The Way Back. Stephanie Doyle

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СКАЧАТЬ more time, she’d sold it and used the money to help pay the rent on her apartment in Brooklyn until she found a job.

      Besides, after losing her job, she’d felt like a fraud in the car. It was a reflection of everything she had been, but no longer was. Its perfection ridiculed her whenever she got behind the wheel.

      Look everyone. See how far Gabby Haines has fallen.

      Not allowing herself to descend into doom and gloom mode, she focused on the task at hand.

      Jamison’s house was about ten minutes up a winding road from where the main street cut through the island. On the map there were only four documented roads that crisscrossed the island leading north, south, east or west from the main street that occupied the epicenter. In reality, there were also a number of smaller roads that looked more like paved driveways, which led to the scattering of homes and cabins peppering the tiny island.

      Jamie’s house was situated on what must be the highest point of the island. That position probably guaranteed him a view of the water from the second level of the house. It also set him far apart from the other homes guaranteeing no neighbors within at least a half a mile of the place.

      Perfect for a recluse.

      Parking the car where she had last night, Gabby didn’t relish climbing the stairs again. Nor did she anticipate a friendlier welcome simply because it was morning.

      So how did a person go about striking up a conversation with someone when said target would not allow her into his home?

      Confront him outside his home.

      It seemed plausible. Your basic run of the mill, bump into you, hey, good to see you again, type of moment. Gabby peered through the windshield and spotted the dirt path which must be his driveway. She could hang out in her car, wait for him to leave, follow him to wherever he was going then pounce when he least expected it.

      What if he’d already left to go to work? Did he even have a job?

      She would ask him when they spoke. She couldn’t imagine what he would do on this island. The man had been an astronaut for crying out loud. How did anyone, disgraced hero or not, come down from a job like that?

      She didn’t picture him selling screwdrivers in the local hardware store or flipping burgers for Adel. There wasn’t much else in the way of labor on the island. It was possible he ferried to the mainland daily, but the commute would be enough of a hassle to outweigh the privacy of island living.

      Since there was no point waiting for someone who wasn’t even home to leave, Gabby got out of the car.

      Wind whipped around her and she snuggled into her winter coat. She’d worn jeans and a sweater today, adapting to the local climate. But the only real practical shoes she had were her loafers. She had packed sneakers since step two in her new life was to transform her body and she had the vague notion that daily, hour-long speed walks would accomplish that. But she couldn’t fathom the idea of using them for any other purpose than to work out. Did Barbara Walters interview people while wearing sneakers? Did Oprah? Certainly not.

      Her feet managed to go from cozy to frigid in minutes, but she didn’t let it stop her. She walked up the dirt driveway making sure to stay to one side in case a vehicle came down and she had to make an emergency dive into the bushes.

      She laughed at that image of herself attempting to hide in the foliage as Jamison approached. She suspected her feet in the air might give her away. Still she clung to her plan as she climbed—or more accurately stumbled since the loafers provided little traction—up the driveway.

      Gabby couldn’t help but wonder what type of car he might have. Something sleek and fast. High performing and responsive. A man who had flown jet fighters would need something to keep up with him, wouldn’t he?

      What if he had a motorcycle?

      The image of him on a bike, flying down the road without fear or caution seemed accurate. Definitely a motorcycle, she decided. Or, at the very least, a convertible.

      Which is why the old white truck was such a letdown. It sat alone at the top of the driveway parked a short distance from the house. Gabby remembered the dog from last night and listened for the sound of barking to announce her presence, but she heard nothing.

      A dumpy, old white truck. Not fast, sleek or high performing. Maybe when he’d walked away from his former life he felt he needed to go to extremes. This truck was it. And a pretty good symbol of a man who once had everything and now had nothing.

      Yeah, when they did finally talk, they were going to have a lot in common.

      A muffled woof startled her. The sound wasn’t close and followed by an even softer bark, so she could tell it was moving away from her.

      Circling the vehicle she looked toward the house and could see the new deck extending from the rear. The deck McKay Publishing paid for apparently.

      In the summer it would provide a magnificent vista of green leaves and blue water. But the leaves had yet to come out and all she saw was a barren landscape leading down a hill to what she imagined was a narrow shoreline. The gray water seemed to blend with the overcast sky.

      “Shep. Come on, old man.”

      Gabby instinctively ducked at the sound of Jamison’s voice, not sure she was ready to announce her presence. She could see he was already heading down the hill that ran away from his house. She spied the top of his head, then a few seconds later his dog followed.

      The dog stopped briefly, turning his head in her direction, but another command from Jamison had Shep moving forward tentatively, until eventually his master met him on the path, picked him up and carried him out of sight.

      The plan had been to wait for Jamison to leave the house then meet him on neutral ground. A beach was fair game, wasn’t it? Gabby couldn’t imagine he owned all the property from the house to the water, so it wouldn’t be trespassing. She was just a regular tourist, out for a walk on the beach on a blistery April morning in Cole Hahn loafers.

      Okay, not great. But it was better than if she’d been in stilettos.

      Scrambling, she reached the edge of his deck and saw a path down the rocky hill. She waited a good two minutes to follow because she didn’t want to risk him spotting her on the approach. Not to mention each oomph, ow, oh, yikes she muttered as she tried to descend would certainly give her away. By the time she actually reached the beach, which was no more than a stretch of rocky pebbles approximately twenty feet wide, her ankles, calves and thighs were screaming.

      “Don’t suppose you’re lost?”

      Gabby shrieked at Jamison’s comment. There he was standing not ten feet away with his arms crossed over his chest.

      He looked different in the daylight. A little older—maybe because of the gray hair. But there was nothing old about his physique. In a tight zip-up jacket and jogging pants he looked younger than she did. Lean, fit and strong. Definitely strong.

      He should have been several minutes ahead of her on the beach by now. The fact he wasn’t meant stealth was not her strong point.

      “You heard me coming.”

      “Even Shep heard you coming.”

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