Page 92 of Whispers

“Met him. Just met him? Come on, Claire, you can do better than that. You’ve not only met him, you’ve spent time with him and gone”—he waved wildly in the air—“riding with him on his damned motorcycle in the middle of the night.”

Her cheeks burned in silent testimony as she stood in the doorway. Guilt tore a jagged crater in her soul. “I would never have met him if you’d been faithful,” she said, though she wondered just how true that statement was. “I haven’t cheated on you, Harley. Not ever.”

“Not yet, maybe,” he said, resting the butt of the near-empty bottle on his chest, “but you’re itching to. I can see it in your eyes. Jesus! And to think I loved you.”

“Harley—”

“Go on, get out of here,” he growled, then promptly drained any remaining liquid from the bottle.

“I can’t, not if you’re going to—”

“Ah, hell, leave me alone,” he said, as if the mention of Kane had changed everything. “I’ll be fine.” His gaze was abruptly harsh and for half a second he looked like his brother. “Leave, you two-timing whore, or come back here and remind me why it is that I want you.”

Heart in her throat, she climbed up the ladder to the deck and half ran off the boat. He was drunk and angry and hateful, but she didn’t believe he meant anything he said. When he was sober . . . what? What would happen? Nothing would change. She stopped at the gate where the security guard was sitting, eyes closed, on his stool. “Would you check on berth C-13?” she asked. “The Taggert slip?”

“Yes, Harley Taggert’s inside and . . . I think he needs a ride home.”

He looked her up and down and, jangling his keys, started down the ramp. “I’ll see to him, Missy. Mr. Taggert, he would want to know that his son’s okay.”

“Yes . . . yes, he would,” she said, and walked briskly to the Jeep she’d taken from her father’s fleet. Sounds of the party still drifted up to her, and somewhere not far away a dog was barking his fool head off.

She reached into her pocket for her keys and realized that the course of her life had taken a quick, unexpected turn. For better or worse, she couldn’t say, but for the first time in months she was unfettered and free.

“Things will be fine,” she told herself as she cranked the steering wheel of the Jeep and drove under the arched neon sign of the marina. They had to be.

So what about Kane?

Her hands perspired on the wheel. He wasn’t the kind of boy a girl could depend upon. He was leaving for the army.

She couldn’t fall in love with him. Wouldn’t.

But as she drove through the forested hills leading back to her house, she knew she was lying to herself. Like it or not, she was half in love with him already.

Twenty-one

Claire stepped on the brakes, and the Jeep slid to a stop near the garage. Still shaking inside, she stared at her ringless left hand and fought tears. She’d spent the past three hours driving around in circles, avoiding the hangouts where Harley might look for her, not bothering to go home for fear he might call. He needed time to think things through and sober up. She needed space so that she could consider the new course of her life.

Since she’d left the marina, the storm that had been threatening all day had broken. Wind rushed through the branches of the trees overhead, making them pitch and dance. Rain poured from the sky, drizzling down the windshield and peppering the ground. Puddles had begun to form on the low spots in the asphalt, and the old lodge, the home she’d cherished, looked bleak and forbidding.

No one was home. Randa’s car wasn’t parked in its usual spot and Dutch was spending most of his nights in Portland, meeting with architects, lawyers, and accountants about the next phase of Stone Illahee. Dominique had gone with him this time, though Claire didn’t know why. It seemed as if her parents had less and less in common as the summer edged toward fall.

Dominique had never been one to suffer in silence. She’d complained for as long as Claire could remember about hating this “godforsaken place in the middle of nowhere.”

Tessa was probably out as well. Where or with whom, Claire couldn’t guess. She and her younger sister had never been particularly close, but this summer their relationship had become more strained. Tessa was a powder keg ready to explode. Claire was prickly, defensive of her relationship with Harley.

Except it was over. Maybe now she and Tessa would see eye to eye.

Miranda was the only person in the family who was rock-steady, the one Claire could count on.

Yanking her keys from the ignition, she pulled her collar around her neck, climbed out of the Jeep, and heard, over the gurgle of rainwater in the gutters and downspouts, the smooth hum of a powerful engine. Headlights flashed through the trees. Her heart clutched. Harley. He’d sobered up and now he was coming after her!

She couldn’t face him again.

Yet she stood transfixed, like an animal caught in headlights as the car rounded a final bend. Claire steeled herself, ready to stand firm with him and insist that their breakup was for the best. Somehow, some way she’d convince him.

Miranda’s Camaro squealed into the parking area. Claire let out her breath. The car skidded to a stop just ten feet from her.

“Get in!” Miranda yelled through the open window. Her voice was desperate. “Now!”