by Helen Brenna
Suddenly, the room turned quiet and all eyes turned to the podium. Sophie spun around to see Noah standing at the microphone. Instantly, she was hit by a skin-tingling awareness of him. He glanced at her, but his expression was impossible to read.
“I know most of you think I don’t have a say on this, and you’d be right,” he said, loud and clear. “My dad asked me to be here, so here I am. Besides, this isn’t an opinion. This is a suggestion.” He paused to take a look around. “You want every business on the island to benefit from these developments, then you have to put the developments in a central location.”
Some in the audience nodded their assent.
“The only way you’ll get equal access for all guests, is if you put the pool and the golf course on state land just north of the town center in the middle of the island. Problem solved.”
More murmurs, these quieter, more thoughtful. With a golf course and pools, traffic on the island would increase to the point they would need a new hotel.
“That’s a good idea, Noah,” Marty said, nodding. “I’ll check into it with the state.”
Sophie could’ve kissed Noah. She couldn’t believe no one else had thought of this ideal compromise. Sometimes it took an outsider to see what insiders couldn’t.
A short while later, the board agreed to consider Marty’s final proposal, but only if the state would allow the sale of some centrally located parkland to be used for the pools and golf course. They would then take Marty’s proposal under advisement. All islanders were encouraged to make their views known to the council members. A final vote was expected before the end of summer.
The room cleared, and Sophie noticed Noah heading for the door. “Brittany, I’ll see you and Marty later. I need to talk to Noah.” She squeezed through the crowd and once outside the town hall, ran to catch up with him. “Noah.”
He stopped and turned, but didn’t say anything.
“Thank you,” she said. “For Marty’s sake.”
He studied her for a moment. “What about for your sake, Sophie? What about what you want?” His gaze was serious, penetrating. “For so many years you’ve been doing for others. First your parents and your brothers and sisters. Then your kids. Isaac. The islanders. What about you, Sophie? Do you even know what you want anymore?”
She stared at him, silent, speechless.
He turned and walked away.
Well, I know what I don’t want, all right. I don’t want you to leave Mirabelle. I don’t want you to leave me. Again.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“GRANDPA!”
“You’re home!”
Noah glanced up and grinned at the sight of Kurt and Lauren standing at the pier and waving at the ferry as they approached Mirabelle. He wondered how long they’d been waiting for them to get back from the hospital, but was so glad they’d been patient. “Looks like they really missed you, Dad.”
His father waved back. “At least I’ve done one thing right in my life.”
Noah and Josie both reached at the same time to help his dad off the ferry. “I can do it myself.” Jim shooed them both away and stepped onto the pier holding the rail with one hand and a cane with the other. “And I can make it to Arlo’s carriage on my own, too. All this hovering. You two are gonna make me wish I was back in the hospital.”
Though Josie let go of his arm, she walked slowly by his side. Noah grabbed his dad’s bag and followed as Kurt and Lauren joined their group. Everyone except Lauren climbed onto Arlo’s carriage.
“I’m going to Nikki’s,” Lauren said. “I’ll see you later, Grandpa.”
“All right, Miss Mirabelle. You have a good time.”
Noah threw his dad’s bag in the back. “Take us to Josie’s, would you, Arlo?”
“Ayep.” Arlo nodded. “Sure thing.”
Noah climbed into the back and watched Kurt interact with his grandfather. In profile, the boy reminded Noah so much of Isaac, and an ache of warring emotions slowly weaved through him. Why couldn’t Noah be more like his brother, Isaac? Why couldn’t he stay on Mirabelle?
Then he remembered the winters.
Summer time had never been much of a problem for Noah, but then fall would hit, the tourists left, kids went back to school, a somber quiet fell over the town, and a part of Noah would shrivel up and die like the leaves on the trees. Snow would fall and Chequamegon Bay would freeze over, like always, encircling Mirabelle in icy isolation. There were months when the only way off the island was by helicopter or plane. Noah couldn’t live like that. He guessed he really was like his mother.
Arlo pulled up alongside Josie’s house. Noah hopped to the ground and held out a hand for Josie. “Come on, Dad. This is your stop, too.”
“Oh, no.” Jim shook his head. “I’m going home.”
“The doctors said you can’t stay at home alone.”
“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”
“I’m not worried, and I don’t want to start worrying. You’re either staying with Josie or me. Take your pick.”
His dad glanced at Kurt and the young boy only shrugged. “Don’t look at me.”
“Jim Bennett.” Josie put her hands on her hips. “You’re staying here. Whether you like it or not. And if you’re worried about appearances, get over it. Everyone on this island knows you’re here most nights, anyway.”
Jim glanced at Arlo.
Arlo grinned. “You ain’t fooling anyone ’cept yourself, Jim. Haven’t for years.”
“Damned island,” Noah’s dad muttered as he eased himself off the carriage. “Everyone always butting into everyone else’s business.”
While Arlo turned his carriage back to town Josie opened her front door. Noah dropped the bags inside and helped his dad get settled in an easy chair in the living room.
“Anyone want lemonade?” Josie asked on her way into the kitchen.
“Sounds great,” his dad said.
“Noah?”
“No, thanks, Josie. I need to take off in a few minutes.”
“I don’t want any,” Kurt said. “Thanks, Josie.”
“You going to be okay?” Noah asked his dad.
“I’ll be fine.” Jim released a slow breath. “Did you know she threw away all my pipes, tobacco, filters, ashtrays,” he whispered, pointing to the kitchen. “Everything. Gone.”
“The doctor said you had to quit.”
“Yeah, I know.” Worry creased his brow. “I guess along with quitting smoking, I’d better look into quitting work.”
“You don’t have to do that, Dad. The doctor is expecting a full recovery.”
“What would you do if you’re not chief of police?” Kurt asked.
“Retire.”
“Just cause you had a heart attack?”
“I hate admitting it, but I’m actually ready for winters some place a little warmer. A lot warmer. Every winter, twenty below feels just a little colder than the year before.”
“You?” Noah laughed. “Leaving Mirabelle?”
“Only for the winters, mind you. I asked Josie to come with me.” Suddenly, he reached for Noah’s and Kurt’s hands. “You know that no matter what happens…I love you two, right?”
“I know, Grandpa.”
“Dad, you’re going to be fine. But, yeah, I know.” Noah tightened his grip and then let go. “I love you, too.”
Jim nodded. “I know.”
Josie brought in two glasses of icy lemonade and handed one to Noah’s dad.
“Well, I need to get going.” Noah kissed Josie on the cheek and whispered, “Thanks for taking care of the old coot.”
“Hey!”
Noah was happy to see color had returned to his father’s cheeks. “Well, let me know if you need anything, Josie.” He glanced at Kurt. “You hanging out here for a while?”
“Yeah,” Kurt said. “I want to stay with Grandpa.”
Noah watched the two, side by side. Kurt had the kind of bond with Jim Bennett that Noah had always wished for. Maybe if he�
��d stayed on Mirabelle, that close relationship may have come to pass, but he’d made his choice with regard to so many things when he’d left Mirabelle. Noah headed for the door.
“You know what, Kurt?” his dad said. “I’m pretty tired after all that cashushing from the hospital. I think I’m ready for a nap. Why don’t you take a walk with Noah and ask him about the time he karate-chopped your dad and ended up breaking his own wrist.”
Noah turned around and laughed.
“No one knew your dad better than Noah,” Jim said, winking at Kurt.
Noah shook his head. “See you later, Dad.” He stepped out onto the porch and held the door open. “You coming, Kurt?”
Kurt followed him outside.
“That was nice of you and Lauren to meet the ferry today,” Noah said, hoping to break the ice.
“Mom told us you were bringing Grandpa home. She would’ve come to the pier, too, but she was too busy with work.” Kurt picked up a stick and started breaking it in pieces as they walked down the hill. “Did you really break your wrist in a fight with Dad?”
“Well, I’m not sure I’d call it a fight.” Noah laughed again, remembering that day. “Your dad was older and bigger than me. Our fights were more like Isaac holding me off while I tried to inflict as much damage as possible. Generally speaking, I ended up doing more damage to myself.”
They walked in silence to the bottom of the hill. When they turned toward the inn, Kurt said, “Did you really know him better than anyone?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe.”
“What was my dad like? I mean, as a brother?”
Noah smiled. “Calm. What I remember most about Isaac is that he was always relaxed. Confident. Content. I remember pestering him, trying to get a rise out of him and it never seemed to work. No matter what I did. I could change the TV channel. Chuck a pencil at him from across the room. Whistle while he was doing homework. Tap my fingers on a tabletop. He’d either completely ignore me or laugh at me.
“Your grandpa would take us fishing and the two of them would sit there for hours, as quiet as could be, not saying a word, enjoying the day, sunshine or clouds, wind or rain. They didn’t care. They were just happy being out on the water. Drove me absolutely crazy. I could never sit still.”
Kurt laughed. “And he never cared if he caught any fish, either.”
“Exactly!” Noah laughed, too. “I could never seem to catch up to him, either, in strength or height. He was five years older, so he always, always, beat me at arm wrestling. And, man, could he throw a football.”
“He used to play catch with me and Lauren. Football, baseball, Frisbee.”
Noah wished his brother were alive, so he could hug him, yell at him, laugh with him. “He was a good older brother, so I’ll bet he was a good dad.”
“You were mad at him, weren’t you? For marrying Mom?”
Whoa. Noah stopped. “Who told you that?”
“No one.” Kurt turned and held Noah’s gaze. “You’ve never been around before, and I’ve heard people talking. I might be only fourteen, but I’m not stupid.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I was mad at him. And your mom.” Noah picked up a rock at the edge of the road and tossed it toward the water. “I was in Afghanistan in the mountains when he was killed. If I’d known, I would’ve come back for the funeral.”
Kurt’s eyes watered. “Did Dad steal Mom from you? Is that why you left Mirabelle?”
“No, Kurt.” It was time Noah fessed up to himself, to the world. “I left Mirabelle before your mom and dad started dating. No one made me go. No one made me stay away. It’s what I chose to do.”
Isaac had taken care of Sophie and the kids. Noah had no right to be resentful, jealous or angry with his brother. I’m sorry, Isaac. I should’ve let it go years ago. Noah smiled at Kurt and started walking again. “So tell me some of your favorite memories of your dad.”
Kurt walked alongside. “He liked to play video games with me, but he wasn’t very good at it. He was goofy. Made us laugh. He used to take me and Lauren camping to lots of different places. Every year, he took each one of us on a solo trip with him and at least another one with both of us.”
“Your mom never went?”
“She doesn’t like to camp.”
That didn’t sound like the Sophie Noah remembered.
“I liked snowshoeing in the winter with him,” Kurt said.
“He used to take me out, too, when I was little.”
“It was cold.”
“And quiet. You could hear the snow landing on the tree branches. And, early in the morning, you could sometimes hear a deer walking through the woods or cardinals calling to each other so loud and clear.”
“Yeah. I remember.”
Those memories of Isaac had to be so near and dear to Kurt’s heart. Isaac was the only father Kurt and Lauren had ever known. Did Noah have a right to mess with that?
“Sometimes you sound like him,” Kurt said.
Noah didn’t know what to say.
“He’d have to be gone sometimes for work and every day, he’d call to say good-night. Sometimes, I just wish I could hear his voice again.”
“Does it bother you when you hear my voice?”
“At first, it did. Now, I think it’s kinda nice.”
Noah squeezed Kurt’s shoulder. “I miss him, too,” he whispered.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SOPHIE TURNED AWAY FROM listening to Marty discuss the state land near the Duffy stables with various contractors and a golf course designer to find Noah, his camera in hand, coming up the hill. He looked so good, lightly tanned, his dark hair highlighted from time in the sun, and healthy, having put back some of the muscle he’d likely lost from his hospital stay.
Wouldn’t it be fun to grab his hand and take off in a kayak for the day? Be gone. With each other. There was a reason people called them fantasies.
“So did the state approve the sale of the land?”
She nodded. Marty had jumped one more hurdle.
“Looks like a good spot for a golf course,” Noah said, slowing as he reached her side.
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never golfed. How are you doing?” she asked.
Since Jim’s heart attack, they’d established a tentative truce, but much was still unsettled between them.
“I’m okay.”
“No, I mean how are you feeling about what’s happened with your dad?”
“It’s a lot to digest. I’ve wasted—we’ve wasted—a lot of years. There’s hope for us to rebuild a good relationship. We’ll keep in touch, no matter where we both end up.” He picked some grass and, for a moment, she was mesmerized with watching his fingers deftly tear the blades down the middle. Touch me. Me. “Dad told me that Mom had wanted custody of us boys,” he said, “but he refused to let us leave Mirabelle. He apologized.”
She looked up and focused on his face. “So now what?”
“I’m going to try and find her. I don’t have any illusions that everything will be all sunny and rosy, but seeing her again will help to put some pieces back together. For me. I’ll take it from there.” He spun away from her as if he suddenly became aware of the current between them. “Look at that view,” he said, doing his own abrupt changing of subject. “You can see it all from up here.”
“This is where Marty’s thinking of putting the main clubhouse.”
“Good choice. Rolling hills. Plenty of trees. Seems to me, the right designer could carve a damned good course out of this land.” He turned to look at Sophie. “If this is done right, it could mean a lot for Mirabelle.”
“It’s a small island, Noah.” The sun felt hot on her head. She moved to the shade under a craggy old oak and Noah followed. “We can only handle so many visitors without destroying the place.”
“That’s the marvelous thing about this place. You can control how many people visit based on the ferry schedule, and you can control how many people stay here by the number of available hotel rooms.”<
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“Everyone wants something different.”
“They’ll come to a compromise.”
“I’m not so sure.”
He shook his head. “Sophie, all change isn’t necessarily bad.”
“When something is already perfect, change is bad.”
“This island is far from perfect.”
“It’s perfect for me.”
“You think so?” He glanced at her hands, and she was struck with the sense that he’d almost reached out for her. She stepped back, out of his reach. “What about when you want to see a concert or a play?” he asked. “Go out to a restaurant that has more than burgers, fries and beer on the menu?”
“That doesn’t happen very often.”
“Ever get sick of shopping on the Internet? Say you’re looking for that perfect gift for one of the kids and have no ideas, so you can’t search for anything. Wouldn’t it be nice to go to an actual store and browse? Feel the sweaters. Smell the cologne. Match colors.”
“We go into Minneapolis about once a year. Been to Chicago once or twice, too.”
“What about when Lauren grows up and wants to leave Mirabelle because there’s nothing here for her? You know that day is going to come. Probably sooner rather than later.”
“Okay, so it’s not perfect.”
“That’s all I’m saying.” He picked some more grass. “By the way, I heard back from several of the galleries where I sent your photographs.”
She held her breath.
“All of them like your stuff. One in L.A. has a showing scheduled for October with some well-known photographers. She said your work would integrate quite nicely—her words not mine—with the others.”
“What does that mean?”
“Whatever you want it to mean.”
“Noah—”
“Don’t say anything yet. Okay? Just think about it. Nothing needs to change. This doesn’t need to be anything more than a creative outlet for you during the winter. Then again, it could be a new beginning.”
The beginning of what? The whole idea of her photographs being displayed in a gallery left her feeling unsettled, as if a door stood open before her, but she had no concept of what was on the other side.