Page 45 of Trick of Light
Of all the moods Gabby had seen Barnaby in—arrogant, worried, protective, laughing—she’d never imagined this vulnerable version of him. His black tumble of hair, the growth of midnight scruff, the slash of eyebrows drawing into a thoughtful frown, it all added up to something powerfully attractive to her.
She was always such a sucker for a guy who could look in the mirror and see something about himself. Introspection was a turn-on, at least for her.
Plus, he was just flat-out sexy, the way he leaned one hip against the countertop in a casual pose that reminded her of an athlete who could do anything with their body. It wasn’t that she was automatically drawn to muscles on a man, but on Barnaby, they just worked. He looked like he could carry her up a mountain trail before tossing her on a bed—maybe that was it.
“I get it,” she said softly. “I often feel like I’m running too.”
“How’s that?”
Since he seemed genuinely interested, she went on. “I was never supposed to pursue journalism. My parents would be much happier with me if I went to law school or ran for political office.”
“But that’s not what you want.”
“I tried. I really did. I took the LSA’s. I did well. Want to know how long I lasted in law school?”
He lifted an eyebrow.
“Three weeks. I hated every second of it. I went crying to my dad, who’s a lot easier to talk to about that kind of thing. He let me off the hook, said they’d pay for some other graduate program if I found something I really wanted to study. I could tell he was disappointed because he had such big dreams for me.” It still hurt to remember that conversation. There was nothing she feared more than hurting her father. Her mother’s disappointment and her father’s hurt—two things she dreaded the most.
“He sounds like a good parent. One who cares what their child actually wants.”
Gabby gave a misty smile. “I always say my parents perfected the good-cop bad-cop routine, and my mom always had to be the bad cop because my daddy didn’t have it in him. He’s the best. I’d rather open up a vein than hurt him. He was my best friend growing up. He’d play any game I wanted to play, he let me jabber on about whatever was on my mind. We did dance routines together. I used to wrap him around my little finger, to be honest.”
“Daddy’s girl.”
“Oh yeah. But see, that’s why I seem driven. I broke their hearts when I dropped out of law school. I love journalism, but it’s hard to find the kind of job I wanted. That’s why Heather and I started the podcast, and if I don’t make it a success, that means I disappointed my parents for nothing.” She choked up a little bit at the end there. That was her worst nightmare, after all. Her parents had done so much for her, and their parents before them, and on and on.
“Hey.” Barnaby put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “How could you disappoint them? Look at you.”
She waved that off. “You wouldn’t understand.” She didn’t want to say what she really meant, which was that a Black woman with highly successful parents like hers felt an extra burden to achieve, that it was about legacy, ancestors, generational trauma.
He folded his arms across his chest and rested his deep-set gaze on her. He wore a light blue button-down work shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing rock-solid cords of muscles along his forearms. “Yeah, you’re probably right about that. But I’m interested if you want to say more. Because from where I’m sitting, you’re pretty fucking spectacular. Brilliant, beautiful, trying your best to make the world a better place with your podcast.”
She eyed him cautiously. “You know that we trashed your family on the pod.”
“The episodes about Sea Smoke were very much on point. I didn’t take it personally.” His smile flashed bright against the black scruff covering the lower half of his face. “Sorry, but the Carmichaels don’t get to run people off the island because they’re Black or poor, then act injured when the story gets reported.”
“Right.” It was such a logical response, and yet she hadn’t expected it. “Then you support your father’s restitution fund?”
“I think it’s logistically difficult, but worth trying. So yeah. I do support it. The family benefitted from that shit. The people who got chased away…they had to start over from nothing, if they managed to survive and not get dumped into the Home for the Feeble-Minded.”
Wow. He really had listened to the podcast. Not only that, but he wasn’t trying to justify or excuse his ancestors’ actions. “Won’t it cost you money?”
“Probably.” He smiled ruefully. “My status as one of the wealthiest bachelors in Maine will likely be revoked. I think I can live with that.”
A billionaire’s son accepting a downgrade…wasn’t that unusual? “That doesn’t sound very…Carmichael of you.”
The rain picked up in intensity, drumming on the roof like a million tiny footsteps. But it was a warm rain, and with all the windows closed, the tiny house felt almost steamy.
She had the sense of being in another world right now, one where time moved differently. They couldn’t have been talking like this for long, and yet it felt as if they’d taken a long journey together.
“Let me tell you something. Nothing in my life made any sense to me until I came to this house.” Barnaby gestured at their surroundings. “Then when I found out I was also a Brown, not just a Carmichael, it clarified things even more. I might have some Carmichael in me, but I’ve never felt like one. Once I knew the truth about my mother, everything fell into place.”
Had she taken a step closer to him? Or maybe he had? Either way, the distance between them had shrunk, it seemed. “Do you have any memories of your mother?”
“No, how could I? She died in the hospital when I was born. But…” He trailed off, shaking his head, as if he was unsure whether to go on.
“Tell me. I’m fascinated.” She really was, too. His life was like a soap opera, like secrets of the rich and famous.
