What if she was kidding herself? she thought dismally. What if she didn’t have good instincts? Look where they’d gotten her so far. She was a complete and utter failure at everything she’d ever tried. Jobs, sports, relationships . . . Even Delphine. The one living creature she’d ever truly bonded with, loved, trusted. Look what had happened to her. All because the dolphin had made the mistake of loving her. What was wrong with her? she agonized. Other people were getting on with their careers, were married, even had babies. Her sisters . . . especially her sisters. Dora had fallen in love, discovered a new talent, was moving on to her new place. Harper and Taylor were building a future. Once again, she was odd man out. It was fun when she had work and could jet out to some exotic film location. Even if she didn’t have someone in her life, she’d had her career. Something to call her own.
What did she have now? She grimaced and put her hands to her face. Nothing. Blake deserved better. She couldn’t be with anyone now. She just wanted to be alone. To think.
And to drink.
God help her. Her thirst for alcohol was so strong her body ached and her throat burned for it. She turned her head and looked at the bottle of tequila nestled in the brown bag, thought of all it promised: forgetting, numbness, immunity. Carson smacked her dry lips. She could almost taste it.
She wasn’t an alcoholic, her brain was screaming at her. She hadn’t had a drink in months. The original bet with her sisters was that she wouldn’t drink for a week. She’d proved she wasn’t an alcoholic, hadn’t she? What was she so afraid of? All she had to do was open the bag, pull out the bottle, unscrew the cap, and take a little sip. Just one sip. To prove she could screw the top back on.
Even in her weak-willed state, Carson could hear the rationalizations of an addict.
The sound of feet running up the narrow wood dock pulled her face from her hands. Carson wiped her eyes and looked over her shoulder to see Harper trotting toward her, a sheen of perspiration on her brow.
Carson felt a rush of love as she rose up and ran to meet her sister at the upper dock. They wrapped arms around each other in a tight hug. Carson felt the moisture on Harper’s body and smelled the tangy scent of sweat.
“I’m so ashamed,” Carson cried in her sister’s arms. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, no, it’s okay. I overreacted.” Harper was crying, too.
“I didn’t mean the things I said. They were vile and mean. Ugly.”
“Yeah.” Harper hiccuped.
Carson laughed and pulled away. “You don’t have to agree with me.”
Harper saw her sister’s red-rimmed eyes. “Just saying . . .”
“You’re all sweaty.”
“I know. I’ve been running.”
“Let’s sit down and put our feet in the water. Cool down.”
Carson led the way to the lower dock, a favorite spot of theirs to talk. She discreetly pushed the brown bag with the tequila out of the way.
They sat at the edge of the dock and slipped their legs into the water the way they always did when they came to the lower dock. Harper leaned back on her arms and let the refreshing breeze wash over her.
“I really am sorry,” Carson said. “I’m being an idiot. It’s just . . . I’m struggling. I feel lost and I just can’t pull it together. I know I can get short-tempered and mean when I’m depressed. I’m really sorry I took it out on you. You didn’t deserve that. You were trying to help.”
Harper bent to let her hands slide in the water. “You always have a problem with my family’s money.”
“You know it’s really all about my own insecurities that I have none.”
Harper drew back and wiped her hands on her blouse. “Well, now I don’t, either. So can you just quit it?”
“You really don’t?”
“If I stay here, my mother is cutting off my income from the trust fund.”
“Can she do that?”
“She’s the executor.”
Carson looked at her. “How much money are we talking about?”
Harper shrugged. “Enough that I don’t have to worry.”
Carson sighed. “Must be nice.”
“Carson . . .”
“Sorry, but really, from where I come from, that sounds pretty good.”
“I would give every penny of my trust fund to buy Sea Breeze. I don’t care about the money.”
Carson snorted. “Only people with lots of money can say that.”
“Can I say something and not get you mad?”
Carson looked at her warily. “What?”
“Get a friggin’ job! You’re always bellyaching about not having money. Go get some!”
“I’ve tried!” Carson shouted back. “No one’s hiring me.”
“Maybe not here. You’re a stills photographer for film and television. One of the best. You’re not going to find a job like that here. Go back to LA and start pounding the pavement. Something will turn up.”
Carson shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” Harper asked, exasperated.
Carson looked at her feet as they kicked the water. “I burned my bridges. I was careless and thoughtless with my career.”
“Is that when you were drinking?” Harper asked softly.
Carson groaned and kicked harder in the water. “Yeah. There’s a rule on set. You can get drunk on your own time, but not on the production’s time. I screwed up my job. Slept with the director. Lord, I was really on a binge. Word got out and now no one will hire me.”
Harper looked at her sister’s averted face. Carson appeared downcast, with her long, dark hair in a flyaway knot at her neck. “Carson, you haven’t had a drink in a long time. It’s been three months.”
Carson nodded, watching her feet swish the water.
“So . . . why are you drinking now?”
Carson swung her head to stare, wide-eyed, at her sister.
“Granny James didn’t raise me stupid,” Harper said, slipping into colloquial. She pointed. “Did you think I wouldn’t see that brown bag? You are so busted.”
Carson swallowed hard, her face pained. “I didn’t drink any.”
Harper made a disbelieving face.
“Really, I didn’t. But I was close.” Carson groaned loudly. “I want it so bad.”