Wish You Were Here, page 1
Wish You Were Here
Lani Diane Rich
Copyright © Lani Diane Rich 2008, 2013
All Rights Reserved
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, events, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.
First Digital Edition: May 2013
www.LaniDianeRich.com
One
Freya Daly swatted at a fly buzzing her head as her left stiletto tottered on the gravel under her feet. The ancient log cabin in front of her was maybe four hundred square feet, if that. It looked like it had probably last been weather-treated sometime in the Nixon administration, and the number 4 over the front door hung upside down from one nail, waiting for the right moment to make a run for it.
Dig that, she thought. Hell has a campground.
She squared her shoulders, picked up her leather Louis Vuitton suitcase—no way was she dragging that over Idaho dirt—and started toward her cabin. Time to get to work. She walked carefully up the short path to the cabin and tried to imagine what the hell her father was thinking, sending her out here. Daly Developers acquired swank apartment buildings and five-star hotels and hot restaurants in big cities; they didn’t go out into the middle of nowhere and purchase worthless campgrounds.
Except, apparently, they did. And this was it, the last of the flaming hoops of hellfire she had to jump through to prove to her father she was ready to take over when he retired in the fall.
Time to get jumping, she thought, and then her throat tightened and her eyes started to water and—
Crap.
She set her suitcase down on the porch and closed her eyes tight against the tears waiting behind them.
Not now. Not again.
“Useless doctors,” she muttered, then reached into her purse, pulled out a box of Tic-Tacs, and shook three into her mouth. Three opthalmologists, a Lasik specialist, and the acupuncturist her sister Flynn had talked her into, and the only thing that could combat her odd condition were stupid Tic-Tacs, which she’d discovered on her own, anyway.
Concentrate, she thought, closing her eyes as she rolled the mints around on her tongue. Minty fresh. Neutral. Unemotional. Calm.
“There we go,” she said as the heat behind her eyes simmered down. She blinked twice, sucked on the Tic-Tacs, and then took in a deep, minty breath. “That’s it. Totally under control.”
She rested her hands against the railing, looking out over the property. She could see three other cabins, and up a path behind the cabins was a massive but aged log home; the owner probably lived there. Another path led through the trees—she presumed to the lake—and beyond that, according to the map she’d seen in her packet of documentation, there was an acre or so of RV lots. The landscape was pretty enough, if you were into that kind of thing, but the infrastructure was crap. Old, decrepit, falling down. Why her father chose this for her last flaming hoop was beyond her.
Not that it mattered. Her job was to secure the place, go home, and take over the company. And that was exactly what she was going to—
“Be careful there.” The voice came from behind her, startling her. She spun around, losing her balance and slamming backward into the railing. She heard a crack, felt the world whoosh around her, and then suddenly, she jerked to a stop in midair. She looked up to see a man with dirty blond hair, two-day stubble, and sharp blue eyes looming over her, one hand fisted around the fabric of her jacket, the other hand braced against the support post that held up the overhang.
“Shit,” she said, and swallowed her Tic-Tacs.
There was a quick yank at her midsection and then she was up onto the safety of the porch, falling into the Adirondack chair across from the railing.
“Ow,” she said as her ass hit the hardwood.
The man took a step toward her, holding out his hand to help her up. “You okay?”
“Super.” Freya ignored his hand and smoothed her skirt. “Thanks.”
He retracted his hand. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were coming in early until a few minutes ago. I’m just fixing some plumbing in the bathroom, and I’ll be out of your way in a second.”
“Really?” She pushed up from the chair, internally calculating how much plumbing issues might take off the asking price during negotiations; this handyman might come in handy. “There are problems? Are they systemic, needing a full rehaul, or just your standard leaky faucet kind of thing?”
He went silent for a beat before answering. “Hot water spigot needs replacing.”
“I see,” she said. “That sort of thing can be indicative of a systemic problem, don’t you think?”
“Um...” He cleared his throat, then said, “This is the best cabin we’ve got at the moment.” He glanced down over the side of the porch at the broken pieces of railing and shook his head. “Once I fix that.”
“Well, if it broke that easily, it doesn’t say much for the state of the place, does it? About how many repairs do you find yourself making in the average week here?”
He leaned in a little closer. “Who are you again?”
She held out her hand. “Freya Daly. I’m with Daly Developers, Incorporated. We’re looking at the place for possible purchase, and have been in talks with your boss—”
“Let me stop you there,” he said, taking her hand. “I’m the boss, and I’ve already said no, so save your pitch.”
She stopped shaking his hand, but didn’t let go. “You’re Nate Brody?”
“Yep.”
Damnit. She should have known that. In the old days, she would have known, she would have studied his picture, she would have memorized the research before she left instead of cramming it all in on the plane. She released his hand and reached for her Tic-Tacs.
“Sorry,” she said, popping three. “Jet lag.”
“Well, Ms. Daly—”
“Call me Freya. Please.” She smiled tightly and clenched her teeth down on a Tic-Tac, scorching a peppermint burn into the side of her tongue.
“Freya. Look, I don’t know what you’ve been told, but if your people sent you here to change my mind, it’s a waste of your time. I’m not selling.”
Great. A reluctant seller. Time to switch tactics. She smiled. “Actually... this is a vacation. My father told me about how beautiful it was out here, and I needed a little time off so I thought, where better to spend that time than Deer Gulch?”
“Deer Creek,” he corrected.
Crap. “Right.” These were rookie mistakes, and she never made rookie mistakes. Not even when she was a rookie. She felt the familiar rumbling of stress and panic in her gut and popped two more Tic-Tacs. She had to get away from Nate Brody and get herself together before she hosed this deal forever. “You know what? I think maybe I’d like to just take a shower.”
“Sure. You bet.”
He stepped past her and opened the door. She made a motion to reach for her suitcase, but he got to it first. He held the door open, inviting her to go in first, and then followed her, depositing the suitcase by the hearth.
Freya surveyed the cabin. There was a stone fireplace, which was nice enough. The dark wood floors were a bit creaky, and the decor consisted of a woven rag rug, a coffee table made from a slice of a mutant-large tree, and a 1970s-looking orange sofa. She imagined the demolition ball hitting it all, grinding it to dust to make room for the luxury cabins they’d replace it with before selling the land at a huge profit to the highest bidder, then she turned to Nate Brody with a genuine smile. “Thanks. I can take it from here.”
“Yeah, I know, it’s just...” He pointed toward the bathroom. “The hot water.”
She waved her hand. “Oh. You know, that’s fine...”
“You need hot water. It’ll just take a minute to fix, and I’ll be out of your way.”
“Oh. Um. Okay,” she said, and he disappeared into the bathroom. She followed to find him leaning over an ancient claw-foot tub with a middle faucet jutting out over it from the log wall. She glanced around, turning in a full circle before realizing...
“There’s no shower?”
“No,” he said, working his wrench on the faucet. “There’s a tub. And a...” He clinked the wrench twice on a handheld showerhead. “It’ll just be a minute, I promise.” And he ducked his head down and went to work.
She stared down at the tub, the panic escalating, for no acceptable reason, just like all the other times. On the heels of the panic came the choking helplessness, and then, like clockwork, her eyes welled up. She made a quick escape back into the main room, grabbed her purse off the coffee table, and rooted through it, finding her Tic-Tacs. She poured five into her hand and popped them, closing her eyes.
Minty. Cool. Unemotional. Calm.
“Dad?”
Freya turned her head toward the open front door to see a slight brunette girl poke her head in the doorway. She was about ten or eleven years old, with ragged pigtails and skinned knees peeking out from her cutoff shorts, and she wore a pink T-shirt that read DON’T CALL ME CUTE in glittery, swirly silver lettering that shot out stars from each end.
“Wow,” the girl said, her eyes going wide as they went from Freya’s head to her shoes and back up again, as if she’d never seen someone dressed in silk before. “You’re staying here?”
“Can I help you?” Freya asked, sniffling.
The girl stepped into the cabin. “I’m Piper.” She held out her hand, arm straight, head high. Freya took it and shook.
“I’m Freya.” She released the girl’s hand, but the kid just stared up at her, her head tilted and her eyes assessing, making Freya uncomfortable. Freya crossed her arms over her stomach and said, “Uh, is Nate your father? He’s fixing something in the bathroom. He’ll be out in just a second.” She turned her head toward the bathroom, and said, “Nate?” right as the water turned on. Freya looked back at the girl, who was still staring at her. “You’re welcome to go in there and hang out with him if you’d like.”
Piper didn’t move. “Are you okay?”
“Me?” Freya swiped under her eyes and bit down on a Tic-Tac. “I’m great.”
“It’s okay if you’re crying,” Piper said. “I cry all the time. It’s no big deal.”
“I don’t,” Freya said. “I’m not the emotional type.”
“Everyone’s emotional.”
“Well, I’m not.” Freya crossed her arms over her stomach, feeling oddly exposed in the girl’s crosshairs.
“Ruby says it’s just a matter of whether you express your emotions or not, and it’s unhealthy not to express your emotions, because then when they do come out, they’re all explosive and everything. Like diarrhea. Your chin is trembling a bit. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Would you like a Tic-Tac?” Freya said quickly, holding out the tiny plastic box.
Piper smiled. “Sure.”
Freya stuffed the box into the kid’s hand. “Take the box. I’ve got a stash.”
Piper popped a bunch in her mouth, but unfortunately, it didn’t keep her from talking. “So why are you crying? Is everything okay?”
“I’m not crying. I just...” Freya sighed. “I have a condition, okay? My eyes start tearing every now and again, for no reason.” Like driving to work. In staff meetings. During diabetes fundraisers with the Red Sox. “But I’m not really crying. I’m not sad. I have nothing to be sad about. It’s just... my eyes.”
Piper gave her a dubious look. “There’s a disease where you cry when you’re not sad?”
“It’s not a disease.” Freya blinked hard. “It’s a condition.”
“What’s it called? Because I’ve never heard of anything like that. Are you sure it’s real?”
“It’s real.” Just because she hadn’t found a doctor who could confirm it yet didn’t mean it wasn’t real. “Don’t you have homework to do or something?”
“Sorry that took so long, but everything’s—” Nate stopped talking as he stepped out into the main room and saw Piper, his face brightening at the sight of his little girl. Freya’s throat closed up and her eyes filled again. Luckily, Nate and Piper were focused on each other.
“What are you doing here, Pipes?” he said.
Piper skipped over to him.
“Ruby wanted me to tell you that Number Four checked in early.”
Nate shot a light smile at Freya, and then his smile faded a bit as he focused on her.
I’m not crying, goddamnit, Freya thought.
Nate looked back at Piper, and Freya took the opportunity to swipe away the moisture under her eyes.
“Thanks for the heads-up, kid,” he said, ruffling her hair. “Your homework done?”
“Not yet,” she said. “Hey, Dad, have you ever heard of an eye condition that makes people cry when they’re not sad?”
Nate looked at Piper, then at Freya. Freya tried to smile through the thin veil of her disintegrating dignity but, based on Nate’s expression, her success was limited.
“Uh...” he said, “you know what, Piper? We should go get that homework done, leave Ms. Daly alone.”
“We can call her Freya,” Piper said. “So, have you ever heard of it?”
Nate looked at Freya again and she averted her eyes, humiliation raging through her. Just leave, just leave, just leave...
“Yeah, sure, I’ve heard of that.”
Freya raised her head to look at Nate, but he was still focused on Piper.
“There was a guy who played for the Redskins a few years back who had it,” he said.
Piper hit her dad playfully on the arm. “Shut up!”
“No, really,” he said. “Big guy. Linebacker. Six feet tall, 285 pounds, happiest guy in the world. Cried all the time.” He met Freya’s eye quickly, then looked back down at Piper. “Made a miraculous recovery when people left him alone about it.” He chucked her under the chin. “Got it?”
“Got it.” Piper turned to Freya. “Sorry I didn’t believe you.”
“No problem,” Freya said, then met Nate’s eyes and smiled. “Thanks.”
Nate nodded and put one hand on Piper’s shoulder, directing her toward the door. “Homework.”
Piper turned her head over her shoulder and kept talking. “You can come up to the house later if you want. We can play Slap. It’s this card game—”
“Freya’s a guest,” Nate said. “We don’t harass guests, remember?”
Piper angled her head to look up at her father. “I wasn’t harassing. I was inviting.”
“Sorry,” Nate said to Freya as he nudged Piper out the open door.
“It’s okay.” Freya walked with them to see them out, out, out. She had them all the way out the door when Piper stopped suddenly and peered over the edge of the porch. “Oh, shit, what happened to the railing?”
“Don’t say ‘shit’ in front of the guests,” Nate said, then looked at Freya and said, “I’ll be back later to fix that.”
Piper turned back to her father. “You’re coming back? Oooh, I can help!”
“No, you’ve got homework,” he said, then turned to Freya. “Ruby’s in the office until five, so if you need anything, just dial nine on the phone. There’s also a grocery store in town if you need anything we don’t have, on Second Avenue. Just follow Route 8 back into town and take a left, you can’t miss it.”
Piper grabbed her father’s sleeve. “I can go with her, show her around.”
Nate took her hand. “Homework.”
“But she’s sad” Piper said in a stage whisper she probably thought Freya couldn’t hear.
“She’s fine,” Nate said.
Piper sighed and reached around her dad to wave. “Bye, Freya! It was nice to meet you!”
“Bye, Piper,” she said.
Nate pulled the girl away, and Freya heard her say, “She needs friends. We should be her friends,” as Nate shushed her and walked her down the front steps. Freya shut the door, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath to relieve the tension in her shoulders as she leaned against it, hoping it was in better shape than the porch railing. When I open my eyes, it won’t seem so bad.
When she opened her eyes, her focus went straight to the ugly orange couch, and she was hit with the sudden realization that there was no bedroom. That was her bed, and it was the color of fiery brimstone. She was in Hell’s campground, and she’d be sleeping on Hell’s pullout couch.
She felt the panic start to swell within her, then stamped her foot on the floor.
“This is not tougher than me.” She went to her suitcase, pulled out a pair of pajamas and her toiletries, and headed for the bathroom. “I’m Freya Goddamn Daly, and I am not emotional.”
Then she trudged into the bathroom and eased herself into the hot water. A box of Tic-Tacs later, the tears finally abated, and she considered it a win.
***
Nathan Brody stared down at the sizzling salmon steaks in front of him and tried to clear his mind. The day had been long and—as usual—unproductive, and even cooking wasn’t making him feel any better about the lack of progress he’d been making.
That wasn’t a good sign.
“Oh, shit, he’s doing gourmet again,” Ruby said, ruffling Piper’s hair as she entered the kitchen. She tossed the day’s office mail on the breakfast bar and looked at Nate. “What happened? You didn’t find the”—she glanced at Piper, who sat hunched over her math homework—“toolbox, did you?”
Nate shot Ruby a warning look, nodding toward Piper. He’d asked Ruby a thousand times not to talk about it in front of Piper, but it didn’t much matter what you asked Ruby. Ruby was salt-of-the-earth Idaho, and Ruby did what she damn well pleased.
“Whatcha workin’ on there, kid?” she asked Piper.
