The Stillwater Bay Collection (Books 1-4): Stillwater Bay Series Boxed Set Read online

  “I saw them outside. Liam couldn’t take his eyes off the cookie in his hand.”

  The smile on Anne Marie’s face was huge. “I love that kid.”

  Camille perused the items on display and couldn’t decide what she wanted more: a croissant or a chocolate-chip oatmeal muffin.

  “Here, I’ve got some samples out.” Anne Marie pointed to a tray on the side full of a variety of fresh-baked muffins.

  “I think I need to start coming over first thing in the morning to say hi. These look amazing.”

  “Just bring me some tea and there’ll be one waiting for you. I’m serious about that.”

  After the sisters lost their parents years ago and Camille found herself needing to take over not only the family business but raising her sister, it had been Anne Marie who stepped in. She was like a second mother to her now, and Camille doubted she could ever express how much she appreciated the other woman’s love and guidance.

  “Still coming over for dinner tonight?” she asked instead as she took a sample.

  “Sure am. You and your sister are my guinea pigs for a new recipe.”

  Camille stepped to the side as some customers came into the shop, letting them go ahead of her. She enjoyed her morning chats with Anne Marie and didn’t want to make others wait. But she shouldn’t leave Paige alone for too long in the store; they did have a lot of orders for the day.

  “Paige is craving a bagel, and I’m going to take some of your cheese bread as well.” She picked up a fresh-cut bag of bread and pointed to a tray of bagels. Anne Marie grabbed two and stuffed them into an already bulging bag. What all did she have in there?

  “Take these and go before your sister gets too swamped. I don’t want her bad mood blamed on me.” Anne Marie’s eyes twinkled as she handed over the bag and took Camille’s money.

  “Between you and me, it would take a national emergency for her to get in a bad mood today.” Camille leaned in. “She was asked out on a date.”

  “Oh!” Anne Marie’s eyes grew almost as wide as the smile on her face. “You don’t say. Sure hope it was that boy over at the golf course, the one making eyes at her whenever he thinks she’s not looking.”

  “The one and only.” Camille blew a kiss to Anne Marie and headed out the door, but paused as she heard Anne Marie mutter behind her back.

  “Well, then . . . we’ll be saying a prayer today that nothing bad happens, won’t we.”

  6

  JULIA BERRY

  “Gabe, time to get up, honey.” Julia knocked softly on her son’s door and peeked her head in. She loved the way his tousled blond hair was half-hidden beneath his blankets. His long, lanky frame no longer fit the single bed, but she wasn’t sure what to do, unless she got a new bed custom-made, and even then she wasn’t sure he would fit.

  His bedroom wasn’t very large; in fact, it was barely big enough for his bed on one side of the room and a desk on the other side. His dresser was stuffed into his closet, with a small area for him to hang his clothes.

  The walls were full of zombie renderings. At one time she’d been worried about his obsession, but Pastor Scott had soothed her fears by telling her it was a boy thing, natural and healthy. She wasn’t sure how it was healthy, but what did she know? It didn’t help that there was a popular TV show now on the subject of zombies. Gabe would sit there, eyes glued to the screen, and then head into his bedroom, notepad in hand, and draw the images he’d seen. The blood-splattered sketches were lifelike, and not for the first time she hoped that somehow this gift of his would get tapped for something big.

  “Gabe?”

  Her son barely managed to lift his hand up in a half greeting before he grunted, and Julia closed the door, satisfied that their morning ritual had been completed. He’d lie there for another ten minutes before walking zombielike to the bathroom, where he’d step into a cold shower.

  She had no idea how he could shower that way, but it worked for him.

  Even though her son was sixteen, she still liked to make his breakfast. It was almost as if, despite all the other mistakes she’d made raising him, this one thing she could do right. She took out the last of their eggs and bacon, set it on the counter, and then grabbed some fresh herbs she’d picked up yesterday. She needed to head to the store today to replenish their empty pantry. It was time to talk to Gabe about getting a part-time job so he could start helping with groceries, especially considering he was the one eating the majority of them. Except, after everything that had happened lately, she wasn’t sure who would hire him.

  “I’m starting breakfast,” she called out when she heard Gabe’s bedroom door open and the heavy tread of his footsteps along the wood floors. “Don’t take too long.”

  “’Kay.”

  She shook her head at his one-word reply. Typical boy—or so she hoped.

  Gabe wasn’t a typical boy, though, so she never really knew what to expect when it came to his behavior. She thought of the pile of parenting books on her nightstand and wondered whether she would ever truly understand him.

  No one else in town did either. She dreaded the upcoming talk she needed to have with him.

  “Hey, Mom, there’s no towels.”

  Julia set down the egg she held in her hand. “Did you not bring up the laundry like I asked last night?”

  “Sorry,” he called out.

  She heard the bathroom door close, and the pipes groaned as he turned on the water.

  Obviously she was expected to do his chores for him. She headed down the stairs into the basement, saw the folded towels, and shook her head. So he’d come down and done half his chore but couldn’t bring up the basket?

  She hefted it into her arms and climbed the stairs. Setting it down in front of the bathroom door, she knocked.

  “Maid service.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Gabe opened the door a smidgen and stuck his hand out. She picked up a towel and gave it to him before walking away.

  Be patient but firm. That was what all the books advised when it came to raising teen boys. Patient but firm. Everything in her wanted to put the towels away in the closet, but she didn’t. Gabe needed to be self-sufficient, and she’d tried really hard not to raise a mama’s boy.

  Julia went back to making breakfast. By the time the bacon was crispy, Gabe was out of the bathroom. She heard him fumble over the laundry basket, and when he mumbled low enough that she couldn’t hear the words, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from chuckling. It was a little mean of her to place the basket directly in front of the door, knowing he wouldn’t have thought to look for it otherwise.

  She had his breakfast ready on the table and was in the midst of pouring him a glass of orange juice when he came up behind her and wrapped her in a hug. She smiled, knowing she needed to cherish this moment.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t finish my chores,” he said.

  “Is it all done now?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll put the towels away after school. Promise.”

  “As long as it’s done before I get home, that’s fine.”

  They ate their breakfast in silence, Gabe wolfing down his eggs and bacon while she toyed with hers. When he was finished, she pushed her plate toward him.

  “You sure?” His fork was poised over her eggs.

  “Gabriel, we need to talk.”

  He set his fork down on his own plate, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms.

  Oh, boy.

  “I need to know, as a mother, about what happened the other night. I’ve given you some time and space and didn’t want to—”

  “What?” Gabriel leaned forward, cutting her off. “Didn’t want to what, Mom? Accuse me right away?”

  She swallowed. “I’m not accusing. I just want answers.”

  She watched her son for the cues, his tells that he was about to explode. The flaring nostrils, the cracking of his knuckles, the curl of disgust in his lips . . . but all she got was a rolling of the eyes.

  Maybe she was wo
rried over nothing.

  “Sorry to disappoint, this time, but I’ve got nothin’ for ya.” He picked up his fork and began to eat her eggs.

  She studied him, unfamiliar with this reaction.

  “Nothing? You knew nothing about the graffiti on those vehicles parked on Main Street? Nothing about the images drawn on the church? Or the garbage cans knocked over?”

  When his gaze lifted to hers at the last words, she knew something was up.

  “You knew about the garbage cans?” she asked.

  He shrugged and went back to eating the eggs.

  Julia leaned forward, suddenly feeling very exhausted.

  “Gabriel? Please tell me this wasn’t some skateboard trick you were attempting.”

  He shrugged again. “Okay, I won’t tell you.”

  “Are you kidding me?” She was flabbergasted. “Do you realize that I told the police there was no way you could be involved, and that I was tired of them always coming to you first when things like this happen?” She could feel her blood pressure rise as she remembered the countless knocks in the middle of the night, police officers wanting—no, demanding—to know where Gabriel was. Most of those times he was in his bed . . . most of the time.

  “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do as a mom? Believe in your son? Trust him? Defend him? Isn’t that what a parent is supposed to do?”

  “Of course that’s what you’re to do. And that’s what I do”—she reached out and touched his arm—“over and over again.”

  “So why don’t you believe me, then?”

  She looked him in the eye, one brow raised, and said nothing.

  “Yeah, sorry. I should have come clean about the garbage cans.” He lowered his gaze as he said that.

  She was about to reply when her phone rang. She looked around the kitchen for it and couldn’t find it anywhere; it wasn’t until the third ring that she found it stuffed below one of the couch cushions in the living area.

  “Good morning.”

  “Julia, I need your help.”

  Julia smiled at the sound of Jenn’s voice on the other end. Jenn was one of the first friends she’d made when she moved to Stillwater Bay ten years ago.

  Gabe was six, and to keep him occupied while she unloaded their vehicle, she’d unpacked a small box full of toy cars she’d picked up at a garage sale for him. He was sitting on the front lawn playing while she carried in their meager belongings. Thank God she’d found a cottage to rent that came furnished. When she’d left the city, she had to sell as much as she could to help pay for their move.

  It was while she was dragging in their one suitcase stuffed full of all their clothes that Jenn pulled up and immediately began to help her.

  She’d been stunned at first. Here was this polished woman wearing jeans, pumps, and a blouse that obviously cost more money than Julia had left in the bank, and she was carrying boxes and bags stuffed with daily essentials into Julia’s new home.

  Julia had been a little overwhelmed. But when Jenn pulled out a huge basket full of freshly made food and jars of jams and preserves, that was when she started to cry.

  She’d made a decision before moving here never to reveal her real reasons for coming to Stillwater Bay, so she’d come up with an alternate story, one that was more believable: As a single mother, raising a boy in the city wasn’t always ideal, especially not in the neighborhood they’d lived in. Julia had grown up in a small community and wanted to have that tight-knit feeling for her own son. She knew he would need it. Stillwater Bay was all that and more. She’d answered an ad to work in the retirement home, and the day she got the job she gave her notice at the large retirement facility she worked in Seattle, told her landlord she was leaving at the end of the month, and packed.

  She never regretted that decision, despite . . . everything. She would never regret it.

  “I’m here for you. What do you need?” Julia said.

  “I’m getting my basket supplies ready for our summer families and I’m out of your soap, especially the berry one.”

  Their town swelled when the summer families began to arrive, which was a good thing. The small businesses needed the income to get through the winter, and so they made sure to cater as much as possible to their summer families.

  One way was through Jenn’s welcome baskets she hand-delivered to the wealthier families, most of whom were also members of the golf club along with Jenn and Robert.

  “I’m all out, but I can make a batch this weekend if that works.” Julia thought about the list of things she needed to do over the weekend and struggled to see where she could add this new task. She was short on staff at the Treasure Chest and had to cover two shifts, meaning there wasn’t much time for Gabriel, or even for housework.

  “You don’t mind? I’d really appreciate that.”

  “Not at all.” She turned to find Gabriel behind her, his arms crossed over his chest, frowning.

  “Could you do a double batch? I’d pay extra.”

  “You’re not paying a thing, and we both know it. I’m more than happy to donate the soap to the welcome baskets.” She lied a little—they could really use the extra money right now.

  “Then I’m buying dinner for our girls’ night out tomorrow night, and don’t argue.”

  Julia didn’t argue. She’d actually been considering bowing out this month. She thanked Jenn, all the while knowing her son’s gaze never strayed from her back.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked him after she hung up.

  “I thought you were going to take me clothes shopping.” His crystal blue eyes never wavered, but she caught the storm clouds beginning to grow in his gaze and she braced herself.

  “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I have no one to cover the afternoon shifts this weekend, so I need to put in the extra hours. Unless you wanted to come in and help?” She took a step toward Gabe, her hand out to touch his shoulder, but he twisted out of her reach and stalked back into the kitchen.

  “Gabe, I’m sorry. We’ll go next weekend.” She sat down at the table and mentally tried to rearrange her schedule so she could make it happen. Then she caught sight of a bill that was wedged beneath a stack of other bills and her heart sank. She pulled it out and reopened it. Her credit card was maxed and the minimum payment was due by Wednesday. That payment would empty out any extra money she had stashed away for Gabe’s clothes.

  “What about the secondhand store? We could try there.” She tried to infuse enthusiasm into her voice, but Gabe couldn’t be fooled.

  “You promised me the last time we went there that the next time I could get new clothes. Not something one of the kids in my class would recognize as their throwaways.”

  “I know. It was just . . .” Her voice trailed off, because she really didn’t know what to say. He knew they were broke. He knew that things were tight. She didn’t need to remind him.

  “Have you spoken to Charlie Monroe yet?”

  “What? And stock shelves for the old man? I don’t want to work at the hardware store.” He turned his back on her and gripped the edge of the counter.

  Julia watched as his knuckles turned white. The issue wasn’t his working; the issue was Charlie Monroe, and she should have thought about that. Earlier this year, Charlie had caught Gabe spray-painting a large garbage bin behind his store, and since then her son had done everything possible to avoid him. Which was really unfortunate, since Charlie had been a good role model for her son.

  That was one of the main reasons she’d come to Stillwater—for Gabe. Her son needed more than just her in his life. He needed the influence of a good man, and she thought that man had been here.

  She’d been wrong. Fortunately there were others in this town who had stepped up. Men like Charlie, and Jenn’s husband, Robert. Without them in his life, she knew things could have been worse. Much worse. She had a hard enough time now dealing with her son’s mood swings, which was why they both went and talked with Pastor Scott every other week.

  “Cha
rlie only wants the best for you; you know that.”

  “What about Mr. Gibbons?”

  Julia raised her brow at that. “You will not work at the tavern. You’re not old enough.”

  “But I could bus tables during the summer.”

  “Or you could just work for me.” At Gabriel’s scowl, Julia was tempted to drop the subject, like every other time she’d brought it up. She needed the extra help and he needed a job, plus it meant she could keep an eye on him and keep him busy. But knowing Gabe, working for her would be his last option.

  “What about the rec center, then? They’re always looking for leaders for the kids’ groups they hold all summer,” she suggested.

  Her son mumbled something beneath his breath.

  “I’m sorry? Care to repeat that?”

  He turned toward her and there was a look on his face that set her back.

  “Those jobs are for the rich kids. They won’t hire me. Not with my reputation.”

  Julia didn’t bother trying to argue, because she knew it was true. “There’re a lot of places hiring—that grocery store, the gas station. . . .”

  “I know, I know. You want me to have a job. I’ll take care of it.”

  She stood up and walked toward him. This time when she reached out, he didn’t pull away.

  “It’s not just that I want you to have a job. I think you need it. You’ll have spending money to do the things you want to do, to buy the things you want. . . .”

  She’d never thought parenting would be this hard. She’d always wanted to be able to provide for her child, to buy him the things he not only needed, but wanted. But lately even buying the things they needed was getting difficult.

  “You know, if you stopped doing so many things for other people we would be able to afford stuff for ourselves.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The soap you’re making? Can you afford that?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t need you to be watching the checkbook now.”

  Gabe shrugged. “It’s not fair that you can buy the stuff you need to make soap and yet you can’t afford to buy me new shirts.”