by Toni Blake
Dahlia gave one of her classic, airy shrugs—even if tempered with a sadness that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “He’s still not himself.”
“You know we wouldn’t have lasted forever,” Meg said. “You know he’s never going to change.” Dahlia had lobbied hard for the relationship. She saw virtues in Zack no one else did—she was his only family, making her devotion something maternal and perhaps also noble, even if Suzanne didn’t quite understand it herself.
Dahlia neither agreed nor disagreed with Meg, only pursed her lips to suggest, “Perhaps he’ll rebound come spring.” Even if she looked doubtful as she said it. Zack was a Great Lakes fisherman, taking to the water from April ’til November—a major source of contention in his relationship with Meg. The upshot was that he for some reason loved a solitary existence on a little fishing trawler more than he’d loved Meg.
“I do hope so,” Meg said solemnly, wistfully. “I want him to be happy.”
“I don’t believe he really knows how to be happy,” Suzanne chimed in.
Both women looked at her.
“There, I said it.” It was an obvious truth about the man no one ever quite spoke out loud, and she was feeling honest and not overly sympathetic at the moment. She looked to Dahlia. “And it’s not your job to fix him, because he can’t be fixed.” Then to Meg. “And it’s not your job to keep worrying about him—you resigned from that position.” In her opinion, Zack Sheppard was a lost cause. And she felt fairly qualified to recognize a lost cause because she was starting to think maybe she was one, too.
They all glanced up, their mood cheering when Jolene delivered plates of yummy-smelling breakfast foods, and topics turned lighter. “Time to take down the Christmas tree.” “Thank God for a break in the snow.” “Who’s read any good books I can take to the beach?”
All the while, though, Suzanne sank a little deeper into the malaise she’d hoped this lunch would cure. Her best friend’s sister was engaged to the man she’d fallen for. It would drive a wedge between them—how could it not? And her other best friend was leaving, return date uncertain. The people who she’d thought would sustain her through the winter suddenly felt far away even as she sat around a table with them.
After they’d paid and put on their coats, Dahlia pulled them both into a snug embrace. “I leave in two days,” she said. As if it were nothing.
Suzanne gasped. “So soon?”
Dahlia raised silvery brows. “Have to go before the lake freezes and the ferry stops running.” Indeed, after that a person was literally stranded on Summer Island until the spring thaw. In parting, she hugged them each again, and even kissed their cheeks. “I love you both and will miss you madly. When you find yourself missing me, just think of spring!”
Suzanne had hoped seeing her friends would lift her spirits. But as she departed, she realized the opposite had happened, making each step through the snow a struggle. Dahlia was leaving, Meg had Seth now, and the man she pined for had asked another woman to marry him.
Collectively, it was enough to make her wonder—once again—if she’d made a mistake coming here, moving her business here. Maybe she should be the one getting the hell out of Dodge before that last ferry ran.
CHAPTER TWO
THE INCESSANT BUZZ of his cell phone jarred Zack Sheppard awake. He didn’t want to answer—he wanted to roll over and drift back into peaceful sleep. Winter on this godforsaken island should at least be good for that much, but apparently not. Snaking a hand from beneath the covers, he grabbed the phone up from a bedside table, drew it back into the dark with him. “Yeah?”
“Good morning, nephew!”
Of course it was his aunt. She was the only person who called him in winter, and certainly the only one who’d feel the need to do it this early. “Morning, Dahlia.” He knew it came out sounding dry. He also knew that didn’t bother her one damn bit. That’s how things were between them. Dry. But easy.
“I’m calling to say goodbye,” she announced.
Oh. Shit. That was today? “Already? This early?”
“It’s almost noon. Not so early, my boy.”
There was a wink in her tone, but the main thing he heard was the harsh reality of her departure. If she was disappointed that he hadn’t bothered getting up to see her off, he couldn’t tell. Maybe he was the disappointed one. He probably should have treated this goodbye with a little more reverence. But reverence wasn’t his strong suit, especially not lately. Even so, he heard himself ask, “Need me to come get your bags to the ferry?”
She still sounded amused as she informed him, “Already got them there.”
It didn’t surprise him. She was a capable woman, the type who got out and walked more in a foot of snow than most people did on a summer day—so a few suitcases probably hadn’t slowed her down any.
“So you’re really going on this trip of yours.” This damn mysterious trip. To parts unknown, for who knew how long, with someone he’d never heard her mention in his life.
“Of course. Everyone keeps acting so surprised by it, but I’m allowed to take a trip.”
“Who’s gonna cook for me while you’re gone, woman?” He lived in an apartment above her café, and usually a lot of cooking happened there—even in winter when she was closed for the season, for the two of them.
On the other end of the phone, she let out a hearty laugh. “If that’s your bellowing way of saying you’re going to miss me, I’ll miss you, too.”
It was exactly that. Not much got past Dahlia. But he also seriously wondered what the hell he’d eat in the coming months. He wasn’t a cook. And his aunt spoiled him when he was in port—with food, and her company, both of which he valued more than he let on.
“Let me get dressed, then I’ll head to the ferry to say bye.”
“Too late. I’m already gone.”
Zack blew out a sigh. “Why didn’t you call me earlier? I would’ve gotten up.” Should’ve gotten up.
Another chuckle from her. “Didn’t care to make a big to-do over it, that’s all.” Then she shifted topics. “Did you go to Koester’s and get some groceries like I told you?”
His teeth gritted in frustration as he answered, “Nope.” Didn’t have a damn thing in the place to eat, as a matter of fact.
“That’s a shame,” Dahlia imparted in her light, nonchalant way. “It’s snowing like crazy out there. I’m lucky the ferry ran. Best get yourself to the store before they decide to close up. We’re about to dock in St. Simon, so I have to go. Goodbye, Zack.”
“Bye, Dahlia. Be safe.”
Rolling out of bed—damn, it was cold in this drafty old building—he nudged the thermostat up a degree or two as he trundled to the bathroom in a pair of worn flannel pants and a gray T-shirt with tattered edges. He tended to wear things ’til they fell apart and only then replace them.
Splashing water on his face, he glanced in the old-fashioned medicine cabinet mirror above the sink to see a hollow shell of the man he’d been six months ago. Back then, he’d had a good life. Well, as good as a guy with serious trust and commitment issues could have.
But everything had changed when he’d lost Meg. He hadn’t realized how much that loss would hurt. And now he was stuck on this tiny, snow-covered rock all winter, knowing she was right up the street with her good-looking handyman-turned-boyfriend. He’d known from the start something was going on there, but she’d denied it. Until it had become clear that she was lying, either to him or to herself—most likely the latter, because Meg wasn’t deceptive.
And even then, she gave you a chance. To love her. To make promises to her. To be there for her. The first had been easy—the other two deal breakers. And now here he was, months later, still trying to claw his way back to the land of the living. She’d been his foundation, the thing that gave his life balance and support. And he hadn’t even known it until it was too late.
He didn’t bother showering—just pulled on a faded pair of blue jeans he found on the floor and a half-zip pullover Meg had given him a few Christmases ago. Adding a warm coat and boots, he opened the door to see the air swirling with snow against a wintry white backdrop. Stepping out onto the small landing above the wooden staircase that led down the side of the building, he looked south to see Lake Michigan teeming with chunks of ice but not quite frozen. The ferry probably wouldn’t run for more than another day or two before the ice severed the connection to the mainland until likely April.
Patting a pocket to make sure he had his wallet, he started down the stairs—and the world dropped out from under him, his foot whooshing off the step on unseen ice. He instinctively grabbed for the railings on each side but missed—his ass hit hard against wood, and everything rolled past in a blur as he tumbled all the way to the bottom, landing in a heap in the snow.
Shit. His lower back hurt. Neck, too. He was gonna be sore for a while. Just lie here a few minutes and shake it off. Get your senses back.
But when the cold began seeping through his clothes, he knew it was time to get up. As a fisherman who’d taken to the water at sixteen, this wasn’t the first time he’d slipped and fallen. Though maybe such tumbles were a little harder to rebound from at forty-two. Planting his elbows in the snow, then his hands, he pushed himself into a sitting position.
Despite that his back still hurt like hell, he started to stand. Only it didn’t work—his legs weren’t quite cooperating, so he plopped back to the snow. His right leg tingled with an irksome pins and needles sensation—must have been lying on it funny since hitting the ground.
His hands were cold—he hadn’t worn gloves, damn it, which suddenly seemed stupid. But he hadn’t expected to be lying around in the snow, either. When a bitter wind stung his face and his whole body suffered the bone-deep chill of winter, he tried to stand up once more. Only, same as before, he crumpled back to the snow, his right leg unwilling to support his weight.
“Zack.”
He looked up. Meg—his Meg—stood over him like a parka-clad angel. Was she a mirage? A sweet oasis in a sea of snow? He’d seen mirages before—on the vast Great Lake waters. But he’d never seen one this pretty. Which must mean she’s real.
“Are you all right? What happened—did you fall?”
In some ways, she was the last person he wanted to see him like this. But in others, she was the only person he wanted here right now—maybe the only person in the world who could truly help him.
Answer her. “Yes. To the falling part, not the being all right part.” He shook his head, tried to form thoughts. “Can’t seem to get up.”
“Maybe you broke something. What hurts?”
Think. Just think. But things grew more foggy than clear. “My lower back. And my neck. Hit ’em both coming down. Slipped on ice.” He wished vaguely that he could exhibit some pride—but was also grateful he didn’t have to. This was Meg. “Can you help me get up?”
“If something is broken,” she said, “you probably shouldn’t. We should call the doctor.”
Zack shook his head. “Nothing’s broken. I’ve broken bones before—it’s not that kind of pain. My leg is just weak. Can you help me try?” he asked again.
Their eyes met, and he knew his probably revealed more than he wanted—a debilitating vulnerability, inside and out. He’d been broken inside for months, but suddenly it showed.
It’s okay, though—this was Meg. His Meg.
No, wait—not his anymore. She belonged to some other guy now. The thought was like a fist squeezing his heart, so he pushed it away. She was his. She had been for five years. He needed her right now—just as much as he needed to get to his feet and walk away from her.
“Okay,” she agreed softly, then stooped beside him. As she put her arm around his back, his own draping her shoulders, it felt awkward, warm, to suddenly be touching again. Even more awkward because of why. He’d never felt so weak with her.
As she began to lift him, he got his left foot under him, not putting any weight on his right yet. Just that—being up out of the damn snow, feeling the ground beneath his boots—felt shockingly satisfying. “You’re doing great,” she said quietly, encouragingly.
Cautiously, he rested his weight on both legs—then collapsed back to the ground, pulling her down with him. “Shit,” he muttered. His leg felt a little numb.
He lay on his back again, looking up at Meg, who now sat peering intently back at him. He missed that, just that connection of their eyes. Hers were green, like marbles. “Zack, you need more help than I can give you.” She pulled out a phone. “I’m calling Dr. Andover.”
Hanging up a minute later, she told him, “They’re sending the snowmobile and sled.” Summer Island was a land of bicycles and horse-drawn carriages, no motorized vehicles gracing its shores—except for the few snowmobiles tucked away for emergencies. He suddenly qualified as an emergency.
As they waited, he heard himself say without planning, “I’m a damn clumsy fool.”
“It was ice,” she reminded him. “Could have happened to anyone.”
“In other ways, too,” he said. What was drawing out such humbling honesty? Pain? Embarrassment? Or...he’d avoided seeing her since coming into port in November—and maybe he’d needed to say this for months.
When she didn’t reply, he added, “I hope you’re happy, Maggie May.”
“I am,” she was quick to answer. But did he see some glint of old emotion glimmer in her eyes at hearing his nickname for her? Probably just part of the mirage.
When the snowmobile could be heard in the distance—its noise grating in the winter silence—he prayed she would come with him to the doctor’s office. A year ago, she would have, no question. She’d loved him then. Did love just...dissolve? Melt like a snowman in spring? Damn—spring. He couldn’t wait ’til spring, ’til he could get back on the water and away from all of this—away from Meg, and memories, and feelings.
As a lone headlight cut through the snow swirling across Harbor Street—the snowmobile growing closer, louder—he reached out, grabbed her hand. Even through her mitten, it felt so damn good to touch her. Less awkward than when she’d been trying to help him stand. “Will you go with me?”
Meg’s heart beat too hard against her chest as Zack held on to her. She’d never felt this before—Zack needing her. The whole five years he’d been in her life and her bed, he hadn’t really. But now, suddenly, his need wrapped around her like a snug embrace.
She squeezed his hand instinctively, and her heart wanted her to go. But she told him, softly, “No.” She had a man at home whom she loved. A man who treasured her in a way Zack hadn’t until it was too late. And she hated sending him off alone, no one by his side—but she couldn’t let herself be that close to him anymore. She couldn’t be a part of this.
“I’ll call Dahlia, tell her to meet you there,” she said as the snowmobile pulled to a stop beside them, the smell of exhaust cloying.
“She’s gone,” he told her. “Left on the last ferry.”
Oh. Oh no. “I’ll call her anyway. She’ll come back.”
Climbing off the snowmobile, the EMT asked Zack a few questions, then said, “Let’s get you to the doc so he can take a look.”
Rather than watch the awkward maneuvering of Zack’s body onto the travois-like sled behind the snowmobile, Meg took a few steps away to make her call, the one small bit of help she could give. Frustrated to reach Dahlia’s voice mail, however, she left a message. “Please call me back right away. It’s an emergency.”
After which she had no choice but to return to where Zack lay, his torso and legs secured to the heavy plastic sled with seat belt–like straps. She peered down at him through the falling snow to say, “Dahlia didn’t answer. But I’m sure I’ll hear from her any minute.”
Their eyes met, same as before
. She sensed him trying to appear strong and stalwart now, trying to block out her refusal to go. But it didn’t work. She wanted to drop to her knees and give him a hug. Or at least stoop down, take his hand once more. Yet instead she only said, “You’ll be all right, Zack.”
He just nodded. And when the snowmobile began to move forward, the sled with it, their gazes stayed locked, his eyes lonely and wanting.
As she stood watching the sled get farther away, it reminded her of every time she’d watched his fishing boat sail toward Lake Huron, getting smaller and smaller until he was gone. But this was different. Everything about this was different, making her heart hurt in a different way. It hurt for him instead of for her.
Only when the snowmobile and sled were completely out of sight did she look back toward the Summerbrook Inn. She made out Seth’s shape on the front porch through the snow—he lifted his hand in a wave. Returning it, she hoped he could somehow understand the soft spot still in her heart for the other man. But what a horrible thing to ask of someone. Especially since she didn’t even understand it herself.
That was when her phone rang and she rushed to answer. While hating to put a crimp in Dahlia’s plans, she spoke directly. “Zack has taken a fall down the steps to his apartment.”
“Oh no. He’s hurt?”
Meg explained, ending with, “Can you catch the next ferry back?”
“Well, I... No,” Dahlia answered quietly.
“What?” It came out as a gasp.
“I’m not sure they’ll make any more runs today given the weather, and...I have a plane to catch. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to handle this in my stead.”
Meg just blinked, her jaw dropping. Was this really Dahlia? Dahlia who loved Zack and was always there for him? “I...I can’t do that, Dahlia,” she said, keeping her voice down. “I can’t go to the doctor with him like I’m still his girlfriend. It wouldn’t feel right.”