Not What You Seem Page 8

  “Don’t you feel it?” I ask him. “This boat, this town. It’s like stepping into a memory.” One a long time ago—before our father became the asshole he is.

  Sebastian shoves his hands in his pockets. “Have you seen him?” His jeans are frayed on the bottom, and he’s wearing a Rock Falls sweatshirt, which is this little Colorado college he went to for the last year. The first time he managed to complete an entire year without dropping out to head off somewhere climbing or sailing. There must have been something keeping him there. A woman, I’d bet.

  “I’ve seen him a few times,” I admit. “And I’m supposed to hire this caretaker for him. The place he’s staying gave me a list, and I called, but couldn’t find anyone. If I can’t find someone, then I’m going to have to do it myself. Starting Friday.”

  “So you’re going to take care of him.” His voice drops low at the end.

  “No.” I uncross my arms to shake them out. “I don’t know. I need to figure it out.”

  Sebastian reaches down to pick up his bag. “We’ll figure it out, man. Are you staying here or on the Neverland?”

  “I sold the Neverland.” It was bad saying it to Dev, but it’s worse saying it to my brother.

  Sebastian stares at me for a long moment, and I’m not sure if I want to guess at what he’s thinking.

  He finally shrugs it off. “Then guess I’m staying here. Dev in town?”

  “He should get back early tomorrow. He’s stopping by Salt’s to pick up a new gooseneck. I had to order one in.”

  “Gooseneck?” Sebastian walks across the deck and peers at the bottom of the mast. “Fuck, man.”

  “That’s pretty much been my constant thought over the last week.”

  “Fine, we’ll switch it out tomorrow.” He picks up his duffle and slings it over his shoulder, turning and pointing at me before he gets to the hatch. “But then we’re going out, brother. You look like you could use a drink.”

  “Yeah, sure.” I start to follow after him and then turn to take one last glance toward the lighthouse. Can’t help it.

  13

  Ella

  It’s one of those rare mornings when Renee is at the bakery with me. We’re knee deep in vanilla fondant for a wedding later today. Renee only comes in for the wedding cakes. It used to be her mother—Laura is the artist in the family. She’d create these elaborate cakes complete with trailing flowers and lattice-work and things that none of us can replicate. She still came in for the cakes for the first few years after her diagnosis. But then it got harder for her to stand by the counter and decorate. Then harder to sit on the tall stool Benny bought for her.

  And now, no one even asks her anymore. I wonder if she misses it.

  I know Portage misses her. Not just her cakes, but the smile she always wore behind the counter.

  When I first came back to Portage, the thought of another mother sent chills down my spine. But Laura was different. Her house was filled with herbs and little fruit trees. Limes and mandarin oranges. She took me into the detached garage across their backyard and showed me her workshop, where she’d repurpose just about anything that took her interest. Off-kilter candlesticks and tables with uneven legs. I’d sit and read while she worked. It was peaceful. So different from being with my mother.

  “Done,” Renee announces as she completes the last letter in the frosted Finally Tied the Knot around an anchor cake topper. She steps back to admire her handiwork.

  “I did good,” she says brightly. “Do you think they’ll notice the fondant issue?” She leans around the cake, her brown hair swinging forward.

  “Renee!” I grab her ponytail just in time, unfortunately yanking it back a bit too hard.

  She gasps and bats at my hand. “I wasn’t going to get my hair in the cake.”

  I drop her hair, relieved that I caught it in time. “You don’t know how long it is.”

  “Oh, you’re always too worried about everything.” She tucks her hair into the back of her shirt and goes back to inspecting the cake.

  I tidy up the counter, wiping away the extra bits of fondant and frosting with a white cloth. Although I think Renee might be right.

  I am worried. About everything. Especially since running away from Dean yesterday. I’d managed to walk straight to the bakery this morning, avoiding looking down at the ticket hut, but I don’t know how long I can keep avoiding him. Not only because of the festival, but also that pressing need to see him that won’t go away. It wasn’t solved by a few minutes alone with him. If anything, it was heightened. And then he called me the name my mother always used.

  “I think we’re done,” Renee announces and heads to the storage room for the rolling cart. The wedding venue is only a few blocks away, and I usually roll the cake over there. Avoiding every bump on the sidewalk. It’s not a job for Renee, who will attempt to get the cake to its destination as fast as possible. Sidewalk cracks and potential hazards be damned.

  Renee maneuvers the empty cart across the room, shoving it around the ovens and racks. When she gets to the table, we grab opposite sides and lift together, setting it carefully on the cart.

  Renee smiles down at our work. “I can take it.”

  “No,” I say quickly. “Watch the counter for a while.” I glance at the clock and start to slowly push the cart toward the door. “Ms. Joanna gets a baguette now. And she actually told me the other day that I make better baguettes than Benny.”

  Renee throws back her head and lets out a laugh. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all morning. Although, there is something from yesterday.”

  “About Ms. Joanna?”

  “Of course not.” She grins. “We’re going out Saturday night.”

  The cart rolls to a careful stop, and I eye her over the top. “Saturday?”

  “I met a knife at the gas station.” She waggles her eyebrows.

  I shake my head. “There should be a rule about guys you meet at the gas station. It already sounds creepy. And even worse when you call him a knife.”

  She gives big eyes. “But he is a knife. With a serrated edge.”

  “He’s a steak knife?” I make sure the cart is stopped safely and walk around it, grabbing the little tent we have to keep it protected. “I thought you were a vegetarian. Spoons only.”

  “I eat bacon.” Renee pulls off her apron to reveal a pink sequined tank top. Later she’ll pull the gray Salt’s t-shirt over it. Why does she keep working there? It would be so much better if she worked here in the mornings with me. “And I don’t know, maybe it’s time for a change. Spoons are boring. So I agreed to meet up with the knife. And you can ask that spork you were ogling the other day.”

  “Um, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I set the tent carefully over the cake, double-checking that it’s high enough to not hit the top.

  She waggles a finger at me. “You and your no-dating rule. I don’t get it at all, Ella. I mean, are you just going to be celibate for the rest of your life? Is the plan to be like angry old Joanna who argues over olive bread? Cuz that’s a fabulous life plan.”

  “No.” I sigh. I don’t actually know how to answer her question. Being alone forever sounds so… forever. It doesn’t help that the bent cupcake holder in the display peeks at me. I remember Benny’s face as he worked to fit it in the case. My heart aches knowing I’ll never have that.

  “Then why not just give it a try?” Renee’s lips purse, like she’s trying to figure me out. We might be half-sisters and best friends, but I grew up in a completely different world than she did. One where cupcake holders didn’t exist.

  “Dating’s just not what I want to be doing right now,” I say. “I’ve got the bakery.” And there’s not a chance I’m going to tell her what the other issues are. The last thing I want to explain are errant thoughts about wrapping a thin leather necklace around a man’s wrist. What would she think? She’d probably run right out of this bakery and call to have me committed somewhere.

  I sigh. “It’s just comple
x with everything that happened.”

  She leans against the edge of a table. “I get that you want to prove you’re different from your mother. And you have. You are. But at what point does she stop taking things from you?”

  I stare at her. Open-mouthed. “It’s not that simple,” I finally say. Because it’s not.

  And yet, it is. She does keep taking things from me. And she’s not even here. Is there an end to this? A point when her voice doesn’t echo in my head anymore?

  “Maybe you should just be honest with him.” Renee shrugs. “Tell him what happened. It’s not like you’re the only person in the world who has baggage. All sorts of people date, so why not you?”

  I wrap my arms over my chest. “You don’t know—”

  “No, I’m sure I probably don’t.” Her shoulders fall, and so do mine. There’s so much I can’t tell her.

  “Okay, maybe no dating,” she continues. “But when’s the last time you had a conversation with an eligible guy? Besides at the bakery.”

  “Yesterday,” I admit. “Maybe. I don’t know if he’s eligible. Actually, it doesn’t matter if he’s eligible. I’d rather not know.”

  “The spork?” She brightens.

  I chew on my lip. “It was nothing.” I launch into the facts in the same voice I’d use to describe how to make carrot cake. Although when I tell her that the situation with the eligible spork invoked a lack of clothing, Renee almost trips over nothing. But otherwise, she listens with an interested, delighted expression.

  “See,” she says. “Talking to people is fun.”

  “I jumped in freezing water. I lost my phone, and I can’t afford a new one right now. And worse, I risked the life of the sweetest dog I’ve ever met. And my life. And his life. Ran away from him in the most embarrassing way possible. Who knows what else could have happened?”

  “You could have made out.” Renee doesn’t stop grinning. “That’s the kind of fun I want to have on Saturday. And it will still be fun without you. He’s picking me up after work.”

  I grip the edge of the cart. “He’s picking you up?”

  “I already promised.” She shrugs, and the sequins sparkle, calling attention to curves that make eyes follow her. Is she bluffing? Is that why she isn’t looking at me?

  It wouldn’t be the first time she’s made a dumb decision about getting in a strange guy’s car. It’s like she doesn’t know what goes bump in the night. Or maybe she’s too focused on what goes hump.

  Either way, I’m not going to let her do this by herself. “You can’t go off with a guy you don’t know.”

  “I know him well enough,” she argues. “He came in to pick up a delivery. And we traded innuendos about masts and buoys. It’s all very casual, not a date-date. Just a meet up. So I’m sure it would be perfect if you came along.”

  “No, Renee.” I’ll kidnap her if I have to.

  She grins. “A good big sister would tag along.”

  I chomp on my bottom lip. “I don’t know what a good big sister would do.”

  She shakes her head as if she doesn’t believe me. But it’s the truth. A good big sister would convince her to stop making terrible decisions. I always finally agree to go with her—trying to make sure she doesn’t end up dismembered and in a refrigerator. It’s like she doesn’t know that could really happen. Like I said, completely different world than mine.

  “I need this distraction.” Renee scrunches her nose. “Seriously, Ella, you don’t know how much I need it.”

  I know she does. For Renee, most of her life is split between time at Salt’s and her mother. And I know she loves Laura—we all do, but I know it’s also hard for her. She even dropped out of her community college classes last semester. I can’t remember the last time she went out.

  Renee plasters that bright smile on her face, but this time it doesn’t reach her eyes.

  “Have things been worse lately? With your mom?” I bite my lip, watching her closely.

  “She’s been doing good. I’ve just been busy with some other stuff.” She looks toward the front door. Is she not telling me something?

  “What other stuff?” I prod.

  “Oh, just the usual boring stuff. Nothing important.” She waves a hand. “And stop changing the subject. Are you meeting the knife with me or not?”

  “Okay,” I say, letting the other conversation drop. For now. “But we’re meeting him, not getting picked up. And do you want to stay with me afterward?” At least maybe that will get her to come back with me instead of going off with a guy she barely knows. “You don’t have to work on Sunday, do you?”

  She grins and bounces on her toes. “A girl’s night. After meeting the guy, of course.”

  I laugh. “Okay. A quasi girl’s night.” My laughter fades. “Why do you work there, Renee? It smells like gasoline and grime. And that t-shirt you have to wear is terrible.”

  Renee leans toward me, and her ponytail swings forward again. “If I tell you, do you promise not to tell anyone else?”

  “Um… no?” I shake my head. “If it’s really weird, I’m gonna have to tell people.”

  “It’s not that weird. I’m just taking sailing lessons from ol’ Salt.” She smooths down her shirt. “I just don’t want my parents to know yet. They hope I’m still going to end up here.” She gestures to the register. “And it’s not like I’m saying no. I just don’t know yet. I want to try this sailing thing for a while. Maybe it’s silly.”

  “No, it’s not.” I breathe out a sigh of relief. I’m not sure why I thought she was working there, but whatever it was, my thoughts had gone much darker than sailing lessons. “Not at all. It’s perfect.”

  She gives me a nervous smile. “You think so?”

  “Absolutely.” I grip the cart. Renee isn’t the only sibling I worry about. “But… can you help me out with something?”

  “Anything,” she says quickly.

  “Have a drink with me at the Horseshoe.”

  Renee wrinkles her nose—not in the kitten-cute way. “Why?”

  “I need to talk to a bartender who works there.”

  “Well, I suppose that’s talking to someone.” She taps her toe. I know she doesn’t like that place. I don’t either, actually. It’s dark and underground and has a musty smell. But Mitch, the bartender, is the only guy in Portage who might have a lead on where Anthony’s staying. And my mother’s words keep winding back to me. I’ll see you soon. What does it mean? What can she possibly do from prison? But that’s something Anthony might have the answer to.

  “It’s about my brother,” I say. “He hasn’t called in a long time. If you don’t want to go, that’s fine. I’ll stop by—”

  “One drink at the Horseshoe,” she says. “And an outfit change. Your bakery uniform of old jeans and a threadbare sweater won’t cut it.”

  “I’m not sure I have anything else to wear.” The bakery is pretty much my life, and any other time I have goes to the Harborwalk Festival. “Besides, I’m not the one with a date, Renee.”

  14

  Dean

  I peer at the gooseneck and then up and across the rigging. Study the carefully furled sails. I’m practically daring something to be amiss, which is a bad plan. But “things going amiss” seems to be the theme since we docked here. I know it’s just a run of bad luck. Or due to the disregard my father showed this boat over the last few years. Every time I turn around, I hate him more.

  “Dean. It’s fine.” Sebastian slaps me on the back. “I’ve never seen you so worried about this stuff.”

  I take a step back and reach for the bottle of water he offers me.

  “I don’t think it’s the gooseneck Dean’s worrying about.” Dev grins at us from the quarterdeck and pulls off his dark glasses.

  I flip up my middle finger at him, but he grins wider. He’s mostly just been sitting up there with Matty and throwing comments at us. Although he took off his shirt a while ago looking like he was going to get some sun, but I’m waiting for him to
start flexing as soon as anything female happens by. Sebastian called him a douche-rooster earlier, and I don’t think we’ve stopped laughing about it since. That’s exactly what he’s doing: preening.

  “What’s he worrying about?” Sebastian asks Dev, like I’m not standing right next to him.

  “Dean’s got a girl.” Dev points toward the Harborwalk. “Or, at least, he wants a girl.”

  “The one with the sexy hair?” Sebastian laughs that deep chuckle of his. He’s been more at ease today. Maybe because we stayed up until two in the morning reminiscing about sailing and climbing until we both crashed out on deck and woke up to an overly bright sunrise.

  “She sprinted away from him yesterday,” Sebastian continues. “Not sure I’ve ever seen a woman run so fast. Maybe she should try out for the Olympics. You could just stand behind the starting block, Dean.”

  Now Dev’s laughing loudly. “He practically shoved her into the water the other day. Manhandled her until she had to pull away from him.”

  I rake a hand through my hair. “Can we stop talking about her now?”

  Usually I don’t mind a few digs at my expense. But today it’s hitting harder than normal. Maybe because I didn’t get much sleep last night. And when the sun woke me up, I set to work on painting the ticket hut until Dev and Sebastian were ready to change the gooseneck. There’s just so much stuff to get done, and I’m getting irritable as fuck about it.

  Or maybe because her running away hit me. Hard. I’ve been rejected before. Well, not that often. But usually I shrug it off.

  With her, it’s impossible to shrug for some reason.

  Sebastian nudges me with his elbow, but he’s still looking up at Dev. “Last night, Dean told me he visited her in the bakery and made her drop a tray of cupcakes.”

  “It was a loaf of bread,” I shoot at him. “Do you have to broadcast my failures?”

  “Fuck, Dean, you really know how to get a girl, don’t you?” Dev stands up and stretches out his shoulders. And does a pec flex like he’s posing for a calendar. “You need to start working out more.”