A Shore Thing by Julie Carobini Page A

pulled the curtain aside, and I caught a glimpse of a renovated school bus pulling up the gravel driveway. He turned to Luz. “I’ll help them unpack the bus while you get to your place at check-in.” Before heading out, Squid caught my eye.
    I waved him on. “It’ll be fine. Go.”
    Luz stacked the papers on her desk and slipped them into her file. “I’m right behind you, Squid.” She dropped her clipboard onto the file and scooped up the entire stack just as someone knocked on the door to the office.
    “Callie?”
    My breath caught. Her white hair had been swept into an elegant bun, but otherwise the elderly woman looked skinny and alarmingly frail. With her back bowed as it was, her taut shoulders pointed up like two upside down Vs. “Mrs. Kitteridge? Hello.” My questions for her collided with thoughts on camp. I needed to be where all the action was as the campers arrived. Why was June Kitteridge here? And why now?
    June stepped through the door just as Luz slipped out, throwing a concerned, I-need-you expression as she did.
    Mrs. Kitteridge kept her gaze fixed on me. “Please, call me June.”
    I drew in a breath and pasted on a smile. “Sure. Have a seat.” Concern etched across her face, so to alleviate that I joined her by sitting in Luz’s chair. “I received your voice mail this morning. I had planned to call you first thing Sunday evening after camp.”
    “I’m sorry to have bothered you. Shall I go?”
    “No, no. Didn’t mean it that way. How can I help you, June?” Even at my age it felt odd calling Mrs. Kitteridge by her first name.
    She fingered her collar and her eyes had trouble settling on one place. “You’ve been asking about our property along the sanctuary.”
    I nodded. That familiar guilt wound through my gut. Was she about to confront me about my involvement in the opposition? Or would she finally tell me what was going on?
    She clasped her hands and dropped them in her lap. “I may need your help. I know we don’t really know each other very well, Callie, but I’ve seen you walking through town many times. Oh, and your mother is lovely.”
    She removed a floppy bag from one shoulder and placed it on her lap. Rifling through it, she pulled out page after page of documents and handed the array to me. As she continued to search her purse, I came across page one marked with the words, “Promissory Note.”
    Her face reddened and her breathing became pronounced. My mind slipped back to my CPR training. I hoped I wouldn’t have to use it.
    June’s bag deflated and I knew she had plucked the last of the papers from it. She dropped it on the floor and looked me in both eyes. “You mustn’t tell anyone about this.”
    The urgency in her voice, her eyes, gripped me. “Of course. What is it?”
    “It’s Timothy. He’s . . . he’s . . .” June glanced away. Pain shadowed her eyes. “He’s not well these days. He tells me things, and then forgets what he told me. Sometimes he denies he ever said what I heard.” She returned her gaze to me. “And I’m beginning to wonder if maybe we signed something we shouldn’t have.”
    Dread began slithering in and around me. “What do you mean?”
    She eyed the papers in my hand. “We needed money to help our daughter start a business after her husband lost his job. It was some time ago. I wanted to go to the bank and take out a small loan, but Timothy wouldn’t hear of it. He’d met a man who offered to loan us money against our home . . .”
    “And?”
    Regret saturated her voice. “We’ve been making the payments faithfully. I never thought . . . never knew . . .”
    “What didn’t you know?”
    She covered her mouth for a moment. “There’s a balloon payment due very soon, and we do not have the money to pay it.”
    Luz tapped on the window, her stressed-out expression burning through the flimsy curtain. I ignored her.
    “Oh, June.” I tried not to allow shock to permeate my voice. “Are you saying that you’re