Losing Penny (12 page)

When Trevor came close, she screamed, “Not
you!”

She hobbled to shore. She sat down in the
frothing tide to inspect her foot. Drake squatted next her. “Not
you either!” she said, trying to move away, using her hands and one
good foot to shift through the water. Sand filled her swimsuit
bottom. “Bugger it all,” Penny muttered.

Drake held up his hands in an I-come-in-peace
pose. Penny didn’t want to cry, but looking at the ugly gash on her
foot brought tears to her eyes.

“Penny,” Drake’s voiced coaxed, and he moved
toward her.

She jerked away from him.

Trevor stood, looking on with his arms
dangling at his sides. “I thought your name was Maggie.”

Drake shot him a quick get-lost look and
Penny sniffed. “He just calls me Penny. Like a lost Penny.”

“Or lucky Penny—depending on the day,” Drake
added as he knelt beside her and picked up her foot.

“Ow! Ow! Ow!” Penny complained, but she
stopped flinching away from Drake. She needed help even if it was
from him. The sting took her breath away, and she didn’t protest
when Drake hitched her onto his back. She leaned into him, her arms
circling his neck, her legs hugging his waist.

“Let me see,” Trevor said.

Penny stuck out her foot for Trevor’s
inspection. He didn’t say anything, but tightened his lips. The
blood ran from the ball of her foot and fell in drops on the sand.
Water dripped down her face and she felt chilled. “What is it?”

Trevor ran his fingers over the ball of her
foot. “Glass,” he said. Using his fingernails he loosened the
shards clinging in the flesh.

Drake, with Penny astride, crossed the beach
to where they had been sitting. Their indentions still marked the
sand.

“You should see a doctor.” Trevor picked up
his abandoned T-shirt and wrapped it around Penny’s foot.

“No,” Drake and Penny said at the same
time.

She couldn’t see a doctor. She’d have to fill
out forms, file an insurance claim, and use a lump of cash or a
credit card. To make matters worse, she’d hurt her right foot, her
gas pedal foot. She wasn’t going anywhere. With her head against
Drake’s back, she could hear his heart. In such a short time, she’d
grown inescapably close to this person, her pretend husband, and
she didn’t know what to do with her tangled feelings. Running away
had seemed like the perfect answer. But with the gash on her foot,
running would be one of the things she would need to give up for
awhile.

Drake banged through the back porch and
gently set her down on his bed. He excused himself then returned
carrying what looked like a large tackle box. He sat down at her
feet and flipped open his medical treasure chest. Gauze, assorted
plastic bandages, a bio-waste bag, burn gel, cold packs, CPR mask,
and towelettes were all on the first level. She wondered what else
the box held. Drake pulled out a pair of tweezers and antibacterial
ointment. Trevor leaned against the doorjamb and watched.

“That’s a serious first aid kit,” Penny said,
thinking about how the last time she needed a Band-Aid she’d
improvised with a wad of tissue and a strip of masking tape.

Drake picked up Penny’s foot and dabbed the
sore with alcohol-soaked cotton gauze and she tried not to flinch.
“Trevor, could you get wet paper towel?” Drake asked.

Trevor disappeared into the kitchen.

“I can’t go to the doctor,” Penny hissed at
the top of Drake’s head.

He looked up at her, his eyes full of
concern.

“I can’t blow my cover,” she whispered.

Drake tried to hide his smile as he bent back
over her foot, his shoulders shook with repressed laughter.

“This isn’t funny.”

“I know,” he whispered back. “But just listen
to yourself. Your cover? You sound like a control agent instead of
a cooking show host.”

Penny inhaled sharply. “My blog post! I
completely forgot! I’m supposed to be in Italy today.”

“No problem, I can cook.”

Trevor cleared his throat. He held a paper
towel and a glass of water in one hand and a couple of blue pills
in another

Drake took the paper towel before turning his
back on Trevor and dabbing up Penny’s blood.

“These will knock out the pain,” Trevor told
her.

Penny swallowed a slug of water and then the
pills. “I need to go to the store,” Penny said, trying not to
choke.

“I can take you,” Trevor volunteered.

Drake frowned at him and poked at Penny’s
foot with more force than she thought necessary.

“Ow!” she said to Drake. Turning to Trevor
she said, “I want to go to the farmer’s market.”

“Great, I love the farmer’s market.” Trevor
reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone. After reading a
text, he said, “My sister is frantic. The fishing guide is at the
house.”

Drake taped up Penny’s foot and then set it
down on the bed. “Tell her I can’t go.”

“Because of me?” Penny asked. “Don’t be
silly. You should go.”

Drake gave her a long look.

“You too,” she told Trevor.

“Those pills will make her pretty loopy,”
Trevor said.

Penny leaned back against the pillows. They
smelled faintly of Drake.

“Don’t you want to change?” Drake asked.

Penny remembered the sand in her bathing
suit. “I’m getting your bed sandy.”

“No problem.” A fleeting frown crossed
Drake’s face and she watched him try to replace it with a grin. “I
don’t sleep there anyway.” Penny knew what he meant, but she also
knew that Trevor wouldn’t. Drake was hoping that Trevor would
misunderstand. She blew out a frustrated sigh.

“It
is
a problem,” she argued, sitting
up. “Help me upstairs so I can change.”

Drake wrapped an arm around her waist,
balancing her as she tried to hop on one foot toward the stairs and
her room.

“Okay, this is definitely wading into marital
matters,” Trevor said, looking awkward. “I guess I’ll go. What
should I tell Melinda?”

“That he’ll be right there,” Penny said at
the same time Drake said, “That I’m not going.”

“You should go,” Penny said.

“What if you need something?” Drake
asked.

“What can I possibly need?”

Drake laughed. “A shower,” he muttered.

“And
that
I prefer to do alone.”

***

After a bath and a nap, Penny did need
something—she needed something to do. She scrounged through the
bookshelf and a small leather bound notebook caught her eye. She
flipped it open to find long, elegant handwriting, every letter
precise.

A sailor braces against the mast, his feet
squarely planted on the slippery deck. Long nights, shortened dark
days, Hans watches the sky for a break in the clouds. He fingers
the pouch hanging from his waist. It holds the key to his home and
heart: the Sunstone.

Even though she was curious, Penny put it
back exactly where she found it, because she guessed it belonged to
Drake. She knew he liked everything in its place and Penny
suspected she had seriously trespassed.

***

Penny startled awake when Wolfgang began
barking at a knock on the door. She had been dreaming of Vikings,
and she wasn’t ready to return from Norselandia. She sat up and
glanced at the mirror. The pillow had left red creases across her
cheek and her hair had turned wild. Wrapping a quilt around her,
she hobbled to the window to peak through the curtain while
Wolfgang tried to trip her.

Trevor, J. Crew gorgeous in a polo shirt and
dark jeans. He saw her and waved.

Now what? She leaned against the door and
considered hiding, but it was too late to pretend not to have seen
him. She would have to chitchat with her teenage fantasy while he
looked GQ and while she felt like sleepy pond scum.

Wolfgang barked relentlessly. Penny took a
deep breath, straightened her sweatshirt, patted her hair,
swallowed, and unlocked the door. Wolfgang growled. Penny hushed
him and only opened the door snout-wide.

“Hey,” Trevor said, his eyes sweeping over
her before resting on her face. “I brought you something.” He held
up a black ebony cane studded with rhinestones.

“It’s beautiful,” Penny said. Trevor had
beautiful everything: eyes, nose, hair, clothes, and now a
cane.

“Do you want to try it out?”

“Yeah, sure,” Penny said, feeling stupid with
sleep. “Let me put the dog somewhere first.” Grabbing Wolfgang by
the collar, she kicked the door closed and tried to limp and drag
the dog away at the same time. She pushed Wolfgang onto the back
porch before hobbling to the bathroom to touchup her make-up and
hair. When finished she wondered why she’d bothered—she still
looked ragged. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she hobbled back to
the door.

“Come on in,” she said.

He looked huge and out of place in the tiny
beach house, like a stallion in a dollhouse. He handed her the cane
and she leaned on it.

“It’s perfect,” she said. She didn’t know
what to do or say next.

“Don’t you want to try it outside?”

Penny considered it. “It’s too pretty to use
on the grass or sand.”

“Yeah, but there’s sawdust at the farmer’s
market. It should be safe there.”

It was then that Penny realized that she
didn’t feel safe alone with him. But she had been alone with Drake
for hours and she had never felt unsafe or…
queasy.
Trevor
made her queasy, and Penny wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the
leftover feelings from her childhood crush.

“You said you wanted to go, right?”

Wolfgang whined and scratched at the door,
his nose pressed against the screen. Penny shot him a
be-quiet-or-die look while she thought. Why was she even debating
this?
Trevor Marx
wanted to take her to the farmers’
market.

“I do,” she said. Limping with Trevor at the
farmers’ market sounded a lot more appealing than sitting with him
at the beach house with only Wolfgang making intelligent
conversation. Penny snagged her purse.

A shiny, black Porsche stood in the doorway.
The sun glinted off the chrome, blinding Penny, almost as much as
Trevor did.

“Are you sure your
husband
won’t
mind?” Trevor asked after they settled into the car. He turned the
ignition and the car roared to life.

Penny laughed and hoped Trevor couldn’t hear
her nerves over the engine. “He’s not really my husband.”

“Really?” Trevor asked once the car was on
the road. “Tell me how that works.”

Penny swallowed and tried to stay as close to
the truth as possible. “We
are
divorced.”

“Obviously amicably.” Trevor turned left onto
Long Shore Drive and eased onto the highway.

“Yes.” Given her conversational skills, no
one would ever guess that she hosted a cooking show and wrote
books. Maybe she could only talk food. Maybe she should stir the
conversation toward pasta. So, how about that linguini? She leaned
back, searching for a comfortable spot on the plush leather
seat.

“And so…what brought you here?” He slid a
quick glance her way. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

“I don’t mind.” She took another deep breath
and tried to rally her thoughts. She relied on the truth. “I have a
stalker.” Blurting out her Lurk story, she watched his expression
turn from flirtatious to concern. “Drake insisted that I stay with
him,” she finished.

“He must still care about you.”

“I’m sure he does, just not in a romantic
way.”

“It smells of a reconciliation plot.”

“Drake doesn’t plot, he’s more of a poet,”
Penny told him.

“Where did you meet the Lurk?”

“As far as I know we haven’t met. I was
living in Laguna and teaching at a cooking school when he
first…contacted me.” Okay, not exactly true, but not exactly a lie.
Penny didn’t lie well, but she did sometimes volunteer at Thurston
Middle School’s home ec classes. “I’m writing a cookbook.” She
breathed a little easier with that bit of truth out there.

“Food, huh?”

She smiled. “I’m a foodie.”

His gaze swept over her bare legs. “I’m
sorry, but you don’t look like a foodie.”

Penny laughed. “Sorry, but
that
is
true.”

“Then what’s a lie?” Trevor said.

Penny shook her head, relieved to see the
farmers’ market’s white pointy tents in a distant field. “I never
lie.” Penny said, wishing that were still true.

“Really? But everyone has a vice or two, so
what’s yours?”

“Gluttony,” Penny said without
hesitation.

Trevor pulled the Porsche off the road and
into the mud puddle-pocked lot. “
That
is an out and out lie.
I don’t believe you. I have never met a foodie who wasn’t—”

“Don’t say fat,” she interrupted him. “I’m
very sensitive to snide remarks about chubbiness and
plumpicity.”

He looked at her and then reached across to
push open her door. “You’re serious?”

She nodded. “I am.”

“Why?”

“Your vice is obviously curiosity.”

He climbed from the car and she tried to do
the same.

“Curiosity is not a vice,” he said, closing
the door and coming around to help her.

“Tell that to all the dead cats.”

“The seven deadly sins are wrath, greed,
sloth, pride, lust, envy, and gluttony, there’s no mention of
curiosity.”

Penny wobbled a little on her cane as she
made her way to the white picket fence surrounding the market. “My
vice might be deadly, but yours is annoying.”

“Okay,” Trevor said. He walked slightly
behind her with his hand on the small of her back. “You are not a
glutton, and if you keep insisting that you are, then you are
definitely a liar. And while that might not be in the deadly
category, it has less redeeming value than curiosity, which some
consider a virtue.”

Penny laughed again, grateful that the
nervous edge had disappeared from her voice. She glanced around at
the sawdust-strewn grounds with white tents that housed food
vendors with fresh fruits, vegetables, and a multitude of fish.
Penny inhaled the scents and sounds of the market and felt at home.
She loved markets.