Second Chance Rose, page 7
I stopped myself before I went too far down the path of nostalgia, though. This was the guy who left without so much as a glance back ten years ago. No matter what he presented himself to be now—more mature, slightly wounded, still achingly handsome, and maybe a little lonely—the movie shoot would end at some point, and August would be out of my life again. My focus was the farm and always would be. I couldn’t pretend anything otherwise, not with everything hanging so precariously in the balance.
Orcas Island was my home. It was the one constant that never let me down. It was with me every morning when I awoke and every night when I laid my head on the pillow.
I simply didn’t have time to care about anyone but me and Pappy. Caring cost, and I didn’t have the capital to spend on it.
CHAPTER 7
Our 4:00 a.m. call time came early. Today was all about capturing Damon and Domino above water, and the plan was to film spots for several scenes in the movie, not necessarily in order. Arthur’s assistants had been watching the weather for days and decided now was our best chance at a windless day on the Pacific.
Sam and Noah were waiting for me in the hotel lobby, and together we trudged down to the marina in the dark. Some other crew members were already there, set dressing the Redemption. In the first scene on the call sheet, Damon’s character would take the boat out to where he knew a shipwreck lay beneath the water—one rumored to have diamonds aboard. Later in the morning, Domino would join the crew to film scenes on the boat with him, on their first “date,” where she had to pretend to know nothing about diving. In the final scene of the day, Domino would take the boat out alone after Damon’s character ended up in hospital with the bends.
A narrowboat barge was floating next to the Redemption. After I left Cottle’s yesterday, I’d learned all I could about this type of vessel. I’d read online that narrowboats were mainly used in shallow canals due to their long and narrow shape and shallow draft.
But when its owner appeared in front of me, my stomach sank. Chip Thurlow had worked at Bayview Soil and Landscape when I was a kid, doing odd jobs for my parents. He was the kind of guy who always had a scheme on the go, and I’d always wondered if he’d played a part in my father’s bad business dealings. We scowled recognition at each other. What was he up to now? No way would he have agreed to rent out his boat if he didn’t have some ulterior motive.
He told Noah he was living aboard the narrowboat and rarely took it out from the marina, but since the weather was good, I had no recourse to voice any concern with Arthur. I checked my phone to be doubly sure: no wind in the forecast. The barge, even though not designed for use at sea, should float comfortably for our purposes—Chip or no Chip.
We boarded as the rising sun streaked the sky red and purple. It stole my breath with its beauty, although I couldn’t help but murmur, “Red sky in the morning, sailor’s warning,” under my breath as I stepped down into the boat’s forward cabin. Was the old adage about a red sky at sunrise a harbinger of bad weather for us? I hoped not.
Chip had cleared enough room inside for Sam, Noah, and me to set up our equipment—waterproof housing for the camera, since we’d be shooting through an open window on the boat, battery packs, and some clamps and straps that would keep the camera steady in the window frame.
By 6:00 a.m. day had broken, and Chip got us out on the water, following the Redemption to our first location. He and I exchanged several glares as we taxied into place, a silent agreement passing between us to pretend we were strangers. I was nothing if not professional. I wasn’t about to drag my family’s shameful business affairs from a decade earlier into what I hoped would be a successful job.
A third boat on the water contained Arthur and his assistants; Domino’s co-producer, Trudi; and the principal cinematographer, who would be filming a different angle. We all kept in touch by walkie-talkie. Once Arthur was satisfied with our location, we dropped anchors.
The first scene rolled as smooth as butter. Damon lived up to his reputation of being an affable guy, keeping us entertained between takes by miming jokes to the narrowboat crew when the bigwigs on the third boat argued over light and angles. We did fourteen takes before Arthur deemed us ready to move on to the next scene, and I heard him walkie-talkie to the dock that we were ready on set for Domino.
Around that time, Chip started to behave oddly. He moved back and forth on the boat, scratching his head and muttering to himself. At one point he disappeared into the bedroom, and we heard him on the phone, sounding frantic, but I couldn’t make out any words. As we were setting up for the first shot of the next scene—the one where Damon’s and Domino’s characters embarked on their first date—Sam finally couldn’t take it anymore.
“Hey, man,” Sam interrupted when Chip approached on another pace back and forth. “Everything okay? We’re just gonna start shooting this next scene. Anything I can do for you?”
Chip scratched his head again. He’d done it so many times it was standing straight up. “It’s just that…” Chip looked from Sam to Noah and me as if assessing what to tell us. “Nah, it’s nothing,” he said, shrugging. But he went right back to pacing and muttering.
Sam being Sam, he needed his surroundings to be calm and quiet before he could confidently shoot. He grew increasingly frustrated. “Look, Chip—”
Chip kept walking—this time right through the door that led to the small deck at the front of the boat, closing the door behind him.
“What the…?”
“Of all the locals we could’ve asked.” I rolled my eyes. I should have warned them.
Before I could say a word, though, the door flew open again, Chip looking wild eyed and nervous. “Mayday! Mayday!” he shouted into the cabin. “We gotta get off this thing! She’s going down!”
“What?” Noah and I said in unison, at the same time Sam shouted, “Are you fucking serious?”
“Of course I’m serious! Pass me that bag!” Chip gestured wildly at a blue waterproof bag on the shelf behind the bench seat next to the kitchen table. “And if you’re smart, you’ll get that camera gear off this thing, too.”
Unaware of the urgency of the situation, Noah casually grabbed the bag and tossed it to Chip. He whirled out the door again and started waving his hands in the air and shouting to the other boats.
The narrowboat tilted to one side then, jolting Noah, Sam, and me into action as water began surging in from all sides. The cabin quickly filled with seawater to the height of our knees, and it rose rapidly as Sam and I struggled to unlatch the complicated series of straps we’d used to stabilize the camera in the window.
“Forget that thing and let’s go!” Noah shouted, straining to keep the door open against the gushing water. “Come on, come on!”
I grabbed Sam’s arm, and together we pushed through the now waist-deep water to the door Noah stood against. Outside, the people on the other two boats were waving and calling to us.
“Jump over!” shouted the speedboat driver who’d ferried Domino out to the set. He edged closer to the sinking narrowboat, ready to pull us aboard. Chip had already made it and sat with his head in his hands next to a startled, but gorgeous, Domino West, her dark hair smooth and shiny in the sun.
The water was freezing. It was a shock to my system that took my breath away when I jumped from the narrowboat to make the short swim to the speedboat. The speedboat driver pulled me aboard, and together we reached down to help Noah and Sam up as well. Once safely in the boat, we all turned back to watch as the narrowboat submerged in the Pacific, taking all Chip’s worldly belongings, and one of our best cameras, with it.
Domino patted the spot between Chip’s shoulder blades. “It’ll be okay. That’s what insurance is for.”
If I didn’t know better, I would have missed the slight smile on Chip’s face as the narrowboat dropped below the surface.
All three boats of onlookers stared in silence, stunned by what we’d just seen and how quickly disaster had happened. The speedboat bobbed gently in the waves while we shivered next to a gorgeous movie star. How the fuck did I get here? I thought, my teeth chattering.
Arthur pierced the quiet with a barrage of shouts at Chip, who executed a near-professional acting job of being in “shock.” Truthfully I was in a bit of shock myself. I tuned out Arthur’s diatribe, instead focusing on the rugged shoreline of the tiny island I’d once called home. The speedboat driver ferried us to shore, where a crowd had gathered at the end of the dock.
Word must have spread about the chance to see Damon and Domino make movie magic, but they’d witnessed something entirely different. The group parted to let Noah, Sam, me, and Chip past. We were trembling in our wet clothes in spite of the warm sunshine. A few people reached out to high-five us, which Noah, leading the way, was happy to oblige, but I couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. I kept my gaze on the dock, a little embarrassed and a lot uncomfortable.
Just as we passed the last cluster of observers, I felt a hand on my arm. My first instinct was to shake it off, but I looked up instead and saw a familiar face beaming up at me. Felix Hardy.
“Come for dinner?”
The farmers market was even busier this week. Ida was back by my side, tent in place above her and an enormous jug of water on her table. Every half hour or so, I hustled over with a reminder to make sure she ate. In her usual no-nonsense way, she waved me off each time, but I could tell my consideration was appreciated.
At the close of the market, exhausted and happy, I packed my wares into the back of the van. “I could use a cold drink,” I told Ida as I slammed the doors shut. “Bluebell’s working. Want to join me at the Driftwood?” I asked, even though I knew she wouldn’t.
“Oh, you go on, dear. Bob will be here any minute, anyway.”
Satisfied she would be fine without me, I climbed into the driver’s seat and steered out of the Grange Hall grounds in the direction of Bayview. Though I’d told Ida—and myself—that I was in pursuit of a cold drink and Bluebell’s company, I hoped I’d see August, too. His question to Zoe last week had haunted me for seven days.
Am I lovable? Was that really what he wanted to know? Eighteen-year-old me could’ve answered that in a heartbeat. Twenty-eight-year-old me wasn’t so sure. And part of me wanted to find out.
I parked behind the hotel and tugged open the door to the kitchen, where Chef George and his assistant Tommy were prepping for dinner service. “Bluebell out front?”
George held up a thumb without lifting focus from where he stood at the grill.
I pushed through the swinging door into the busy dining room. Bluebell was at a table by the fireplace at the far end of the room. I pulled out a stool at the bar to wait for her.
“Hi, Rose.” Fern poured a pint from a tap and set it on a tray beside two sophisticated-looking cocktails. “Are you delivering today? Unusual for a Saturday.”
She had on a cobalt-colored belted jumpsuit with puffy sleeves that made her blue eyes glow. I looked down at my chino shorts and T-shirt, smeared with dust, and slid the beat-up Mariners cap from my head.
“It’s pleasure, not business today.” I ran my hands over my hair in a feeble attempt to smooth it. “Came by to see my gal.” I waved at Bluebell, who turned from the table she was serving and headed in our direction, her curls bouncing.
“Hey! How was the market today?” She entered orders in the restaurant’s computer system, her fingers flying over the screen. “Any interesting encounters?” She raised an eyebrow. I’d told her about last week’s experience with tarot cards—about August’s question and Zoe’s answer. I shook my head no.
“Let Fern make you a drink—on me. Back in a flash.”
“Orchard Catch Cooler,” I read from the fresh sheet Fern put in front of me. “One of those, please.”
“Perfect drink on a hot day.” She grabbed a cocktail glass from where they were lined up on the counter. “I wanted to use the gorgeous strawberries you dropped off this week.” She quartered two berries and muddled them with two basil leaves and a half ounce of simple syrup in a tall glass. Next she squeezed the juice from two lime wedges, dropping them in as well. She filled the rest with ice, eyeballed an ounce of vanilla vodka and four of cider, stirred, and set the drink on a coaster in front of me.
I picked up the glass, already sweaty in the warm air, and took a long sip. “Ooh, that’s fantastic.” It was delicate and satisfying without being too sweet. “I have to tell you, Fern. Before you took over the bar, the most interesting thing to drink was Jack and Coke. Now I can’t wait to try all the new things you come up with.”
She flicked her blonde ponytail and smiled. “I’ll take that.” She filled two pint glasses with pilsner from San Juan Island Brewing and set them on the bar for Bluebell. Then she leaned back on the counter and stuck her hands in the pockets of her apron.
“That’s some excitement they had at the marina today.” She cocked her chin at the wall of windows that looked over the docks.
“How do you mean?”
“You didn’t hear? Oh, the market was today, right.” She palmed her forehead. “One of the boats they were using for the movie sank! Weird, right?”
“What? That is weird. Do they know why?” My stomach did a dive bomb. “Wait—was anyone hurt?”
“Not that I know of. A few of them traipsed in here dripping wet from head to toe. A pack of drowned rats, they looked like.” She giggled.
Bluebell eyeballed me as she returned to load her tray with drinks. “Lemme guess. You heard about the sinking ship.”
I nodded and attempted a smile but couldn’t ignore the worry settling into my chest.
“Not to worry. He’s fine.” She twirled around and disappeared among the diners again.
“Who’s fine?” Fern asked. “Oh, of course! I can’t believe I forgot you used to date August. I almost didn’t recognize him when he walked in here.”
“I guess we’re all getting older, huh.”
“Did he always have that limp?”
I winced at her description. If I knew one thing about August, it was how much he would hate to know people noticed.
Instead of answering, I sipped my drink and told her again how delicious it was. She wiped down the bar and refilled her ice bucket. “Those guys been by tonight, by the way?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
“One of them—Mr. Tall, Blond, and Handsome—poked his head in an hour ago, said it’d just be him and…Sam, I think he said the other guy’s name was? Anyway, just him and Sam for dinner tonight and asked me to save them a seat at the bar.”
That feeling of worry turned to fear, especially when Fern launched into details about what had happened on the water. It sounded pretty scary. I hoped August hadn’t hurt his leg again—not that I knew what was wrong with it in the first place. But if he wasn’t joining his friends for dinner, something must be wrong.
“I always did get bad vibes from that Chip guy,” Fern said. “He’s from Winslow, right? You know him?”
I shrugged. What little I did know wasn’t great. “I think so, yah. Worked with the Quinns I think. I lost track of him after they left.”
“Guy’s an asshole,” a gruff voice said behind me. Fern’s brother, Forest, rested a worn boot on the brass rail that ran the length of the bar and leaned forward on his palms. “Hand me those invoices, would you?” Like mine, his T-shirt was marked with dark spots from working all day. He glanced at me, his eyes the same blue as his sister’s. “Tried to rip off our parents a few years ago in some scam.”
“Forest had him shaking in his boots, didn’t you, big brother?” Fern beamed as she handed him a pile of papers.
“All I know is I better not see his face in my hotel ever again.” He took the papers from Fern and nodded before stalking off in the direction of the lobby.
I made a mental note to ask Pappy what he knew about Chip Thurlow.
Bluebell bounced between the bar and the tables of diners, apologizing every time she picked up drinks that she couldn’t join me. I savored my Orchard Catch Cooler, hoping to bump into Noah or Sam, but when they still hadn’t shown a half hour later, I resigned myself to the fact I’d have to pester Bluebell later for an update. Pappy was waiting for me at home. I looped my bag over my shoulder, scanning the room for Bluebell.
“See you soon,” I told Fern, pushing through the swinging door to the kitchen. I swept past George and exited to the back of the hotel. On the drive home to Winslow, glimpses of the Pacific whipping by me, I consciously steered my thoughts away from August and the accident on set to all the work I needed to do before for the organic inspection agent came in a few weeks.
When I arrived at Big Oak, I headed straight for the kitchen, where I knew Pappy would be fixing dinner, as he always did on market days. I beelined to the sink to wash my hands. Standing there, warm water sluicing over my fingers, I heard his voice in the cottage’s living room.
“Hello?” I called.
“In here.”
I picked up a dish towel and walked toward his voice, drying my hands on the towel as I went. But when I turned the corner into the living room, I promptly dropped it.
“Hi, Rose,” August said.
Pappy jumped up to grab the towel, kissing me on the cheek when he handed it to me. “Are ya just going to stand there? You remember August.” Pappy winked, then sat down again as August stood in greeting. My heart stuttered at the sight of his clear green eyes. Whatever had happened on the water this afternoon, he looked fine. Relief washed over me.
“I— Sure. Hi, August. Actually we’ve seen each other a few times,” I said, clasping the dish towel tightly. “But I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Sorry to startle you,” he said.
“So why are you here?”
The glimmer in his eyes dimmed a little. “Felix invited me.”
“Aye, I did,” Pappy said. “Saw him today at the marina. Thought it might be nice to catch up. Don’t you? Now, I’ll just get the charcoal lit.” He jumped to his feet and bounded past me through the kitchen to the front porch, where we had an old kettle grill that had seen better days.
