Page 5 of Between Here and the Horizon
“I wouldn’t be able to fly back to L.A. on the weekends?”
Ronan shook his head. “Unfortunately that wouldn’t be practical. It would take more than a full day to travel in each direction, and I would like someone on hand in case of an emergency. You’re more than welcome to spend your free time as you want on the island, but I would prefer if you have your cell phone with you at all times, so Rose can reach you should she need to. I’m going to be writing a book, and so I won’t be available for much of the time. Once the six-month contract is at an end, I’m hoping I can arrange for another family member to take care of Connor and Amie in my absence.”
“I see. This…isn’t really what I was expecting. Are the children okay with such a huge change of scenery?”
Ronan’s expression grew cold, turning his perfect features to smooth, flawless marble. “Ever since their mother died this time last year, Connor and Amie are still…” He frowned, lips slightly parted as he seemed to search for the right word. “Adjustingto the loss. A change of scenery is exactly what they need.”
Shit. I’d overstepped. I shouldn’t have suggested he didn’t know what was best for his kids. And the second he’d mentioned his wife’s death, something had altered in him. Ronan was a storm now. A perfectly dangerous storm. I could see the clouds forming over his head, twisting and turning as a darkness seemed to overtake him. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry.” My words were weightless, inconsequential, but they were all I could manage. What I could possibly say to rewind the past few minutes and reset the interview. Nothing fitting came to mind.
“It’s of no consequence,” he said hurriedly. “If you’re offered the job, you will be given a file containing information you should know about Connor and Amie. Their personalities, their issues and their specific needs.”
“I still...I don’t think I can move to a remote island for six months, Mr. Fletcher. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”
“I told you, call me Ronan. And I’m aware a six-month contract such as this is a lot to ask, which is why the pay is so generous. I assume the agency told you what the salary was?”
I shook my head. “Generally that’s discussed once the job’s been awarded.”
“I’m offering a hundred-thousand-dollar payout upon completion of the six-month term. During the six months on the island, you would receive a stipend to cover any costs you might incur through your work with the children, or your own personal requirements. This monthly sum is outside of the final one-hundred-thousand-dollar payment. Perhaps you’d like to think about what your answer will be should you be offered the job, Ophelia.”
A hundred thousand dollars? My salary at St. Augustus’s was only fifty-five thousand, and that was for an entire year. A hundred grand could solve a lot of problems at the restaurant. It could literally turn everything around for Mom and Dad. I just couldn’t envisage it, though. Another state? Another time zone? A tiny little island off the coast, in the middle of nowhere? God, it was all too much to take in.
“I suppose you’re right,” I said. “I’d at leastthinkabout it if I were offered the job,” I said. “It’s a very tempting offer.”
Ronan scratched his clean-shaven jaw, giving me a tight smile. “Excellent. Thank you, Ophelia. Then I suppose we shall be in touch soon to let you know one way or another.”
“That’s it?” I’d barely been sitting in the chair for twenty minutes. They told us repeatedly at the agency that a good, successful interview generally lasted anywhere between thirty minutes and an hour. A paltry twenty-minute conversation definitely wasn’t going to impress them when I gave them telephone feedback tomorrow. Damn it. Who knew how many more people he was going to interview, or how many people he’d already seen? There was no way my bumbling explanation of my capabilities, followed by my hostile reaction to his line of questioning had made anything but a bad impression.
“Yes, Ophelia. I’ve heard all I need to hear. Thank you for coming all this way to meet with me.” Ronan got to his feet, his composure well and truly regained now. “Please return your security pass to Davey, the security guard who showed you up here on your way out.”
What the hell did he think I was going to try and do, break in here later and try to steal his confidential files or something? Ridiculous. I arranged my face into what I hoped looked like professional gratitude, but on the inside I was burning with disappointment, alongside a splash of anger. Getting to my feet, I hoped he didn’t notice the identical flushed, red spots coloring my cheeks.
“Thank you, Ronan. I’ll make sure I do that.” I didn’t offer my hand out to shake his, even though I knew I should. It would be ill advised to leave the interview on an awkward or discordant note, and yet I couldn’t get myself to toe the line.
I felt naked for a moment, then collected my purse that I’d sat at my feet. I felt foolish as I turned away from Ronan Fletcher and walked quickly to the same elevator I came out of only a short while ago.
I almost expected the man behind me to call out to me, wish me a safe flight back to Los Angeles or something equally as polite and measured, but he didn’t. He didn’t speak another word. As the elevator doors closed, his figure was silhouetted against the bright afternoon sun blazing through the high windows behind him, and I couldn’t see his face. I would always remember it, though. I would never be able to forget.
CHAPTER FOUR
Patience
“The Causeway? That doesn’t sound in the least bit exotic at all. Sounds cold if you ask me.” No onehadasked my mother, but that never seemed to matter to her. She’d always been one to voice her opinion, solicited or otherwise, and woe betide the poor bastard who ever disagreed with her. In light of this, I nodded sagely from the bussing station at the entrance to the kitchen while Mom shouted to me from the meat section, where she was cooking a pair of steaks. Dad was nowhere to be seen, as usual.
“It’s a part of Maine, Mom. I don’t think it’s ever particularly warm there.”
“And this Fletcher guy was rude to you?” I’d mentioned that Ronan hadn’t exactly been warm in welcoming me or making me feel at ease, and she hadn’t been able to let the matter drop. For three days I’d been telling her the same story over and over again, and her outrage hadn’t dissipated a single iota. “And after that ridiculously long flight, too. I tell you, these big business guys in big cities, they’re all the same. They must be the absolute worst in New York, though. The height of arrogance. Never mind, baby. You’ll find work closer to home. You’ll be able to come back to the South Bay in the evenings. And your father and I will be just fine, don’t worry about us.”
I was worried, though. I’d been worrying non-stop for the past year and no amount of plotting and planning appeared to be helping the situation. I’d seen the stack of envelopes on the kitchen counter this morning, all marked with “Final Notice” or “Passed Due.” Mom had swept them deftly into the cutlery drawer when she noticed me helping myself to cereal, but she wasn’t that stealthy a woman. There had been at least four envelopes there.
“I know, Mom. It’s not a big deal. I would never have cut it on a tiny island, anyway. I would have gone crazy, especially if I couldn’t even call you guys whenever I wanted to. The time difference would have been awful.” It was only three hours, but with their busy schedule and my own, I would have missed my opportunity to talk to them most of the time.
“Ophelia?” Mom called. “While it’s quiet, would you mind running upstairs to the office and seeing if there’s any word from Waylan’s? We were supposed to get a delivery this morning and nothing’s shown up yet.”
“Sure thing.” Aside from the couple sitting at the table by the window, the restaurant was empty and lunch service was over. I had a few minutes to leave the floor, so I did as she asked, jogging up the stairs to check the online bookings and listen to the messages on the answering machine. There were seven new messages waiting. I hit the play button, sitting myself down in front of the prehistoric computer my Dad refused to get rid of, and the entire time the machine clicked through the messages (a call center, wondering if we want to renew our home owner’s insurance; Aunt Simone, wanting Mom to call her back when she had a second; croaky, hoarse sounding old Mr. Robson, confirming the table for tomorrow night that he and his wife always reserved on a Sunday) I was holding my breath, waiting to hear that cool, calm voice with the strange lilt to it, telling me in no uncertain terms that I hadn’t gotten the job, and I needn’t bother googling Causeway Island anymore.
The message never came, though. That was probably the most frustrating part. IknewI hadn’t gotten the job, but it would have been nice to be put out of my misery. It seemed highly irregular that Ronan Fletcher hadn’t even had one of his receptionists call or even email to let me know that someone else had filled the position. I didn’t care. I didn’t. At least that’s what I kept telling myself. If I didn’t recite to myself constantly that I didn’t need thatparticularjob, then my heart rate kept accelerating at the prospect of earning a hundred thousand dollars in a short six-month period, and I was on the verge of weeping at the missed opportunity. There were no messages in the email from Waylan’s about our missing delivery. While I was there, I checked my personal email account to see if I had actually received something from the Fletcher Corporation there, but my inbox was notably empty.
Well, shit.
