legs looked long in the sleek black material. The pullover she wore came down over her hips, which, like most women, she obviously wanted to hide. But the legs were all out there for him to see and they looked pretty damn good. “You think you can keep up now you have the right equipment?”

She raised her arms over her head and put one leg behind the other as if she was stretching. Then she switched legs after only a moment letting him know she had no clue what she was doing.

“I’m going to give it my best try. You did say we could talk while we run.”

Right. He ran five eight-minute miles every day. As an obvious novice she had no hope of keeping up.

“That’s what I said.” Jamie bent to rub his dog’s collar. “I’m going to do my usual pace, buddy. You can hang back with her.”

The dog shook his tail.

“Yeah, I know you don’t like it, but those legs are getting too old for the pace. At least today you’ll have company.” It bothered him that Shep was stopping earlier and earlier into the run. It didn’t seem that long ago that Shep would outpace him for the entire five miles.

She hopped up and down a few times and he could see the cold air puffing off her lips. It wasn’t frigid this morning but the coolness would make it harder for her to breathe. He couldn’t help but wonder how long she thought she would manage.

He didn’t wait to ask her. Instead he trotted down the beach at his normal warm-up speed. He could hear her crunching behind him, her rhythm quickly becoming erratic.

“You do this every day?” she called.

“Every day,” he said without turning around. He didn’t want to give her any encouragement although he wouldn’t have minded watching the ponytail—or other parts of her body for that matter—bounce around.

“So if NASA did come calling, you could tell them you’re in good physical shape.”

“I’m in excellent physical shape,” he said trying not to brag. “But it still doesn’t mean I would be a viable candidate.”

“Because of the scandal?”

He tried not to wince at the word. It was so dramatic. “Because I’m retired.”

She was puffing now and falling back a few steps as he increased his speed. “But what if they really needed you?”

What if they did? Jamie shook his head. They wouldn’t. There were always others to fill the spaces opened by those who retired. The finest pilots. The best minds. If the Space Station was truly in trouble and the International Space Committee asked NASA for help, NASA had a rich pool of talent to select from.

Besides, he couldn’t fathom any reason why he would put himself through it all again. The press. The media. The spotlight. Hell, no. Jamie Hunter’s days of standing in front of a camera were over.

“Can you hold up a minute?”

He stopped and saw her several yards behind. She was bent over with her hand grasping her waist. Trying to breathe out a cramp no doubt. She’d barely lasted five minutes.

Rookie.

“Sorry. You know the rules. If you want, you can walk with Shep.”

* * *

GREAT. THE DOG AGAIN. Gabby wondered how much insight into his master Shep could provide.

“I’m guessing not much,” she wheezed. “Right. You’re not talking about him, either. Oh, my goodness, this is painful.” She was finally able to work out the cramp in her rib cage. Several deep breaths and she could stand upright. She thought about starting again, but her legs felt like rubber.

Best to walk it out for a while. As she put one foot in front of the other the dog came to walk by her side. Crazy, but she sort of liked the company and she felt sorry for a loyal friend who was getting too old to keep up with his master.

Her performance was pathetic. That she had deluded herself into thinking she’d be able to run with Jamison… Well, she would have laughed if she’d had the lung capacity. Intellectually she knew a person didn’t get in shape overnight. Not when it had taken so long to get out of shape. She never really saw it happening. She’d never been a work-out fiend. In her twenties what she ate or drank never impacted her figure at all. A couple of times a week at the gym, thirty or so minutes on the treadmill or a stationary bike and she was fine.

It wasn’t until her work weeks started getting longer and her trips to the gym grew fewer that everything changed. Gradually, the inches had packed on. Not enough to make her worried, but enough to maybe shop for clothes one size up than what she’d been wearing. Or to pick a top that hid the little extra around her middle.

Certainly there had to be some forgiveness. At that point, she’d been working harder than she ever had before. Giving more of herself to the show rather than her personal life. Yes, she knew the demographics and format were aimed at a younger audience. A local show competing against a major network had no shot of beating them, but it could target a certain age range.

The guest singers were in their teens, the actors promoting their TV shows and movies were barely into their twenties and Gabby never considered interviewing an athlete over thirty. Only really famous movies stars and the city’s mayor could break the no-one-over-thirty rule.

It wasn’t until last year that she finally stopped for a second and took notice of the people she was working with, the people she was interviewing, even the people she was working for. In an instant she felt older and bigger than she should. For Pete’s sake, how old was Katie Couric when she landed the Today Show?

But Gabby Haines wasn’t Katie Couric and Wake Up, Philadelphia wasn’t the Today Show. And she’d gone up two dress sizes. When her boss suggested a Botox treatment Gabby had flipped. She was smart, she was personable. People opened up to her. She was a damn good interviewer. And they wanted her to inject poison into her skin to help the ratings?

After she refused she’d been fired.

“Fired,” she sighed. The word still sat like lead on her heart.

Woman and dog made their way down the beach, which framed the north end of the island. Moving around one bend, the vista opened up for a piece. She could see a few docks stretching out into the water with skiffs and bigger sail boats tied to them bobbing with the ocean’s movement.

Way up ahead she could see Jamison. Still running. Completely uncatchable.

No doubt when the dog tired, he would simply lay down and wait for his master to return. After about a mile or so the dog plopped down in the sand letting the sun warm his belly before resting his head on his paws.

“Yeah, I’m beat, too. You tell him, though, this isn’t done. Not by a long shot.”

At least she hoped it wasn’t done.

* * *

“SO HOW IS IT GOING?”

“Good,” Gabby lied, glad Melissa couldn’t see her wince. She knew cell phone technology was advancing so people could face time instead of just talk. Gabby had no plans to purchase one of those phones anytime soon. She’d been walking to her car when she got the call and picked up immediately the way any good employee would do.

Opening the door she sat on the driver’s seat glad to no longer be walking. “We’re talking,” she added confidently. At least that much was true.

“Has he changed his position about writing the book at all?”

“Uh…” Nope. “I think he’s looking at all the possibilities. Let me ask you, Melissa, who would do the actual writing? I mean, the man’s an astronaut not a writer obviously. Maybe that’s what is holding him back. A bad case of writer’s block.”

“We could hire a ghost writer. We do it all the time for celebrity autobiographies. Heck, we did an autobiography of a rock star who, I was pretty sure, didn’t know how to read let alone write.”

“How does a person get that job? Would she interview or provide some samples…what?”

“What are you getting at, Gabby?”

Apparently Gabby hadn’t been very subtle. She could hear Melissa’s sharp tone loud and clear even though the cell reception on the island wasn’t the greatest. “You know I have a background in journalism. I’m a solid writer. I’m also a good interviewer.”

“You want to write Jamison Hunter’s story.”

It wasn’t a question—was that good or bad? She hadn’t been working with Melissa long enough to tell. “Am I the first newbie to suggest something so crazy?”

“No. But you’re also the only newbie I know who has actually gotten him to talk and hasn’t been crying when I called for an update.” She paused. “Look, Gabby, I can’t promise anything. But if you can convince him to do this book and you’ve forged some kind of connection with him, well, that will definitely be taken into consideration. First things first, though—we need a commitment. A time frame. Something, anything we can plan with.”

“I’m working on it,” Gabby assured her.

“Do it. And Gabby? An FYI. You’ve basically let me know you have no real desire to be an editor. So you better make this ghost writer thing work for you because I don’t know how much of a future you have as a junior editor at McKay Publishing. I know it sucks. But I don’t need people filling in time here while they search for a different career. I need people who want to do the job they have.”

Gabby swallowed hard before she could speak. “I understand.”

“Okay, good. Now, get me that book.”

Gabby ended the call and felt the air in her lungs swoosh out of her.

So this is what it felt like to burn a bridge.

* * *

IT WAS AFTER SEVEN o’clock at night and Gabby finally had to admit she was starving. After her jog-slash-mostly-walk, she’d returned to the inn to shower, change and then set about doing what she imagined most successful ghost writers did—research and write down observations she had about her subject.

She’d contemplated using a recorder to capture her thoughts, but having tried it once to prepare verbal notes for interviews, she knew she felt silly talking aloud into it. Not to mention when she paused during her thought process she made this weird breathing sound she suspected she made a lot but was able to ignore as long as she didn’t hear it played back through a recorder.

Instead she typed random thoughts into her laptop and saved the document simply as Hunter.

Things she knew about him so far—he didn’t want to be interviewed. He was shorter in person. He was hotter in person. She deleted that point. His natural instinct was to help her when she’d fallen even though he didn’t want to be bothered by her. He drove a truck instead of a motorcycle. He spoke to his dog in soft affectionate tones, which made her shiver a little. She deleted that point, too.

Not exactly ground-breaking biographical material at this point but she was just starting out.

After the past hour of staring at the screen and telling herself her stomach wasn’t growling, she finally had to admit it was. Which meant going in search of food. After the horror at the café two nights ago, she’d chosen a convenience store hot dog for last night’s dinner. On the island there was one gas station with a small food store next to it. In the store there was a rotisserie containing three hot dogs she was fairly sure had been sitting on the rack for minimum of two years.

The store was down one hot dog and she was down about five Tums to digest the thing, which meant she wasn’t going back.

Earlier in the day she’d tried to hint to Susan an inn that served dinner probably would be a smashing hit, but the caretaker merely smiled and said breakfast was her forte. But for a fine meal Gabby could do worse than the café down the street.

Unless the café people hated her.

There was always the hope she could be worried for nothing. Maybe Adel and Zhanna didn’t work every night. Or if one of them did, maybe they would stay in the back and Gabby would have a different waitress serve her. Perfect. Where there was hope, there was food.

Gabby put on her sneakers. She concluded that as unfashionable as they might be, they were the only practical shoes she owned. Anything less than heavy socks and total foot coverage was plain stupid for as cold as it was. Bundling into her coat, she trotted down the street and crossed in front of the café. No jaywalking signs. No clearly marked pedestrian walkways. In this town you looked both ways and, if there were no cars coming, you crossed.

If there were, and you chose to ignore them, you got hit.

Seemed pretty straightforward to her and a lot simpler calculating if you could get across the street with the seconds counting down on the pedestrian traffic light.

The bell chimed as she stepped inside the restaurant and her hopes were quickly dashed.

“Oy, it’s you again.”

“Hello, Zhanna. Nice to see you.”

“Sit,” the girl said pointing to an empty booth. “I’ll be with you when I choose.”

Gabby took encouragement she hadn’t been told to leave. If she was sitting, there was a good shot they would feed her. She didn’t allow herself to reach for the menu. She didn’t want to know the sumptuous specials they were offering tonight. All she needed was a salad. With the dressing on the side.

On the side. On the side.

“Don’t let her scare you.”

Gabby looked to the man sitting at the counter who swiveled his seat in her direction.

“Too late.”

He laughed. “It’s just her way. Deep inside she’s got a heart of gold. I’m pretty sure anyway.” He hopped off his stool and offered her a hand. “I’m Tom. I’m the lone vet on the island.”

She shook it and answered his smile. It was nice to feel a little welcomed. “I’m Gabby. Nice to meet you.”

“What brings you to Hawk Island?”

“She wants to expose Jamie to horrible ridicule and humiliation,” Zhanna stated, her order pad in her hand as she practically pushed herself between Tom and Gabby. “You don’t want anything to do with this one, Tom. I’m fairly certain she kills little animals for fun.”

Gabby’s jaw dropped. “I do not.”

Tom chuckled. “Don’t let Zhanna get to you. She’s all bark, Gabby. Good luck with whatever.”

“Do you want to get pie from me or not, Mr. Tom?”

His eyes twinkled. “Honey, I always want pie from you.”

“Oh, hush now. Go sit on stool and I’ll fix you something hearty. You are always too skinny.”

Tom wandered to the counter and Zhanna’s eyes stayed with him for a minute longer than was natural. Then, as if shaking herself out of a trance, she focused on Gabby.

“Now you. What do you want?”

“A salad. With the dressing on the—”

“Got it.” Zhanna walked away before Gabby could finish speaking.

Digging into her purse Gabby pulled out a pen and pad and started writing. One of the keys to weight loss she read was to document everything she ate in a day plus her amount of exercise.

Dry toast again this morning. Extensive jogging for five minutes. Salad with dressing on the side…

Zhanna plunked a plate in front of her. It sounded much too heavy for salad. It smelled way better, too.

“You did say hamburger and fries, didn’t you?”

“No.” Gabby looked at the plate of food and nearly wanted to cry. A large patty with cheese drooping down the side mocked her. Lettuce and tomato were merely camouflage. The big soft bun was made out of white flour instead of whole wheat. Not fair.

She stared at it and tried to ignore the rest of the plate which was teaming with crisp golden French fries.

She was starving. It smelled delicious. These women were evil.

The door to the café opened and Gabby glanced up to see Jamison enter. Zhanna turned and gave him a silly half smile.

He walked to her and clucked a finger beneath her chin in greeting. “Hello, brat.”

“Hello, my favorite customer.” The tone was sarcastic but friendly. These two knew each other well. Not a surprise given Zhanna’s loyalty to him. Once again thoughts of how Jamison might have seduced the young woman filtered through Gabby’s mind. But watching them, she did have to admit there were no sexual sparks between them. More like easy friendship.

“Gabriella.”

“Jamison.” Great. The one person who knew she could barely run for ten minutes spotted her behind a plate of artery-clogging—and very delicious-smelling—food. She felt her cheeks flame up and she blurted, “I didn’t order this.”

He laughed. “Then why did Zhanna bring it to you?”

Gabby figured ratting out his friend probably wasn’t a smart idea.

“Ah, I see,” he said, grasping the situation. “And what did you order?”

“A salad with dressing on the side. I ordered it…on the side.”

He nodded. Then gave Zhanna a slightly disapproving glare. “Having a little fun with the new person in town?”

“She wants to write about you,” Zhanna said sulkily.

“I know. How was the burger done?”

“Medium.”

Jamison lifted the plate and set it on the table in the empty booth behind her. “Bring her the salad, Zee.”

“Oy. Always the forgiving one.” With a huff she went into the kitchen.

Gabby could feel him settle down directly behind her. He wasted no time digging into her burger.

“Thank you.”

Around a mouthful of meat, he mumbled she was welcome.

“You should know if you hadn’t come in I probably would have eaten it. I don’t have much willpower.”

He didn’t comment.

She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to confess to him, but it was important she not seem hypocritical. At least with herself. She wasn’t perfect. There was no point pretending she was. If he knew that about her, it might make it easier for him to trust her.

Adel emerged from the kitchen a minute later. The salad was big and brimming with vegetables. The dressing was in a cup on the side.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah.”

It seemed her relationship with Jamison’s dog was the best one Gabby had cultivated so far.

The café remained empty except for the two of them in the booths and Tom at the counter who was definitely taking a very long time to chose his meal. Despite the impatient way she’d treated Gabby, Zhanna did not seem to mind his indecisiveness.

As Gabby picked through lettuce, cucumbers and tomatoes she could hear Jamison’s fork hitting the plate and imagined him diving into those decadent fries. It seemed awkward to have him behind her. But he hadn’t asked to join her and she didn’t want him to think if she invited him, she was doing so only to get information from him.

She wasn’t out for the story tonight. A little company, however, would be nice.

Picking up her plate and dressing, she moved booths and sat across from him before he could object. He raised his eyebrows to let her know she’d been a bit daring, but before he could speak she did.

“Relax, I’m not going to grill you for facts about your life.”

“I wouldn’t give them to you if you did.”

She ignored that. “It seems stupid the two of us eating alone.”

“I eat alone most nights.”

So did she. Most meals in fact. She preferred it that way. Or at least she thought she did. It had been the idea of him being there, only a foot away from her, but still separate that had bothered her. Two days of trespassing, two days of being left in his dust, yet Gabby was beginning to feel a connection. Sort of.

“Can’t we have a normal conversation?”

“We could. If you were a normal woman and not a writer. But then, if you were a normal woman, this might be a date and we both know you wouldn’t consent to that.”

Just the word date made her nervous. “It can’t be a date if neither person asked the other to be with them.”

“Right. You didn’t ask. You barged. Kind of like you did when you came to my house, then again on my beach. You know you what you are,” he said shaking a fry in her direction. “You’re a barger.”

“That’s not a word. But I have a solution. Tonight I’m not a writer or a date. Let’s call me a tourist.”

“And what am I?”

“You’re the local. You tell me what it’s like to live on an island.”

He pulled another fry from the pile and chewed while he contemplated her suggestion. Because she’d already told him she was weak-willed, she didn’t feel guilty at all about snatching one of his fries for herself.

It was delicious. Maybe a little more salt.

“Please, feel free,” he said as she sprinkled some salt on one corner of his plate.

“You want a cucumber in exchange?

“Is that a joke?”

“Right. So, tell me what it’s like here.”

“It’s quiet. What you would expect. A few small businesses, but most of the folks here are fishermen. Lobstermen to be exact.”

“Lobster. That’s right. This is Maine.” It was odd. Suddenly Gabby felt like Dorothy emerging from her tornado-tossed house. She wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

He scowled at her. “You don’t know where you are?”

“I know where I am,” she snapped. “I guess it just occurred to me where the place was. I’ve been more focused on the journey. By way of Philadelphia.”

“So what happened?”

She wasn’t sure what he meant and her face must have shown that.

“You. Here. The big story. Something sent you on your way. Turned you back into a newbie.”

She shifted in her seat. Telling him the story wasn’t as easy as it had been telling the women. “I got fired.”

“And you’re here to start your life over. I knew it.”

“Something like that.”

He shook his head and pushed away the plate. He’d devoured the burger and between the two of them they’d eaten every fry. Gabby took another stab at a tomato to counterbalance the fat.

“I’m nobody’s do-over.”

“I didn’t say that. Look, at first I thought this was going to be a simple retrieval assignment for my boss. But I realize there is something more here. Something bigger. I don’t want to write anyone’s story. I want to write yours.”

“You’ll need to get used to the disappointment. Since I didn’t order the burger I figure dinner is on you.”

Vaguely, Gabby wondered how she might sneak it into her expense report. Although she didn’t imagine McKay would mind her buying their meal ticket dinner. “Done. But you need to leave the tip.”

“Why?”

“They won’t take my money.”

He slid out of the booth and dropped a five dollar bill on the table. “You better get used to that, too. Folks around here won’t take kindly to what you’re doing.”

“What are they going to do? Kick me off the island?” She thought she’d made a joke. But he didn’t smile.

“They might.”