Page 88 of Serenity Harbor

“He’snota saint. Far from it. He’s impatient, he can be moody, he would be a workaholic without someone in his life to keep him balanced.”

“And you can’t be the one to do that because...?”

“I’ve made a commitment to Gabi, the first time I’ve been serious about anything in my life. I love her. She needs me and I...I need her.”

“I don’t understand why you have to choose between being with Bowie and being with Gabi. Work things out with her, bring her back here and then grab onto him and hold on tight.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible,” she admitted. “Things aren’t going well with some of the adoption technicalities. There’s a chance I might not be able to bring her home. I might have to stay there.”

“Oh. Don’t say that.”

“It’s possible.” She still didn’t have any answers from Angel Herrera. She’d tried to call him that morning, but the call went straight to voice mail. “If not, I may have to be the one to relocate to Colombia to be with her.”

“I hope not.” Sam mustered a smile. “I’ve missed you so much these last months. I don’t know what I’ll do if you move down there. I might have to pack up Fremont Fashions and move to Colombia with you.”

Katrina wiped at her tears. “Let’s pray it doesn’t come to that. Although maybe your mom would meet a sexy Latin lover down there, grow her hair out of her poodle perm and learn how to dance the cumbia.”

Sam laughed at that prospect. “I can’t wait to meet Gabi. You love her, so I’m sure I’ll love her, too. She’s going to have to call me Auntie Sam.”

“I’ll make sure she does,” she promised.

“I’m sorry I was such a bitch the other night and that I screened your calls and ignored your texts yesterday. My feelings were hurt—not because you were kissing Bowie but because you didn’t tell me something was going on between the two of you.”

Sam hugged her, and Katrina wrapped her arms around her friend, filled with the sweet relief of reconciliation. Things were still far from perfect in her world, but at least she hadn’t forever lost a dear friendship.

“I should go find Milo. Your mom was letting him play in the clearance clothes rack.”

Surprise registered on her face. “She was? Good. Maybe he’ll ruin some of those hideous monstrosities so I can fill the space with some decent clothes for a change.”

She laughed and Sam joined her. For a moment, it felt like old times, the two of them answering each other’s sentences and reading each other’s thoughts.

* * *

THESENSEOFHELPLESSNESS—of circumstances swirling and writhing and swelling beyond his control like a tornado—was as familiar to Bowie as the rhythm of his heartbeat.

He hated it.

When he was a kid, he had never known what the day would bring—if they would have a roof overhead or get kicked out of whatever crappy apartment or camp trailer or friend’s guest room they currently called home. Maybe he would wake up and find Stella passed out on the couch or a new guy living with them or no food in the cupboards because she had friends over who ate everything that didn’t move.

There had been good moments, too. It always seemed harder to dredge them out of the old memory bank, but they were there.

Sitting by a campfire while she played guitar and sang in her husky contralto. Lying on a blanket in a sunlit meadow while they pointed out fanciful figures in the clouds to each other.

In the two months since learning of her death, he had thought about Stella more than he had in all the years since he took off.

He had come to accept that she had been a fragile, damaged soul. Devastated by her parents’ death when she was only a girl. Mentally ill, definitely—probably manic-depressive. She had certainly had substance abuse issues. She had needed help and had chosen instead to live an alternate lifestyle on the fringes of society, away from anyone who might have offered her that help. He would have felt nothing but pity for her, if not for Milo.

With a sigh, he looked out the window of the family room. Lake Haven seemed unnaturally flat, motionless, as if even the ripples and waves were holding their breath in anticipation of the coming storm.

“Here are the last of my things,” Katrina said behind him, and he turned to find her setting down her battered suitcase on the floor. She looked beautiful, bright and sunny as a July morning. It made his chest ache.

“Mrs. Peters’s room and the bathroom are clean and ready for her. Milo even helped me make the bed, didn’t you, bud?”

Milo gave an impassive nod. His brother’s reaction to Katrina leaving was part of the reason Bowie felt so uneasy. Milo adored her. Surely he should havesomereaction to her departure instead of this unnerving calm.

He had explained to his little brother that Katrina was going away but that a new friend would be arriving that day. Bowie knew she had done the same, over and over. Was it possible Milo didn’t understand? It was so hard to know how much filtered through.

“Are you sure you have everything?” he asked.

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