Page 8 of Light of Day
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Heather was prettysure that Luke’s family problems were nothing like her own, but she appreciated the expression of solidarity. Despite her texts and requests for a pickup, her mother hadn’t shown up at the dock. She’d walked the mile to her house, only to find it empty, and more dilapidated than ever. A broken gutter dripped water onto the overgrown rhododendrons out front. The formerly white trim was a mostly peeling greenish-grayish color, some combination of mold and algae.
The sight of such neglect made her stomach tighten with fear. Was it a sign her mother was drinking again? During her last few phone conversations, she hadn’t noticed any signs of it. Sally McPhee had talked mostly about how busy she was.
Inside, she’d found a sink full of dirty dishes, a cast iron frying pan balanced on the edge of the counter, and a toaster with the cord yanked out. Her mother must have left in a hurry. Maybe shewasjust busy.
Heather had dumped her bag in the upstairs bedroom, with its steep eaves and wallpaper with a pattern of ladies’ parasols, for no apparent reason. This had been her room growing up, although her mother had packed most of her things away since then. A distant cousin had come to live with her for a time, until they’d had a massive blowup. Maybe fighting with Sally McPhee went with the room, who knew?
In the garden shed, she’d dug out her old bike and decided she might as well track down Luke Carmichael. On her way, she’d conjured up all the memories she had of him, which wasn’t many. He’d dated her old friend Carrie Prevost and then married her when she got pregnant, which had shocked everyone. Izzy must be…six now? Hadn’t he had a massive blowout with his father too?
In the passenger seat of his truck, a newish-model Nissan Frontier, nice but nothing fancy, she surreptitiously scrutinized him. He drove with the relaxed ease of someone completely comfortable in their body. He’d been an athlete in high school, she remembered now. All six of the Carmichael kids had gone to private school, of course, and they were all athletic. She remembered hearing that he’d won a hockey trophy. He had that air about him, very physical and alert. Dark hair, blue eyes—all the Carmichaels had that coloring. The Carmichael gene was strong, holding up through all of John Griffin Carmichael III’s marriages.
“So what can you tell me about Gabby?” Luke broke the silence, making her start. She’d been taking in the pine trees and blackberry thickets along the side of the road, watching for glimpses of the ocean where the woods thinned out.
“Gabby and I met in journalism school. She has a master’s degree in journalism, graduated from Simmons in Boston. She’s very smart and an excellent writer. She runs a blog that has half a million followers.”
“Is she from Boston?”
“No, she’s actually from South Portland. That was how we bonded initially. We were the only two students in our program from Maine. We hit it off and now I would say she’s one of my best friends. You know how it is with some people, you meet them and you already feel like you know each other?”
“Like us?” Luke grinned down at her, and she thought,danger. Luke Carmichael was far too attractive for comfort. That grin could cause a girl to abandon everything sensible.
“Wedoknow each other, so no, not exactly.”
“Do we?” He made the question sound like a tease, but she refused to take him up on anything flirtatious.
“We know enough.”
“Do we?” he repeated. But he must have picked up on her resistance, because his tone shifted. “Do you have a photo of Gabby?”
“Yes.” She’d already prepared for this by making a Gabby album on her phone. Pulling up the most straightforward photo, she held up the phone so he could see it. “This was just last week.”
His glance was brief but comprehensive. “Can you email that photo to me?”
“Sure. But it’s not like it will be hard to spot one of the very few non-white people on this island,” she said dryly. “She wouldn’t exactly blend in.”
“Things are changing around here, you might be surprised.”
“Hmm…” She cocked her head at him. “Let me guess, the hotel has run out of islanders to hire.”
He laughed wryly. “Uh-huh. I hear much of the hotel kitchen staff are Somali. It’s working out great for everyone.”
“Wait…you hear? You’re a Carmichael. Don’t you know?”
“Strictly speaking, I’m banned from the premises. But when I’m on official business, my father doesn’t have much of a choice. Most of my information about the hotel comes through the grapevine.”
Wow. Maybe she really didn’t know much about Luke. “Is that hard for you?”
He glanced at her, surprised, as if he didn’t get that question a lot. “Sometimes, yeah. It hurt a lot at first. But I hope it’s not forever. I don’t mind being cut out of my father’s will, but I’d like my daughter to know her grandfather someday.”
They reached the road that connected the eastern and western lobes of the island. The tide was high enough that it almost felt as if they were driving on the surface of the ocean. Water to the right, water to the left…just a narrow band of paved road ahead and behind.
She’d only been on this road a few times in her life, and it always made her nervous. It felt as if the ocean was closing in, seeking its chance to devour the sandbar, the pavement, and any humans who might be on it.
A sickening thought flashed into her mind. What if Gabby had drowned?
The rocks along the shoreline were so slippery at low tide, covered in seaweed and algae. Heather had slipped many times. She even had a barnacle scar on her right knee to prove it.
