I wasn’t sure what disturbed me more, those who gushed on about the tragedy, or those who openly speculated about the circumstances.
“They say she was drinking a lot that night,” said Jenny Lewis, who I had shared a house with last summer over on Pine Walk. “She must have been. I mean, who would go in the ocean in June? And naked!”
I didn’t even grace that one with a reply.
The worst of the bunch was Donnie Havens, the head of shipping for Edge, who owned a house with his wife, Amanda, a few doors down on West Lighthouse. Latching on to my arm and reeking of one too many beers, he nearly bawled when I asked him if he had any idea when our first shipments would be coming in for the fall collection.
“Oh, God, Sage, those were the jackets that Maggie was waiting on. What will we do without her?” he asked, his eyes practically tearing up in his tanned face.
I could think of a few things. What I said was, “We’ll survive it, Donnie.”
“Of course we’ll survive it, Sage. But it won’t be the same. Not without Maggie. God, I loved that woman.” Then he did sob.
Oh, brother. This was the man we entrusted to get our livelihood to our retailers?
Then, as if he realized he might be going on too much to a woman who could have a say over whether or not he keeps his job, he said, “So, Sage, does this mean you’ll be taking over the Sales Manager job in Maggie’s stead?”
I stiffened, probably because Donnie was the first person to say out loud the ambition that had been thrumming through me from day one. “That’s up to Tom, Donnie,” I said coolly.
He smiled at me, even looked a little handsome despite that bad toupee he was sporting.“I’m sure that’s what Maggie would have wanted. Besides,” he said, his gaze roaming over me in a way I found vaguely discomforting,“I can’t think of a better person for that job now. You’re smart. Beautiful. Just like Maggie.”
I looked at him, not sure what was bothering me more—the comparison to Maggie or the fact that Donnie seemed to be staring at my breasts. Fucking lech. “Listen, Donnie,” I said, gesturing to his wife, who I noticed was watching us from her post on the couch in the living room. “Why don’t you go and show your wife some appreciation while she’s still alive and well?”
Donnie’s eyes widened, but he got the hint, marching off in the direction of his wife, then detouring around her and heading for the back deck.
One shot later, I was able to shrug off Donnie’s creepy perusal. I was even starting to enjoy myself. As was Tom, I noticed, eyeing him as he sucked down another in what ■was starting to seem like an endless line of martinis. I knew Tom wasn’t a big drinker—typically no more than a martini or two when the occasion called for it. So the fact that he had clearly put down more than his usual quota had me wondering if perhaps he was taking things harder than he made it seem. And who could blame him, really? I couldn’t even fathom losing someone after spending a decade with them.
Which was probably why I didn’t spend too much time with any one person, outside of Zoe and Nick. I shivered, realizing the three of us were well into our second decade ourselves. Fifteen years we’d been friends. And though most of the time I wanted to shoot both of them, I didn’t know what I’d do without them. I felt a little bit like I was losing Zoe during the whole Myles phase. Not that I didn’t love Myles, but Zoe got so sucked into that relationship, I barely saw her. Though it was nice having her back in my life more regularly, this Myles thing had hit her hard. Too hard. I guess that’s what happens when you start thinking about forever. You’re bound to get hurt. People change. And, I thought, watching as Tom laughed a bit too merrily at something one of his friends said, people die…
It just wasn’t worth the risk.
For my part, I wasn’t so sure marriage was everything it was cracked up to be. Being with someone for a lifetime—caring for someone for a lifetime—was a lot of work.
I ought to know, I thought, my gaze falling on Nick, “who was now deep in conversation with none other than Francesca, despite my admonitions. I could tell by Nick’s body language that he was flirting big-time. Probably bragging about his new label. I think he scored more booty than anything else out of the two labels he had started. Bernadine fell for him when he was starting up the last one. Even saw him through its demise. Now it looked like Nick was hoping Francesca might fall for the hype, too—and keep his ego and his bed warm.
Not if I had anything to do with it. This wasn’t just any girl. This was Tom’s daughter, and I didn’t want Nick fouling the nest. Especially since it was the nest I hoped to rule some day.
I stepped into the living room, hoping to lure Nick away on some pretext, when the sight of a man stepping through the sliding glass door at the front of the house stopped me dead in my tracks.
Vince Trifelli. Looking like an angel of mercy in a white polo shirt that showed off his tan, and a pair of jeans that hugged his lean hips.
I glanced over at Nick. I’d deal with him later. There was still time yet. Yes, Nick was a fast worker, but Francesca, who stood with her arms folded, didn’t seem like she was exactly falling all over him just yet.
I watched as Vince greeted Tom, pulling him into a hug, his hand moving
