Second Chance in Paradise Page 7

  I stared down at the blouse before meeting Mrs. Clairborne’s hopeful eyes. “I can’t. I’ll have no way of getting it back to you.”

  She continued to hold the blouse against me with a warm smile. “I was going to give these away anyway.”

  I stepped back, shaking my head. One thing I swore when I got on my own was that I would never wear hand-me-down clothes again. “Again, thank you. I can’t accept your charity.”

  She tilted her head. The smile was gone, replaced with pressed lips. “You remind me so much of myself.”

  I tried to keep my eyes from squinting. As much as I wish that I was like the elegant woman in front of me, I knew I never would be.

  Her smile returned. “You don’t believe me.” She lowered the blouse and took my hand. “Come sit on the bed with me.”

  I found the request odd, even more so how easily she showed affection. I followed her and sat next to her, but not too close. As much as I craved affection, I didn’t receive or show it well. Porter had to be patient with me. It took me a long while before I ever initiated any type of physical touch. Our first kiss was probably the most awkward kiss of all time. Not because of him, but my lack of experience. I blurted out right before his lips landed on mine, “Those tacos were amazing,” referring to the dinner we had shared earlier in the evening. He didn’t laugh, he only gave me the most tender of smiles before brushing back my hair and whispering, “They were the best ever.” As soon as he got me to smile his lips made my insides sing. His lips’ gentle caress was short and sweet that first time. He never pushed or made me feel uncomfortable. As time went on, the kisses grew longer and more heated. I shook my head. What a thing to think about while his mom held my hand.

  She studied every inch of my face while squeezing my hand.

  I tried to stare off into the distance, but there was something about her that drew me in. Though not biologically related to Porter, I could see where he inherited his incredible ability to connect with you without speaking. Perhaps it was why I hadn’t been able to forget him.

  “Holland.” Never had my name sounded so revered. “I know it may be hard to believe, but I came from,” she sighed, “let’s say, difficult circumstances. Maybe like your own.” She gave a tentative smile. “But I was lucky enough to have mi tía, my aunt.” Her Spanish roots came out. I believed her mother was from Mexico and her father was American.

  “She taught me that I could rise above my circumstances. And somehow, though her circumstances weren’t ideal, she always managed to make sure I had a new dress and pair of shoes every year. I’ll never forget what she did for me.”

  “Is she still alive?” I hesitated to ask.

  Her brown eyes pooled with moisture while she shook her head, yet she still smiled. “She lives in my heart.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. But, honey, what she offered me wasn’t charity. It was a light in what was otherwise a very dark time for me.”

  I pulled my hand away. “I’m happy with my life.”

  She took my hand right back. “No one’s saying you’re not. You’re an accomplished young woman. You should be proud of your life.”

  I peered into her eyes. “I am.”

  “Good.” Her grinned turned more mischievous. “But there are hard times even in a good life. Some things that are out of our control.”

  “I’ve turned down lucrative job offers,” I defended the state of my life.

  “I’m not questioning your choices. I’m letting you know you’re not alone.”

  My nasolacrimal ducts seemed to have a mind of their own the last several days. I wiped at my eyes.

  She patted my hand before standing up. “Now I’m going to run a bath for you while you choose an outfit. Then we’ll have breakfast.” She turned to go but didn’t quite make it. “Did you and Porter talk, by chance?”

  I nodded. “We finally said our goodbyes.”

  You would have thought someone siphoned all the serotonin out of her by the way her entire body seemed to deflate. “Well,” she cleared her throat, “I’ll see what I can do—”

  I narrowed my eyes.

  “About your bath, that is.”

  Chapter Eight

  My skin hadn’t felt this silky since, well . . . ever. I wasn’t sure what Mrs. Clairborne put in my bath, but I couldn’t stop touching myself. Wait. That didn’t sound right at all. I had to admit the bath felt divine. My apartment didn’t have a bathtub, so it had been forever since I’d had the pleasure.

  While I got ready, I kept looking at the bathroom door that led to Porter’s room. For some reason, I kept waiting for him to pop the lock and barge in. I dressed quickly just in case. I stared in the mirror, wearing the off-the-shoulder blouse Mrs. Clairborne was letting me borrow, along with some dark ankle pants. I looked sophisticated with my hair cascading down past my shoulders. I was glad I had thought to put some mascara and lip gloss in my purse for touch ups. The bathroom had everything else I needed, including a hair dryer and curling iron. I styled my hair with a few loose curls. You know, on the off chance I saw Porter before I left. I didn’t want it to appear I was trying too hard, but I wanted to look ex-girlfriend presentable. Even if I didn’t recognize myself in the what I was sure were expensive clothes. My nude pumps actually went well with the outfit, making me look even more unrecognizable. I almost looked like I belonged in Paradise.

  I shook that thought out of my head.

  I supposed I should be finding Mr. and Mrs. Clairborne so I could deal with my car and get back to Mobile. I was hoping Mrs. Clairborne would have checked on me or something. Wandering around their home didn’t feel right, but neither did pacing around the bedroom, unsure of how to proceed. I heard voices, so decided to follow those to see where they led.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have put the heels on; they made too much noise. Not like I wanted to sneak up on anyone, but I didn’t need them to announce me. As I walked toward the feminine voices, I paused to look at the family photos that lined the hall. The thick, distressed frames were arranged artistically on the long wall. They dated back to when Porter was a baby. I smiled looking at the chubby baby with lots of dark hair. I swore he wore a crooked grin that said watch out world. I reached up to touch the glass.

  “I was just coming to get you.” Mrs. Clairborne startled me. Something else she and Porter had in common.

  My hand dropped as if I was doing something I shouldn’t have.

  Mrs. Clairborne joined me to stare at the photo. “I love this picture. His eyes have always gotten to me.”

  Me too.

  Her smile wore a hint of sadness. “Look at you, though. I knew that shirt was perfect for you.” She took my hand. “You must be hungry.”

  Not really, but I had a feeling she wouldn’t let me leave until she fed me, so I nodded.

  When her face lit up, I didn’t feel bad about the lie. “I hope you like stuffed French toast.”

  That was one of Porter’s favorites. He mentioned several times how much he loved Natalie’s, as he called her, stuffed French toast. If I remember right, he said he could eat it every day.

  “Sounds great.”

  She pulled me along. I wanted to drag my feet, not sure who we would run into. I was hoping Porter was still shirtless on the patio. Or with a shirt on would be fine too. As long as it wasn’t around me. I said my goodbye and eventually my limbic system would get the message.

  I tried not to show that I was taking in deep breaths and letting them out slowly as we wove our way through the spacious home. It was worthy of being on a television show, yet it felt cozy. I could feel the love that went into making this house a home. I remembered feeling that way the one time Porter took me here. I hadn’t wanted to leave. It was a feeling I’d never forgotten. I thought if ever I had a family of my own, this was how I would want it to feel. It had nothing to do with the fine furniture or decor. I had a hunch it had to do a lot with the woman who held my hand.

  Oh, wow. The kitchen. I
t was breathtaking. I had never seen anything like it. It was in the shape of a circle. A breakfast bar skirted the outside, leaving a gap for the entrance. In the middle was a circular island graced with a wrought iron chandelier hanging above it. All the appliances gleamed. To top it off, it smelled as good as it looked. And there was a carbon copy of Mrs. Clairborne squeezing oranges in the middle of it all.

  “You remember Charlotte, right?” Mrs. Clairborne asked me.

  I did, but the last time I saw her she was a girl. In front of me stood a gorgeous young woman. The only difference between her and Mrs. Clairborne was her eyes. Like Porter, she had inherited Mr. Clairborne’s blue eyes. Paired with her bronzed skin, she was a knockout.

  I nodded that I remembered her.

  Charlotte looked up from the juicer with an impish grin to rival her mother and brother. “I remember you. Porter,” she wrinkled her button nose when she said his name, “paid me twenty dollars a week one summer not to tell my parents that I saw you two making out near the wharf.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face. Porter never said anything. And I was wishing Charlotte hadn’t either.

  “Charlotte,” Mrs. Clairborne laughed, “what a thing to say. You’ve embarrassed Holland.” She leaned into me but raised her eyebrow at her daughter. “We’ll talk later, young lady, about how you extorted your brother.”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes as if she knew nothing would come of it. “Serves him right.” There was an icy edge to her voice.

  “Can I help with anything?” I offered in hopes of moving past the embarrassment. And wanting to move this along before Porter showed up.

  Mrs. Clairborne left my side and headed toward her daughter. “I think we are about ready. We’re just waiting on the guys to get back from getting your car.”

  I swallowed hard. “Guys?”

  “Porter and Beau met our mechanic at the country club to see if there was anything he could do before we called a tow truck.”

  I ran my fingers through my hair and begged my parasympathetic system to kick in before I embarrassed myself further. It was bad enough Porter knew I was borrowing dresses and his mom was dressing me up. I didn’t need him to see Lola. It’s not that I was embarrassed of my life, but he was getting a snapshot that didn’t convey how my life really was. This was by choice. I could have taken out school loans, but I figured it was better to sacrifice now than to be saddled with debt later.

  “Really, I appreciate your help, but I can handle this.” I pulled my phone from my pocket to look up a towing company like I should have in the first place.

  Mrs. Clairborne smiled from the island. “Honey, we know how capable you are. Our mechanic owes us a favor or two, so we’re calling them in. Just relax.”

  That was impossible. I stared at my phone, deciding what I should do.

  “Please, Holland.” There was an urgency in her tone.

  My head popped up to meet Mrs. Clairborne’s thoughtful eyes. “I don’t want to trouble anyone.” Especially not Porter, who couldn’t even be bothered to tell me the truth.

  “It’s no trouble at all. Actually, it’s a good thing for Beau and . . . Porter.” She faced her daughter who was grimacing.

  Something was off about the family dynamics. Charlotte obviously had some issues with her older brother, which surprised me. She used to worship the ground he walked on. And there was this desperation that emanated from Mrs. Clairborne. Her eyes came back to me with a plea in them.

  I placed my phone back in my pocket. While her thank-you smile didn’t make me feel better about the situation, I could at least feel good that I eased some of her worry. The question was, why was she worried? Was something wrong with Porter? I shouldn’t even care. I didn’t. Maybe a little.

  “Would you like some coffee while we wait?” Mrs. Clairborne asked, shaking me out of my thoughts of Porter.

  “No, thank you.”

  “So, are you dating my brother again?” Charlotte lobbed that unexpected bullet right out there.

  “Charlotte.” Her mother swatted her arm. “Manners, please.”

  “What is impolite about that, Momma?”

  I could give her a list, but instead, I shook my head.

  “I guess that means he won’t be sticking around.”

  I detected a hint of sadness mixed in with the contempt. And what on earth did I have to do with whether or not Porter intended to stick around? Wasn’t he only visiting on his quote-unquote break?

  Mrs. Clairborne gave me a strained smile. “It’s been a while since Porter’s been home and we’ve all missed him.”

  Charlotte’s posture stiffened. “Not me.”

  Even I could hear the lie.

  Mrs. Clairborne ran her hand down her daughter’s gorgeous head. “I know, mija.”

  The sound of a door and male voices caused varying reactions. For Mrs. Clairborne, joy. Let’s just say for Charlotte, I hoped she was leaving all the knives in the kitchen.

  I, on the other hand, felt like I was experiencing arrhythmia. My heart’s rhythm was all over the place.

  Mrs. Clairborne grabbed a large platter filled with more calories than I probably ate in a week. It looked heavenly, and if you ate enough of it, you would probably go to heaven a lot sooner than you wanted to.

  “We’re going to eat in the sunroom.” Mrs. Clairborne was all smiles now.

  I followed her closely, not wanting to be caught by myself with Porter. It was a good call; Porter and Mr. Clairborne were upon us.

  “Smells good, darlin’,” Mr. Clairborne’s Southern yet debonair voice rang through the kitchen.

  “It’s not for you,” Mrs. Clairborne almost sang.

  “If you made me oat bran muffins, I’m not eating them, woman.”

  “Oh, good.” She placed the platter of strawberry and cream stuffed French toast on the rustic wood table in the sunroom. There it joined bowls of fresh berries, syrup, and white china. “I made you blueberry almond oatmeal.” Her wicked grin sort of sympathized with him.

  That sounded good to me. I ate oatmeal in some fashion almost every day. It was cheap and healthy.

  Mr. Clairborne groaned. “How long do I have to be on this blasted diet?”

  “Forever, because that’s how long I want you around.” Mrs. Clairborne meant business.

  Mr. Clairborne approached his wife and kissed her head. “It was an episode.”

  “I don’t think that’s what they call heart attacks.” Mrs. Clairborne pecked her husband’s cheek.

  I caught Porter’s eye. Did he know his dad had a heart attack? Porter shifted on his feet uncomfortably, guilty vibes poured out of him. I turned quickly.

  “That was six months ago, and it was a mild one,” Mr. Clairborne was trying to make his case for having French toast.

  Six months? Why hadn’t Porter come home before now? I internally shook my head. It was none of my business. I was just glad Mr. Clairborne seemed to be doing well. He was looking trim and fit.

  Mr. Clairborne smiled at me like he was only now noticing me. “Good morning, Holland.”

  “Good morning. Thank you for taking care of my car this morning.”

  He chuckled. “Well, darlin’, I’m afraid I have some good news and some bad news there. Which would you like first?”

  Life had taught me disappointment was inevitable, so . . . “The bad.”

  He let out a sigh as if he hated giving bad news. “The thing is,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “your car is going to require thousands of dollars of work. My mechanic says the transmission is shot, your battery is dead, tires are bald, and it’s a hazard on wheels. He’s surprised you made it down here.”

  “Thousands?” I didn’t do anything above hundreds. I liked the tens; ones were even better. I knew I said I was ready to retire her and walk for the next couple of years, but I guess a part of me held on to some shred of hope Lola would live with a minor repair.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “So what’s the good news?”r />
  “My guy can haul it away for free and he thinks you can get around three hundred dollars in scrap metal for it. It’s up to you.”

  Mrs. Clairborne waved her hand. “Let’s talk about cars after we eat. The food’s getting cold.”

  “I’m going to call my boss for a ride.” I meant to sneak away. Away from the man who was now fully dressed in a tight red t-shirt and those jeans that reminded me of . . . well it wasn’t important.

  Mrs. Clairborne was quick to me, grabbing my hand to pull me to the table. “That’s silly, honey, I’ll take you home.”

  “I’ve already inconvenienced you enough,” I tried to protest.

  “Nonsense.” She was strong for a tiny woman and had no problem dragging me to the table.

  “Besides,” Mr. Clairborne smiled, “you’ll need to get anything out of your car you want if you decide to scrap it.”

  That was a foregone conclusion. Lola had been a true friend, okay, frenemy, but I didn’t have that kind of money to fix her. I tried to look on the bright side—no more insurance and repair payments. So I would have to walk in torrential rains or take the public transportation I abhorred.

  I found myself at my seat. Someone else was there too. Porter pulled out my chair, to the delight of Mrs. Clairborne. Her smile indicated that was exactly what she wanted to happen. She patted her son’s cheek as she walked past him.

  Porter’s gaze caught me. For a fraction of a second I saw the man I used to know in his eyes. I sat down to make it go away. It wasn’t helping my limbic system’s removal process. Though I had to say it was doing a terrible job. All I wanted was to get this bizarre day over and get back to all that was safe and good. My apartment didn’t qualify, but my lab was good, and mostly safe.

  Porter didn’t help the situation when he pushed in my chair, leaned down, and spoke barely above a whisper close to my ear. “You look beautiful.”

  Those arrector pili muscles did me no favors and took notice. There wasn’t an inch of smooth skin on my body. Why did he still have such an effect on me? I would have liked to say it was because no man had called me beautiful in a long time. But I knew that wasn’t it, though true.