I draw in a breath, because now that he's on my mind, I have to ask. "What about Dallas?"
"He's been here all morning," Mom says. "I think he was disappointed you weren't here yet. He went back to his bungalow about an hour ago. Said he had to make some calls."
I nod. "Did Mrs. Foster come with you?"
Mom smiles. "Of course. And Liam's coming this afternoon, too."
I don't even try t
o hide my pleasure. I haven't talked to Liam in weeks, and it's been even longer since I've seen him, and I really do miss him terribly.
"What about Archie?" He and Mrs. Foster are the two family employees with the longest tenure.
"He's here, too, of course. How would your brother survive without him?"
Frankly, I think Dallas would survive just fine. But I don't say it. Dallas may be a fuckup, but there's more to him than he likes to show, I'm certain of it. What I don't understand is why he's so willing to let people see the screw-up and not the competent man.
That, however, isn't a question I'm going to contemplate right now.
"I'm going to go meet up with Dad and Poppy and then go catch some sun and read." The idea sounds like heaven, actually. I don't get the chance to veg as much as I'd like, and I'm looking forward to a few hours of downtime.
"Have fun. Dinner's at six. Poppy eats early," she adds in response to my raised eyebrow.
"And the party's tomorrow at noon, right?"
She tells me it is and I give her another hug, and then one more for Grams before I grab a couple of wine coolers for my tote bag. Next, I head onto the patio and then over to the wooden boardwalk. I'd taken the opportunity to change when I'd dropped my luggage at my bungalow, so I'm already set for my beach outing.
I have a paperback in my tote bag, along with a towel, a water bottle, and some sunscreen. And now I have the wine coolers, too, which is always a plus. I'm wearing a pink V-neck T-shirt over my bikini top and a scarf wrapped around my hips like a sarong over the bathing suit bottom. I take off my flip-flops and tuck them in the tote, because it's much easier to walk on the beach in bare feet. I'm not worried about splinters. The boardwalk is well-trafficked, and after so many years, it's as smooth as stone.
I see my dad at the end of the boardwalk standing beside Poppy's wheelchair and hurry down to them and give them both a hug. Poppy's smile is wide and toothless, and he reaches out a shaking hand for me. I take it, then wish him a happy birthday.
I stand there for a while, just talking with my dad and great-grandfather, and the conversation is light and easy. For a while after the kidnapping, I was uncomfortable around my dad. I'd been so angry that he'd kept the authorities out that it had caused a rift between us. He'd seen the change in me, of course, but I'd never explained myself, and I know he thinks that I was just dealing with the horror of being kidnapped.
Over time, I've learned to deal with it. My dad is who he is. Rich and arrogant. A man who likes his privacy. And I get that he thought he was protecting us by keeping the whole thing out of the papers. I don't agree--I think he holds as much blame for Dallas's extra four weeks of torment as I do--but I came to terms years ago, and I'm glad. Because even though we disagree at a fundamental level about his hiring vigilantes, I do love my parents and I don't want a wedge between us.
The thought makes me sigh. Because there's still one potential wedge, and it's a huge one: Dallas and me and the secrets we are keeping.
I chat a bit longer and then say my goodbyes. I walk in the surf for a few minutes, then cut back up toward the house to get the little golf cart I'd left in the driveway. The bungalows are scattered over the island so that every space has privacy. Mine is at the very end of the island, with an amazing view of the southern coastline and the wide vista of the Atlantic.
It's also just a few hundred yards from my very favorite spot, a small cove that Dallas, Liam, and I discovered when we were kids. It's difficult to access, as that beach is surrounded by small, rocky hills instead of the dunes that are so prevalent on this island. We'd climbed over looking for tide pools, and when our parents had realized where we were they'd banned us from returning.
Too dangerous, they'd said. We could twist an ankle and end up stuck. We could scrape a knee on the sharp rocks and get blood poisoning. We could get trapped when high tide came in.
Of course we swore we'd stay away.
Of course we returned almost daily.
It's the best beach on the island, in my opinion. And as I carefully navigate the rocks to get to the cove, I feel a pang of melancholy. I miss my best friends, and I don't know how to get either of them back.
I haven't really lost Liam, of course. But distance and his crazy work schedule mean that when we see each other it usually feels like a drive-by encounter.
But I'm terribly afraid that Dallas may be a lost cause, and soon I may have to accept the horrible truth that we can never be more than family. Not friends. And certainly not lovers.
I don't want to think of that now, though. I just want to relax and soak up the sun, and as soon as I'm over the rocks, I find a place for my towel and spread it out. I take off my T-shirt and untie my sarong, then put them both in the tote bag so they won't get horribly sandy.
As the sun arcs over the island, I devour half the book along with my wine coolers. I want to keep reading, but the heat and the alcohol are making me sleepy, and I close my eyes and let myself drift, my mind filling with those particularly vivid dreams that come between sleep and wakefulness.
These dreams, of course, are all about Dallas. His touch, his kisses. Fantasies mix with memories, and by the time I drag myself back to the present, my skin is tingling, and not just from the warmth of the sun.