Finders Keepers Read online

  Ocky licked an errant bit of cream from her upper lip. “I understand that but we’ve been planning your capital investments since almost the start.”

  “I know, but the last year has been so good I thought the business could get a real business loan instead of Bank of Marissa’s Dead Grandmother.”

  Ocky frowned. “This is all out of left field, you know.”

  “We talked about it five years ago. I know I said I’d be willing to invest, so yeah, I’m changing my mind.” Marissa wanted in the worst way to add, “Haven’t you noticed that I’ve changed?” But she took a deep breath instead and watched Ocky’s fingers drum the table, even as a small part of her realized she wasn’t all gooey-10

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  hearted at the sight of Ocky licking her lips. That, at least, was something.

  “Are you sure you don’t want a bite?” Ocky abruptly leaned forward with a large chunk of brownie on her fork.

  Marissa reared back as if stung. “No, but thanks.”

  “Really? They’re good today.”

  “It’s like crack at the moment, Ocky. One bite and I’m ten pounds up.” How often do I have to say it, Marissa wondered.

  “You’re obsessed about calories.”

  Sharply, Marissa answered, “I have to be.” It’s gotten results, she could have said too. But maybe—and the thought was simultaneously a slap and a comfort—Ocky really didn’t notice how she looked. More calmly she added, “Better to be obsessed with what I won’t eat than what I will.”

  Ocky shrugged. “Seems like an obsession either way, but you’re the one with the nutritionist and the new friends.”

  Was Ocky jealous of the women at the gym and her weekly weight bitch session? “Maybe. I just know I’m healthier.”

  Ocky had moved on. “It’s not like I haven’t invested, though I know you’ve put in more.”

  “I know—for the first five years you did all the public contact.

  You were the front woman for it all. I know that. We both worked hundred-hour weeks. And you’ve put in capital too. I know you’ve got as much at stake as I do. It’s not about that. I just need a place of my own. I want to put out my own welcome mat.” She sipped her iced coffee, savoring the chill and bitter edge.

  “Are you seeing someone?” Ocky leaned back with a considering look. “You’ve been dressing to the nines lately.”

  Okay, it was pleasing to know that Ocky did actually see her in detail and not just as a vague outline labeled Marissa. “I’ve been doing lots of presentations. And . . .” She shrugged. “And discovering there are things I like about myself now. Better than before.

  I like shoes.” She cracked a smile. “Nearly as much as you.”

  Ocky finished the brownie. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Instead of “What’s it to you?” Marissa said, without mentioning 11

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  the ten women listed on her personal Finder’s Keepers analysis as Highly Compatible Profiles, “I’m dating a little bit. But if I wanted to, I’d like to live somewhere I’m proud to invite people in. And my apartment complex—you know what the place is like.”

  Ocky sighed. “Yeah, I do. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. We’ll get a loan or something.”

  Relief welled up inside Marissa, so much so that she thought she might drown. She rarely won these kinds of arguments with Ocky. “Thanks for understanding. I really was going to bring it up at our next sit down.”

  “This counted.”

  Watching her friend’s face, Marissa said again, “You do look tired.”

  “Last night—jeez. Major crying jag and I never the hell knew what it was about. I hate that.”

  “Had she been drinking?”

  “No.” Ocky cast her gaze heavenward. “There might have been something about me not being around enough but it’s not like I’m not up front about how much I work.”

  The tale sounded all too familiar to Marissa. “Perhaps you should get involved with women who are themselves workaholics.”

  “Easy to say.” Marissa tried not to watch as Ocky’s tongue wetted her lips. “They don’t often have legs that go from here to Argentina.”

  Glancing down at her own legs—which merely stretched from her hips to the floor—Marissa hid her inward sigh.

  They parted at the door and Marissa turned toward the gym, finally. She was suddenly restless and anxious. A workout would make her feel better.

  The steady thud thud of her running shoes was only apparent when Marissa turned down her iPod. It made her booty move. Her booty wasn’t dead, oh no. The workout last night had felt great but she was even happier to finally get into a full sweat.

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  Swerving into the complex where she’d lived for the last twelve years and would be so happy to leave behind, she slackened her pace as she crossed the patch of oil-slicked asphalt that separated the buildings. The morning was cool but the brilliant sunrise promised more winter warmth.

  At the common mailboxes she slowed to a halt, willing her breathing to return to normal.

  “Damn!” she swore quietly as stinging sweat pooled into the corners of her eyes.

  Straightening, hands pressing into the small of her back, she walked toward her front door, realizing as she got closer that there was someone waiting there. At this hour? A small alarm trilled inside but she discerned it was a woman, which allayed some of her fear.

  It was a tall woman with dark hair down her back. And when she turned around her eyes were brown.

  In her head Marissa heard, clearly as the night it had been said,

  “Is this what you want, Marissa?”

  Now she also heard her breathless, adoring answer. “Yes.

  Please, yes.”

  The smile Marissa had tried to forget. The charm she’d tried to deny. The memory of those hands, that body, everything she’d tried to erase from her consciousness, rushed back into vivid reality.

  One year since the moonlight and kisses. It had taken months for her heart to finish breaking when each day brought silence and more silence. She didn’t want to go back in time. One year since the vacation of a lifetime had changed her life, for the worse and for the better.

  Fighting for breath, but no longer due to exertion, Marissa willed herself to meet the sparkling brown eyes with a chilled stare of her own. “What do you want?”

  “You,” Linda answered.

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  Chapter 2

  (One Year Earlier)

  “Abandon ship! Proceed in an orderly fashion to your assigned lifeboat station. Abandon ship! This is not a drill!”

  Jolted out of sleep, Marissa’s first thought was that she was trapped in a nightmare but when the message repeated in what sounded like Italian, logic asserted that she did not have nightmares in languages she didn’t speak.

  The small cabin had no clock and she’d been so exhausted on arrival she’d not unpacked her own. Dull blue lighting had sprung up near the door and she pushed herself upright, trying to shake off the jittery fog of sudden awakening.

  French, possibly, then once again, in commanding but modulated tones, “Abandon ship! Proceed in an orderly fashion to your assigned lifeboat station. Abandon ship! This is not a drill!”

  Her cabin mate had likewise sat up and they stared at each other 14

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  in confusion. With a shuddering gulp of air into lungs cramping with fear, Marissa scrambled out of the narrow bed and nearly fell as she fumbled for the clothes she’d left folded at the foot of the bed. Socks. Shoes. Backpack from the airplane, not yet unpacked.

  She hopped across the tiny space to the broom closet bathroom for the small toiletry bag she’d pulled out earlier so she could brush her teeth. Her purse she stuffed into the last spare inches under th
e zipper before slinging the pack over one shoulder.

  “Abandon ship! Proceed in an orderly fashion to your assigned lifeboat station. Abandon ship! This is not a drill!”

  Her cabin mate—Angela something—was chanting a phrase that included dios every fourth word or so. Their lack of a common language had been a barrier from the moment they’d nodded and smiled greetings some twelve hours earlier. They exited the cabin at the same time and all Marissa could think about was how much less expensive the lower berths had been and how many more flights of stairs were between her and the lifeboats as a result. The corridor was crowded with other passengers and getting tighter by the second.

  Every face she glanced at reflected what she felt: disbelief and panic.

  The weird emergency lighting made blondes look as if they had blue halos, but the effect was something out of a horror film.

  They’d had a lifeboat drill just after embarkation, but maybe this was another test. A two a.m. test. Maybe this was all a precau-tion and they’d stand on deck for a while, the same way kids stood outside classrooms during fire drills, knowing the time for the gift it was. Sailing on the warm South Seas was pleasant circumstances for a middle-of-the-night drill, if not for the fear and terror thing.

  Grim-faced crewmembers encouraged speed and calm, pointing the way. She climbed flight after flight, not sure if her cabin mate was still behind her. She slipped once, and tried not to fancy that the ship was listing to one side. Because of the pressure of people behind her, she couldn’t stop to rest. Her heart felt as if it would burst.

  Rain lashed the deck—they’d been warned of a middling tropical storm that would pass them in the night. Nothing to worry 15

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  about, the cabin steward had said. Strong lamps illuminated the gathering places, particularly markings that showed which cabin groups lined up where. The lifeboats were uncovered and crew members were already assisting people aboard them.

  Gulping for breath, she struggled to fasten her life vest. It wouldn’t click shut. During the earlier drill they’d found her a larger one, but no one was trying to do that now. One of the features of this cruise was the small vessel and passenger complement, allowing for enhanced customer service and access to more out-of-the-way ports of call. Cozy, intimate, blah blah blah, Marissa thought. I can’t get this damn thing on.

  After struggling and fighting tears for several minutes, another woman said, “Here, let’s swap. This one is too big for me.”

  The exchange was made and the new vest was marginally larger. She was able to get the main belt secured. She felt like a big piece of meat, trussed in an orange casing for roasting. The damp, humid air didn’t help.

  Hardly able to breathe, she waited in the line, trying to decide if it was appropriate to yell or shriek in fear, the way someone further down was. Perhaps the shaking that seemed to start in the pit of her stomach was the right response. She couldn’t help tension-filled tears and the vest made it impossible to wipe her eyes.

  She saw Angela, her now ex-cabin mate, being helped into the life boat next to the one where she was queued. Then her turn came. As she threw her leg over the edge of the lifeboat all she could think was that everyone was assessing every extra pound on her body and predicting she’d reduce their chances of survival.

  She clutched her backpack to her, took the empty spot next to a whippet-faced woman and tried hard to be small.

  “I know we send the, uh . . .” Gregorio, the senior of the two crew members in their boat, snapped his fingers as he scrunched his eyes in concentration. “Ah, distress. Tracking beacons, uh . . .

  work. They know where to find.”

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  It wasn’t the first time he had said those broken words of comfort but every few minutes one of the eighteen passengers would ask how long until rescue came. The younger crew member looked as scared as the rest of them. Gregorio tried to exude confidence but facts were facts. The tropical storm’s winds were scattering the lifeboats, and the lights of the ship were slowly fading from their sight. Marissa couldn’t tell if that was because they’d drifted or if the ship really was sinking. She wasn’t going to ask either.

  When the muffled explosion sounded in the distance, Marissa clutched the woman next to her, who clutched her right back.

  Gregorio said something that sounded like decompression. Marissa was sure if she spoke Italian, she would understand. Whatever it was, it went boom but Marissa could see nothing. The rain continued and there was no sign of the lights from the other lifeboats.

  Marissa was pretty sure the situation was dire. Panic might be called for, even. But she was too numb to feel fear but not so inco-herent she didn’t know numbness was a blessing.

  The sea pitched them up and down but at least they didn’t seem at risk of swamping. The rain had eased but everything was wet through and through—her backpack, ballcap, shirt, shoes. She wondered if her CD player would survive and if the M&M’s somewhere in the depths of a pocket would be edible.

  She wished she hadn’t wasted time yesterday morning shaving her legs. Like that mattered. She mourned the swimsuit, the hoard of chocolate and rum and the fifteen spanking new books in her suitcase. It really was a crying shame about the books.

  Right now she supposed it was time for early breakfast. She’d been told that cruise food was good. Certainly dinner the night before had been tasty. She wished she’d eaten more of it but she always felt as if people were watching her eat and deciding that was why her waist was bigger around than her hips.

  The sun rose fully, the wind died and the rain slowed to a mist, leaving the air heavy and thick. Marissa didn’t think her heart had stopped beating fast but she was suddenly so tired her head 17

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  bobbed. A man at the front of the boat took some pictures of them all but Marissa couldn’t find more than an annoyed smile. Settling her bulging backpack on her lap, she wrapped her arms over it and tried to doze. It seemed the only thing she could do that didn’t add to the fear and tension in the boat.

  She drifted for a few minutes then found herself writing a letter in her head, something she’d always done when stressed. They were letters she would never send.

  This one began—like lots of others—with “Dear Mom.”

  Thank you again for the generous gift of a week-long cruise in Tahiti. It’s not your fault the ship sank. Instead of all those years of computer science courses, I wish I had paid more attention to reality TV shows about turning bugs into breakfast.

  I’m sure I’ll be fine and when I get home you can bet I’ll listen to the rest of your advice about what I ought to do with my life, since this has worked out so well.

  Love, Marissa

  P.S. I don’t think I’ll make it home in time for the club’s summer ball.

  P.P.S. Please make my apologies to the blind date I’m sure you arranged.

  P.P.P.S. I’m a lesbian.

  If I get home again, Marissa told herself, I’m sending that one.

  “Hey,” someone behind her shouted. “Isn’t that land?”

  People actually stood up. The boat rocked violently, and they all sat down again. Marissa craned her neck and saw the low white cloud in the distance.

  “Great. I always wanted to be in an episode of Lost.”

  She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until several people near her gave her annoyed stares.

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  You’d think she’d said shark or something. Marissa muttered to herself, “I’m not the only one thinking it.”

  Seated in the row ahead of Marissa, a tall woman glanced back at Marissa as she said, “I sure as hell was. But I’d rather Gilligan’s Island.” Her expression was surprisingly calm and they shared comrades-in-twisted-humor half-smiles.

  Gregorio was trying to settle the hand
ful of men who wanted to Take Action. One older Brit kept saying he didn’t understand why they weren’t trying to get to land until the tall Gilligan’s Island fan said, firmly, “It’s farther than it looks. Rowers need water and we don’t have a way to get more. The beacons were on and with the storm cleared a search will be quickly underway.” When he would have argued, she added, “I’m just the translator.”

  Marissa tried to shift her position enough to ease her back and again Whippet-Face looked annoyed, the way people did on airplanes when they realized some of her was going to possibly come into contact with some of them or their seat. The woman said something unhappily in Italian to the man next to her, or maybe it was Greek or Russian—why hadn’t she studied languages spoken by people instead of those spoken by computers? Whatever it was, it didn’t flatter her; whining sounded the same in every language, she thought.

  Unable to stand the discomfort any longer, she unsnapped her life vest and took a full, deep breath. She was able to straighten in place and roll her neck. It helped, but all of that activity—the full range of what she was able to do in the space she was allotted—had taken about thirty seconds. Now was not the time for an attack of claustrophobia. The clouds were moving off and the sky rapidly cleared. The limitless blue soothed her until she began to think about how far that sky stretched, how big the ocean below it seemed, and how very, very tiny their lifeboat was.

  The sun was only halfway out of the water. She wished for sunglasses. Someone said it was six-thirty. Then it was six-thirty-four.

  Every two minutes someone new took out their cell phone, muttered, stared up at the sky and put it away again.

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  Dear Dad:

  I’m glad you spent the three months of chemo sharing all those great movies with me. I don’t think I appreciated how good Lifeboat was until now. It might have been a different movie if there had been twenty or so characters to keep track of, and possibly a lot less interesting if none of them had been able to do more than stretch once in a while.