CHAPTER ONE
"This is my niece, Jacqueline Kennelly," Aunt Brigit said.
I turned from the stove where I was stirring gravy, and automatically went into my regular spiel. "It's Jackie, and the last name is Kennelly with two l's, not Kennedy with a d."
Right about then, I got a good look at Devyn Clark and my voice failed me. He'd just have to wait to hear how Mom was a real JFK nut and named us kids Jacqueline, John, and Caroline. Assuming he cared, which I seriously doubted.
What was there about him that made me feel like a schoolgirl? Yes, he was good-looking, his trim body topped by a face whose even features somehow made me look twice. His short, dark hair showed signs of gray at the temples, but his expression said he hungered for more of life. He stood there, his arm loose around Aunt Brigit's waist, smiling naturally. "Hello, Jackie. I'm glad to finally meet you."
"Me, too," I said. "Aunt Brigit talks about you all the time." I remembered then why he'd been in Myrtle Beach so frequently the last year. "I was sorry to hear about your mom. I always liked Louise."
He nodded. "Thanks."
I expected him to look away, to turn to Aunt Brigit and offer her the bottle of wine he'd brought for dinner. But he didn't. He simply stood there and looked at me, his expression changing from simple friendliness to something more personal. But what? And why?
Aunt Brigit glanced at the stove then and frowned. I'd stopped stirring, and my gravy would start sticking any second. "Oops." I scolded myself for my foolishness and returned my attention where it belonged.
Well-crafted cupboard doors and drawers whispered open and closed behind me. "Here's the corkscrew," Aunt Brigit said, then appeared next to me. "Is the gravy done?"
I nodded, and poured it into the gravy boat she handed me. Devyn opened the wine and poured us each a glass. The dining room table was already set, so we served dinner.
As was normal for a company meal at Aunt Brigit's, dinner starred the special pot roast I'd long ago given up hoping to duplicate, along with regular mashed potatoes--no trendy garlic mashed potatoes in this house--and gravy made from the pot roast juices. Tonight, carrots cut lengthwise and seasoned with orange juice and honey and a simple tossed salad completed the main course. A homemade apple pie was waiting in the kitchen for dessert, and would be topped with rich vanilla ice cream.
Aunt Brigit's dining room had a great view. Her house was high on a hill overlooking Myrtle Beach, my favorite town on the Oregon Coast. We had a wide- angle view of the Pacific Ocean as well as of the town itself. She sat at one end of the table, and Devyn and I sat next to each other on the side that looked out at the view.
It was only a few minutes before sunset, but clouds on the horizon had already hidden the sun. I was sorry not to see even a speck of orangey-red to brighten the palette of grays making up the sky, the water, and the beach. Still, even in monochrome, I wouldn't trade the view for one anywhere else on earth.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Devyn looking at me. When I turned my head toward him, he quickly looked out at the view. The same thing happened a few minutes later, and I said, "I'm sorry. Did you want something?" I doubted it, but I felt on display and I'd never liked that.
He stared at the tablecloth for a moment, like a guilty little boy, then looked back at me. "I was just thinking. None of the pictures of you I've seen show your wonderful smile."
People had commented on my smile before, so that didn't faze me as much as his comment about seeing pictures of me. Aunt Brigit had a picture of John and me on her mantle. It was taken the day we helped her move into this house, and I had to admit it was a great picture. So I could imagine Devyn might have noticed the picture sometime he was in the house.
But she didn't have any other pictures of me on display. Had he looked through one of her photo albums and seen more pictures? Or had he seen only that one picture and assumed all pictures of me were the same?
Either way, the remark made me uneasy.
A few minutes later, Aunt Brigit asked Devyn, "Have you made any progress on finding a place to buy?"
Devyn finished his bite of pot roast before saying, "Not really, but I haven't done much looking. Between clearing out Mom's stuff and getting the center going, I haven't had a lot of time."
"You're staying at your mom's?" I asked, although why that was any of my business, I didn't know.
He shook his head. "No. I'm at a B&B."
"He's at Brittany's," Aunt Brigit said. "That's where he heard about our teen center project."
She'd told me last night how the teen center, which had been nothing more than an idea a month ago, was now a reality. Devyn had leased one of the storefronts downtown, written a large check to furnish it, and was spending several hours a day working there. Even a vacant storefront cost money to lease, as did the pool table, stereo system, and furniture he'd purchased. A prolonged stay at an oceanfront B&B had to be expensive, too.
Add to all that the fact he wasn't past his mid-forties and already retired, and I concluded his career on Wall Street must have been very lucrative. Since he and I were close to the same age, I wondered what had made him want to retire so early. Not a question I could ask a near-stranger.
I took a sip of wine. "The wine is really good." I didn't usually care for red wine, since in my experience it was often harsh and acidic. Not this one. It was rich and mellow and invited me to finish the glass before setting it down. I resisted the urge and resolved to savor every sip.
He smiled. "This is one of my favorites. Wine's one of the reasons I'm glad to be back in Oregon. There are so many good vineyards, and very little wine is exported." He chuckled. "My American Express bill will be outrageous this month--besides stocking up for myself, I sent several cases to friends in New York."
He'd bought several cases of obviously-expensive wine in addition to all the other expenses I knew about? Maybe calling his career lucrative was an understatement.
Not that the number of zeros in his bank account had the least bit of relevance to me. Nor the way his smile made him look a little like the adorable little boy he must once have been. Nor especially the odd tingly feeling in the pit of my stomach when I heard his voice.
Devyn was a friend of Aunt Brigit's, and he was being polite.
Despite his comment about my smile, that was the extent of it.
**
I lay in bed later that night, feeling a little sorry for myself. Why had I ended up the antithesis of the elegant and feminine Jackie Kennedy I was named for? I was tall, solid rather than shapely, mystified by makeup and fancy hairstyles, and uncomfortable in dresses and heels. Normally, that was fine with me. I'd been that way my whole life, after all.
I'd given up my dreams of romantic love and marital bliss when Mark and I split five years ago. Being single suited me fine. My job was both challenging and rewarding, and only occasionally more stressful than I liked. I had friends and hobbies, and enough time to enjoy them.
Adding a man to the equation would only unbalance matters. It was silly to think it might not be so bad, if the man was Devyn. Besides, I might never see--
I heard a thump and the house shook.
There was another thump. And another. And a noise that was human, like a whimper or a soft cry. I knew immediately Aunt Brigit had fallen, and I ran for the stairs. "I'm on the way!"
Her house was built into the hillside, and the bedrooms were downstairs. She lay near the bottom of the carpeted stairs, one leg stretched out in front of her and the other twisted behind her unnaturally. She looked up at me and blinked a few times. "Give...give me a minute to catch my breath."
I did, not really thinking beyond that minute myself. It seemed like I should be doing something, but I couldn't imagine what.
Eventually, she shifted position slightly and winced. "If...if I could get this leg straightened out..." She gritted her teeth in preparation.
"I don't think you should move. Something might be broken." The situation seemed eerily unreal.
Her brow furrowed and she glared accusingly at her leg, then sighed. "I don't think I can get up, anyway."
I ran to the phone in her bedroom and called 911. I stood there, breathing through my mouth in shallow little gulps. When the dispatcher answered, I tried to sound like I was in control. That illusion was shattered when I had trouble remembering the address. "But the door's locked and I can't get up there to open it." My voice was thin and tight.
The dispatcher assured me the paramedics would find a way in, and I hung up. It seemed like forever before they arrived, although it was probably only a few minutes. I heard them drive up, and almost immediately, there were heavy steps on the deck upstairs. Within a couple of minutes, teams were inside, both upstairs and down. They looked like giants to me...completely confident giants. I concentrated on staying out of their way.
Aunt Brigit greeted a couple of them by name. She even tried to joke about her fall, very much like her normal self, even though she was obviously in pain.
I tried to think ahead, but my mind wouldn't focus on anything other than what was happening on the stairs. Even after the ambulance drove away, my thoughts were completely short-term. I had to dress and drive to the hospital so I could be with Aunt Brigit in Emergency. That was all I could think about.
I grabbed a sweater from the coat tree upstairs and started out the door. Oh, no. I'd need Aunt Brigit's house keys later. I ran back inside and dug through her purse with awkward fingers until I found them, then decided to slip her wallet into my pocket, too. The hospital would need her health insurance card, wouldn't they?
The night seemed darker than normal and unnaturally still as I drove the short distance to Tillamook. The road to the hospital was clearly marked. Once there, I hurried inside and soon found myself sitting in a hard plastic chair in the little cubicle they'd assigned her.
I sat there for hours. Short spurts of activity alternated with long minutes spent waiting, and I hated to imagine how much worse it would be if I was in pain like Aunt Brigit was.
Our conversation was strangely ordinary. She tried to reconstruct her fall, but couldn't remember anything unusual until her foot went flying off the stair. Still, she was annoyed with herself for being so clumsy, and kept apologizing for getting me out of bed. I assured her I didn't mind.
One thing we didn't talk about was what was wrong with her leg. I think we both felt it would be bad luck to mention words like "broken" or even "bone." I remember she told me I should take the leftover pot roast home with me in the morning. I nodded, but somewhere inside I knew I wouldn't be going home that soon.
Finally, the doctor came in and said her left tibia--her shin bone, in other words--was broken. They weren't sure from the x-ray if she'd need to have it pinned before it was set, so that would have to wait until the orthopedic specialist came in the next day. In the meantime, they'd admit Aunt Brigit to the hospital and she could get some rest.
I stayed with her until she was settled in her room and had been given enough pain-killers to put her to sleep. Then I headed back to her house.
I knew she couldn't stay alone in that house with a broken leg. I tried to work out some alternatives as I drove back to Myrtle Beach, and later, as I lay in bed.
Instead, my brain froze, unwilling to deal with the new reality.
Eventually, I slept.
**
I ended up sleeping about three hours. I showered and had a cup of coffee before getting busy on the phone. By ten, I was at the hospital, checking on Aunt Brigit and telling her my plan.
"You can't do that!" she said. "I'll be fine by myself, and my friends will be happy to help out if I need anything."
"I'm sure they will, and you're probably right about being okay alone." I doubted that, at least for the first few days. My brother, a nurse, had filled me in a little on what to expect. It never paid to argue with Aunt Brigit, though. "But I'll feel better about it if I'm around for a while, and thanks to modern technology, I don't even have to miss work."
I was a software engineering manager in the Portland suburbs, and my second phone call that morning had been to my boss, Brian. By going back home to pick up my laptop, I could work remotely for at least the next week.
Aunt Brigit frowned, but she finally nodded and patted my hand. "All right, dear. But I warn you, I'm not a good patient. I'm particular about my meals, and I'm used to doing for myself. You'll wish you hadn't been quite so thoughtful before you're through!"
I said, "After the year John, Caro, and I all got sick when you were baby-sitting, you're entitled to be a little demanding." Besides, she couldn't possibly be as much of a pain as Mark had been anytime he didn't feel well.
She laughed, and just like that, she looked more like herself. "Oh, I remember that! I felt especially sorry for poor Caroline--she was no bigger than a minute, and her nose was running a steady stream."
Caro's the baby of the family, four years younger than me, and six younger than John. She was probably three that year. Mom and Dad went to Acapulco on vacation, and Aunt Brigit stayed with us. I remember wishing I didn't have to stay home. I was shy, and I liked sticking close to Mom.
As it turned out, Dad was gone within the year, Mom was back at work, and I was permanently on my own.
**
I made good time on my trip. My condo was near DesignTek, at the south end of the Portland metro area, and the two-and-a-half hours I managed that morning was my personal best.
I packed quickly. As I started toward the living room with my packed suitcase, I glanced in the open door of my sewing room. The room was intended as a second bedroom, but my sewing machine, work table, and quilting supplies filled it. It didn't even have room for a twin bed.
I took a quick detour and grabbed my current project, an adorable fabric panel featuring the letters of the alphabet that I was quilting. I wouldn't have a lot of time to work on it at Aunt Brigit's, but maybe I could grab a few minutes here and there.
The quilt reminded me I'd be missing a couple of evening meetings this week, so I called the leader of one group and my second-in-command for the other one before I headed back to Tillamook. The meetings would go on without me, but people would worry if I didn't tell someone I wouldn't be there.
I got to the hospital a little before five. I checked at the information desk before going up to Aunt Brigit's room, a little afraid they might have released her already. Luckily, they hadn't.
I heard Devyn's voice before I got halfway down the hall, and I'm ashamed to say a silly grin spread across my face at the sound. I paused outside her room to get myself under control.
That's when I heard him mention my name. Unfortunately, my name and the questioning tone of voice were all I heard. Aunt Helen answered, but most of her reply was too quiet for me to catch. What I heard was intriguing, but explained nothing. It started, "Well, if that's what you want, you'll need to..."
What did he want? And what was she telling him to do? Could it really have anything to do with me?
Their conversation continued in quieter tones. I gave up on hearing more and knocked once on the already-open door. After a moment, I stepped inside.
Devyn stopped mid-sentence and his eyes met mine. They were blue. Intensely blue. He smiled, not a sudden smile born of convention, but a slow one that reached across the room toward me. "Jackie."
"Hi, Devyn." His smile made me feel like something was about to happen, or maybe it already had. I wasn't in the market, so I switched my attention to Aunt Brigit. "How are you feeling? I see you've got your cast." I stood on the other side of the bed from Devyn, and gave her a quick hug.
She said, "They put this on a couple of hours ago, and I'm fine except they won't let me go home until tomorrow."
"They want to make sure your leg doesn't swell too much, you know that," Devyn said. His voice sounded slightly artificial, not natural like it had been a minute earlier. Was there another more alarming reason she had to stay the night? I wished I hadn't missed the doctor's visit.
"I know. The doctor's being a real ninny--he won't even let me get out of bed yet, and he says I have to use a walker instead of crutches! Renee's granddaughter broke her leg snowboarding last year, and she was in and out of the hospital the same day." Renee was her closest friend, now that Devyn's mother was gone.
Devyn said, "Amber is eighteen, and like it or not, you're several times that age. Your bones don't heal as quickly."
"You talked to the doctor?" I asked, directing my question at Devyn.
He nodded. "I happened to be here at the right time."
I was glad for that, but at the same time, I felt a little like he was horning in. Before I got a chance to lecture myself about my lack of gratitude, Aunt Brigit's dinner tray arrived and she told us both in no uncertain terms to go home and leave her in peace.
"I'll get dinner in the cafeteria while you eat," I said.
"Don't go there. Don't you know hospital food is awful? Besides, I don't want any more company today. I'm tired." Her face was pale, and her head sagged back on the pillow like it was too much effort to hold it upright.
"Jackie." Devyn waited until I looked at him before continuing. "You and your aunt have both had long days already, and tomorrow will be difficult."
I nodded, but if he thought I was going to do as he said, he had another think coming.
"I thought I'd stop in at Nash's before going back to Martha's Madness. Why don't you join me?"
Nash's Restaurant was a Myrtle Beach institution, and now it was run by a guy I'd worked with at DesignTek. I hadn't eaten there in several years, and I'd been wanting to catch up with Ric and meet his wife Kristina.
I smiled at Devyn. "That sounds like an excellent idea."
He couldn't quite hide his self-congratulatory grin. I didn't care that he thought he'd talked me into doing something I didn't want to do. He didn't know me yet.
I didn't do anything I didn't want to.
That was the promise I made myself when my marriage fell apart.
**
Devyn was the perfect gentleman. He walked me to my car and waited until it started before going to his, then followed me to the restaurant. I thwarted him by getting out of my car before he could open the car door, but I didn't even try to beat him to the restaurant door. Having the door held open for me was pleasant on occasion.
Ric greeted us at the door. "Hey, Devyn. Good to see you again. And Jackie!" He frowned. "We heard about Brigit. How's she doing?"
A couple of nearby diners heard the question and looked at us in sudden concern. "She's fine," I said. "Her leg's in a cast, and they're keeping her overnight at the hospital, but she'll be home tomorrow." I felt Devyn standing only a couple of inches behind me. Hadn't he heard about respecting other people's personal space?
Ric nodded and reached without looking for a couple of menus. "You be sure and let us know what we can do to help--food or whatever." He started to lead us to a table, then stopped. "You two are together, aren't you?"
Devyn spoke up. "Definitely. She was planning to eat at the hospital." He put his hand on my waist like he was claiming me.
I didn't want the entire town to think this was a date, so I added, "Devyn happened to be visiting Aunt Brigit when I got back from Portland with my things. I'll be staying for a week or so."
Ric took us to a table near the back and gave us menus. "We don't have any specials tonight, just what's on the menu. Kristi's expecting, so she only cooks Friday and Saturday nights."
I smiled at him. I'd always liked him when he was at DesignTek, and I was glad he'd found the right woman and the right life. "Congratulations. This is number two, isn't it?"
He nodded like it was no big deal, but I saw the stars in his eyes. "Yeah, thanks. Well, I guess I'd better let you look at the menu for a couple of minutes."
As he turned away, Devyn said, "We'll have a bottle of your Oregon chardonnay when you get a chance." In a confiding voice to me, he added, "The wine list here is small, but Kristina did a good job with it. She's a professionally-trained chef, you know, with years of experience in Seattle and Portland."
"I know." If he was trying to impress me with his knowledge of Kristina's background, he wasn't succeeding. She was the daughter of the original owners, Walt and Olivia Nash, and anyone who'd eaten at Nash's in the last twenty years had heard about Kristina's career. In addition, I knew she'd given up half-ownership in a trendy Portland restaurant to come back here and help out when Nash's became too much for her parents.
"In any case," I continued, "I'm not sure I should have anything to drink." That wasn't my real objection. Devyn hadn't asked before ordering the wine, and I didn't like that.
"I thought it might help you relax. I was serious earlier. Today's been a tough day, and tomorrow will probably be worse."
"What do you mean, worse? Did the doctor tell you something I should know?"
He shook his head. "Nothing like that. I only mean...taking care of somebody who's sick really wears you out. It's not so much the physical effort, it's more..." He grimaced. "I guess what I mean is you end up feeling helpless. You do the best you can, but there's so much you can't help with...like the pain. Pills don't really seem to do the trick, but that's all there is..."
Of course. His mom had gone through hell toward the end, and he'd be remembering that. I wanted to assure him that taking care of Aunt Brigit wouldn't be like that. But I didn't really know for sure, and I didn't know what else to say.
I was glad when Ric came back a couple of minutes later with the wine. As he used the corkscrew, he asked me, "The last I knew, you were working for Brian Hopkins. Are you still?"
I nodded. "Yeah. He's a second-level manager now, and I'm a first-level."
"Hey, that's great. Do you like it?" Ric poured wine into a glass for Devyn to taste.
"Yes, I do. Part of that's because Brian's such a great boss, but I'm enjoying being a manager, too."
Devyn was doing the sniffing-and-sipping routine I'd seen more on TV shows than in real life. "Very good."
As Ric poured me a glass, he said, "I haven't seen anyone from DesignTek in a while. Geoff used to come in frequently, but he went back East."
"Yeah, sometime during the summer, I think."
Devyn frowned at Ric. Apparently, that was male-speak, since Ric immediately turned away from me and poured Devyn's wine. Devyn nodded at him in what I can only call a patrician manner and smiled across the table at me.
I think Ric was supposed to slink back to the kitchen then, and return only when we were ready to order. Instead, he said, "Say, Devyn, have you looked at Geoff's condo? I don't know exactly what you're looking for, but you can't beat the location, right on the beach in the middle of town."
Devyn's jaw muscles tightened. "I don't want a condo, nor anyone else's headaches. I expect to build in the spring. There are a few lots up on the hill with possibilities."
Aunt Brigit's house was on the hill, and I'd been shocked at the price she paid for it seven years earlier. To buy a lot at current prices, then build a custom house... That added up to a ton of money.
Devyn's attitude was getting to me, though. It seemed like he was trying to dazzle me by acting like a big-shot. I'd always been suspicious of people like that, wondering why they didn't simply let themselves be judged on their merits over time. Did they know they wouldn't measure up?
Well, Ric was my friend, and I hadn't yet decided the same about Devyn. So I told Ric about several people he might remember, and a couple of long-running projects, including one we'd both been on briefly. I purposefully didn't look at Devyn while we talked.
After a minute, I took a sip of wine. Devyn's hand gave mine a squeeze as I set my wineglass back on the table. "Jackie, are you ready to order? We wouldn't want to keep Ric from his other customers."
Was I ready to order? I felt like ordering him to keep his hands to himself. But the restaurant was quiet enough that other people would have heard me, and I'd always hated scenes. "If you're ready, go ahead," I said. "I'll just glance at the menu."
He turned to Ric. "I'll have the petrale sole, pan-fried, and a green salad with a drizzle of olive oil, a touch of balsamic vinegar, and some crumbles of blue cheese." If anything, he sounded more hoity-toity than ever. I had no doubt he'd send his salad back if he decided there was more or less than a drizzle of olive oil on it.
The Nash's I remembered didn't serve anything that upscale, and I stared at the menu in shock. It was attractively designed and I didn't recognize a single item from their old menu. Then again, my eyes were blurring and refusing to focus on the individual words, so maybe I was wrong. I looked at Ric. "I hope you still have fish & chips? And the Coast's best clam chowder?"
Ric laughed. "Always. Walt and Olivia would throw us out about five minutes after we took either of them off the menu. Is that what you want?"
"For sure. And make it a bowl of chowder. I haven't eaten all day."
Devyn's salad apparently met with his approval, and the same with his sole. He spent the meal focused on me, though, and not the food. He refilled my wine glass each time I took more than a couple of sips, and tried to worm my life story out of me. When I didn't play along, he launched into a series of stories about his life in New York City.
I let his words wash over me and concentrated on my food. The chowder was rich and creamy, with just the right proportions of clam and potato. The deep-fried fish had the same scrumptious perfectly-crisp coating I remembered, and the fries and cole slaw were a worthy accompaniment to the rest of my dinner.
Too bad about my dinner companion. Game-playing pisses me off, and that's all Devyn was doing.
Unfortunately for me, he was Aunt Brigit's friend, and I wouldn't be done with him until Aunt Brigit was well enough to be left on her own.
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