A big wave broke over the end of the jetty, spraying their legs. “Whoa!” Jonathan gasped. The cold was bracing.
Laura laughed. “You wanna turn back?”
He shook his head. “Not a chance.”
“Okay, Harvard. Something no one else knows.”
He studied her for a moment, the way she was standing with her back against the lighthouse, his suit jacket hanging loosely from her shoulders, atop her windblown clothes. He’d never told anyone about his father before. Only his mother and his sister and whomever they’d chosen to confide in were aware of all that had happened.
“My dad has bipolar disorder. He was in and out of the hospital all through my childhood. He took off about fifteen years ago. We don’t know where he is.”
“Wow,” she said, her mood instantly changing, all the playfulness fleeing her eyes. “That’s—”
“Terrible? Yeah, I know.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “It was right before I went to college. I almost didn’t go.”
“What made you change your mind?”
“Honestly? Fear. He wasn’t diagnosed until his late twenties, after he’d already married and had kids. Which is actually really late for bipolar to manifest. But I figured if there was anything I really wanted to achieve, I’d better do it quick, just in case.”
“And now?”
He gave her a wry smile. “And now I’m a lawyer. My dream come true.”
“But no...?”
“Mental health issues?” He shook his head. “No.”
“That must be a relief.”
He shrugged. “I wish we could find him. I have resources now. I could help.”
She leaned forward and squeezed his hand in sympathy. He looked up, startled, and had to fight the urge to pull her into his arms for an embrace.
He closed his eyes. Should he tell her about the private investigator’s report? He didn’t want to burden her, but he was tired of dealing with all of it by himself—of the nightmares that his father was ill and living on the streets somewhere, or that he’d given in to the depression that followed the mania and taken his own life.
“Have you ever heard of the Beacon Light Mission?”
“The one in Hyannis?” she asked. “Sure. I volunteer there every so often with my church.”
“Really?” he said, his heart beating faster. He couldn’t believe she’d been there. If the investigator was right, maybe she’d even seen his dad.
“Yeah, it’s a homeless shelter. They hold chapel services every night and serve dinner to the homeless who attend. Emma and I go once a month with my Celebrate Recovery group to serve food and clean up the dining room after dinner. She loves it. She’s always so happy to help people who are less fortunate than us.”
Jonathan ran a hand through his hair. “I hired a private investigator a few months ago to see if he could trace my dad. The last lead he had was the Beacon Light Mission, from maybe six months ago.”
Laura’s green eyes got very big. “Are you serious? And you haven’t seen him in fifteen years?”
Jonathan shook his head.
“Well, come on.” She tugged at his hand and started back toward shore. “We have to go.”
* * *
Laura could tell that Jonathan was nervous. For one thing, he hadn’t argued at all when she’d insisted on driving to the mission in her beat-up Toyota Corolla instead of letting him drive them in his fancy BMW. For another, he’d hardly said a word the whole trip to Hyannis, despite a constant stream of chatter from Emma in the back.
“So, what do we do when we get there?” he asked, opening and closing his fist, over and over, in his lap.
She glanced over and gave him a reassuring smile. They’d already been over this a couple of times, but she could tell that the repetition had a calming effect on him. He was obviously someone who liked discipline and structure, and she could imagine that being thrown so far out of his comfort zone was jarring.
“We’ll check in with the folks in the kitchen, get our plastic gloves and then man our stations. They usually station Emma with the dinner rolls and put me next to her, serving soup or stew or veggies or whatever they’ve got on the menu that night. After everyone’s been served, you’re welcome to go sit with the patrons and see if anyone knows your dad.”
“And the mission director—” he started.
“Dean,” she supplied.
“Dean knows we’re coming?”
She nodded. “I spoke with Pastor Nate this afternoon about it, and he called Dean and filled him in. He’s cool with you asking people questions, although he did say that some of the people there might be unwilling to talk.”
Jonathan blew out a deep breath. “Sure, that makes sense.” Then he ran a hand through his hair. “This is going to sound terrible, but I was honestly shocked when the PI told me he might not be dead.”
As she had on the jetty, she reached over and squeezed his hand.
He squeezed hers in return. “Thanks for coming with me.”
She smiled, took her hand back and put it on the wheel. “Of course, Harvard. Least I could do after you caught that giant rat,” she said, thinking about the rattrap he’d cleaned out earlier while she was on the phone with Pastor Nate.
“Rats eat cheese!” Emma piped up from the back seat.
“They do, Tiny. You’re right,” he said. “They like peanut butter, too.”
“That’s squirrels, Mr. Jonafin, not rats!”
“You’re pretty smart, Tiny. Squirrels do like nuts.” Then, turning to Laura, he said, “You might have more than one rat. I’m going to leave the traps set until I have to go back to Boston.”
She nodded, but she had to admit she didn’t like the thought of him leaving. Which was crazy. He was a workaholic lawyer who’d been here for only two days. So what if they had fun together? So what if he’d helped her out? So what if he got along with her daughter? A career-driven man was not the man for her. She didn’t want to get involved with a man like her father, a man like Conrad, ever again.
She needed to remember that, then etch it into her brain.
Because when he was all nervous and vulnerable like he was right now, it made her want to let her guard down and take care of him. It was how she’d felt about Conrad when he’d get stressed out about his law school exams. Granted, searching for your long-lost father and worrying about getting a B on an exam weren’t exactly in same ballpark, but the way she felt was similar enough to scare her.
She couldn’t afford to let her guard down around Jonathan. She’d never be enough for a man like him—so smart, so ambitious, so successful. A man like him would only break her heart.
The mission was in an industrial part of Hyannis, the building a one-story concrete block with bars on the windows and a neon sign proclaiming Jesus Saves on the side.
She pulled to a stop in front of it. “Here we are,” she said.
He rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck. “Wow. I feel sick.”
“What’s the worst thing that could happen?” she asked hypothetically. “No one will know anything, and you’ll be in the exact same position you’re in right now.”
“You’re right, you’re right.” He opened his door and got out. They went into the kitchen through a back door. Dean and a volunteer Laura didn’t know were manning the ovens. The kitchen smelled like tomato soup.
“Hey,” Dean said, turning to them. He was in cargo pants and a camouflage T-shirt. His hair always looked a little too long. “Good to see you, Laura, Emma. And you must be Jonathan.” He held out his hand.
“I appreciate you letting me come by,” Jonathan said, shaking Dean’s hand. She was glad she’d talked Jonathan out of wearing a polo shirt tonight—he’d have looked way out of place.
“Any friend of Laura’s is a friend of mine.”
“It’s okay to show
people his picture?” Jonathan asked Dean.
“Sure, it’s fine,” Dean said. “Just, if anyone clams up or gets spooked, move on, okay? A lot of our people have this thing about authority figures. They might think you’re with the cops or the FBI or something, and that could scare them away from getting the services they need.”
Jonathan nodded. “Okay.”
“Want to show me his picture?” Dean asked. “Maybe I’ve seen him around.”
Jonathan fiddled with his phone for a second, then showed the screen to the other man. “This is an old photo, so I don’t know if it’ll be that much help.”
Dean took Jonathan’s cell out of his hand to look at the picture more closely. “Yeah, I don’t know. Maybe. Hard to say. What’s his name?” Laura took the phone from Dean so she could take a look. The man in the photo looked so normal. This whole thing was so sad.
“Dave. David Masters.”
“Yeah, I don’t know,” Dean said again. “Plenty of Daves come through here, but we don’t get a lot of last names.”
“It’s all right,” Jonathan said. “It’s a long shot, I know.”
“Well, grab some gloves. We’re going to start setting up the serving table.”
“What’s on the menu tonight?” Laura asked.
“Grilled cheese, tomato soup and salad,” Dean said. “I think we’ll put Emma on napkin duty, if that’s okay with you, Mom?”
“Sounds good, doesn’t it, Em?”
Emma did a pirouette in the middle of the kitchen. “I like grilled cheese.”
“I know, honey.”
The men carried big platters of food into the dining room and set them up on a long serving table. Emma took her position by the napkins, Jonathan held up a soup ladle and Laura got ready to dole out sandwich halves.
People started trickling in, and for the next half hour, the three of them served.
* * *
Jonathan watched Laura hand out another grilled cheese sandwich with a kind word and a smile. She was truly lovely. The fact that she and Emma came here every month just out of the goodness of their hearts was staggering. When was the last time he’d volunteered for anything more than another case at work?
He would never have come to a place like this if he hadn’t been trying to find his dad, and the thought made him feel...small. Unworthy and ashamed. Because, when the lights were off and no one was looking, what kind of person was he? One who’d put work before everything else—his family, his faith, his community, his friends.
He still vividly remembered his first day as an associate at Meyers, Suben & Roe, how Mike Roe had given the associates his rules: no personal photos on your desk and no garlic in your lunch. He remembered how one woman had laughed behind Mike’s back at how blatantly ridiculous those rules were and proceeded to place a framed photo of her dog next to her computer monitor. She’d been gone the next day.
The message had been crystal clear to Jonathan: if you weren’t willing to put work first, there were a thousand other hungry young lawyers waiting for the chance to take your place.
He’d always thought that once he reached the holy grail of partnership, then his real life could begin. The life where he’d let himself have a relationship, maybe get married and have kids. But what if he didn’t make partner? What would he do then?
He looked at the people around him in the mission, at their dirty hands, their unwashed hair, their giant backpacks and their multilayered clothes. He was pretty sure that these people had all had dreams once, too. How was it that some people’s lives went so smoothly, and some people’s went so far off the rails?
He wasn’t going to let his life go sideways. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He had to make partner. He had to reach his goals.
A blonde woman with a sun-creased face and a handful of missing teeth approached him. He filled another bowl of soup and started to hand it to her, but she said, “I’ve already eaten, sonny. Come show me this picture of your friend Dave that Dean’s been yammering about.”
Jonathan looked to Laura, who smiled encouragingly. “The rush is over. I’ll handle any soup requests that come through.”
He followed the homeless woman to her table. He took out the picture of his dad.
Chapter Six
Jonathan woke up early to eat a quick breakfast before heading back to Hyannis. Things at the Beacon Light Mission hadn’t exactly ended well the night before. A few people had thought they recognized Jonathan’s dad, but no one had claimed any knowledge of his father’s current whereabouts, and his questions had triggered someone’s paranoia. The man had yelled, spit and tried to punch Jonathan in the face.
Dean had swooped in and de-escalated the situation quickly, then escorted Jonathan, Laura and Emma out the back door. “Why don’t you come back in the morning? Say, seven o’clock. I’ll take you over to the Salvation Army. They serve breakfast there, and a bunch of the people who sleep in the camps show up for it.”
“The camps?” Jonathan had asked.
“A lot of the people who can’t get into a shelter—or don’t want to—end up in these makeshift tent camps in the woods.”
Jonathan had nodded and told Dean he’d be back in the morning, first thing.
As he finished his bowl of shredded wheat, Laura came into the dining room, in jeans and a turtleneck sweater. She looked beautiful. He had to work hard to refrain from saying it out loud.
She sat next to him, touched his forearm. “You doing okay this morning? That was kind of intense last night.”
He shrugged. “Not the first time someone’s spit on me.”
“Ugh, Harvard. Really?”
He hitched his shoulder again. “Kids can be cruel. I was picked on a lot in elementary school and junior high.”
She gaped at him. “You were? Why?”
He gave her a sad smile. “You try having a father who has episodes like that guy last night and then ask me that question again.”
“Oh, Harvard,” she said, shaking her head. “And here I thought life with my dad was tough.”
“What was your dad’s deal?”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Typical rich kid problems. Low involvement, high expectations, super critical when we didn’t measure up—which was, you know, pretty much always.”
He blew out an audible breath. She’d said it matter-of-factly, but still, it had to have hurt. And he didn’t like the idea of this woman being hurt by anyone. “Growing up stinks, doesn’t it?”
She laughed. “Yeah, it kind of does.”
He stood and picked up his bowl. “What are you and Emma up to today?”
“Playdate in the morning. In the afternoon, I’m not sure. Maybe just hanging out at the beach.”
He smiled. “Sounds nice.” He went into the kitchen and put his bowl in the dishwasher, which seemed to be working fine since he’d cleaned out the air gap. When he came back into the dining room, Laura was spreading peanut butter and jelly on a piece of toast. “Maybe later, we can get my documents together,” he said.
She didn’t look up from her toast. “Maybe.”
“When’s your mother getting back?” he asked, knowing that he’d for sure get access to the documents he needed then.
She gave him a look that was half helpless, half amused. “My mother’s idea of roughing it is having to use the en suite hair dryer at the Ritz. The idea of being here at the same time as a rat would kill her. I don’t know when she’ll be back.”
“No sign of any other rats yet,” he said.
She crossed her fingers. “Here’s hoping.”
“I’d really like to get started on the document review before the weekend, if possible.”
She gave a long-suffering sigh. “Okay, Harvard. When you get back, I’ll see what I can do.”
He drove to Hyannis. He met Dean. They went to the Salvation
Army breakfast, which was a bust. No sign of his father there, and no one recognized the photo.
“Do you think it would be worth it for me to go check out those camps?” Jonathan asked as he and Dean headed back to Dean’s car.
The mission director gave him a skeptical look. “Too dangerous. You’d get eaten alive.”
“I can handle myself.”
Dean shook his head. “Not there. Different set of rules. We’re talking hard-core drugs and alcohol. Piles of rotting garbage, used syringes. People with knives and weapons. Some of the camps are even booby-trapped to stop outsiders from coming in. Trust me, you don’t want to go there.”
Jonathan ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He felt both so close, and so far, from finally finding his dad. “So, what now?”
“Text or email me his picture and I’ll keep my ear to the ground, okay?”
Jonathan shook Dean’s hand. “Thanks, man. Appreciate your help.”
Dean dropped Jonathan off at his car, and Jonathan knew he should go back to the inn and round up that paperwork, but it felt like there was a vise around his chest—squeezing, squeezing. He didn’t want to leave yet. Not when he was this close.
He should have done this years ago, when he’d first started making money, when he’d first started working at the law firm. The thought of his father being out here, on the streets, maybe in one of those camps, for the last six years while he’d been comfortably ensconced in his office was...horrifying.
His father had been out here on the streets and he’d hardly spared the man a second thought. He’d been busy and angry and detached. He’d had to be detached. After all the things his dad had put his family through, how could he not be?
But hard as he’d tried to wall himself off from those feelings, those memories, they were there, like a constant background hum, and right now they were pretty much all he could hear.
He needed a distraction, and work wasn’t going to cut it. Not when he was here, and his father was so close. A duck boat drove by—like the ones he saw every day in the streets of Boston, but had never tried—and before he even really registered what he was doing, he’d dialed the landline at The Sea Glass Inn.
Falling for the Innkeeper Page 6