The Treasure Man

by Pamela Browning

  “Good for you.” Ben finished his work with the swing and gave it an experimental push before chucking the tools into a corner. “I brought a different rack that should fit. That one—” he nodded toward the rack responsible for Chloe’s broken fingernail “—belongs to another barbecue that got thrown away. I recall something about it.”

  Chloe lowered herself to the top step as Ben dumped charcoal into the barbecue and doused it with charcoal lighter. “You must have lived at Frangipani Inn for quite a while,” she observed.

  “In spells, every now and then,” he said.

  She digested this, wondering if he was being intentionally vague. She well remembered how suddenly, that year she’d fallen in love with him, he’d disappeared from the inn. She’d heard rumors that Ben was still working at Sea Search. Someone ran into him on the beach but learned nothing about where he was living. In the fall, when Chloe was back in Farish, Gwynne had written that Ben was married. The news had devastated Chloe.

  “You haven’t been here much as an adult yourself, have you?” Ben, unaware of her thoughts, accompanied his question with a curious glance.

  “Only once in the past five years, since I didn’t like to leave Grandma Nell alone. Last summer, Gwynne was still at the inn, but Tayloe had gone to live with her new husband in Mexico.” Chloe brushed away a grasshopper who wouldn’t survive long if Butch caught a glimpse of him.

  “Tayloe’s gone from the inn for good, I take it.”

  “I think so. Gwynne, too. Once she gets her master’s degree, she’ll have the credentials to work with kids who have serious speech problems. I wouldn’t be surprised if she wanted to live in a larger city.”

  “Good for her.” Ben touched a match to the charcoal and stood back while it caught fire. “Now that we’ve got this going, I’ll finish cooking the potatoes,” he said.

  Ben started up the steps, and she trailed him into the kitchen, where he asked for milk, butter and salt. From his pocket he produced a packet of cheese. Before scooping the potatoes out of their shells, he dumped all these ingredients into a bowl.

  Chloe watched, fascinated by his kitchen skills. She wondered if he’d cooked for his wife when he’d been married. She wondered how long the marriage had lasted.

  “We’re making twice-baked potatoes,” Ben said. “You can help me put the filling back in the shells.” He handed her a spoon.

  She wasn’t much of a cook herself, though Tara had often said that she made the best fajitas in the world. Ben’s delegation of duties took her by surprise.

  “I’m not sure I—”

  “Of course you can,” he said, demonstrating how to spoon the filling out of the bowl and smooth it into the potato skin.

  “I’ve always been such a klutz at things like this,” Chloe said apologetically.

  “You must be manually dexterous, or you wouldn’t be good at making jewelry,” Ben pointed out, looking over her shoulder. “You’re doing fine.”

  Chloe decided that she liked the job after all, and when she set her stuffed potatoes beside Ben’s, no one could have told the difference.

  “High five,” he said, holding up his hand, and she slapped him one in exuberance. She was beginning to feel really comfortable around him, as if they’d known each other for a long time. Which they had, of course, but now they related as adult to adult.

  “I’d say we’re due for a celebratory glass of wine,” she said. She dug around in one of the cluttered kitchen drawers for a corkscrew.

  “None for me, thanks,” he said.

  She swiveled her head in surprise. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. I’ll drink water.”

  “I’m planning to lay in a stock of beer soon,” she said.

  “Not on my account, I hope.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t have anything stronger.” As far as she was concerned, she was merely making polite conversation, but a pained expression flashed across Ben’s features.

  “It’s okay, Chloe. You see, I don’t drink anymore. I can’t.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, confused by this admission.

  Ben met her gaze squarely. “The reason I don’t drink anymore, Chloe, is that I’m a recovering alcoholic.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. “Is that why you got fired?” she asked in a rush, and then, realizing that she shouldn’t have asked, she caught herself up short. “Whoa, I’m sorry. None of my business.”

  “Who told you about that?” he asked in an even tone. “Zephyr?”

  “I shouldn’t have listened.”

  “Why?” he said, his eyes dark with an emotion somewhere between pain and sorrow. “It happened. I almost caused the death of another diver. Andy was right to boot me off his team.”

  “Like I said, it’s none of my business.”

  “Let’s go outside,” he said. “We can watch the fireflies come out. I’ll tell you about it. I’d like to.”

  She followed and sat down beside him on the back porch steps. The stairs’ narrowness made it necessary for the two of them to sit so close that their shoulders touched. Chloe didn’t mind that Ben took her hand, didn’t consider that his status as a recovering alcoholic should make her think twice about how much she wanted to hear. For a moment, she was transported back to her sixteenth summer, when she had fled around to the back of the house and into the nearby stand of Australian pines to escape the group of guests laughing and talking on the front porch. It was the night that she had learned that Ben had left Frangipani Inn and she wouldn’t see him again. Her heart had been breaking.

  Well, now she was thirty-two years old, and her heart wasn’t breakable anymore. But it was full, just the same, as Ben began his story.

  Chapter Four

  “Andy hired me after I developed the diving skills I needed for Sea Search,” Ben said. “That summer when I met you, I’d been working for him for over a year. We’d salvaged a merchantman galleon in the Keys, came back to Sanluca and continued to dive the 1715 fleet offshore. Andy’s enthusiasm spilled over to everyone on his crew. Those were exciting days.”

  “Isn’t it still kind of a thrill? To find items of beauty and value?”

  “Of course. I was dedicated, determined. Andy liked that about me. But, Chloe, things happen to people. Over time, it’s possible to be discouraged, disheartened, lose that initial drive and—well, the reason these things happened to me isn’t important. I drank too much. I was wrong when I thought it wouldn’t affect me.”

  Chloe held her breath, figuring that Ben would make excuses for himself. In her experience, people either did that or threw the blame onto someone else. But Ben surprised her. He didn’t offer any justification at all.

  “I kept diving. For a while, I was able to hide my alcoholic bingeing. A few people might have realized how bad the problem was, but they didn’t say anything about it. Then I did the unforgivable. I stayed drunk for a couple of days before my friend Rick and I went on a deep dive on the Santa Ynez.

  “Rick was my best friend, the one I could count on to be there whenever I needed someone. I’d hid my drinking problem from him, never let on that I was falling apart. Rick had a family, a beautiful wife and two cute little boys. To make a long story short, that day on the Ynez, I was a mess. Alcohol affects reaction time. It made my thinking foggy and slow.

  “Rick had a problem with his air supply. It was my fault. I was so hungover that I’d failed to check the equipment properly. The current was strong, and I was ill-prepared to fight it because I was in such bad shape.”

  “You mean, from drinking?” she asked.

  Ben nodded, the lines in his face tense. “That, and fatigue from a dive a few days before, plus the exertion of kicking against the strong current to get to the wreck. All are contributing factors to DCS. When Rick needed help, I lost my head. I was responsible for the two of us surfacing too fast, and as a result we both had the bends. Rick almost died.”

  “What kind of treatment did you have?” Chloe asked.
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  “We both ended up in a hyperbaric chamber, which recompresses the body, gets the nitrogen out of the tissues. I recovered pretty fast, but Rick didn’t. I was horrified at what I’d done. I’d been careless, and it might cost him his life, leaving his wife a widow and his children fatherless.” He swallowed, and for a moment it appeared he wasn’t going to say any more.

  “Well, that’s what happened. Andy fired me. Said he couldn’t keep someone on his crew who put other people’s lives at risk. The hell of it was that I understood. I would have done the same if I’d been in Andy’s place.”

  Chloe absorbed all this. “You moved away after that?”

  “I couldn’t bear to walk down the street in Sanluca with everyone knowing I’d almost killed one of our friends and neighbors. I lived on savings for a while, had to move because I couldn’t afford the rent at the house where I lived. Stayed at the inn with Tayloe and Gwynne for a couple of months. Went to visit my brother until he got shipped to Iraq—he’s in the air force. Rattled around the Caribbean, trying to pull myself together. Did odd jobs. Never wanted to dive because I wasn’t up to it. Finally, I woke up in a motel in Mexico, clueless about how I got there. That’s when I borrowed enough money to get back to Florida and start a treatment program.”

  “And came here,” Chloe said softly.

  “I’ve still got a way to go before my life is totally on track. You’ve helped, Chloe. You gave me a place to stay and work to do while I wait for Andy to hire me again.”

  “Will he?” she asked with trepidation.

  For the first time since he’d started relating the story, he smiled, easing the tension around his eyes. “Of course he will. I can’t let myself believe otherwise.”

  “Good for you,” Chloe said, admiring how he’d met his problem squarely and embarked on a plan of action.

  Ben became quiet, and she sensed that he felt as though he’d said enough. Again, Chloe sensed an immutable sadness, a deep sorrow.

  She waited in case he wanted to continue, but he only heaved a sigh. “Well,” he said, “I’d better get those steaks on the grill.” He stood up, dropping her hand as if he’d just realized that he was holding it. When he went into the kitchen, she didn’t follow.

  Perhaps the darkness in Ben, the melancholy that she’d glimpsed in him, was his guilt rising to the surface. Or maybe it was his natural reaction to being fired; losing a job meant loss of status, embarrassment, fear of the future.

  Ben Derrick was toting a lot of baggage. But he wasn’t asking her to help carry it. Most of the guys in her life had been all too happy to hand the job over to a willing woman, but this time was different.

  Chloe wasn’t willing, and Ben wasn’t burdening her. The thing was, she had no idea how to handle this. In the past when she sensed compatibility in a man, the way she signified interest was to become available. She listened, she empathized, she threw herself in the path of whatever train wreck was heading down the track. Usually, she got run over.

  Now she’d listened and empathized, but no one was tying her to the tracks. Ben didn’t expect her to solve his problems for him.

  And because of this, she felt a great deal of uncertainty about how to relate to him.

  THE NEXT MORNING when Chloe woke up, Ben was gone.

  His Jeep wasn’t parked in its usual spot under the gumbo-limbo tree. She checked the view from her turret windows, half expecting to see him sitting at the edge of the ocean as he had the day before, but the only people in evidence were two teenagers, one of whom was trying to learn to surf. Chloe watched them until she tired of it, then went downstairs to feed Butch and to cook herself a soft-boiled egg and toast.

  When her cell phone rang, she clicked it on immediately. It was her sister.

  “We found Tara,” Naomi said without preamble. “She’s with Marilyn in Dallas.”

  Chloe carried the phone into the parlor and settled herself comfortably on the wide sofa. “See? I told you she’d be fine.”

  “We were so worried, but I’m at my wits’ end. Ray and I adore Tara. She’s our firstborn, the daughter I always wanted, the apple of her daddy’s eye. I don’t understand why we can’t get along anymore.”

  Naomi sounded so woebegone that Chloe’s sympathies were immediately engaged. “Tara’s going through a stage. What did Marilyn say?”

  “She’s happy to have her, and Tara can stay as long as she likes. Marilyn’s going to take Tara and her kids to a Memorial Day celebration at the park, and Scott, her eleven-year-old, is having a birthday party this week, so Tara will help with that. The kicker is that Marilyn says Tara will have to follow the house rules about curfews, chores and conduct.”

  “You and Ray must be so relieved.”

  “We all are, and before I forget, Marilyn said to wish you luck on your new jewelry venture. By the way, how’s it going with the guy?”

  “With Ben?”

  “Are there any other guys you want to tell me about?”

  “Of course not. He’s a recovering alcoholic, Naomi. He’s got Issues, with a capital I. And for once, I’m not providing Solutions.”

  “Glad to hear it, but how do you stop yourself? With every wounded warrior you’ve dated, you jumped right in and started slapping on emotional bandages.”

  Chloe scoffed. “That only results in my getting hurt. I’m out of the rescue business, believe me. For once in my life, I’m looking out for Number One, and that person is me.”

  “If you start to get involved with him, will you ask him to leave?”

  “Should I?”

  “Why not?”

  “He has the most arresting brown eyes I’ve ever seen. And very broad shoulders. And a few other attributes that I find appealing.”

  “Chloe, he sounds dangerous.”

  “Not at all, since he’s in the process of rescuing himself and isn’t looking for pity.”

  “This sounds refreshingly responsible,” Naomi said.

  Chloe recalled Ben’s matter-of-fact recounting of his drinking problem. “He’s a fine person with a lot to offer some lucky woman—but it isn’t me. But enough about Ben. Do you mind if I call Tara? Tell her I’m thinking about her?”

  “Of course not. She loves you and respects you and considers you the best. You should have kids of your own, since you seem to have a special rapport with them.”

  Chloe sighed. So far, she’d preferred leaving the raising of the next generation to her sister. “Let’s talk again soon, okay?” she suggested, figuring it was past time to end this discussion.

  “Right now I’m going to rush out and buy some hair coloring that will get rid of the new gray hairs brought about by Tara’s latest caper. Any recommendations on color?”

  “Try magenta. It worked for me.”

  Naomi groaned. “One thing for sure, something fab and flirty would convince Tara that I’m not hopelessly unfashionable.”

  “I’m not so sure. Magenta is so passé these days.”

  As they hung up, they both were chuckling.

  Chloe poured herself a second cup of coffee and carried it out onto the back porch, where Butch showed up after a few minutes and curled up at her feet in a patch of sunshine. She bent over to pet the cat as Ben wheeled into the driveway and parked the Jeep in the shade. After he got out, he reached in back and pulled out a metal detector.

  “Did you find anything this morning?” she called to him.

  “No, but it’s good exercise. I rode down to the jetty at the inlet and tried my luck.” He walked to the steps and rested the metal detector there, regarding her with a half smile.

  “I’ve seen a lot of folks looking for treasure on the beach in front of the inn,” she said. “What’s out there, anyway?”

  “The Ynez wreck is slightly to the south. The afternoon thunderstorms in summer keep the ocean stirred up, and the ballast stones around the wrecks tend to shift to expose the goodies underneath.”

  Ben unzipped a pocket in his shorts and dug in it to produce a gold coin.
“I found this the day I arrived. My metal detector beeped just before I ran into Zephyr.”

  Chloe turned the coin over in her hand. It was about an inch and a half in diameter and gleamed in the bright sunlight.

  “It’s what we call a cob,” Ben explained, moving closer. “You’ll see that it has no date on it. This was created from the end of a gold bar, stamped with the design by slave labor. It’s an eight real coin minted in Mexico. The design is a full cross and shield.”

  Chloe inspected the other side. “It’s beautifully intricate. What will you do with it?”

  “Sell it, most likely, especially if Andy doesn’t hire me soon.”

  Chloe handed the coin back to him. “I’m impressed.”

  “There’s more where that came from. Say, do you have any of that coffee left?”

  She nodded toward the kitchen. “Help yourself.”

  “I don’t mind if I do.” He smiled at her and went inside.

  When Ben returned, he was carrying coffee in a mug. He sat on a chair and propped his feet on the porch railing. A fly buzzed around his head, and he waved it away. Unexpectedly, Chloe recalled how she had regarded him when she was just a girl; he had been a remote god, worthy of worship but totally unattainable. The possibility of ever sitting here and enjoying a cup of coffee with him would have sent her into paroxysms of joy, paroxysm having been her favorite new word that summer.

  “I think I’ll repair the window in the kitchen door today and take a look at the front-door lock with an eye to replacing it,” he said.

  “Your choice,” Chloe said. She immediately regretted her tone. Too blasé. Too unappreciative.

  Ben, sipping reflectively at his coffee, didn’t seem to notice; Chloe kept rocking. Ben appeared perfectly happy to sit nearby, saying nothing himself. As she slid a sideways glance at him, she felt herself flushing at the sight of his bare chest, the prominent pectorals, those wide shoulders.

  She stood abruptly, setting the rocking chair into a flurry and Butch scuttling off the porch. “I should get to work,” she said.