Last Summer Page 9

  The bell rang.

  “We have to go.” Grace, eyes glazed dark and stormy, unlocked the stall door. Ella wanted to see the sun shine in her eyes again.

  “Spend the night at my house,” she suggested. “I’ll get Aunt Kathy to whip us up her mac and cheese you love so much, then we’ll binge-watch Friends. I’ve TiVo’d the whole season.”

  A tiny smile peeked through Grace’s gloomy expression. “Sounds like fun.”

  “It will be.” Ella hugged her friend.

  Grace arrived around five. They gorged on mac and cheese and ice cream, then settled down on the couch to watch Friends. Around ten o’clock, long after Aunt Kathy had gone to bed, Ella’s boyfriend, Mike Tate, showed up. Ella was going to send him away but Grace had followed her to the front door.

  “It’s okay. He can come in.”

  “Are you sure?” Ella asked. She didn’t want to take time away from Grace. Tonight was girls’ night.

  Grace nodded. “I’m kind of tired. Think I’ll go to bed. Okay if I take a bath first?”

  “Totally.” Ella led Grace upstairs. She got a towel for her friend and gave her one of her bath bombs, warm vanilla sugar. She even lit her favorite candle, avocado coconut. “I’ll be up shortly, but relax. Take your time.” She hugged her friend, then joined Mike on the couch.

  As the bathwater ran upstairs, Ella made out with Mike. Eventually, she started to drift off to sleep, and Mike, kissing her good night, let himself out the front door. Ella woke up at 2:00 a.m. and, feeling guilty, dragged her weary body upstairs to her room, where Grace had crashed hours earlier. Ella was such a shitty friend to leave Grace alone on their girls’ night. She couldn’t believe she passed out on the couch. She should have sent Mike home. She was going to see him tomorrow anyways. They had plans to go see a movie.

  But when Ella got to her room, Grace wasn’t asleep in Ella’s bed. She wasn’t in the room either.

  Soft light oozed from the crack under the closed bathroom door. Ella knocked softly, thinking Grace had woken and gone to the bathroom. But Grace didn’t answer.

  Ella tried the knob. It was locked. She called for Grace again, and when her friend still didn’t answer, Ella unlocked the door with a bobby pin she found on her dresser. Ella cracked open the door and stopped short, unable to process what she was seeing.

  In the bathtub lay Grace, beautiful, innocent Grace. Fully clothed and soaking in water that looked the color of wine. Ella remembered thinking that the shade wasn’t the color of the bath bomb. It was too dark. Had her friend traded out the warm vanilla sugar for the Japanese cherry blossom? But then Ella saw the long, vertical slits that marred Grace’s pristine forearms, and the steak knife from the kitchen. Grace’s face, pale and serene, angled toward the door. And her eyes. Ella would never forget her eyes. They stared emptily at a point somewhere beyond Ella.

  “Oh, my god,” Damien said, bringing Ella back to him and her office. He leaned across her and yanked free a tissue. He dabbed Ella’s face. “It wasn’t your fault, Ella. I hope these tears aren’t because you blame yourself.”

  “I don’t, other than wishing I’d sent Mike away. Maybe then Grace wouldn’t have gone through with it.”

  “Maybe not, but she probably would have another time. It’s tragic, but it’s not your fault.”

  “I know it’s not. It’s Stan’s. Grace’s father,” she added when Damien frowned.

  “What does he have to do with it?”

  “He had an affair early in his marriage to Grace’s mom. He never told her, but I guess it festered, and he finally confessed ten years after the fact. If he hadn’t, her parents never would have divorced, and Grace would still be alive. His honesty killed my best friend.”

  Damien’s mouth pressed flat. Ella knew he was trying to reason through what she’d said. He’d look for flaws, then challenge her. But he only exhaled roughly and stood. “Grab your coat.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked, taking the hand he offered.

  “You’ll see.”

  “What about the game?”

  “Not important. You are.”

  Damien took her to Ghirardelli Square, where he ordered a hot fudge sundae to share. He told her jokes and tried to spoon-feed her ice cream, only to smear fudge on her nose. She laughed, and she cried, and it felt good.

  “Thanks. I needed this,” she said when they’d finished.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “It’s Sunday,” she said with a sad smile. “Sundaes on Sunday. You always know how to make me happy.”

  “I try.” He smiled and she kissed him.

  “I’m happy with you.”

  “Good. That’s all I want. And your love. That would be cool to have, too.” The corner of his mouth lifted into a lopsided grin.

  “You’ve got it. All of it.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Late the following day after she received Rebecca’s call about the Nathan Donovan assignment, Ella arrives at his house, a large A-frame off a private, narrow road on the outskirts of Truckee, a vibrant Lake Tahoe ski community that is part old Wild West and part filthy-rich winter playground populated with Silicon Valley multimillionaires and extreme athletes. Beyond Nathan’s house is a view that would be the envy of anyone who loved the mountains. A horizon of snowcapped granite giants sleep majestically in the waning sunlight.

  Ella cuts the engine and pushes her arms into the sleeves of her olive-green quilted coat. She unfolds from the car and inhales deeply. Crisp, cold mountain air burns her nostrils and fills her lungs. A breeze rustles through the trees. Aspen leaves dance and pine needles whistle. She rubs her hands together, and bundling her coat tight around her, she shakes off the nervous energy. Nathan knows things about her that she doesn’t. It’s disconcerting. A feeling she’s not accustomed to when going into an interview. Again, she hopes he’ll be more forthcoming than Damien. She wants to get over the interview and on with her life.

  She approaches the house, mounts the porch steps, and rings the doorbell. She waits. And then waits. A minute or so later, she rings again, following it up with a knock on the solid wood door. From somewhere deep in the belly of the house, dogs bark.

  Is he home?

  She looks around. One of the three garage doors is open. Parked inside is a black Chevy truck. Maybe he’s out back.

  Ella follows the deck around the house to the back and stops short, startled. The view is breathtaking, unexpected. So is the man leaning against the railing. She should have anticipated him, but seeing him lounging there, staring off over the canyon below, uncaring that he’s expecting a guest and not greeting her at the door, is unnerving. He drinks from a steaming mug, either unaware she’s there or choosing to ignore her.

  A board creaks under her boot. He jerks his head in her direction. Recognition sparks in his eyes. Caught off guard, Ella rocks back a step but quickly chastises herself. She may not know him, but he knows her. She solidly plants her feet and smiles.

  Nathan smiles back, his teeth bright against a jaw dusted with a week’s worth of growth. He straightens to his full height. He’s taller than she anticipated, and her gaze drops to the heavy boots he wears, the soles an inch or so thick. His mountain man outfit of jeans and a flannel shirt, unbuttoned over a graphic navy T-shirt with the Heavenly Ski Resort logo, tells Ella he’s acclimated to the cooler climate. He’s not wearing a coat and she’s shivering in hers.

  “Hi, Ella.” His voice rolls over her, deeper and richer than the one she heard over the phone or in his Off the Grid! episodes.

  Unsure if she should wave at him or hug him, Ella approaches and thrusts out her hand. “Nathan Donovan? Ella Skye. I know we’ve met but—”

  She stalls when his gaze falls to her hand, then slowly rises to lock on to her face. He frowns, and a short laugh erupts from him. It tells her exactly how ridiculous her greeting seems to him. So formal.

  “But,” she presses on, “there’s something you should know. I had an accident last November and
suffered some memory loss.”

  “This is a joke, right?” The corner of his mouth twitches. There’s a glint in his eyes. He eases in on her, head angled to the side, looking at her curiously, and for a split second she thinks he’s going to kiss her. She also thinks he believes she’s messing with him.

  With a pounding heart, she holds up her hands. “I’m afraid it’s not. I’m also afraid we have to start from scratch. I don’t remember much from our time together before.”

  “You’re serious.” He frowns. “How much is much?”

  She glances at the trees beyond the deck and back. “Anything.”

  His eyes go wide. “Anything?” He chokes out the word.

  “But,” she rushes to explain, “I promise our time together won’t be wasted. It won’t take nearly as long as it did last time, I’m sure of it. You know me, and I bet you’re comfortable talking with me, that’s why you asked for me specifically. You want to tell me your story, and we both want to share it with your audience and Luxe Avenue’s readers. I’ll do it justice, I promise.”

  His laughter is gone. His nostrils flare, and a muscle throbs in his cheek as he clamps his jaw. He looks away from her, taking in the snowcapped mountains. Shadows elongate with the setting sun. She notices his white-knuckle grip on the handle of his mug when he turns back and glares at her.

  “This won’t work.”

  She blinks. “What won’t work?”

  “The interview.”

  “Why not?”

  “Sorry you drove all the way up here. There’s a hotel in town if you don’t want to drive back tonight.”

  He puts down the mug and abruptly walks off.

  What the hell?

  Okay, she anticipated she’d have to do some negotiating, but the cold shoulder he gave her? She didn’t foresee that.

  Her fault. She barely gave the guy a chance to say hello before she blurted everything. Nerves kept her yapping.

  Nice going, Skye. Rookie move.

  But reluctant subjects aren’t foreign territory. She’s handled them before and Nathan isn’t any different. Patience and some word finesse, that’s all it should take. She’s got to appeal to him on a level he’ll understand.

  Ella follows Nathan toward the front of the house. She calls his name. “Wait up.”

  He turns around, walking backward, hands up to ward her off. “I told you. I changed my mind. We’re not doing this.”

  “Why not?” she pushes. “You called us. You asked for me. You insisted I meet you here.”

  “We spent two weeks together last time. I don’t have time to start over.” He bounds down the steps. Long, determined strides take him toward the open garage. Gravel crunches under his boots.

  Two weeks? She thought they’d spent ten days together. Where did those extra days come from? What did they do?

  “Give me five days,” she negotiates, falling into step beside him. “That’s all I need.”

  “I leave for Alaska in three.”

  “I’ll go with.”

  He laughs. “Nope. Not happening.”

  “Why not? Tell me where you’re staying and I’ll make the arrangements. Give me two hours a day, three max. That’s all I ask. Outside of that, you won’t even notice I’m there.”

  “I’d notice. And I’m heli-skiing. Your weight alone mandates that I make plan adjustments.”

  “I don’t expect to go skiing with you,” she says, trying not to bristle over his weight comment. Obviously, it has something to do with the helicopter. She isn’t carrying any extra weight since she last saw Nathan. In fact, she might weigh less. Exercise shed the pregnancy weight. Stress and anxiety over the memory loss dropped a few more pounds.

  “I’ll wait at the lodge until you’re done,” she proposes, far from ready to give up.

  He laughs again. “You, wait? Doubtful. Look, El”—he stops and turns to her—“this interview isn’t going to happen. I told you everything already. Do you really expect me to relive it?”

  Ella’s face falls. “I’m sorry. If you’d just—”

  “I won’t go through this again. I shouldn’t have read that email from Rebecca’s assistant and called her.”

  “Is this because of my amnesia?”

  “I thought—” He cuts off, looks at the sky.

  “You thought what?”

  “It’s getting dark. You should leave.” Long legs carry him across the front yard to where the house meets the adjoining garage.

  “You wouldn’t have insisted I do the interview if we didn’t already have a connection,” she calls after him. “You wouldn’t have reached out to Rebecca and offered the exclusive—again, I might add—if you didn’t have something to say.”

  “Good night, Ella. Go home,” he shoots back over his shoulder, not breaking his stride.

  “I lost my son, too.”

  Nathan stops.

  “I was five months pregnant when an Escalade T-boned my Range Rover. The impact pushed my car into a telephone pole and ruptured the placenta. I survived, fortunately, but my baby was dead by the time I arrived at the hospital. I had an emergency C-section. That’s the story I’ve been told. I also had to read about it in the police report and my medical records. Do you know why?”

  Nathan slowly turns around.

  “Five days after my accident I lost my memory. Not all of it, just some, like the parts about the car accident and my pregnancy. And you. I can’t remember you. Why is that?”

  “I don’t know,” he says quietly, walking back to her.

  “Do you know what I want most?” she asks, tapping her chest. “I want to mourn the loss of my baby, but I can’t remember him. I can’t remember what it feels like to have him growing inside me. Do you know what happens when you can’t remember having something? You don’t miss it. I haven’t been able to grieve, not the way I should. Not the way I want to. And god, the guilt. I can’t begin to describe the guilt.” She pauses, remembering she’s the one who got into the car. She’s the one who didn’t pay attention when she crossed the intersection. Tears surface, burning her eyes and throat.

  “El.” Nathan takes a step forward, reaches for her.

  She holds up a hand to ward him off. She didn’t mean to share this much with him, but once she started talking, she couldn’t stop. She’s been wanting to talk for months, but Damien hasn’t been willing. And goddamn it, she just wants to talk it out. To, once and for all, grieve.

  Ella wipes her tears with her jacket sleeve. “I know my miscarriage can’t compare on any level to what you’ve been through.”

  “Don’t discount your own experience,” Nathan says.

  Ella nods, looking at her boots.

  “Ella? Look at me.”

  She does, and she notices he, too, looks ready to cry. He’s not immune to her story. He opens his mouth, ready to say something, but Ella stops him.

  “Please, let me finish. Miscarrying at twenty-one weeks is awful. But losing a nine-year-old child? Someone you’ve read bedtime stories to and made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for, kissed good night and held his hand? I can’t imagine that.”

  Nathan’s lips press into a tight line.

  “I know you’ve been grieving, Nathan, and I know about the guilt. You believe you could have done things differently and he’d still be alive. Because that’s how I feel every single day.”

  He shifts, takes a step back.

  “I bet you haven’t talked to anyone about Carson except me. You live up here like a recluse and avoid the public like the plague. Has anyone visited you? Do you allow anyone to visit?”

  “That’s not your concern.”

  “Isn’t it, though? You invited me here. You wanted to see me. You want me to write about you.”

  “I wanted you to come because I wanted to finish what we started, not start over.”

  Ella unconsciously steps back. This isn’t just about an interview. There’s so much more going on in this conversation that isn’t registering with her.
What exactly happened between them?

  She’ll speculate on that later. Right now, she needs to nail down Nathan’s commitment and get his help in return.

  “What’s wrong with starting over?” She takes a step forward. Then another. “You called for me and I’m here. Talk to me. About you, Carson, whatever you want. Because if you don’t, your son’s death will eat at you until there’s nothing but an empty shell.” It’s been happening to Damien. It almost happened to her after her parents, after Grace. “Maybe talking and spending time together will help me remember the first interview. Maybe it’ll help me get my other memories back, too. So what do you say? Let’s help each other.”

  Nathan doesn’t answer. His expression is unreadable.

  Ella looks at the sky. It’s almost dark and the wind has picked up. It’s up to him now. She prays he’s game to take another chance on her.

  When he doesn’t say anything right away, Ella purses her lips and slowly nods. Okay, she tried. Hopefully Paul won’t fire her.

  “I’m staying at the Ponderosa Lodge in Truckee,” she says. “I won’t check out until noon. Sleep on my offer. Call me in the morning if you change your mind.” She watches him for a moment, then turns to walk to her car.

  “All right, I’ll do it.”

  “You will?” She turns back to him and grins, her smile broad and bright. “You won’t regret it, I promise.” She opens the passenger side door and reaches for the bag with her voice recorder and notes.

  “One condition.” He holds up a finger, stopping her. “You’re not coming to Alaska. We’ll cover everything in two days, starting tomorrow morning.”

  “Why not now?” Two days wouldn’t be enough time to finish the feature or to get to the bottom of her amnesia.

  “I’m not in the mood. Meet me here at eight in the morning.” He turns and retreats into the garage.

  Ella raises her hands in exasperation, tempted to run after him. But he’s already in the garage and tinkering with god knows what, so reluctantly she shuts the passenger door. She doesn’t like that he’s making her wait until tomorrow, but at least he changed his mind.

  Ella folds into the driver’s seat and shuts the door. Tomorrow she’ll worry about negotiating more time with him. Meanwhile, her mind reels back over their conversation, picking it apart as she tugs off her gloves and pushes the ignition button. Turning the car around, she thinks about the man she just met. The man who apparently knows her better than she initially thought.