Yours Since Yesterday

by Jennifer Bernard

  Padric reached the end of the set of thirty pushups and sat back on his heels. When Nate made his way back toward him, he muttered, “This is about revenge for that time I kicked your ass wrestling, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, superstar, it’s all about you.” Nate didn’t crack a smile. “I’m not at all interested in protecting Lost Harbor from a natural disaster.”

  “You know that’s not what I meant. Fuck.” Padric shook out his arms to get rid of a cramp starting in his forearm.

  A blond woman next to him—she wore Carhartts and a ribbed tank top and would have caught his eye immediately, if he hadn’t been so caught up with Zoe—finished her set. Sitting on her haunches, she shot him a curious glance. “You’re the singer, right? The one who used to live here?”

  “Yeah.” Padric rubbed out the cramp in his arm. “And you are?”

  “Carrie. Are you sure you should be working out like this? What if you hurt your hands?”

  “Yeah, Padric, wouldn’t want to hurt your moneymakers,” Nate teased. “You’re a delicate flower, man. Need some bubble-wrap?”

  “Shut the fuck up. Not you,” Padric quickly assured Carrie. “Just the commandant there.”

  “But I’m serious. I heard Katy Perry’s legs are insured for two million dollars.”

  “Really?” Nate gestured for them to start another set. “I might amputate my own legs for that haul.”

  Padric and Carrie dropped down into another round of pushups.

  “Do you know her?” Carrie asked. “Katy Perry, I mean. Or any of the big stars. Beyoncé, Madonna.”

  Padric realized that everyone in the grassy patch behind the firehouse was listening.

  “I’m just a volunteer training like the rest of you,” he said. “Here to haul hose and do whatever else Nate says.”

  “Nate says don’t be an asshole and answer the question,” said Nate.

  Padric shot him a glare. “Yeah, I’ve met Katy Perry, and quite a few other big stars. But that’s as far as it goes. They do their thing, I do my thing. I don’t have any inside information. Anyone who reads People magazine knows as much as I do.”

  Carrie reeled off her pushups and sat up again. “I read that you dated Taylor Swift.”

  Not true. But he’d been requested to go along with that rumor, so he said only, “No comment.”

  “What about Toni Braxton? Did you date her? I read about that in People.”

  Damn it, this was worse than the red carpet at the Grammy’s. At least there, his publicist shooed people out of the way when it got too much. “Can I just make a blanket ‘no comment’ about anything having to do with dating?”

  “‘No comment’ means yes, right?” asked Nate, proving once again that he was useless as an entourage.

  “Isn’t there some important firefighting technique you’re supposed to be teaching us?”

  “Right. Of course.” Nate clapped his hands for everyone’s attention. The people still doing pushups collapsed gratefully onto the grass. “You guys,” he pointed at them. “Pushups at home. It’s important to build up your strength. Pushups, sit-ups, and cardio. Now. Let me clarify something for the group. This is Padric Jeffers. He’s from Lost Harbor. He’s not officially in training because he might not be here long enough to serve. But I saw that he was getting soft so I invited him to train along with us.”

  Padric gave the group a little salute. “Thanks for letting me work out with you.”

  Only Carrie seemed really excited about his presence. The others were more or less indifferent. Except, he noticed with a start, the sixty-three-year-old longshoreman, Willie, who wore a suspicious scowl.

  Then again, that might be his normal expression, since he was scowling the same way at Nate. A lifetime of squinting at the sunlit ocean could do that to a person.

  Nate continued. “We really appreciate you all applying to volunteer. As you know, in order to go out in the field as a firefighter, you’ll have to pass this course, which is a hundred-and-ten hours long. However, there are other ways to volunteer. Some might be more suitable for you, so listen close. We need people for all of these functions. Number one: office help. Always very important. Number two: maintaining and cleaning the equipment. Number three: dispatch and cleaning of the vehicles. We pride ourselves on how well we take care of our gear and rigs because our lives depend on them out in the field. Very important. We’re isolated out here, as you all know, and we have to rely on ourselves. We do that by training until our ears bleed and by keeping our gear in tiptop shape. And by being studs.”

  Nate grinned and the others laughed along with him.

  “That’s kind of sexist, isn’t it?” said Carrie.

  “Point taken, but women can be studs too,” he said promptly. “Have you met Officer Badger? I mean that as a compliment, in case you wondered. Maybe the word I should use is badass instead. You okay with ‘badass,’ Carrie?”

  “I can live with that.”

  Padric laughed to himself. Nate had his own style, that was for sure. But it worked for him; everyone was paying close attention.

  “And now the final way that you can help the Lost Harbor Fire Department. Fundraising.”

  For some reason, all eyes swung toward Padric. He narrowed his eyes at Nate, who winked at him.

  Holy shit. He’d been played. Big time.

  Nate continued innocently. “Now, we could do a bake sale. Those are always…okay, sometimes…occasionally…effective. Maybe a car wash, that works for the high school kids. I don’t know, does anyone else have any ideas?”

  Padric sat on his butt and rested his elbows on his bent knees. This was going to be interesting. And by interesting, he meant excruciating.

  “We do have the annual fire department auction coming up. Maybe certain people could offer a date with themselves,” said Carrie, with a sidelong glance at Padric. “Especially the single men.”

  “Good idea,” Nate said promptly. “I’d volunteer for that.”

  “Count me in,” said Willie the longshoreman. “We got a lot of widows around here. I’ll be a hot ticket.”

  “Yeah, you would be. Anyone else?”

  Everyone looked at Padric, who dropped his head in his hands. He could just imagine the circus that would erupt if he put himself on the auction block as a date.

  “I’ll match whatever anyone bids on you guys,” he said.

  “Accepted.”

  Still, no one seemed satisfied by that offer. Padric felt the weight of their expectant stares. Would anyone really notice outside of Lost Harbor if he joined in on this crazy idea? Alaska was so far away to start with, and Lost Harbor perched at the end of a long road through mountain passes, at the very edge of Lost Souls Wilderness. It was rare that anyone in the outside world paid attention to Lost Harbor.

  “How about this? I’ll put up a serenade for auction.”

  “A serenade?” Nate cocked his head. “How would that work?”

  “I’ll sing a song to someone. Privately or publicly, however the bidder wants. It’s not a date. It’s not dinner or anything like that. I’ll show up wherever they want, sing a song, and leave.”

  Carrie was nodding excitedly at that idea. “That way, a dad could bid for a song for their kid, or a husband could bid for their wife.”

  “Exactly. It has a broader appeal than a date.”

  Also, he wouldn’t have to risk winding up in the tabloids.

  “Win your own personal serenade from the world-famous Padric Jeffers,” mused Nate. “I like it. A lot. Thanks, Padric.”

  “Thank you, Nate, for offering me the opportunity to serve the community.” Was that a little too sarcastic? Or not sarcastic enough?

  “You’re very welcome,” Nate said smoothly, ignoring his sarcasm completely. “The auction is about two weeks from now, but there’s still time to get your items listed. I’d like everyone to get creative and think of something to put up for auction. A boat ride, a dog-sled ride,” he glanced at the other woman, who hadn’t sai
d much to this point.

  Padric looked at her more closely and suddenly realized who she was. Alison Raines had competed in the famous Iditarod race several times, even came in second one year. In his opinion, her celebrity counted for much more than his.

  Alison shook her head. “You’re shameless, Nate.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes. Now grab a pack, everyone, and see what fifty pounds of fire gear feels like on your back!”

  For a hot moment, Padric wondered if he should just walk out. If Nate had wanted his help with fundraising, why hadn’t he just said so? Instead of grabbing a pack, he stepped to the edge of the grass and grabbed his water bottle.

  Nate appeared next to him, his commandant expression in place. “Slacking, superstar?”

  “Not slacking. Just second-guessing. What am I really doing here, Nate?”

  Nate switched from his training-leader voice to his old-friend voice. “Hey, don’t be mad. I thought you might want something to do besides hang out in your hotel room eating pizza. The auction is extra.”

  “Really? That’s not how it feels. It feels more like being used. I should know, I get that feeling a lot.”

  “Sorry, man.” Nate looked more than sorry; he looked horrified as he scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Really, I am. I’m always looking for ways to promote the department and get funding. But that’s not why I invited you to train with us. I thought you’d like it. You want to back out?”

  “I didn’t say I wanted to back out,” Padric snapped. “I just don’t like being manipulated. Just be straight. If you want something, say so.”

  If only Monica and Alexis were here for this lecture. It applied to them even more.

  Nate nodded soberly. “I hear you. You probably get asked for stuff all the time.”

  “And that’s fine. It goes with the territory. Just be straight about it, that’s all I ask.”

  “Message received. Actually, there is something I want to ask.”

  “Seriously? There’s more?”

  “Yeah. How about a beer after we’re done here? I told you we go after every training session. This one’s on me, as an apology.”

  Padric relaxed. “Sure. Sounds good.” He bent to pick up the heavy backpack. “I still think you just wanted a chance to boss me around.”

  “There’s that, too.”

  Chapter Nine

  The Olde Salt Saloon was one of the oldest structures on the boardwalk, an original fish house dating from early in the last century. An earthquake and subsequent shifts in the ground had given it an off-kilter slant, and its cedar shingles had been hammered by winter storms. By now the poor building looked as if it had been constructed by drunk carpenters.

  Which, quite possibly, it had been.

  Inside, the low ceiling sagged so much that taller customers had to duck. The walls were covered with old photos and newspaper clippings and posters from various events over the years. It was a historian’s dream.

  The lights were kept very low in the Olde Salt—no doubt because of what full illumination would reveal. Old ship lanterns swung from the ceiling, occasionally bonking people who forgot how low it was.

  Many tales of drunken misdeeds at the Olde Salt had echoed through the decades. Padric’s father had spent many an hour there drinking with Jack “Hammer” Holt and Old Crow and the other fishermen. One night, they’d all accepted a dare to swim through the harbor naked. Legend had it that Old Crow’s balls had been blue ever since.

  As a teenager, Padric had always looked forward to his first legal beer at the Olde Salt, but they’d moved away before he got a chance.

  He and Nate peeled off from the rest of the volunteer firefighter group and settled onto stools at the bar—scarred dark wood with some kind of thick, ancient, discolored varnish. They both ordered drafts from the bartender, a pretty brunette. She spoke with a slight Hispanic accent as she repeated the order back to them.

  “I thought the Olde Salt bartenders were always crusty old men.”

  “Times change. Toni’s been bartending here for the past three years. She’s a black belt, which comes in handy here.”

  “Black belt in what?”

  “Kicking ass. That’s all I know. She looks sweet, but she can pin a guy to the ground in half a second.”

  “Noted.”

  He eyed Toni warily as she brought over their beers. She didn’t look like a fighter, but he’d take Nate’s word for it.

  “So. You and Zoe,” Nate said, as soon as she left. “Picking up where you left off?”

  “I don’t know exactly what we’re doing,” he admitted. “But it feels good to be talking again. It’s not like I’ve been thinking about her a lot the past few years, but she was always there in the back of my mind.”

  “Well, as your friend, and more importantly, as her friend, I think you should step carefully.”

  Padric bristled. “I don’t need your advice, Nate. I can handle my own life.”

  “I’m not worried about you. This is about her. Zoe is…she’s a very proud person, you know that.”

  “So?” That was certainly true.

  “She’s had the worst luck of anyone I know. It’s almost like she’s cursed. The last thing she needs is you coming along and piling on.”

  “Cursed? What are you talking about?”

  Nate set down his beer and fixed Padric with a serious look. “First of all, this isn’t gossip. It’s history. I’m only telling you what everyone here already knows, and the only reason I’m doing it is so you understand what Zoe’s been dealing with.”

  “Jesus, Nate, you’re scaring me now.”

  “Dealing with” sounded like it could be medical. But that was off the table, right? Zoe had told him she was healthy as a horse.

  “It’s not like that,” Nate said quickly. “She just has bad luck with men. First off, there was the Scandal, which obviously you know about. Then her dad died. You probably knew about that, too.”

  “Yes.”

  “A few months after that, she got engaged. But it ended in disaster. Her fiancé disappeared.”

  “What do you mean, disappeared?”

  “He stole her car and drove to Canada. Sent her a postcard breaking it off.”

  Padric took a long swallow of his beer. Damn, that must have hurt. He hated thinking about Zoe pining over some guy who stole her car. “That’s low.”

  “Yeah. Took her a few years to start dating again. Then she got together with a new guy in town, a reporter at the newspaper. He wanted to further his career in the Lower 48, but she didn’t want to leave Lost Harbor. He broke off the engagement and spread all kinds of rumors about her in revenge. It was a rough time for her. Eventually, we all told the dude to knock it off and he moved away.”

  That was one great thing about Lost Harbor. When they weren’t feuding, people watched out for each other. The community usually came together in the face of outside threats.

  “That’s some pretty bad luck.”

  “That’s not even the end of it. She got engaged again, but changed her mind almost right away. This time she broke it off, and the guy sued her. It was ugly. The town took sides, because he’s a well-known mechanic, and you know how hard it is to hold on to decent mechanics here. Eventually the suit got tossed out of court but poor Zoe was traumatized. I brought her here one night for a break and she had a mini meltdown. Told me she was through with men, that every single one had let her down. She didn’t mention you by name, but I’m pretty sure you’re on that list.”

  “Fuck. I bet you’re right. I’m probably at the top of the list. The first one to screw her over.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. You were a kid, too. But she definitely changed after all that went down. She kept to herself in school, she didn’t hang out. It didn’t help that the whole town was buzzing about the affair, and how suddenly your family left.”

  Poor Zoe. What that must have been like for her…Padric could hardly imagine. In those days, she was still awkward, st
ill getting a grip on her curves and her striking features. To be constantly the subject of gossip…well, he actually understood how that felt, now that he was in the public eye. It sucked. And Zoe didn’t have fame and fortune to make up for the suckiness.

  “Thanks for telling me all this, Nate.”

  “Yeah? I wasn’t sure if I should.”

  “No, it’s helpful. Seriously. This is the kind of thing I would have known about if we hadn’t left. Or if I hadn’t dropped the ball on keeping in touch.”

  “We kept in touch,” Nate pointed out.

  “That’s different. That’s because you stalked me once I made it big.”

  “True that.” Nate clicked his glass against Padric’s. “And see? It paid off. Now I’m hanging out with a superstar at the Olde Salt. Buying him a beer. Something’s wrong with this picture.”

  “Right? I’ll have another, since you’re buying and all.”

  Three beers later, Padric practically stumbled onto the boardwalk. Nate was still inside playing darts with Darius Boone, the fire chief. Nate claimed he had to suck up to his new boss, but really he just loved to play. The hour was late, although plenty of light still lingered in the sky. The sun had dipped below the clouds and a chill rode in on the wind coming off the ocean.

  The boardwalk had cleared of tourists; everyone was snuggled in their B&Bs, their VRBOs or their AirBnBs. Only a few locals were left—the “harbor rats” who made everything run.

  Something flew through the air at him. He sidestepped it just in time, and it shattered against the railing of the boardwalk.

  A beer bottle, judging by the yeasty smell of it. It had almost hit him instead of the railing.

  He swung around, looking for whoever threw it. “Hey!” he called. “You could hurt someone like that.”

  Peering into the deepening shadows near the Olde Salt, he thought he saw a stocky shadow. “Someone there?”

  But he must have imagined it, because nothing moved. After a moment, he shrugged and turned back around. Damn, he was wobbly on his feet. He ought to get back to the hotel before he passed out on the boardwalk. Not that he would be the first to do so.