Barefoot Season Part 27

"I'm going to be taking in the mortgage payment tomorrow," Mich.e.l.le said. "Along with what's owed for back payments. That will wipe me out but it'll be worth it."

Carly glanced at her. "I'm sorry Brenda screwed this all up. I mean that. I wish I could have stopped her."

Mich.e.l.le nodded slowly. "I believe you. Part of me thinks she was just stupid and part of me wonders if she did it on purpose. The inn always mattered more to me than her. For me it was my future. I think she felt it was a trap."

"You worked your b.u.t.t off here," Carly said. "I remember back in high school. You'd leave as soon as cla.s.ses were over and come back here. It was like you had a full-time job."

"I felt like I didn't have a choice."

"Now you're back. It's going great. You'll pay off the mortgages and be able to relax."

Mich.e.l.le nodded, then nibbled on the brownie, letting the moist, cakelike texture coat her tongue. She followed that with a sip of wine and knew she was about as close to heaven as she was going to get today.

"I knew my mom wouldn't take care of things," she admitted. "It turns out I was right." She sighed. "You were the smart one in high school. Hanging out with friends."

"I would rather have been with you," Carly told her.

"You came and helped me here."

"Until senior year."

When it had all gone to h.e.l.l, Mich.e.l.le thought.

Carly must have been thinking the same because she said, "We were both screwed up."

"I guess that happens when parents disappear."

"You should have told us."

Carly's statement, five simple words, hit Mich.e.l.le like a sucker punch. She sat up and swung her feet to the ground, facing her.

"Don't even start," she said, her voice low, her good mood evaporating like fog in the sun.

"Why not?" Carly sat up, as well. "We might have been able to stop them."

"How? We were seventeen years old. What were we going to do? Chain ourselves to the car? They were the ones who cheated. They were the ones who snuck out in the night without telling anyone. It's not what I did."

"I know," Carly said. "I tell myself that. But with my mom gone, it was horrible."

"You think it was better for me?" Mich.e.l.le demanded. "I was stuck here with Brenda."

"Who mostly ignored you."

"Your dad did the same. He was too drunk to know when you were around."

Mich.e.l.le wanted to call the words back. Talking about the drinking was one of those taboo subjects. She'd been friends with Carly and knew the shame that came with having a drunk for a father.

Carly set down her gla.s.s and wiped her fingers on her jeans. Then she stood.

"He wasn't too drunk all the time. He started hitting me after she left. He screamed that it was my fault. That she hadn't loved me. He said that was why she left. Because of me. And he had never loved me." Carly stared up at the sky, then back at Mich.e.l.le. "That's why I did it. That's why I went after all those boys. So I could make myself believe somebody cared about me."

Mich.e.l.le started to say, "I cared," only she was distracted by what Carly had said. "You slept with everyone."

Carly's mouth twisted into something that was probably supposed to be a smile. "No," she said quietly. "I teased, I got close, but there was no s.e.x. I never went 'all the way.'" The fake smile faded. "Allen was my first time. I gave him my virginity to win him from you. Talk about a s.h.i.tty trade."

With that, she turned and walked back to the inn.

Mich.e.l.le watched her go, feeling anger and frustration building inside of her. She wanted to scream that Carly wasn't telling the truth but knew the other woman had no reason to lie.

Allen had literally f.u.c.ked them both. He was both their first times and he was a worthless b.a.s.t.a.r.d. They'd been so messed up, so confused about what their parents had done, how they'd acted. All their lives they'd depended on each other and yet in the crucial moment, when they'd needed each other the most, they'd gone their separate ways.

She sat there in the growing darkness and fought against feeling helpless. She could handle nearly anything but that. Restlessness drove her to her feet. She picked up the wine bottle, then threw it as hard as she could. It bounced onto the gra.s.s, lying there unshattered.

It wasn't enough. She needed to do more, to express the rage boiling inside of her. Nothing was right. She couldn't even define the problem, let alone fix it.

She turned frantically, looking for an enemy. Someone to blame, to hurt, to destroy. And then she saw them. The rows and rows of daisies, their happy faces turned toward the night sky.

She hurried toward the planter first and grabbed as many as she could reach, holding on close to the soil. She jerked upward-hard. They pulled out with a satisfying ripping sound and sensation. She went to the next plant and the next, then moved to the garden itself.

She flung stems and leaves and dirt over her shoulder. Her hip ached from her crouching position, but she didn't care. She dug and destroyed until they were all lying on the gra.s.s-dismembered flowers, like dying soldiers on a battlefield. And then she started to cry.

Twenty-Three.

Carly woke up early. Her head hurt. She wanted to blame the wine, but she hadn't had enough to get really drunk, which was usually the first step in having a hangover. No, this pain came from a deeper source. From what had happened in her past and how she was unable to fully heal from old wounds.

She'd tossed and turned most of the night, unable to sleep. Her good mood and lingering pleasure from her encounter with Sam had been burned away by ugly reality and worse memories. She shouldn't have gotten into a conversation about the past with Mich.e.l.le and, worse, blamed her for their parents leaving. She shouldn't have broken the beginnings of the relationship they were forging. To what end? To be right?

Carly sat up and brushed her hands against her face, wishing she could wipe away the memories as easily.

"Mom, Mom!"

Gabby raced into her room and flew into her bed. Carly pulled her into a hug.

"Morning," she said, wondering how many ibuprofen it would take to make her headache go away.

"How did you sleep?" Gabby asked, still warm from her bed. Her pj's had kittens on them, her feet were bare. "I slept good and it's sunny outside. Did you see? A sunny day."

Carly glanced toward the window. Light spilled in through the curtains. "I'm glad it's going to be nice today."

"I know. After school I'm going to help Leonard count baby chicks. We have to be careful because they're young and small."

Gabby bounced on the bed, her usual bundle of morning energy. Carly did her best not to wince as someone set up a jackhammer just behind her eyes and went to work.

Gabby scrambled off the bed. "Breakfast, breakfast." Her loud, singsong voice was torture.

"I'll be right there," Carly promised, doing her best to keep from wincing.

Gabby raced to the doorway, then turned back. "Mom, are you sick?"

So much for faking it. "I have a headache."

"Oh." Gabby dropped her voice to a whisper. "I'll be quiet."

"Thanks. I appreciate that."

Carly made her way to the kitchen. She turned on the coffee, then poured cereal into a bowl, followed by milk. Gabby put bread in the toaster and Carly collected fruit.

The familiar ritual soothed her. Sure, her past had sucked, but now she had Gabby. Her daughter was worth any price. Hardly a unique emotion. Isn't it what every parent felt about his or her child? Yet not all of them acted like it. Mich.e.l.le's father had adored his daughter, telling anyone who would listen how important she was to him. Then he'd left her. Carly's mother had walked out without a word of warning. It had been three years before Carly had heard from her. Even now they only spoke a couple of times a year and exchanged cards at Christmas. Nothing more. Lana had only met her granddaughter once.

Complications, Carly thought, taking her coffee to the window. Life was nothing but complications. She pulled back the curtain and nearly dropped her mug.

From her kitchen she could see the east side of the rear yard, along with part of the garden. Instead of rows and rows of colorful daisies, there was only mounded dirt and the remnants of the plants she'd lovingly cared for.

Still in a long T-shirt and bare feet, she walked to the back door and opened it.

"Mom, where are you going?" Gabby asked.

"Stay inside," Carly called, walking toward the destruction.

She reached the corner of the inn and the whole backyard lay before her.

Every daisy was gone, uprooted, ripped apart and left to die. Their stems and leaves and flowers covered the lawn, a carpet of green and white and red and yellow. The planters were empty, a few broken stalks standing tall. As if they didn't realize what had occurred.

She knew what had happened, knew who had done it. Mich.e.l.le had wanted to hurt her and she'd done a h.e.l.l of a job. Knowing she had to get back to her daughter, to keep Gabby from seeing all this, she turned around. It was only when she stumbled that she realized she was crying.

Mich.e.l.le parked in the bank parking lot. She wasn't feeling chatty this morning, especially after a long, hard night. She'd barely been able to drag her b.u.t.t out of bed. Only the thought that she was going to pay off half the overdue part of the mortgage got her going. That and three cups of coffee.

Every time she thought about what had happened the previous night, she felt sick inside. Shame had a bitter taste and sat heavily in her stomach. Bad enough to act like a jerk. Worse to do it in such a way that the whole world could see.

There would be questions. A garden full of destroyed daisies wasn't going to go unnoticed. What would everyone think? No, not everyone, she thought. What would Damaris think? And Gabby? She already knew that Carly would get the message. Destruction of something she cared about. No psychology degree was needed to interpret that.

She collected the envelope with the checks and climbed out of her truck. Her hip hurt more today than it had in a while. Guilt, she thought. Or the time she'd spent kneeling on the gra.s.s, pulling out daisies.

She made her way into the bank and walked toward Ellen's office. The other woman was seated at her desk and looked up when Mich.e.l.le entered.

"Good morning," Ellen said with a smile. "How are you? Did you have a great long weekend? I saw all the cars in the inn's parking lot. Good for you."

"Everything went well." She took the seat Ellen indicated, happy to get the weight off her hip. She put the envelopes on the desk and pushed them forward. "Here you go. June's payments and half of everything previously owed."

Ellen raised her eyebrows. "Impressive." She opened the envelope and pulled out the checks. "I'll get you receipts for these."

"Don't take this wrong, but I'll be happy to get the bank off my back."

"What do you mean?"

"All those rules. Once I'm current, they won't apply."

Ellen shook her head. "I'm afraid that's not true. The other terms and conditions will apply for the next two years." The smile returned. "Didn't I explain that? It was in the paperwork you signed when the loan originated. Oh, wait. Your mom signed that for you, didn't she?"

Mich.e.l.le wanted to throw something-preferably Ellen-across the room. She was going to be stuck with the bank on her back for a couple of years? Even if she paid everything overdue?

"I'm sorry. I should have been more clear the last time we spoke. I thought you knew." Ellen sighed. "It's frustrating. There are so many new rules and regulations. The government makes everything so complicated." She leaned forward, her expression concerned. "Is it Carly? Are you having a tough time working with her? I say 'work,' but we both know it's not like she does any."

"Actually she does. We're cutting expenses and she's taking on more responsibilities. She's cleaning rooms a few afternoons a week, just to help out."

Ellen laughed. "I would pay money to see that."

"Why don't you like her?"

"We both know what she is. Carly is one of those women going through life taking what she wants and everyone who gets in her way be d.a.m.ned. You remember what she was like with Allen. She practically held a parade to show off the ring."

Mich.e.l.le did remember, but she was surprised that would have appeared on Ellen's radar. "I hadn't realized you knew her that well."

"Carly's tough to avoid. But enough about her. Let's talk about more pleasant things. Like how great you're doing at the inn. I'm thrilled. We had a board meeting just last week and I updated everyone on your status. That you're back and taking control." She picked up the cashier's checks and waved them. "So much for the big, bad bank winning."

"I appreciate you being on my side," Mich.e.l.le said, even as she wondered if Ellen really was.

"Absolutely. My customers come first. And we have a past. Now that you're back, I hope we can be friends again."

Mich.e.l.le didn't remember them being friends before. "Um, sure."

"Great. We can go to lunch. Maybe next week?"

Mich.e.l.le nodded and made her escape. As she drove back to the inn, she decided the first thing she was going to do was find the paperwork for the mortgages and read them. She didn't want any more surprises when it came to her business.

As for Ellen, she still wasn't sure if the other woman really was a friend or if there was something else going on. Too bad there wasn't a contract that could explain the fine print in that relationship.

As for the rest of it...apologizing to Carly seemed impossible. But she was going to have to do something. And soon.

"Do you think it was teenagers?" Leonard asked as he loaded destroyed plants into the trash can.

"I don't know." Carly wasn't sure why she lied. Protecting Mich.e.l.le was stupid. But she couldn't seem to bring herself to tell anyone the truth.

"They got them all, but only here in the back. I don't get it."

Carly supposed Mich.e.l.le had run out of anger, or maybe her hip had hurt too much for her to rip out everything in front. Or it could just be that while she wanted to send a message to Carly, she wasn't willing to upset any guests arriving.