Her Sure Thing. Helen Brenna
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that case—” Sean picked up the suitcase and started toward his stables “—see you at the end of summer.”
“Sean?”
The catch in her voice made him stop and turn. Her two younger kids were already boarding the ferry.
“Glen was…hard on him,” she said, her eyes pooling with tears. “But he’s a good kid deep down inside. Give him a chance to prove it.” Then she turned and ran to follow her other kids.
Three months. Then Sean’s life would return to normal. Maybe he’d been worried over this for nothing. He was an intelligent, competent man who’d made life and death decisions for years in the blink of an eye as an E.R. doctor. How hard could playing dad be?
“TAKE MY LUGGAGE TO THE master bedroom.” Grace Kahill pointed up the stairs as she walked through the first floor of the spacious colonial she’d rented for the summer, cracking open windows as she went. Since when did Mirabelle Island get this hot and humid this early in June? More to the point, how could she have rented a place without central air?
But then only a few days ago, she reminded herself, she’d been thinking of buying a beach place in Malibu. Given the late notice, she was lucky to have found any rental at all available here for the entire summer.
“Set up the computer and printer in the study at the front of the house,” she went on, shrugging out of her jean jacket. “The exercise bike goes right…” She studied the layout of the living room and pointed to a spot near the large picture window. “Here. The treadmill goes next to it. The plasma screen replaces that piece of…junk.” She pointed at the old box of a TV in the corner, surprised the contraption didn’t come complete with rabbit ears. “And I want cable and wireless capabilities installed by the end of the day. Got that?”
“Um…ah…” The mover glanced at her, then seemed to stare toward her neck.
An instantaneous sense of panic swept through her. Oh, God. Quickly, she found her reflection in the mirror hanging in the foyer and scanned her appearance. It’s okay. It’s all right. She hadn’t repositioned her layered T-shirts when she’d taken off her jacket. Taking a long, slow breath, she put her jacket back on. Just to be safe. “Did you hear a word of what I just said?”
“Um…yes, ma’am.”
“Do I look like a ma’am to you?”
“Ah, not really…Mrs. Kahill.”
No one ever called her Mrs. Kahill, either. “Grace. Just Grace will do fine.”
“Okay. Sure.”
Two more hulking men lumbered through the front door carrying suitcases, trunks and boxes, everything she owned that wasn’t being held in storage. The men stopped and stared at her as if they’d never seen a woman before. No longer worried about her shirt having shifted, she impatiently crossed her arms and transferred her weight to one leg. The novelty of any man’s obvious approval of her looks had worn off long before her twenty-fifth cover shot, and these days, more than anything else, it aggravated her. Was it too much to ask to be treated like a regular human being?
“I’m not paying you gentlemen to stand here,” she said. “Get this place set up.”
“Will do, ma—ah, Grace.” The head mover directed the other two men and the three set off in various directions.
She opened a few more windows, hoping to catch a breeze, and glanced around the place. What had ever possessed her to come back to, of all places, Mirabelle Island? Hadn’t she left this place, vowing never to return, before even graduating from high school?
If not here, though, where? There was nothing left for her in L.A., she reminded herself. Not anymore. You’re here now. Might as well make the best of it. Besides, Dad needs you.
She’d already called her father to let him know she’d arrived, but since he was busy all afternoon she’d have the rest of the day to get settled. She’d be comfortable enough in this rental, she supposed, even if the house’s blue-and-white seaside decor was a bit dated. At least it was private, located at the end of the road at the top of the hill overlooking Mirabelle’s village center, the marina and the daunting expanse of Lake Superior.
Her cell phone rang, and she glanced at the number displayed on the small screen. Excited now, she quickly answered the call. “Are you ready?”
“Yep,” the man said.
“You’re still at the airport?”
“Yep. If that’s what you could call these two short strips of cement. Been busy getting all Louie’s things together. He’s good to go.”
Mirabelle’s tiny airport didn’t get used very often, but at least the island had one. It had made her move here as simple as could be by having the movers load all of her things on a chartered flight out of L.A. “How’s Louie doing?”
“Better,” the man said. “Considering he’s never been on a plane before, he’s doing great.”
Their landing had been a bit rough, so while Louie was settling down she’d left with the movers to bring things to the house. “Good.” Grace felt herself smile for the first time that day. “You know where you’re going to meet me, then?”
“Yep. We’ll be there.”
She’d no sooner disconnected the call than her cell rang again. The moment she recognized her personal assistant’s number, her spirits sank. This call felt like an intrusion, a piece of her old life butting in and dampening her attempt at a fresh start. But she had loose ends to tie up. Might as well face the camera lens. “Hello, Amanda.”
“Good morning, Grace. How are you this fine Monday morning?”
“Could be better.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Amanda sounded sincere enough, but then Grace did cut her generous payroll checks. “Especially since you have such a busy day scheduled. A yoga session at ten and lunch with the fitness video folks at noon. Then a doctor’s appointment at three.”
“Cancel everything.”
“That’s not a problem for lunch and yoga, but…” The young woman hesitated. “You’re supposed to stick to your doctor’s checkup schedule and you missed your last appointment.”
“I don’t care. Cancel everything.” After all the surgeries, physical therapy, and doctor, acupuncture and chiropractor appointments, stacked one on top of the other over the past year, Grace was wholeheartedly sick of every medical care professional on the face of this earth.
“Grace—”
“Leave it, Amanda. You’re not my mother.”
Grace had no mother. Not anymore.
For the first time since the funeral, she missed her mom. They may not have gotten along once Grace had hit thirteen, but for the first twelve years of Grace’s life, Jean Andersen had been Grace’s rock. Moms fixed things. They made the world right. Now more than ever, Grace was on her own.
“While you’re canceling appointments for me today,” Grace went on, “you might as well cancel my entire summer.”
“What? As in the next three months? You sure about that?”
As sure as she could be about anything these days. “I’m falling off the grid for a while, so enjoy the time off with pay, Amanda. I’ll be back in the fall.”
The moment the words had left Grace’s mouth, one of the many knots in her stomach slowly unfurled. The weight that had been bearing down on her shoulders for the past year was slowly but surely being replaced by a curious sense of freedom. She’d gotten out of L.A. Finally. She could stretch out her arms and let her soul breathe.
“Grace, where are you?” Amanda asked.
“Mirabelle Island.”