Read The Man She Left Behind Online
Authors: Janice Carter
The Man She Left Behind (4 page)
Leigh waited while the truck angled closer to the shoulder and finally stopped beside her. Spence leaned out the driver window.
“Leigh,.”
“Spencer.”
“Gawd, I almost ran you down.”
Leigh smiled in spite of herself. He’d always had a knack for making his actions seem accidental. “Not quite, but I did consider diving into the ditch for a second there.”
Spence’s teeth flashed. “Still got that quick wit, I see.”
When she failed to respond, he went on, “So...twice in one day. And after fifteen years.”
“That’s Ocracoke for you,” she murmured.
He nodded slowly. “Got that right.”
Silence stretched between them. Finally unable to take it a second more, she asked, “Out for a night drive, are you?”
Spence stared out at the road and sighed. “Nah, it’s a long story. I had a bit of a disagreement with Jamie and he left in a huff. I was hoping to head him off before he reached Sam’s place. At least, that’s where I think he was going.”
“I was just walking back from Sam’s now along the beach. I saw someone in the dunes. Maybe it was Jamie.”
“Probably was. I guess he’ll be there by now. No point in driving like a maniac to catch up to him.” He paused. “Want a lift to your place?”
“No need. It’s just a few yards down the road.”
Spence looked at her standing there in front of him in her rolled-up jeans, wisps of black hair struggling out of her baseball cap, and thought she could have been sixteen years old again. He felt the beginning of a familiar ache and was about to say okay when she popped out of sight and reappeared at the passenger door.
It seemed she’d changed her mind. She climbed up onto the seat next to him, and for a fleeting bittersweet moment Spence found himself back in his dad’s old pickup, driving down the highway and once again inhaling Leigh Randall’s flowery scent. He wanted to say the old line, as well—“Where to? Anyplace special?”
But he knew he wouldn’t get her standard reply—“Anyplace is special with you.”
Stop torturing yourself, man. You can’t relive the past.
Stop torturing yourself, man. You can’t relive the past.
“So,” he said, instead, “how did you find Sam? Changed much?”
“Not at all. I mean, other than being a little grayer and more wrinkled, he seemed the same.”
Spence backed the truck onto the opposite side of the road, shifted into drive and headed toward the village and Leigh’s house. “Reason I asked,” he went on, “is that I’ve been worried about the old guy for a while. Oh, it’s nothing I can really put my finger on,” he said quickly, catching Leigh’s concerned expression, “but he seems deflated sort of. As if he’s giving up on life.”
“He did make some reference to not being around forever.”
Spence slowed the truck almost to a crawl. He glanced at Leigh, thinking she really did look sixteen. Maybe he’d driven through some kind of time warp and he was getting another chance to make things right this time. Back then he’d have extended his right arm along the back of the seat and lightly touched her shoulder with his fingertips. She’d have shifted over until she was against him, her thigh pressing his and the top of her head tilting into the angle of his neck and shoulder, the sweet grassy perfume of her shampoo filling his nostrils. Then he’d put the truck into drive, accidentally brushing his hand against her breast, and say in a hoarse voice, “I can think of a place where we can go....” She’d laugh her throaty laugh, knowing what he meant, and the truck would nose its way along the dark highway and—
“Spencer? I asked you if Sam’s been ill.”
The steering wheel lurched. “Hmm? Oh, sorry. Not really, but his energy level sure isn’t the same. ’Course the guy’s going to be eighty this year. But he’s been taking the bus up to Nag’s Head every two weeks to a doctor, and early this spring, he spent two weeks on the mainland, in Raleigh. Wouldn’t say anything about the trip at all, stubborn old coot.”
“What do you think?”
Spence heard the worry in her voice and he glanced at her sharply. In the dashboard’s glow, her lower lip seemed to tremble. He was overcome with an urge to stop the car, lean over and calm the tremble with his own lips. “I think he’s found out something about his health and is keeping it from us.”
“Have you asked him?”
Spence snorted. “The old man hasn’t changed that much, Leigh. He skirts questions about health and money the way tourists avoid beached jellyfish—gives them a wide berth.”
Leigh smiled at the comparison. She’d always thought Spencer had a gift for words.
I was taken in by them often enough in the past.
“I hate to think what life would be like without Grandpa Sam.”
I was taken in by them often enough in the past.
“I hate to think what life would be like without Grandpa Sam.”
“That’s odd,” he said.
“What?”
He hesitated, then, “Well, considering he hasn’t really been a part of your life for the past fifteen years.”
The rebuke hurt, but Leigh knew he was right. The truck pulled into her driveway and she whispered, “Stop. I’ll get out here.” She was almost out the door when Spence spoke again.
“Look, I didn’t mean to end things tonight on a sour note. Don’t take that comment as a judgment, please. It was just an observation.”
Leigh looked up at him through the open passenger door. “I realize that, Spencer. Don’t worry about it. But you know, just because I haven’t seen someone for a few years doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about him. Grandpa Sam, I mean,” she clarified.
He nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
Leigh closed the door and stood where she was as the pickup inched back along the drive. Then it stopped again and Spence stuck his head out the window. “Maybe we can get together sometime before you go back to New York.”
Leigh hoped dismay wasn’t obvious in her face. “Sure,” she said, and waved goodbye as the truck reversed onto the highway.
Once inside the house, she headed straight for the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. Then she went upstairs to change. The meeting with Spencer had left her too revved up to think about sleep and in spite of the open window and the balmy breeze, the interior of the house was hot. So she dug in her old bureau and found a pair of denim cutoffs and a tank top she hadn’t worn for years.
She went down the hall to her parents’ bedroom. Entering it was the hardest step she’d taken since her arrival yesterday. The room was stuffy and dusty, its windows stuck shut with an accumulation of grit. But at last Leigh got them open and fresh ocean air whistled through the room. She could still see her mother hurrying about, plumping pillows and reminding anyone within earshot that guests were arriving “on the hour.”
The Randalls had run their home as a bed-and-breakfast ever since Leigh’s father, Pete, had decided he was getting too old to brave the Atlantic in his fishing boat. Leigh had been thirteen at the time, and the change in the family’s lifestyle had been exciting at first. She’d enjoyed the various guests who’d stayed at Windswept Manor—the name she’d been allowed to choose, based on her fascination at the time for the Brontë sisters.
But later her own responsibilities had grown and the novelty of the bed-and-breakfast diminished. By the time she was sixteen, dating Spencer McKay steadily and preparing for college, she could hardly wait to leave both Windswept Manor and Ocracoke Island.
Poor Mom,
she thought.
You had a rebellious teen on your hands at the same time as your husband was showing the first signs of Alzheimer’s.
Leigh’s eyes welled up.
she thought.
You had a rebellious teen on your hands at the same time as your husband was showing the first signs of Alzheimer’s.
Leigh’s eyes welled up.
She sat on the floor beside the bed to go through the stack of photograph albums she’d found in the closet. Some had been passed on to her parents from
their
parents, and the newer ones contained photos of Leigh’s childhood. Leigh had been adopted as an infant, and her adoptive parents had always ensured that she had plenty of childhood pictures and shared their own family albums with her as if those stern faces from the past were her own ancestors.
their
parents, and the newer ones contained photos of Leigh’s childhood. Leigh had been adopted as an infant, and her adoptive parents had always ensured that she had plenty of childhood pictures and shared their own family albums with her as if those stern faces from the past were her own ancestors.
She flipped through one of these, turning the pages carefully but steadily, reluctant to spend too much time poring over them. Better to save that for a winter’s day back in New York, she decided. But she stopped at one particular photograph.
She was standing with her parents on the lawn of Okracoke School after graduation. She was wearing the white Swiss-eyelet dress she’d chosen for the prom and holding the long-stemmed red roses her father had proudly placed in her arms moments before the photo was taken.
How young we all were then! Young and hopeful. Dad still himself, in spite of his frustrating memory lapses, and Mom still strong and proud—always wanting the best for all of us. My Farrah Fawcett hairstyle, newly acquired at the only beauty salon in Hatteras, curling around my beaming face.
How young we all were then! Young and hopeful. Dad still himself, in spite of his frustrating memory lapses, and Mom still strong and proud—always wanting the best for all of us. My Farrah Fawcett hairstyle, newly acquired at the only beauty salon in Hatteras, curling around my beaming face.
In the right background of the photo, Leigh noticed the lower part of someone’s jean-clad leg. Spencer’s, she realized. Of course, he’d crashed the ceremony. She recalled the disapproving looks from the teachers and dignitaries—people who’d had enough of Spencer McKay’s shenanigans.
Leigh closed the album. All water under the bridge now, as the saying went. It was long past midnight and she was exhausted. She pushed the albums under the bed with her feet and felt them bump against something. She reached over and raised the edge of the mattress sham. The object appeared to be a small. leather suitcase. She had to use the handle of the broom she’d been cleaning up with to slide it toward her.
Leigh couldn’t recall ever seeing the suitcase before. It was worn, decorated with faded travel stickers partially peeled away. She clicked open the brass fittings and found the case stuffed with a stack of papers, notebooks and receipt books. Also something wrapped in tissue paper. She raised one corner to expose part of a knitted baby sweater. Well, no buried treasure here. She closed the suitcase, pushed it back under the bed and decided to call it a night.
CHAPTER THREE
L
EIGH SHOT UP, gasping for air. Her nightie clung damply to her. For a terrifying moment she thought she was underwater, then the blackness abated and she could see the pale folds of curtain rustling in the faint night breeze. Her bedroom.
Home.
EIGH SHOT UP, gasping for air. Her nightie clung damply to her. For a terrifying moment she thought she was underwater, then the blackness abated and she could see the pale folds of curtain rustling in the faint night breeze. Her bedroom.
Home.
She lay back against the headboard, forcing long slow inhalations of breath to calm muscles and nerves. She hadn’t had the dream in years—not since the weeks following prom night. But her mother had coached her well, calmly teaching her the strategies needed to battle the terrors that haunted her nights.
Amazing, she thought, how vivid the dream still was after all this time. Even after awakening, she could see the faces of the gang etched spookily against the arc of their flashlights as they’d stood in a semicircle around her. There were seven of them in all, half the graduating class from Ocracoke School. When the prom had wrapped up, they’d changed clothes and sneaked into two boats for a midnight picnic on deserted Portsmouth Island, two miles from Silver Lake Harbor in the middle of Ocracoke Sound. A storm had come up while they’d partied.
“You’re crazy,” Jeff had muttered at her suggestion they wait out the storm on Portsmouth. All night, if necessary.
But Leigh had persisted, knowing that because the others had consumed a case of beer, hers was the only voice of reason. “The wind is too strong. You know what the Sound can be like in a storm. Look! You can hardly see the lighthouse at Silver Lake.”
They’d all turned as one to follow her pointing hand. A pinprick of light flickered in the darkness across Ocracoke Sound.
But after a moment Laura had whined, “I’m not staying here all night. This place is creepy, with all those empty houses and shacks. There’re probably rats in them—or even worse!”
Her outburst had clenched the argument. “So we’re going back, right?” Jeff had said, turning to face the others. They’d all agreed.
When they were finally under way, the small aluminum craft Leigh had shared with Laura, Jeff and Tony following the other boat, Leigh had rummaged frantically for the life jackets, recalling too late how they’d taken them ashore for cushions. She’d dropped her face into her hands and hadn’t looked up again until she’d heard Laura’s scream. The biggest wave she’d ever seen was heading directly for them....
Leigh brought the edge of the sheet up to wipe her face and neck, already feeling the deep breathing massage the tension away.
I ought to have known that coming home wouldn’t be easy.
I ought to have known that coming home wouldn’t be easy.
It was ironic, she thought. People were supposed to come home to be healed, but in her case, the return only opened old wounds. Spencer McKay’s face suddenly floated into her mind’s eye.
Leigh sighed. Dawn was already fringing the night sky. Why fight it? She threw back the sheet and drew open the curtains. She’d go for a jog and watch the sun come up. Ten minutes later she was out the kitchen door, savoring the dampness of early morning.
She and her neighbor in New York jogged every second day at dawn. It was a routine that had dragged Leigh out of despair when her mother was dying and one she already missed since leaving the city.
She started out on the main road, but decided to head down to the beach. Slogging through the wild oats and marram grass to the water was difficult, but once she reached the compact sand of the shore, running was easier. As she jogged south, she could see the sky pinkening to her left, across the ocean. The sight reminded her of the times she and Jen had slept out under the stars, awakening to the fuchsia ball of sun edging above silvered waves. The recollection slowed her down. Her mind segued from sunrise to Jen to Sam and then Spence. She pulled a face.
Drop it, Randall. Get your mind on business. Think about why you came home in the first place. To sell the house
.
Drop it, Randall. Get your mind on business. Think about why you came home in the first place. To sell the house
.
Yet, only two days home and already the idea of selling was beginning to seem unbelievable. But why? She stopped running and made a slow panoramic survey of the sparkling ocean, the flock of yellowlegs scurrying ahead of the waves, then across to the scattering of cottages swelling into rows of frame houses and shops in the village ahead.
This is why I can’t believe I’m selling Windswept Manor,
she thought.
Because losing my home also means losing this island forever.
She began to walk, scuffing the toes of her Nikes into the damp sand, flinging clumps of it ahead of her. Then she stopped again, placed her hands firmly on her hips and told herself not to be so sentimental.
There’s no one left here for you. Nothing but memories. Your life and future are back in New York.
she thought.
Because losing my home also means losing this island forever.
She began to walk, scuffing the toes of her Nikes into the damp sand, flinging clumps of it ahead of her. Then she stopped again, placed her hands firmly on her hips and told herself not to be so sentimental.
There’s no one left here for you. Nothing but memories. Your life and future are back in New York.
The image of her corporate office with its stunning view was a good reminder. She’d fought long and hard for that office and that view. It had taken her almost ten years to get it, along with the very hefty salary and perks that came with it. Now her friends were in New York, whereas she doubted she had a friend left in Ocracoke. Most had left at the end of that summer—after graduation and the accident. By the time the inquest had finished, the rest of her classmates had already begun avoiding her.
Leigh was surprised by the faint stab of pain that came with that thought.
It’s been so long and you’re still hung up about it. Still carrying the blame.
She shaded her eyes against the glare of the rising sun. The ramps to the public docks lay ahead. It was high tide and she’d have to jog up onto the looser sand to avoid both the water and the ramp pilings. But somehow she didn’t feel like running anymore. She headed up at a brisk walk to the main road where it curved into the village.
It’s been so long and you’re still hung up about it. Still carrying the blame.
She shaded her eyes against the glare of the rising sun. The ramps to the public docks lay ahead. It was high tide and she’d have to jog up onto the looser sand to avoid both the water and the ramp pilings. But somehow she didn’t feel like running anymore. She headed up at a brisk walk to the main road where it curved into the village.
Fishermen were out, unraveling lines and nets, and calling to one another from the ramps. The familiar sight was reassuring. The village had doubled in size since she’d left. but the boom had more to do with shops and lodging places than actual population. Ocracoke, like all the islands in the Outer Banks, swelled with summer people by late June and shrank to a quiet village by mid-September.
Leigh walked along the shoulder of the road. The number of rental units and bed-and-breakfast places told her she was making the right decision to sell Windswept Manor. Obviously the popularity of the Outer Banks for vacationers had translated into an infusion of money for the locals. She couldn’t help but think that, if her parents hadn’t died at such relatively young ages, they’d have enjoyed a lucrative retirement from the manor. Leigh’s eyes stung with tears. She closed them for a moment and so didn’t notice the approaching truck roll to a stop ahead until she’d almost walked into it.
“Whoa! I hear folks in New York City have a blatant disrespect for traffic, but this is Ocracoke an’ there’s only you an’ me on this whole stretch o’ road. So what’re the odds of you makin’ contact with this pickup? Care to lay any bets?”
Leigh had to smile at Spence McKay’s exaggerated drawl. She crossed over to the driver’s side. “I’m not the betting kind unfortunately.”
Spence lowered his sunglasses to take a good look at her. “Really, though. What are the chances, I ask you, of running into the same person three times in—what? Less than twenty-four hours?”
Leigh grinned. “In New York? Or here in Ocracoke?”
He shrugged. “Wherever. Defies credibility, I think. Maybe we should contact that book of world records publisher.”
“You might just have something,” Leigh said, laughing.
Spence found he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Damn, she was gorgeous. Finally, his voice husky with memory, he said, “I was just heading down the road to get some breakfast at the new bakery-deli place. Care to come?” “I don’t have any money with me.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “It’s on me. Hop in.”
Leigh climbed up into the passenger side, resigned to the fact that her morning run wasn’t working out at all as she’d planned and not really minding. “I can’t be long,” she said. “I’ve got a lot of cleaning and sorting to do today.”
“It’s not even six-thirty. I’d say you have time for coffee.” He shifted the truck into drive and pulled out onto the road. “Kinda early to be up running,” he said.
“I woke up before dawn and thought it’d be nice to see the sunrise. Besides, I haven’t done my morning run for a few days.”
He glanced over at her. “You run in the city?”
“Every day if I can. Just after daybreak.”
There was a moment’s pause before he asked, “You go with someone?”
“Always,” she said. “The woman in the apartment next to mine is a runner, too.”
“That’s good. Must be kinda dangerous jogging around New York City.”
“New York’s probably no more dangerous than any other place as long as you’re smart about where you go.”
“Still, it sure as heck isn’t like jogging around Ocracoke.”
“True.” Leigh thought about how the city was always alive anytime night or day, with people and vehicles moving about. But on the island there were sections of the route she ran where she might have been the only person on earth. Hard to say which she preferred.
The pickup turned into an almost empty parking lot.
“Is it open?” Leigh asked.
“Better be,” Spence said, switching off the engine. “They’ve been advertising the past few weeks. ’Course I haven’t made it until today. Hard to change horses midstream.”
“Is the Village Café still in business, then?”
“It is, but Merv and Lou are finding it tough competing with these new places.”
Leigh caught up with him in front of the bakery. He’d always been a fast walker. She remembered struggling to keep up as he’d forged a trail through the sea grass or the marsh when she, Jen and he had explored the island.
They paused inside the door a moment, their eyes adjusting to the change in light. A man sat at a table to their right, stirring coffee and unfolding a newspaper. A woman was wiping off the counter that stretched from the cash register to a glass-covered display case. Trays of baked goods were shelved on a tiered aluminum trolley behind the case.
“Mornin’.” Spencer’s voice boomed around the café.
The woman nodded, motioning into the room with her dishrag. “Seat yourselves. I’ll be right with you. Coffee?”
“Please.”
Spence stood aside for Leigh to pass. Then, his fingertips pressing gently against her lower back, guided her to a window table at the rear of the café. The gesture reminded Leigh of being guided onto the dance floor at Ocracoke School, the tingling magic of being with Spencer McKay. She shivered.
“Chilly?” he asked as she sat in the chair opposite his.
“A bit.” Unconsciously she began to rub the gooseflesh on her arms, but stopped when she caught his grin. Had he read her mind? “The air-conditioning,” she said, avoiding his eyes.
The woman brought their coffee and took an order for fresh strawberry biscuits.
“Is she a local?” Leigh asked after she’d left their table.
“Nah. I think she and her hubby came here a couple years ago from Raleigh.”
“Yesterday when I was in town, I couldn’t believe how much the village had changed. Even the library’s gone.”
Spence tore open a packet of sugar and dumped it into his coffee. “Actually the library has only changed location. It’s in the public school now, and the original building is a museum.”
“At least they didn’t tear it down.”
“True, though it’s no longer the smallest public library in America.”
Leigh grinned. “I remember bragging about that to summer kids.”
“I remember when it was built.”
Leigh laughed aloud. “You sound like an old-timer.”
“I feel like an old-timer these days,” he muttered.
The remark seemed so uncharacteristic of the brash cocky Spencer McKay she’d always known that Leigh couldn’t think of a follow-up. Self-doubt or insecurity had never been a part of the Spencer McKay she’d loved. That Spencer—with the strands of golden blond hair teasing his forehead and the quick knowing smile—had seldom failed to win over anyone. Even the toughest teachers at Ocracoke school had often softened the exasperation in their voices when speaking to Spence.
Leigh remembered Grandpa Sam once saying that Spence McKay could charm the skin off a grass snake. She had to admit, once bitten by his charms, she’d not taken long to succumb. She was tempted now to outstare him to see if that old charm still had potency, but instead, she stared into her coffee mug until the biscuits arrived.
They ate in silence until Spence asked, “So you’re putting your place on the market?”
Leigh swallowed a mouthful of biscuit and nodded at the same time. “That’s why I came to the island,” she explained, knowing she’d already told him the day before and feeling a flare of annoyance.
Why else would I have come back?
Why else would I have come back?
“A shame to sell such a beautiful place.”
Her annoyance increased. “A worse shame to leave it empty.”
It was Spencer’s turn to stare into his coffee mug. He signaled the woman, now stacking trays of pastries into the display case, for more. When she’d refilled both their mugs and left, he said, “I guess there’s no way you could maintain the place from New York.”
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