The Way Back. Stephanie Doyle
from the house to the water, so it wouldn’t be trespassing. She was just a regular tourist, out for a walk on the beach on a blistery April morning in Cole Hahn loafers.
Okay, not great. But it was better than if she’d been in stilettos.
Scrambling, she reached the edge of his deck and saw a path down the rocky hill. She waited a good two minutes to follow because she didn’t want to risk him spotting her on the approach. Not to mention each oomph, ow, oh, yikes she muttered as she tried to descend would certainly give her away. By the time she actually reached the beach, which was no more than a stretch of rocky pebbles approximately twenty feet wide, her ankles, calves and thighs were screaming.
“Don’t suppose you’re lost?”
Gabby shrieked at Jamison’s comment. There he was standing not ten feet away with his arms crossed over his chest.
He looked different in the daylight. A little older—maybe because of the gray hair. But there was nothing old about his physique. In a tight zip-up jacket and jogging pants he looked younger than she did. Lean, fit and strong. Definitely strong.
He should have been several minutes ahead of her on the beach by now. The fact he wasn’t meant stealth was not her strong point.
“You heard me coming.”
“Even Shep heard you coming.”
The brown and black German Sheppard tilted his head in acknowledgement.
“I was out for a walk.” Gabby tried not to cringe at the way her voice went up at the end of what should have been a statement.
“You were trespassing. We do have a sheriff on the island. I have every right to call him and have him pick you up. A few hours in a holding cell in the mainland might cure you of your curiosity.”
“Please don’t.” It seemed like a silly plea but she couldn’t stop herself. She’d made all that effort to get down the stupid path. Her feet were like blocks of ice. Here closer to the water the wind had picked up and was throwing her hair all around. And she was hungry because she’d only eaten dry toast for breakfast. So, no. Being arrested was not a good way to start her life over.
“Look, lady—”
“Gabby. Remember? Gabby Haines.”
“Gabby, I’m not going to give you what you want.”
“Why not?”
That seemed to give him pause. He opened his mouth and then closed it. “Because.” Then, as if realizing it was a ridiculous answer, he added, “What makes you think I would?”
“Because it’s been, what? Eight years?” she said taking a step forward. The dog let out a warning growl and she stopped. “It’s time people heard the whole story. There were so many rumors, so much speculation. You walked away without any explanations and left people assuming the worst about everything. As bad as what you did was, I can’t imagine you were as awful as the media painted you at the time.”
The rumors had been awful. He was cast as a high-flying jet jockey with women all over the world. Illegitimate children spread from Russia to China to Brazil and beyond. Alcohol, drugs, sex. One article said he used to take cocaine before getting in his F-16 to fly missions over Iraq.
He grimaced. “I never— Some of those rumors— Well, some of them weren’t true.”
“I know. Talk to me. Tell me who you were. Let me tell others.”
“What makes you think anyone would even care? Like you said it’s been ten years since the space station event, eight since my personal life imploded. Other stories have come and gone. The days of my infamy are long over.”
Gabby nodded as if in complete agreement. But they both knew he was leaving out a very significant reason why people might be interested in Jamison Hunter again.
“You’ve heard the reports about the trouble they’re having with the Space Station again. I know you have. Even on this island they must have cable.”
“Satellite. It’s the only way to go,” he muttered. “You think NASA might come and call me out of retirement for one more space walk, huh?”
“You don’t?”
He shook his head. “You don’t get it, lady—”
“Gabby or Gabriella,” she corrected. She wasn’t sure why she offered him her full name. Nobody ever called her by it.
“Sorry, Gabriella. I’m an old man. A washed-out hero whose day is over. They have younger and more qualified men and women for whatever space mission they are cooking up. Trust me.”
“You talk like you’re ready for the nursing home. You’re forty-five.”
“I might as well be eighty-five to NASA.”
“John Glenn went into space when he was seventy-seven.”
“I’m no John Glenn.”
“No, you aren’t,” she admitted. The sad fact of his disgrace would forever separate him from the other astronaut heroes. “But you did what Glen didn’t do. What so many astronauts before you never did. You saved fourteen lives that day. You should be remembered for your achievement.”
“Isn’t that what the internet is for?”
Gabby sensed a stalemate approaching. She had to be happy she’d gotten this far. They were talking. Communicating. She’d made her opening pitch. Now it was time to back off.
“You don’t have to make any decisions today.”
He chuckled. “I’ve already made my decision.”
“Look, can’t you take some time to get to know me? You’ll see I’m not all that bad and I’m not out to destroy you or rehash the terrible things said about you. Maybe you’ll come to trust me.”
“Doubt it,” he said. He considered her for a moment, but she had a hard time interpreting the gleam in his eye. “You want me to get to know you, huh? Are you asking me out on a date?”
As if. Gabby couldn’t reign in her laughter. A date. With Jamison Hunter. Yeah, right. Pigs could fly and the sky was green. A date. The word was so foreign to her it might as well have been…well, foreign.
“Uh, no.”
His face fell a little bit then. “Right. No point in going out with someone you think will cheat on you.”
That had nothing to do with her reaction, but now he said it she figured it was true, as well. Gabby had been down the betrayal path and had scars to prove it. As a result she’d spent every day since avoiding situations where she might be betrayed again.
Of course, that hadn’t really worked out, either. Her boss at the station, a woman she considered a friend, had been the one to fire her.
“Can’t we just talk a bit? I can go with you on your walk.”
“I don’t walk. But if you can keep up, you’re welcome to talk.” He turned and started jogging, his dog valiantly trying to follow close on his heels.
Seriously? He wanted her to jog with him? Actually, no. He wanted to get rid of her. He probably thought this was the best way. Outrun the girl with the chubby cheeks, why don’t you.
A fit of anger overtook her. She wasn’t an invalid for Pete’s sake. She’d eaten a few too many French fries was all. She could run. At least as fast as that. Ready to shove his words back down his throat, she started off on a pace slightly faster than what he was doing so that she’d catch up.
The loafers on the rocky soil weren’t helping though. After a few steps she could feel sand filling up the spaces around her feet.
Cursing, she stopped once to shake each shoe out, then started after him again. She’d almost caught up to the dog when she tripped. She stumbled on