Evening Stars

Chapter Two

“NINA, GET IN the car.”

She wanted to ignore him. Really she did. But his tone was insistent, and the Dylan she remembered had a way of taking matters into his own hands.

She closed her eyes and wished him away. But the steady hum of the car creeping alongside proved that plan didn’t have much chance of working.

“Do you know how ridiculous this is?” he asked loudly.

Unfortunately, she did. She also knew that in the end she would get in the car because she couldn’t stand to be this wet and cold any longer. But why did it have to be him? Why not some well-dressed, quiet serial killer? Other people got strangled, but not her. Nooooo. She got the ex-love of her life.

“Fine,” she said, turning and walking over to the passenger side. The door opened smoothly, and she plopped her wet self on the leather seat.

For a second she was engulfed in the scent of new-car smell and the warmth blasting from heating vents. Bliss, she thought, pushing her dripping hair out of her face. Then she turned and once again met Dylan’s green eyes.

His expression was an uncomfortable combination of concern and amusement. Damn him, she thought. Whenever he had crossed her mind over the past decade, she’d envisioned their first meeting would be something she could plan for. That she would be perfectly dressed and answer questions with smooth but subtle one-liners that would leave him impressed by her wit and chagrined about letting her go. She hadn’t thought she would be dripping wet and fighting thigh-burn.

“What happened?” he asked.

To them? To her?

“To your car,” he clarified when she didn’t speak.

“I have no idea. It stopped running. I’ll call the garage when I get home.”

“Then, let’s get you there.”

He didn’t bother asking where she lived. No doubt his parents would have kept him informed on the small island’s permanent population. Had he asked he would have been informed that, yes, she was still living with her mother. Not that she couldn’t afford her own place. She could. It was just that when it came to her mother and taking care of the store and everything else that fell on her shoulders, somehow it had seemed easier to stay put.

They drove in silence for about two minutes. She shifted uncomfortably, aware of her wetness on his pristine leather seats.

“So, you’re back,” she murmured into the awkward silence. At least it was awkward on her part. She had no idea what he was thinking.

“Uh-huh. I finished my fellowship a few weeks ago. Went to Europe for a vacation, then came here.”

A European vacation? She thought about how she’d spent the past month—as she’d spent the past seven or eight years. Working, dealing with whatever disaster her mother created, checking on the store. She had friends she hung out with, and she’d recently joined a book club, but now that she thought about it, her life lacked any level of excitement.

Not that she cared about impressing Dylan Harrington, she told herself. She didn’t.

“You’re still going to join your dad’s practice?” she asked, already knowing the answer to the question.

“Yes.”

“I thought you might change your mind.”

“Me, too.” He flashed her a smile. “But I didn’t want to break his heart.”

Because Dylan’s dad had spent the past decade waiting to say, “My son, the doctor.” Once he could, it was something he repeated endlessly. He’d told everyone who would listen that Dylan would be joining his practice. She supposed most fathers wanted their sons to go into the family business. Doctor and Son, she thought, imagining the sign outside the front door.

“You stopped working for him,” he said.

She glanced at him, then away. “Yes.”

Until last fall, she’d been one of Dr. Harrington’s nurses. Mostly because he was the only doctor in town and she’d hadn’t wanted to commute to the mainland. But with Dylan potentially returning, she’d wondered about job security. Fortunately, Andi had moved to town and decided to open her pediatric practice, giving Nina the perfect job.

“Like working with kids?” he asked, obviously aware of where she’d landed.

“Yes. There are enough families on the island to keep us busy, but not so many that we’re swamped. Andi’s great to work with.”

“Did you leave because of me?” he asked, stopping at the corner and checking before making the turn.

A blunt question she hadn’t expected. “I was excited about the opportunity with Andi,” she said, sidestepping the issue. In truth, she would have left regardless. There was no way she could spend day after day with Dylan. Talk about weird. He’d been her first boyfriend, her first time, her first broken heart. He was a good-looking guy, a doctor, and it was just a matter of time until he fell in love and got married. Not that she wanted him for herself, but she sure didn’t want anyone thinking she was hanging around, pining.

She leaned back in the seat and sighed. Why hadn’t she planned better? This would be so much less awkward if she’d married some rich guy, preferably with a yacht. Or moved to Tibet to open an orphanage. Something remarkable and important. She could at least be studying to be a neurosurgeon. Instead, she was a nurse in a pediatrician’s office, and her romantic past had little to recommend it. She had been married once. For five days. Not exactly her proudest moment.

She and Dylan were supposed to have been doctors together, she thought grimly. That’s what they had talked about. Going to medical school and opening a practice. She hadn’t decided on her specialty, and he’d thought he would go into emergency medicine.

But then they’d broken up, and somehow finding the money to follow her dreams had become impossible. Between dealing with her mom and her baby sister, the store and everything else, she’d lost her way. Nursing school had been so much more practical. She’d only needed two years away at a four-year university. She couldn’t remember making the decision—somehow life had happened.

Dylan pulled into the driveway of her house. Rain still pounded on the windshield, and she wasn’t looking forward to the dash into the house. Not with her scrubs clinging to every bulge and him watching. Just as unfortunate, she could see the general shabbiness of the house from where she sat. It hadn’t changed at all in the past ten years. It needed paint and a new roof. She’d had plans for both, but a plumbing disaster last October had pretty much sucked up her savings.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said, turning to him and offering a smile she hoped looked pleasant and confident. “Great timing. It would have been a long, ugly walk home. I’m sorry for dripping on your seats.”

“They’ll be fine. Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

Before she could respond, he was getting out of the driver’s side and walking around the car. What? He was coming with her?

She quickly scrambled out and met him on the walkway. “I’m fine. You don’t need to come in. Seriously. Go on with what you were doing. You saved me from the long walk home. That should be enough for one day.”

He gave her an easy smile and put his hand on the small of her back. “For someone soaking wet and cold, you’re sure arguing a lot.”

Then they were moving toward the front door, and she was opening it. As she stepped inside, she kicked off her soggy shoes. Dylan moved past her. She tugged off her socks and dropped her purse on the tiles of the foyer before walking barefoot into the living room.

She was aware of several things at once. First, there was a suspicious dampness in the stained ceiling in the corner. As she watched, a single drop fell onto the carpet below. Which meant her mother hadn’t called about the roof. Tim, their general handyman, was always timely about taking care of whatever crisis they had. So if the roof was still leaking, he hadn’t been told he was needed.

Second, she realized she couldn’t remember the last time a man had walked into their house. Well, a man-man, not a service guy. Dylan looked tall and masculine. Very out of place in a room crowded with too much furniture and “treasures” from the store. Every corner, every shelf and all surfaces were littered with figurines, wooden or glass boxes, picture frames and vases that her mother couldn’t stand to sell. In Bonnie’s mind, some objects were meant to be shared with the world and others were meant to be saved for family.

Last, and maybe most unsettling, was how having Dylan standing in the living room made her see just how scruffy everything had become.

The sofa was old and worn, with permanent dents in the cushions where they sat night after night. Nicks and dings marred the coffee table. The lampshades had faded from cream to a dingy yellow.

Nina stared at the room as if she’d never seen it before, shocked by how she’d ceased to see what was all around her. For a second, she had the realization that her hopes and dreams had suffered the same kind of neglect, becoming invisible due to inattention. Sadness swept through—the loss nearly painful enough to make her gasp.

“I’ll wait while you get changed,” Dylan said, walking over to one of the chairs and sitting down, as if he planned to stay a while.

She blinked at him. Why? Then she felt the damp chill of her clothes and water dripping down her back from her hair.

“Sure,” she told him, then hurried toward the hall, feeling the burn of wet cotton rubbing against her skin.

Ten minutes later she was in jeans and a sweatshirt. She’d done the best she could with her hair, towel drying it before combing it. She wasn’t going to take the time to blow-dry it. That would imply... She wasn’t sure what, but either way, she wasn’t going there. She shoved her feet into flats and went back to the living room.

Dylan sat where she’d left him. He stood as she came into the room. “Better?”

“Much.” She shoved her hands into her pockets. “You didn’t have to stay.”

“I thought we could catch up. I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

Simple words that genuinely confounded her. The obvious question was why? Why would he want to catch up? They hadn’t seen each other in forever, and aside from living on the island, they had nothing in common. Not anymore. Maybe not ever.

If only he wasn’t so tall, she thought, gesturing to the kitchen. Back in high school, Dylan had been what her mother had called dreamy. Now he was successful, polite, employed and still good-looking. The green eyes and strong jaw, not to mention broad shoulders, probably ensured he had a flock of available women at the ready. She wondered why he hadn’t married one of them.

She paused in the middle of the kitchen. No way she was going to bother feeling ashamed of the worn linoleum or ancient cabinets. There had been enough humiliation for one day.

“Wine?” she asked, heading for the small rack on the counter. She pulled out a bottle of red before he could reply. “Or I could make you coffee.”

“Wine sounds good.”

She collected the opener, but before she could do more than reach for the bottle, he was at her side.

“Allow me.”

Such a gentleman, she thought, not sure if she was impressed or annoyed. His mother must be so proud.

He pulled out the cork with a lot less effort than she usually needed, then poured them each a glass. Nina had a brief thought that she should keep some kind of snacky thing around to offer guests. She had kept the leftover brownies, but she wasn’t about to share those. The wine would have to be enough.

She led the way back to the living room and claimed a corner of the sofa. She kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet under her. Dylan took the chair opposite and raised his glass.

“To old friends.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I assume you mean that in the spirit of friends you haven’t seen in a while and not ‘old’ friends.”

He grinned. “Exactly.” He took a sip of the wine. “Nice.”

“Thanks.”

“So how are things?”

She thought briefly of Tanya and the inventory theft, of the leak in the roof and how she still had to call about getting her car towed. “Great.”

“I heard your sister moved out of state.”

“Averil lives in Mischief Bay. That’s in California, south of Santa Monica.”

“Right. Is she in college?”

Nina smiled. “She graduated a long time ago, Dylan. Averil’s married. She’s a writer for California Girl magazine.”

One brow rose. “Married? Little Averil? I can’t believe it.”

“I know, but it happened.”

“Any kids?”

“Not yet.” She gazed at him over her glass. “You’re not married.”

“Was that a question or a statement?”

“A statement.” She gave him a genuine smile. “Are you forgetting where we are? This island is the definition of a small town. Of course I know everything about you.”

His expression turned wry. “I hope not everything.”

Probably not, she admitted to herself. But there had been a time when she had been the keeper of his secrets and, in theory, his heart.

She’d been fifteen when she’d fallen in love with Dylan. A sophomore in high school. He’d been a senior. She’d tried to conceal her crush, but she’d been unable to look away whenever he was near. One day, at lunch, he’d walked up to her.

When’s your birthday? he’d asked.

In three weeks.

His green eyes had crinkled with laughter. You’ll be sixteen?

Uh-huh.

I’ll wait.

Because fifteen is too young? she’d asked. You do realize that nothing about me will change in the next three weeks. I’ll be exactly who I am.

He shrugged. I’ll wait.

He had, and on her sixteenth birthday he’d asked her out. And he’d kissed her, like no one else had.

There’d been a couple of other kisses before him. Fumbling, stupid kisses at parties where games were used to hide the awkwardness of adolescence. Those kisses had been insignificant. Kissing Dylan had rocked her world.

From that date, they’d been a couple. He’d graduated and gone to college and they’d stayed together. It was when she’d been a few months from graduating high school herself that the trouble had started.

“When do you start work?” she asked as her mind returned to the present. Polite questions for a safer topic.

“Monday.”

“Are you excited?”

His eyebrows rose. “I’m not sure I would describe myself as excited.”

“Your dad is.”

Because there was nothing the senior Dr. Harrington wanted more than his son to join his practice. He’d talked about it from before Dylan was born. Or so the Harrington family lore went.

“I know. He’s been telling me over and over.” Dylan sipped his wine. “He’s already designed new business cards.”

There was something in the way he said the words. “Didn’t you want to come back?”

“Sure.”

She studied him, not sure she believed what he was saying. “You had an obligation. There’s a difference.”

Dylan glanced around the living room. “Where’s your mom?”

“In Montana, on a buying trip.”

His mouth curved up at the corners. “I remember those and her love for the treasures she found.”

“She does like going through other people’s stuff.”

“She runs an antique store.”

An exalted name for Blackberry Preserves, but her mother would enjoy it.

“She’s bringing back less junk these days,” she admitted. “Bertie helps with that. She has a good eye for a bargain.”

“Who’s Bertie?”

Nina raised her chin. “My mom’s lover.”

Dylan’s expression didn’t change. “I thought I heard something about that from my parents. I’m impressed. When did she come out?”

Nina had been hoping for a little more reaction. Something that could make her dislike him. His acceptance was disappointing. “Just over ten years ago. Bertie started coming over. Averil and I thought they were friends. Then Bertie stayed the night a few times. One day Bertie took me aside and said she wanted to move in. She asked if that was okay.”

She smiled at the memory. “I like Bertie a lot. She’s very stable.”

“Meaning you don’t have to be the only grown-up in the room?”

She nodded. Dylan would know all about that. He’d seen what she’d gone through. Sometimes she wondered if knowing about how difficult her family had been was one of the reasons he’d broken up with her.

“It helps.” She shifted on the sofa. “Enough about what’s going on in my family. What about you? Are you staying with your folks?”

He shook his head. “I came to the island a couple of months ago and bought a condo by the marina. I closed on it last week. I’ll be moving in over the next few days.”

He continued talking about the move, but she wasn’t listening. A condo at the marina? No doubt one of those new, fancy ones. With granite counters and a full-time concierge.

Ridiculous, she thought, her gaze dropping to the brown shag carpet that had to be at least fifteen years old. This was Blackberry Island. The UPS guy just left the packages on the porch.

She was aware that he was clean and smelled good. He looked better. Dylan had left and followed his dreams and now he was a successful, happy doctor. She was stuck in a rut, and for the life of her, she couldn’t say exactly how that had happened. How had ten years passed? How had she never made her break? Was it circumstances, or was she responsible? She had a bad feeling it was the latter.

“It’s late,” she said abruptly, coming to her feet.

Dylan looked startled for a second, then put down his wine and rose. “Sure. It was good to see you, Nina.”

“You, too. Thanks for the ride home. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

She walked him to the door, murmured the appropriate polite goodbye, then shut the door behind him. When she was alone, she returned to the sofa and sank onto the cushions. Her life was a disaster, she thought grimly. Or if not a disaster, then at least pitiful, which might be worse.

Chapter Three

THE ART OF The Perfect First Kiss. Averil Stanton paused to reflect on the headline, then shook her head. No way. California Girl magazine catered to girls, ages thirteen to nineteen. Talking about a first kiss was too limiting.

She continued to stare at the screen, then tried again. Every First Kiss is Different. Better, she thought. Because there was always a new first kiss. At least for them. Once you got married, the odds of a new first kiss were slim. So was the chance of a new first anything. Though she wouldn’t share that with her readers. They were young and hopeful and why depress them?

She paused to sip her tea. Not that she wasn’t happily married, she thought. Kevin was great, and she loved their life. She lived six minutes from the Pacific Ocean, in Mischief Bay—an eclectic Southern California beach town. She had her work and her friends and—

“Stop it,” Averil said aloud, then slammed her laptop shut and stood. She crossed to the window and stared out at the view of the side yard. It consisted of little more than the neighbor’s fence and the recycling bin, but was apparently more fascinating than her work.

She couldn’t focus, she thought grimly. Couldn’t write. Whatever was causing this was happening more and more. In the past few months, she’d turned in every article closer to deadline. Her boss hadn’t said anything, but Averil knew she would eventually. Digital content had to be produced regularly, and if Averil didn’t step it up, there were a hundred younger hopefuls ready to take her place. The print version of the magazine only came out once a month, but the online presence needed daily updates.

She walked to the battered armchair in the corner and dropped onto the mashed cushion. Maybe she should go see her doctor. Vitamins might help. Or hypnosis. Lately nothing had felt right. She was restless and couldn’t say why. Uneasy without a cause.

She glanced outside again. Maybe a run would bring her out of her funk. She’d already exercised that morning, but a run on the beach might clear her head. Or she could go to the mall and—

“Averil?”

She looked up and saw Kevin standing in the doorway to her small office. After dinner she’d excused herself, saying she had to work. Something she was doing more and more, she thought. Disappearing to her private space, only to realize she still couldn’t focus, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything.

Now she saw there was a tightness to his face. She came to her feet. “Are you okay?”

“I decided to sharpen the knives in the kitchen.”

Her gaze dropped to his hand where a fresh bandage covered his middle finger. “Is it deep?”

“No. It’s fine. But while I was looking for a bandage, I found something else.” He stepped more fully into her office and held up a small, round, plastic container. “We’d agreed to start trying for a baby, Averil. Why are you still taking birth control pills?”

Averil felt instant heat on her cheeks as she instinctively looked for a place to hide. Or a way to escape. As Kevin stood between her and the door and she wasn’t willing to try leaping out the window, she was trapped.

“It’s not what you think,” she said loudly, even as she knew it was. “Having a baby is a big decision. You can’t expect me to get pregnant just like that. It’s not fair or reasonable.”

She tried to stop the words, knowing they could come back to bite her in the butt later. Because Kevin was nothing if not fair. They had talked...endlessly. For weeks and weeks. They’d made lists of the pros and cons and had mutually agreed it was time to start their family. Only she couldn’t seem to stop taking the pills. Every morning she told herself she was ready, and every morning, she carefully swallowed the next tiny pill.

“You’re still on birth control.”

He made the words a statement, but she nodded anyway. She braced herself for the fight, but instead of saying anything, he turned and left.

Averil stood in her office, trying to steady her breathing, wondering what would happen now. Finally she went down the short hallway and into the other spare bedroom. The one he used as his office.

He sat at his desk, the disk of pills next to his keyboard. He wasn’t typing, but he didn’t look up at her, either.

She’d met Kevin six years ago. She’d been in her senior year of college. A journalism major, sent to report on a street fair in Mischief Bay. Not her usual assignment. Averil had been the go-to reporter for her college newspaper, accustomed to hard-hitting stories on criminals or cover-ups. But one of the junior reporters had flaked out, and she’d agreed to fill in.

She was just pretty enough to be used to a lot of male attention. Tall and blonde, which made her practically an indigenous species on a California beach. She’d been taking notes and shooting pictures, when a guy had approached her.

He’d been kind of cute, about her height, skinny, with the intense look of someone with more intelligence than the average man-on-the-street. He’d held out her camera bag and said, You left this on the bench back there.

She’d smiled and thanked him, then had playfully asked, Are you going to hit on me now?

He’d shaken his head. No, but I will tell you that you shouldn’t use autofocus in this setting. It’s letting in too much light, and you’ll lose contrast in the scene.

An unusual response. She’d studied him more closely, taking in the gold flecks in his brown eyes and shape of his mouth. He’d lacked the deep tan of a surfer—no surprise there. Engineer, she thought. Or computer science major.

You do like girls, right? she’d asked.

He’d smiled at her, then. A slow, sexy smile that had made her toes curl in her Keds and caused the noise around them to fade into the background.

I’ll take the pictures, he’d said, reaching for the camera. You make your notes.

I’m writing an article for The Daily Bruin. She paused. That’s the paper at UCLA.

I know what it is.

You’re out of college?

Yup. Just got a job at a software company here in Mischief Bay. He’d slipped the strap around his neck and started making adjustments on the camera. I went to MIT.

Smart, great smile and he had a job. Things were looking up. I’m Averil, she’d said.

Kevin.

He hadn’t hit on her, but he had asked her out. It had been three dates before he’d kissed her and nearly four months before they’d had sex. The day after she’d graduated, he’d proposed. She’d said yes to him and a full-time job at California Girl magazine.

“About the pills,” she said, stepping into his office.

“You said you were ready. You said you wanted to have kids. Have you changed your mind?”

“No. It’s just...” She took a step forward. “There’s a lot going on.”

“What’s going on now that isn’t going on all the time? We’re settled in the house, we have money in the bank. You have your job and your novel. What are you waiting for?”

She wished he hadn’t mentioned the novel. The one she was supposed to be writing. The one that was little more than a few notes and a hundred and forty-seven false starts. Saying you were going to write a novel was easy. Actually writing it—not so much.

“I’m feeling pressured,” she said, hearing the defensiveness in her voice and not liking it. “It’s so soon.”

“Our fifth anniversary is in a few months. It wasn’t exactly a shotgun wedding.”

“No, but...”

He looked at her then, his brown eyes filled with what could only be betrayal. He looked as if she’d cut out his heart.

“Kevin, no,” she breathed as she started toward him. “I’m—”

He waited. “You’re what?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nina told you to wait, didn’t she?”

Averil had to hold back the overpowering need to stomp her foot. “You always bring up Nina. Why do you hate my sister?”

“You know I like Nina a lot. I bring her up because she’s always with us.”

“That’s ridiculous. She’s a thousand miles away.”

“No, she’s not. She’s the voice in your head. You talk to her every day for weeks until you two have a fight, and then you complain about her every day until you two make up. She’s the opinion you care about most.” He returned his attention to his computer screen. “It’s never you and me making a decision. It’s always the three of us.”

She wanted to tell him he was wrong, but he wasn’t. Her and Nina’s last blowup had been about three weeks before, and they hadn’t spoken since. Funny—Averil couldn’t even remember what they’d been fighting about.

She looked at Kevin. She could feel his pain. He wanted more, and as much as she wanted to give it to him, she couldn’t. The problem with Kevin was that he saw her as more capable than she could ever be. But how was she supposed to tell the man in her life to expect less of her?

“I need more time,” she told him. “Please, stop pressuring me.”

She waited, expecting him to say that asking her to keep her word wasn’t exactly applying brute force, but he only nodded.

“I love you,” she whispered.

He looked at her then. “Sometimes I’m not so sure.”

* * *

The next morning, Nina woke without the alarm. One of the perks of a Saturday morning. She’d had a restless night. While she’d avoided the brownies calling her name, she’d given in to the wine. Worse, she’d dreamed of Dylan on and off. Probably the result of seeing him and then watching The Day After Tomorrow.

She would guess that most women remembering a breakup went for a more classic romantic comedy or a movie that would make them cry. She would have, as well, but it was right after seeing The Day After Tomorrow that Dylan had broken up with her. She’d been making a point on global warming, and he’d announced he wasn’t going to be coming back to the island on weekends anymore.

Now the shots of ice and snow were firmly linked in her brain with the pain of losing the only man she’d ever loved. In her pathos, she’d noticed that the sheer size of the storm had matched the vastness of the emptiness filling her heart. Dylan had filled so much of her world, and now he was going to be gone.

All this time later, he was back. Not that it was going to be an issue for her, she told herself as she sat up and stretched. It wasn’t as if he’d sought her out. Their meeting had been completely random. Even on an island this small, she was unlikely to run into him very much.

For the best, she thought, standing by the bed. She would simply—

“Crap. My car!”

She’d never called Mike about it. Never asked him to tow it to his shop and start work on it. All because she’d been distracted by a handsome man from her past. Dylan had a lot to answer for.

She glanced at the clock and saw it was nearly eight-thirty. Which meant Mike’s repair shop had been open for an hour. Saturdays were busy for him, and she was pretty sure someone else would have gotten the beat-up truck that was his loaner car.

She walked into the kitchen and picked up the phone. Mike’s business card was one of a dozen held to the refrigerator by a tacky magnet designed for the tourist trade. No surprise to anyone, Nina’s mother collected them.

Mike answered on the third ring. “What?”

“It’s Nina Wentworth.”

“Hey, listen, I’m good but I’m not that good. I’ll get to it later today. I’m guessing the fuel injector, but I mean it. That’s a guess.”

Nina blinked several times. “Excuse me?”

“Your car. That’s why you’re calling, right? You’re not going to try to sell me any damn magazine subscriptions, are you?”

“What? No.” She walked over to the kitchen table and sat down. “My car is there?”

“Sure. I got a call yesterday just before closing to go pick it up. I had Benny drop off the loaner last night. You telling me you don’t know about this?”

She stood and walked into the living room. As she looked out the front window, she saw a battered pickup in the driveway.

Dylan, she thought, unable to believe he would have bothered. But there wasn’t another explanation.

“I, ah... Thanks, Mike,” she said. “I’m sorry to bother you. Let me know when it’s ready and I’ll be in.”