Boardwalk Summer

by Kimberly Fisk

  “I don’t see any.”

  “Candlelight is always a girl’s best friend.”

  He couldn’t help but think she looked good in any light. “How were they as babies?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Nick took a drink of wine. “Were they healthy?”

  “Very,” she said almost wistfully. Then she seemed to shake herself, refocus. “Except for when they went through a bout of colic. I didn’t think I’d survive. One night, when I’d just about reached my limit, I bundled them up and headed to the one place that had brought me comfort when I’d first moved in with Aunt Peg. The boardwalk.”

  She looked at Nick and in that moment he knew they were both thinking of only a few days ago, when they’d been on that boardwalk and he’d learned of Joshua’s illness.

  She toyed with the stem of her wineglass. “I don’t know how many hours I spent pushing them in their stroller up and down that boardwalk. But somehow it worked. The stroller, the night air, the water, all of it soothed them into a peaceful sleep. To this day, it’s still one of our favorite spots. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone searching for the kids when they missed curfew and I’d find them there, hanging out with their friends.”

  Her gaze clouded with the mention of happier times. Nick felt her pain and in an attempt to erase the sorrow from her eyes, he asked quickly, “Who was born first? Joshua or Susan?”

  “Susan.”

  “I would have put money down Joshua had been born first.” Nick flashed her a grin. “Now you know why I don’t bet. How much did they weigh when they were born?”

  “Now you’re really making me think.” She took a drink, set her wineglass back down. Unconsciously her hand paused on the base of the glass, trailed her fingers up and down the stem. “Joshua was just under four pounds. Three pounds, six ounces. And Susan was nearly two pounds heavier.”

  “Heavier?” Nick was surprised.

  “Yes, but don’t tell her you know. She’d rather no one knew that bit of trivia.”

  Nick chuckled. “When did they first walk?”

  “Goodness, let’s see. Susan took her first step right after she turned one.”

  “And Joshua?”

  “He was walking at nine months. He wouldn’t stay down.”

  “Nine months? Isn’t that early?”

  “A little, but Josh has always wanted to be ahead of the pack. Take his driver’s learner’s permit, for instance.”

  The waiter came, asked if they were finished, and when they both said yes, he cleared their dinner plates, leaving a dessert menu. Nick set it aside, impatient for the waiter to leave. He wanted to hear more. The moment the waiter left, Nick prodded her to continue. “What about his permit?”

  Hope leaned back, running her fingers up and down the delicate stem of her wineglass. “Josh had made a countdown on my calendar until the day he and Susan could get their permits.”

  She smiled at her memory and Nick found himself smiling along with her. “When I got home from work that day the lawn had been mowed, the living room vacuumed, and the kitchen cleaned.”

  Nick nodded, now understanding. “Oh, I get it. Susan and Joshua had cleaned up the house so you would take them to get their permits.”

  Hope’s grin widened. “Partially true. Joshua had done everything because he wanted to be ahead of Susan in the DMV line so he could make sure and tell everyone he had his permit before her.”

  Nick laughed with her. After their laughter had died away, he studied her face in the soft light. Some of the tension had left her, eased the lines around her eyes. He knew they’d been there for hours, but he wasn’t in any hurry to leave. “When did they lose their teeth?”

  Hope laughed loudly. “I’m going to need to consult the baby bibles for that one.”

  “Baby bibles?”

  “Their baby books.”

  Baby books. Books that would show him all of the things he’d missed over the years. “Can I see them?”

  The question seemed to catch her off guard. Her fingers stilled on the stem of her glass and her gaze wavered. “If you want to.”

  “For that, I’m going to buy you dessert.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Hope said with a small laugh. “I couldn’t eat another bite.”

  “Dinner isn’t dinner without dessert.”

  “Spoken like a man who doesn’t have to worry about his waistline.”

  “M-M-Mr. Fortune?” A young man, no more than seventeen, hovered near the edge of their table. “M-Mr. Fortune. I watch you every Sunday. You’re the best.”

  Nick set the dessert menu down. “Thank you.”

  “C-could I have your autograph?” He shoved a paper and pen at Nick.

  Nick took the pen and paper. “Of course. What’s your name, son?”

  “Robert. Robert Murphy, sir. But everyone just calls me Robby.”

  “Well, Robby Murphy, it’s a true pleasure to meet you.” With an efficiency born from signing thousands of autographs, Nick jotted a quick note and signed his name. He then handed the paper and pen back to the young man and shook his hand.

  “Hope to see you at the track soon,” Nick said.

  “Yeah. You bet. Dad and I are hoping to see ya at Indianapolis.”

  “Great track. Should be a good one. If you do make it, check at Will Call. I’ll leave a pit pass for you and your father.”

  “Really? Wow. Thanks, man! Thanks a bunch!” Robby couldn’t keep the huge grin off his face. “But hey, what are you doing here? What about qualifiers? You’re going to be at Bristol, right?”

  At the mention of the race he was going to miss, Nick felt tonight’s ambience start to wane. “Not this week.”

  “Ah, bummer, man. Race won’t be the same without you. But next week. You’re gonna get ’em next week, right, man? Number eight! Eighth championship, here we come! Well, thanks again.”

  “I forget sometimes,” Hope said after the young man had left, “how famous you are.”

  “Fame, for lack of a better word, is fleeting. Right now, some people recognize me because I’m still racing.”

  “And winning,” she said with a smile.

  “From your lips to the racing gods’ ears.”

  She laughed softly. “What did he mean, ‘qualifiers’?”

  “A driver runs a couple of laps a day or two before a race,” Nick explained simply. “His fastest lap determines his starting position. The fastest driver starts up front.”

  “What is Bristol and why did he think you were going to be there?”

  Nick pushed his wineglass away. “Bristol is the speedway where Sunday’s race is being held.”

  “And if you don’t run the qualifiers?”

  “You don’t race.”

  “No exception?”

  Nick shifted in his seat. Looked for the waiter so he could pay the bill and leave. He didn’t feel like dessert now. “No.”

  “So you’re missing the race?”

  Nick retrieved his wallet, pulled out several large bills, and tossed them on the table. He pushed his chair back and started to rise, but Hope’s hand on the sleeve of his jacket halted him.

  “Nick?”

  “I’m here. That’s all that matters.”

  Her green eyes implored him. “Why? Why are you missing the race? Is it because of me?”

  Yes. But instead of saying that truth, he said another one. “I’m here for my son.”

  * * *

  THE roads were quiet as they made their way back to the hotel. But not nearly as quiet as the two people in the car.

  A bright half moon shimmered off the lake and kept the night sky from complete darkness. Hope wasn’t paying attention to where Nick was driving; all of her thoughts—her whole being—were still back at the restaurant and on what she’d learned.r />
  Nick had chosen his children over racing.

  Never in a million years had Hope believed that would be true. Everything in their past pointed to him being a leaver: a man who, like her father, wouldn’t stick around. But ever since he’d learned about the children and Joshua’s illness, Nick had been there.

  But would he continue to be?

  That was the question that still troubled her.

  Nick slowed the car and turned into a parking spot. Hope came alert, looked around at her surroundings expecting to see the hotel. But, instead, she saw they were on the main street in Banning. She looked questioningly to Nick.

  “I owe you dessert.”

  “I thought you’d given up on that idea.”

  Without saying anything more, he got out of the car and came around to her side and opened her door. It was then that she realized where they were.

  “Aunt Patsy’s Parlour,” she said a little breathlessly. “I can’t believe it’s still here.”

  “I saw it when we were looking for a hotel.”

  “You don’t think . . .”

  “That Patsy Pollchuck is still alive and running it?”

  “She was as old as Medusa when we were kids.”

  “Yeah, she was. Come on. Let’s go in and find out.” He stepped around her and they walked side by side toward the entrance. At the same moment Nick tried the door, she noticed the sign in the window.

  CLOSED.

  “Christ, this town is as dead as that one you’re living in.”

  A frown settled between her brows. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Nick shoved his hands in his pockets. “Forget it.”

  “I don’t think I should.”

  “I said forget it. It’s not important.”

  “I think it is.”

  “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Hope. I’m not the one who chose to go and live in a town exactly like the one we swore we couldn’t wait to get out of.”

  Hope wrapped her arms around her stomach and took a step back from him. “I didn’t have a choice.”

  “You had options.”

  “Name one.”

  “Me.”

  “You?” She choked on a bitter laugh. “That’s a joke. If you were my option, where were you when I was seventeen and pregnant and getting kicked out of the only house I’d ever known?”

  “You should have told me.”

  “I tried.”

  “Not hard enough.”

  Anger hit her, fueled her. “Don’t you dare blame this on me. I did try. Many times. But you stopped calling. Stopped returning my calls. And then when your cell was disconnected, I got the hint. No, that’s not quite true. I went on believing because I was that foolish, that naïve. Even after you made it abundantly clear you wanted nothing more to do with me, I still believed.”

  It was as if she were back standing on those courthouse steps, freezing cold, desperate for a glimpse of him. The memory cut like a knife. She wrapped her arms around her waist, trying to hold herself together. “While I might not have gotten the hint immediately, I finally did. So while you were chasing your dream, I found mine. Joshua and Susan. Through them I discovered the true meaning of love and commitment. So just leave, Nick. Leave like you did before and like you’ll do again. We”—she stressed the word—“don’t need you.”

  He clenched his jaw. “That’s a damn lie.”

  “What is? That the moment you crossed the state line you forgot every promise you ever made to me?”

  “I did call.”

  “Don’t lie to me.” She could hear the pain in her voice, pain and heartache she’d thought she’d long gotten over. “Don’t lie,” she said again, quieter. “Not now. Not when it doesn’t matter.” But it did. Even after all this time, she still felt the pain of his abandonment.

  “I’ve never lied to you, Hope. And I’m not lying to you now. You were as glad to see the last of Jack Fortune’s son as the rest of the town.”

  “What are you talking about?” She stepped closer to him. “What does your father have to do with this? You knew I didn’t care who your father was.”

  “Forget it.”

  She was getting sick of that response. “How can you say that? If you only knew how I waited by the phone. Are you going to tell me you didn’t get any of my messages?”

  “No,” he said. “I got them.”

  “Then why didn’t you call? Why did you have your phone turned off?”

  “It wasn’t turned off by choice. Surely you must have known that.”

  She shivered but not from cold. “How could I know anything? You’d stopped talking to me.”

  “What was I supposed to say?”

  “We’d made plans, Nick.”

  He swore, plowed a hand through his hair. “I was selling hot dogs and sneaking into unlocked cars to sleep at night. I was barely able to take care of myself; there was no way I could have provided for you. I was humiliated, Hope, and could no more admit my failure to you than I could to myself.”

  A hundred different memories rushed through her mind. “You should have told me.”

  “I convinced myself I wouldn’t have to. That my big break was right around the corner. I was young and arrogant and had told anyone who’d listen what a big success I was going to be. Everyone in this town had laughed except you. You were the only one who believed. And I did call,” he said, staring down at her. “But your mother made it abundantly clear that you had moved on with your life and wanted nothing more to do with the son of the town drunk.”

  “No. That’s not possible. My mother would have told me you called. My mother—oh, God. She couldn’t . . . she wouldn’t . . .”

  Nick took a step toward Hope. “Wouldn’t she?”

  The enormity of what Nick was saying hit her. She’d stood on those courthouse steps, waiting, and all the while Nick had never planned to show because her mother had told him Hope no longer wanted him in her life. Her pain was so great she felt it as acutely as a blow. “I didn’t know. I never knew you talked to Claire.”

  “God damn that woman.” The fury in Nick’s voice was tangible. “God damn her,” he said again. “I always knew she was a vindictive witch. When I see her tomorrow . . .”

  He didn’t finish his sentence, didn’t need to. She could tell by the look in his eyes exactly what he was feeling. But then she thought more about what he was saying. And, more specifically, what he wasn’t saying. “You knew what my mother was like, Nick. If you believed her, it was because you wanted to.”

  He didn’t have a response.

  * * *

  THE moment Nick pulled up to the hotel, Hope jumped out of the car. She didn’t wait to see if he followed her inside. She slammed her door shut and hurried into the brightly lit lobby. For several long minutes, long after she’d disappeared through the door, he sat in the near-darkness, thought about parking the car, and then knew there was no way he could go into that hotel—into his room—and stare at those four walls.

  He jammed the car into gear and stepped heavy on the gas. The tires squealed as he pulled out of the parking lot.

  He had no idea where he was going, or what he was looking for. The only time he’d found solace was behind a wheel.

  Surprisingly, the roads were as familiar to him tonight as they had been back when he’d lived here. There were a few new additions, some modifications, but on the whole, life in Banning hadn’t changed. He steered the car to a long, lonely stretch of two-lane highway that led out around the lake. The beam from his headlights was the only illumination on the dark road. He pressed harder on the accelerator, then harder still.

  The old pavement swerved and curved. Long ago this stretch of bruised asphalt had been nicknamed Suicide Curves; over the years it had taken a number of lives. A new guardrail had been installed on the left to keep
cars from missing a turn and plunging into the ice-cold lake. But Nick didn’t have a problem. This road was as familiar to him as the thoughts that plagued him.

  Coming around a sharp, ninety-degree bend, Nick slowed. There, on his right, nearly overgrown by brush and partially hidden by tree limbs, was a narrow dirt road.

  The driveway was more holes than road. Nick kept the car to a crawl as he maneuvered around the potholes, slowing and swerving to avoid the worst of them. Several times the car bottomed out as it scraped against the dirt. Nick felt as if he were driving an obstacle course. Minutes later, he made it to the end of the road. Ahead of him was a small clearing.

  Nick slowed. Stopped. Shifting into park, he rolled down his window and cut the engine. Without the noise from the motor, night sounds crept in. A breeze brushed through the tall grass, rustled through the leaves on the trees. An owl hooted. And then hooted again. He didn’t bother to get out but left the headlights on.

  Spotlighted in the white glow was a ramshackle cabin that looked as if a strong wind could blow it over. At one time the house had been painted white, but now the siding was bare and weathered with only patches that hinted at its former color. Even in the faint light from the headlights, he could spot the rot in much of the wood. The porch listed to the right and a portion of the roof had caved. Knee-high grass went all the way up to the foundation of the house. The windows were boarded up and there wasn’t a path or flower bed in sight. The house was obviously abandoned.

  But even when Nick had lived here with his father, it hadn’t looked much different.

  After Nick had started to earn a decent living on the circuit, he’d contacted his old man, offered to buy or build him a new house. But Jack Fortune hadn’t wanted anything from his son. Not his money or his time and definitely not his presence. The last time Nick had spoken to his father, his dad had told him he’d rather be dead than hear from Nick again. Nick had obliged and never called again.

  He tried not to think about the other call he’d never made again either.

  Why had he come out here?

  Disgusted with the view, Nick flicked off the headlights. But even with the lights turned off, the vision of his father’s house wasn’t erased from his mind. The house Nick had purchased early is his career so his father could live out his remaining days without a mortgage.