by Jamie Beck
“Well, decor is squarely Claire’s gig, but I’m excited to work on something more original. Catch me up on the big construction wish list and proposed time frames.” Steffi followed the women to the generous kitchen that offered distant water views, as Steffi had suspected. Cornflower-blue cabinetry and decorative-tile countertops harkened back to the eighties. A bay window graced the breakfast nook, though, so that would remain a key feature. Steffi whipped out her notepad and started taking notes, knowing she’d need to take a quick peek upstairs before they left.
Thirty minutes later, she and Claire departed with a promise to send Mrs. Briggs a bid within a week.
On their way to their respective cars, Claire asked, “What really happened?”
“What do you mean?” Steffi feigned indignation at the implication that she’d lied.
“You were late but didn’t give details about your dad. Was that a cover, Steffi?” Claire’s brow popped up in that knowing way as she pointed at Steffi’s knee. She suspected the truth.
“Not entirely. I had to drive him home from the eye doctor, and then he asked me to get his blood thinner because his prescription had run out . . .” She trailed off, with a slight shudder from recalling finding herself on her knees in the parking lot.
“What?” Claire’s alert gaze homed in. “You just shivered.”
Steffi closed her eyes and sighed. “I don’t want a lecture.”
“You zoned out again?” Claire pressed her fingers to her temples as if she were holding her head together so it didn’t explode from frustration. “You need to go to the doctor. Promise me, Steffi. This isn’t just about our business. This is your health.”
“I don’t have two days to give up to appointments and tests when, ultimately, there isn’t much they can do about postconcussion syndrome.” The repeated mantra was growing tiresome, even to her. Somewhere in the recesses of her possibly damaged brain was the recognition that fear of her diagnosis being something worse kept her from picking up the phone and making an appointment.
“You need the tests in case there is some bigger problem,” Claire insisted, giving voice to Steffi’s subconscious. “What if it’s a brain tumor or something?”
“I’m only thirty. I don’t have cancer.” As soon as she said it, she remembered Peyton.
Based on Claire’s sharp inhale and vexed expression, she must’ve shared that thought. They exchanged a sober look before Claire said, “Please make an appointment.”
Surely, two of the Triple Ls couldn’t get cancer at the same time. “Please stop pushing me.”
“Lecture over.” Claire tossed her purse into her car and heaved a resigned sigh. “Let’s grab Chinese for dinner, and you can tell me about Ryan and Emmy.”
“Huh?”
“You’ve been rather cheery lately, so I think you’re holding out on me.”
“I’m not cheery.” Steffi felt a smile tug at her mouth. “Then again, we are going sailing on Sunday. With Emmy, of course. She invited me, so Ryan couldn’t say no, but I’ll take any inroad I can get. I’m determined to renew our friendship, even if I have to choke on my pride a bit. Seems only fair after what I did.”
Claire’s brows pinched together when she grimaced.
“What now?” Steffi asked reluctantly.
“When I spoke with Molly today about the back order of her drapery fabric selection, she mentioned that Val was taking Emmy to Block Island this weekend.”
“Oh?” The warmth of anticipation drained away like the tide returning to sea. Had gossiping with Peyton about Ryan jinxed her progress? “I guess the plans changed. I didn’t see Ryan or Emmy today because I left early to help my dad, then came straight to meet you.”
“I’m sorry.” Claire laid a hand on Steffi’s arm.
“No worries.” Steffi shrugged, eager to shirk off Claire’s pity. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Good.” Claire nodded but didn’t look convinced as she slid onto her seat and started the engine. “I’ll meet you at Hunan Wok. I’m up for lo mein.”
Claire pulled her door shut and pulled away from the curb, leaving Steffi little choice.
She climbed behind the wheel of the van and rubbed her thighs, exhaling in order to release the selfish resentment festering in her chest. How perfectly awful of her not to be thrilled for Emmy, who missed her mother terribly. This turn of events should be good news, not bad. But she’d been fantasizing about taking a walk down memory lane with Ryan on Knot So Fast. Lazy days on his boat had been some of her happiest ever, and she could use another one of those. Dollars to doughnuts, he could, too.
She shook her head, feeling stupid for investing her emotions in his forced offer. Obviously, he hadn’t given it much thought since—he hadn’t even remembered to tell her the plans had changed.
By Friday, Ryan could barely keep his eyes open during the drive home. Long days with frantic people—or worse, criminals who didn’t give a damn—took a toll. Not as big of one as his daughter’s resistance to making new friends, though. Every night this week she’d yammered about the impending Block Island trip. Ryan ground his teeth when he thought about letting a man who lacked the integrity to steer clear of a married woman get close to his daughter. Then again, he did look forward to the downtime this weekend.
He set his briefcase on the entry table and stared at Emmy, who lay on the floor with her head propped up on her fists, watching television. “Where’s Memaw?”
“In the garden, I think.” Emmy barely looked up from whatever loud Disney show had her captivated.
He hadn’t seen his mother, but maybe she was putting her gardening tools away in the garage. “Are you packed already?”
“Uh-huh.”
He noticed a half-eaten bag of cheddar popcorn beside her, along with bits and pieces of other orange junk food strewn across the carpet. He bent down to kiss her head, picking up the stray bits. “Can I double-check to make sure you have everything you need?”
She scowled, sparing him a brief glance from beneath those dark lashes. “I’m not a baby, Daddy.”
“I know, but Block Island can be chilly in September. Let’s make sure you have warm-enough clothes for the evenings.”
She pushed herself off the floor and stomped up the stairs ahead of him, making her exasperation known with the pounding of each tread. Her pink gingham weekend bag sat in the corner of her room. She unzipped it and started pointing out the items. “See? I have three of everything—three bathing suits, three dresses, three underpants, and three pajamas.”
“Perfect for Florida,” he teased, and tugged her earlobe. “Let’s trade two pajamas for a sweater and pants, just in case.”
“Okay.” She tipped her head from side to side while choosing which pajamas to leave behind.
“Are you sure you want only dresses?” He thought about the potential activities—biking or hiking—that might take place on the hilly island. “No shorts or sneakers?”
“It’s vacation, not work.” Her solemnity forced him to stifle a laugh. She really took “helping” Steffi seriously, but years of Val’s training would not be undone so quickly.
“I see.” He leafed through her things. “These are pretty. Are you excited?”
Her face glowed. “Mommy says John’s house has a private beach.”
The gleam in her eye when she said the word private turned his stomach. Hopefully his getting full custody would weaken Val’s materialistic influence in time. “I’m sure his house is very nice, although I prefer a public beach where you have lots of people, food, and music.”
Emmy’s frown suggested he’d cast a shadow on the glory of John’s private beach, which felt like a small win. “I wish you were coming, Dad. It’d be more fun if it was me and you and Mom.”
Emmy’s wish crushed whole pieces of his soul.
Ryan imagined John’s massive beach house with a large deck. He pictured Val sipping a cocktail while flipping through a magazine, and Emmy running around the yard or sand, gigglin
g. John at the grill. A perfect family affair, were it not for the fact that John had usurped Ryan’s family.
Meanwhile, Ryan would be alone. Worse than alone—he’d be with his parents. Not exactly how he’d envisioned his thirties.
“Don’t think about me.” He poked her tummy and forced a grin. “Have fun with your mom, and we’ll have our own fun when we go sailing.”
“Mommy says we’re going sailing, too.” Emmy zipped her reloaded suitcase.
Another punch to the gut. How like his ex to steal the chance to be the first to take Emmy sailing. Val didn’t even like to sail, and Ryan had wanted Emmy to learn on his old boat. None of this was Emmy’s fault, though, and he’d rather chew off his arm than ruin her excitement. “Perfect! That way you’ll be able to be my skipper next weekend.”
“Okay!” She smiled up at him. “Is Miss Lockwood still coming?”
“I suppose, although I’d like you to bring a young friend, too.” He wasn’t convinced he could survive an afternoon with Steffi on Knot So Fast, so the more people the better. “Have you invited anyone yet?”
“No.” Emmy didn’t even look sad. Maybe he should get her to a counselor.
“I’ll see if Steffi’s free next weekend.” He realized then that he’d never told her about the change in plans. Surely, she must know from Emmy.
“Can I go finish my show now?”
“Of course.” He kissed her head and watched her bound out of her bedroom. His old bedroom, one now devoid of the medals, trophies, and photographs that his mom had boxed up. The room seemed much smaller than the one of his memories, where he’d made so many plans.
He sat on the corner of the twin bed and let his mind wander, thumbing through his past goals. He’d accomplished some, like the DI soccer invitation from Boston College and graduating from law school. Others, like creating a family of his own, had fallen apart.
Lately he’d been losing more battles with doubt than normal. Had he been a good husband, or had he given Val reason to seek love elsewhere? Could he be a good father when he hadn’t moved heaven and earth to keep his marriage together? Did he owe it to Emmy to give his marriage a Hail Mary? And if not, how would he provide an example of love and commitment for his daughter in the wake of a failed marriage?
He flopped backward onto the mattress and closed his eyes, his hands folded over his abdomen. The house smelled like dust and wood and those sickly-sweet vanilla candles his mom loved to burn. Soon the weather would turn cooler, and the old radiators would ping and pop as they came to life. Old houses made a lot of noises, and he used to know them all.
He’d found workarounds to some of them, like when he’d sneak out the window some nights rather than attempt the squeaky stairs. Before too long, his daughter would be a teen and test his limits. He wasn’t ready for that, nor did he look forward to her first crush . . . or her first heartbreak.
Like always, broken hearts reminded him of Steffi.
Had fate driven them both back to Sanctuary Sound now for a reason? He’d never been a big believer in destiny. It had always sounded like an excuse to be selfish, or a way to avoid accountability for failures. But maybe he’d rejected the whole concept because he needed to believe that he had more control over his life than he actually did. Some joke. Now he had control over absolutely nothing. Not of his soon-to-be ex-wife. Not of his daughter’s behavior in school. And not of his mother’s choice of contractor.
That first day—seeing Steffi standing on the porch—he’d literally shaken with hostility. Since then, the cold anger consuming him had melted. He now kept his composure in her presence—for the most part, anyway. A month ago he wouldn’t have believed he’d be lying here wondering if they could be friends again after everything that had gone down.
He sat up, frowning. He had a new boss to impress and a daughter who needed 1,000 percent of his attention. When it came to Steffi, neither destiny, fate, nor his own sheer will would give him spare time for any relationship with her. It was just as well that this weekend’s sailing trip got canceled.
Resigned, he went downstairs to find his mother, who was putting a casserole dish in the oven. “Hey, Mom, I need Steffi’s number.”
She double-checked the temperature and looked up. “It’s the same as it always was.”
“Well, I deleted it from my phone a decade ago, and honestly, I scrubbed it from my memory.” He stared at her, his hands on his hips, daring her to roll her eyes or do something else to express her opinion about his way of handling himself.
She surprised him by nodding in sympathy. “203-555-1204.”
As soon as he heard it, he remembered calling her over and over, not knowing why she wouldn’t answer. That texting and waiting—and waiting and waiting—for a response. That burning in his gut when he realized what she was doing. The pain. The emptiness . . .
Old bitterness swelled like a wave forming in the middle of the sea and gathering strength as it moved toward shore. Maybe if they actually had a grown-up conversation about why she’d left him that way, those waves wouldn’t broadside him anymore.
“Thanks.” He strode onto the porch, which was now fully framed. He ran his hand along a two-by-four and caught himself smiling while admiring her handiwork. Steffi had always been strong and active, so it didn’t shock him that she’d chosen a career that required such physicality and precision. He punched the ten-digit phone number on his phone and held his breath.
For the first time in a decade, she answered his call.
“Ryan? Is something wrong?” Apparently, she’d never deleted his contact info.
“No.” He paused, tongue-tied like he’d been at seventeen. “I just realized I hadn’t told you that our Sunday sailing outing is off. Val’s taking Emmy for the long weekend.”
“She’s over the moon.”
He heard the smile in Steffi’s voice. It worried him that he liked the fact she cared about Emmy. He might be able to forgive her for letting him down, but he couldn’t bear it if she hurt Emmy. “She is, but I’m sorry I forgot to mention it to you. Hope it doesn’t screw up your weekend.”
“It’s fine.” She paused, as if waiting for him to say something more. “You must be looking forward to some freedom this weekend. Any big plans?”
“If sleeping in for a change qualifies as big plans, then yes.” He smiled when he heard her chuckle in that low way he remembered. He could picture her dimples whenever she made that sound.
She cleared her throat. “Benny, Claire, and I are going to see the Basement Boys play at the Sand Bar tomorrow night. You’re welcome to join us if you want.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” His voice sounded scratchy, which was damn embarrassing. “Thanks, but . . . I just need some downtime, like you said before.”
A beat or two passed between them before she said, “Well, if you change your mind, I’m sure Benny would love to catch up with you.”
“I’ll think about it.” Would he? Probably about a hundred times.
“Have a good night. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow at your mom’s.”
His gaze went to the pile of plywood and table saw in the corner. “Don’t you ever take a day off?”
“For the time being, only Sundays. I need to hire some help now that we’re booking bigger jobs at the same time.”
“Too bad Emmy isn’t ten years older.” He surprised himself with the bit of levity. Joking with Steffi was another thing he wouldn’t have banked on when he’d first returned home.
Steffi tsk-tsked. “I don’t know about that. She’s gunning to be the boss, not an employee.”
A proud grin erupted. “That’s true.”
Another quiet moment left space for conflicted emotions, turning his phone into a hot potato. “I’d better run. Have a nice night.”
“Bye, Ryan.”
He stuffed his phone in his pocket and walked out to the yard, seeking an escape from the prison of the new family room framing. Standing in the fresh-cut grass reminded him of the rainbo
w kicks from earlier that week. His thoughts flickered with visions of Steffi with Emmy, of yesteryear and soccer, of friends and enemies and love and hate and failure.
Ryan hated failure of any kind yet had suffered it with the two most important love interests in his life.
Steffi and Val were completely different women. His relationships with them had nothing in common, either. Well, scratch that. They had one thing in common—him. Perhaps it was time to consider that he might be the reason things went wrong.
Two seagulls screeched overhead, racing toward shore a few hundred yards south. Boston was surrounded by water, but the sounds of the city drowned out the gulls and crickets and other peaceful things that soothed the soul.
“Daddy?” Emmy called from behind him.
“Yeah, sweetheart?” He turned and strolled back toward the house.
“Can you show me how to do that juggle thing with the soccer ball on your knees?” She stepped out of the framed opening of the former porch, wearing her sunflower dress and sandals, her springy curls as lively as her eyes.
His heart bathed in love every single time she smiled at him.
No regrets.
Val had come into his life when he needed someone sexy and brash to hold his attention and soothe his wounds, but his heart had left that relationship long before his wife had. One great thing came of the bad marriage, though. They’d produced this magnificent little person, so in that regard it had been time well spent.
Divorce handed him a chance for closure with Steffi, too. Closure and answers that might help him make sure he didn’t fail at love a third time.
He should be happy. He would be happy.
“Go put on gym clothes.” He grinned at his daughter. “I’ll grab the ball.”