by Amie Denman
Jack hit the dock speed walking, just in time to watch the ferry pull away.
Without Augusta.
He was sorry about her bad luck, but he thought fate might be on his side for the first time this summer. He spoke briefly with a teenage ferry hostess on the dock, suggesting what she might tell the guests, who would be curious about the long wait ahead.
Jack lined up next to Augusta. “Missed your boat,” he said.
“I was distracted.”
“Sorry about that.”
“No, you’re not.”
“If it gives me an excuse for waiting with you, then I’m not.”
“You don’t need to wait for the ferry,” Gus said. “You live here.”
She tapped her foot on the marina decking and breathed out through her nose. Her long brown hair moved with the lake breeze as she eyed the ferry line.
“You’re beautiful,” Jack said.
She rolled her eyes.
“Even when you do that.”
She almost smiled.
“I can help you,” he said.
Now she raised her eyebrows and looked straight at him. “So you’re offering me a ride home?”
“Not exactly. I thought I’d be charming company while you waited.”
She tossed her purse on a bench and sat down.
“So generous.”
Jack grinned, sliding onto the bench next to her.
“I know. I’m a busy guy and here I am sitting by the water with you.”
She snorted. “So you can’t command the waves and get me a ride home on the back of a mermaid or anything? Maybe you don’t have the power you think you do.”
He laughed. “I don’t have any magic. But—”
His eyes fell on the thirty-foot motorboat his father kept in perfect running shape. Jack hadn’t thought about it since his father’s death. Ford Hamilton must have put it in the water before he died because there it was, bobbing placidly at the end of its ropes right along the dock. The Starlight. Where it always was. As if it was waiting for Ford to come back. Or for Jack to need it.
He’d used it plenty of times, usually with his family. Day trips to the offshore islands, water-skiing and tubing when he felt adventurous. Never as often as they wanted because summers were fast and busy.
“But what?” Gus asked, apparently tired of waiting for him to go on.
“I have a boat.”
“Of course you do,” she said, giving him another eye roll. “You can probably afford a second by the end of the year with all the cookies I’m selling. Maybe you could name it after me.”
“I could take you home.”
She looked at him pointedly. “You could take me home in your car.”
“Sure. But my car is clear across the parking lot at my house. And this is more fun.”
“I can wait. Next ferry is only twenty-five minutes away.”
“Actually, it’s not. That phone call was about the other ferry. Engine trouble. Looks like you’ll be waiting almost an hour.”
She turned her attention to the calm bay, the sunset and the line of people already waiting for the next ferry. Lots of people. Chatty summer workers. Crying children.
“What kind of boat do you have?”
Jack grinned. Pointed. “That one.”
He waited for her reaction, having no idea what she expected. But it was the kind of boat that impressed even people who didn’t care about boats. Gleaming white fiberglass, shining navy blue hull. His father loved boats, and the marina staff considered it their personal mission to keep the Starlight pristine.
Gus eyed the boat, clearly considering his offer.
A little boy waiting with his family for the next ferry leaned over and threw up hot dogs and popcorn off the dock. It made a horrific splash when it hit the water.
Jack’s grin widened.
“How about a ride now?”
“I’ll take it.”
It took only a minute to get the keys from the dockmaster, who told him the boat was fueled up and ready. Just in case.
“Appreciate it,” he said.
The trip to downtown Bayside was short. With the powerful engine, the boat could probably zip across to the city docks in ten minutes. He could have Augusta in her lake-view loft before the next ferry even tied up at the dock.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he said over the quiet engine. Gus sat on the wide seat across the back of the boat, watching as several dockhands helped Jack unhook and cast off. In no time, he’d cleared the marina break wall. Jack turned on the navigation lights and took his time, heading for the center of the bay.
“I have a question,” he said. “But I’m almost afraid to ask it.”
“Go ahead.”
“I don’t want to put you in a weird position or make you feel like you’re betraying anyone’s confidence.”
“I’m already in the middle of things between Starlight Point—you—and the vendors, if that’s what you’re talking about.”
“I know. And it is.” Jack steered standing up by the captain’s chair. “My question is, what’s the mood of the vendors? What are they thinking long-term?”
Gus tilted her head to the side. “You seem nervous, Jack.”
“Should I be?”
“As you know, we already had the meeting where we flung insults at you. Then we burned a straw creation that looked very much like Jack Hamilton at the next one.” She smiled. “Plotted your overthrow at another meeting, and then just settled in for a get-drunk-and-complain session at the next one.”
“I probably had it coming.”
“You think?”
“So, if I may ask, what’s next with the vendors?”
“You mean this season or next?”
“Both, I guess.”
“They’re nervous,” she said, crossing one long leg over the other. “They don’t know what will happen next year.”
“Not sure what you mean.”
“There are rumors,” Gus said. “Appraisers have been in their shops. They’ve been in my shops. Not a whole lot of reasons we can think of why our stores would be assessed.”
“What do they think the appraisals are for?”
“Come on, Jack. People aren’t stupid. You raised the vendors’ rates, you’re having their stores appraised. What do you think they think?”
Jack knew he was playing with fire, but he had her full attention. No walking away, no prying ears. He had to know.
“Tell me what they’ve heard. Why they think this is happening,” he prodded.
Gus sighed. “Are you kidding me? Fine. I’ll tell you exactly what they think and I’m not betraying them because it’s what anyone would think in their positions. They think you no longer feel any loyalty to them. They think you plan to run them out with higher rates. They think you want to replace them with cheaper vendors or take over their stores yourself so you can keep all the profits.”
Dull heavy pressure weighted Jack’s chest. Hearing the list of his supposed crimes was like listening to a judge pronouncing a sentence.
“But I don’t,” he said, sounding more defensive than he intended. “I can’t tell you tonight why the appraisals are going on, but I will say they’re happening all over Starlight Point, not just the vendors.”
“Okay.” She didn’t look convinced.
“I’m sorry the vendors have the wrong idea about my plans. I would’ve thought they’d have more trust in me.”
Gus frowned and raised both eyebrows.
“I know. They’re mad about the contracts.”
“Can you blame them? Me?”
“No, but I have my reasons.”
“Maybe you should come out and tell them your reasons. Tell me your
reasons. Try a little openness. You might be surprised how people would respond to some honest communication from you.”
“My business is my business. Mine and my family’s,” he said coldly. He was tired of defending an indefensible position.
“You think it’s just your business?” Gus asked. “Not to Tosha and Bernie and Hank and Ricardo and everyone else. And me. Your business—Starlight Point—is also their business. It’s been their livelihood and their summer home for years. They’ve helped make Starlight Point what it is. Unless you show that you value them, I’m afraid you’re going to be really sorry.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” A flicker of fear raced through him at her threat.
“Figure it out.”
Jack turned and looked at Starlight Point, its coaster lights and familiar skyline reassuring. He was out of options, time to sink or swim.
His eyes fell on Augusta—legs crossed, purse on lap, avoiding eye contact.
He cut the engine. Threw out the anchor. That got her attention.
“Kidnapping me?” she asked.
“We’d still be moving if I were kidnapping you.”
“So what are you doing?” She didn’t look afraid or even especially mad. Exasperated maybe.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, trying for a neutral tone.
He sat next to her, but made sure he wasn’t touching her. Jack took a calming breath. And another. His heart was racing. Aside from his mother and sisters, Augusta was the first person he was going to tell. Not even Mel, although Jack knew he suspected.
“I’m listening,” Gus said. Her expression softened a little. Maybe it was just the peachy sunset lighting, but it was enough.
“I always knew I would run the Point someday,” he said.
She nodded, a tiny smile curving her lips.
“And I thought I knew how.”
“You do know how. I mean, you are. Right?” she said.
“Ever since I could walk—and in Betty’s wagon before that—I went to work with Dad each day in the summer. All day. He took me everywhere. Showed me everything. Included me in decisions. Made me feel like I knew exactly how Starlight Point was run. In recent years, I thought I was his partner. Thought I was running it. At least my half.”
The sudden, ragged pain in Jack’s chest stopped him. His eyes burned. He got up abruptly and walked across the deck, rocking the boat with his movement.
“I thought I knew everything, Gus.” His voice shook even though he fought it.
He sensed her right behind him. Felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Until two months ago. When Dad didn’t wake up one morning.”
Jack hadn’t shed a tear since the funeral, instead throwing himself into running the Point and trying to outpace his problems. He leaned down, hands gripping the railing along the side of the boat. Grief for his father choked him. Blinded him. Tears raced over his cheeks.
He would not let her see him cry. Would not turn around.
He thought of the hours he’d spent with his dad. After working here every summer during college, coming home afterward and working year-round. Talking, planning. Practically sharing an office. The obvious heir apparent. His chest was so tight he couldn’t breathe.
How could he not have known his father’s secret?
Arms slid around him from behind, holding him in a silent embrace. He forced his attention to the present. The water. The fading sun. The red navigation lights along the side of the boat. Anything solid he could focus on.
Jack pulled himself together with a great shuddering effort. And he didn’t know if he could have done it without the strong, sweet arms around his waist, the scent of vanilla and buttercream that always wafted from Augusta’s hair.
He turned and pulled her against him, cradling her head against his chest, not letting her see his face. Not yet.
She seemed to understand. Not prying, just holding him on the gently rocking boat.
“I thought I knew everything,” he repeated. “But I didn’t.”
Gus was silent, listening.
“When you die,” Jack said, “you’re at the mercy of the living. I guess you take some secrets to your grave, but everything else is right there for everyone to see.”
Jack stroked Gus’s back methodically, drawing calmness and resolve from her. “After my father’s funeral, the next day, I went to his office. Our office. My office now. I opened the account books for the Point.”
“You’d seen them before, right?” Gus asked quietly. It was the first time she’d spoken.
Jack shook his head. “No. My dad kept tight control. He gave me a budget, expected me to stay in it. I thought he was teaching me a lesson on fiscal responsibility. I thought he stayed in his budget, too.”
His heart was going to explode. Anger. Shame. Grief. All the things he’d bottled up and avoided were squeezing his lungs, taking his breath.
Gus massaged his chest with her hands, making slow circles, repeating the motion in a soothing pattern. He tried to unclench every muscle in his body, tried to yield to her soft touch. But he wasn’t done.
“Ford Hamilton had a lot to hide. He’d been taking out loan upon loan for years. And none of us knew. Sure, we guessed he borrowed big for the new rides like that monstrosity the Sea Devil.”
More soft circles massaged the pain out of the center of his chest, taking it to the outside. Gus looked up, met his eyes.
“I think I can guess the rest,” she said.
“It’s terrible. Massive loan for the Sea Devil. Small loans from different banks, loans taken out to pay off other loans. Most of them short-term, like he thought the money would be just around the corner.”
Gus sighed. “He was an optimist.”
“Irresponsible,” Jack said with a quick shake of his head. “Unrealistic. Worst of all, secretive. Mom didn’t even know.”
“Does it hurt you that he never told you?”
Jack tilted his head back, looking at the darkening sky. “It kills me.”
He buried his fingers in Augusta’s soft hair, trying to rein in his emotions. He bit his lip. Hard. “It killed him,” he finally said.
Gus reached up, smoothing his forehead, holding his face in both hands. There were tears in her eyes. “You don’t have to say anything more. I understand what you’ve been doing. And why. But what happens next?”
“We hope to hang on to it.”
“Is Consolidated Amusement Parks really trying to buy you out?”
“Not anymore. Evie and I got one of the banks to buy out most of the other loans so they’re all in one place. We fought off Consolidated with that move a few weeks ago when June was home.”
“I’m glad your sisters know about this. They’re one-third owners, right?”
Jack nodded. “Mom knows, too. We’re all in this together. That’s why June’s coming tomorrow. Bankers want a personal tour. Want to see we’re different from Dad. Expect to see plans, a clean business model, a future where we can pay our debts. Even if it takes years.”
“Or?”
“Or it’s over.”
Gus rubbed his neck and shoulders. Jack felt tension leaving his body under her strong fingers. Telling his mother and sisters had taken some of the pressure off, but they were in trouble right alongside him. Gus was different. She was a friend. More than a friend. And she had the most amazing hands.
“You’re good at that,” he murmured, letting her lull him into relaxation. Maybe he should sit down.
“I have freakishly strong hands,” she said quietly. “From squeezing pastry bags. But this is more fun.”
“Keep it up and I will kidnap you. I think we can get to Canada from here.”
“Perfect,” she said, smiling. “You can escape your debts and have a persona
l masseuse.”
“I could never leave Starlight Point,” he said, closing his eyes and letting his head fall forward.
“I know. You won’t have to. You’ll impress the bankers and use all the dough you’re making off vendors like me to pay your loans. See? Happily-ever-after.”
Jack opened one eye, almost afraid to see if she was serious.
“Kidding,” she said. “About some of that. I know you’ll impress the bankers because any transparency and planning is better than what your dad did. And they kept loaning him money. Right?”
Jack almost laughed. “Sad but true.”
He could breathe again. The night air was fresh but getting cooler. The lights on the boat stood out against the dark water.
“I should take you home like I promised. You held up your end of the bargain by listening. Now it’s my turn.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
GUS DROVE HER pink van to the Point early on Friday, July 19. She hadn’t slept all night, so she’d stopped casting evil glances at her clock, gotten up and drunk coffee while the sun came up. Fridays were usually nuts. Her cookie supplies were down, there wasn’t a single cupcake in the case, and she felt like it would be a huge doughnut day. If someone got there early enough to make dozens of them.
She hadn’t seen Jack since the night before last, when he’d finally dropped her off at the downtown dock. He’d left a message on her voice mail to say he was thinking of her, but she knew he was preoccupied. Understandably. No doubt he was busy with his sisters and the new accountants they’d hired, doing everything they could to prepare for the bankers’ visit.
She’d left a message on the machine in her shop, knowing her aunt would check it when she got in about eight. “Taking the van and going to the Point early. I’ll bring it back this afternoon in case you need me to deliver anything. Have a great day! Love you, Gus.”
The lone security guard waved her through, recognizing her pink van. She pulled into the Star Spiral lot. Not a single vehicle was there. It was early, but a few of the other vendors would usually have arrived by now. The dashboard clock said 6:07 a.m. when she switched off the van and climbed out.
Keys jingled in her hand, mocking the silent carousel, as she opened the side door of her midway bakery.