Susan Mallery - Evening Stars

“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.