A Time to Swill

by Sherry Harris

  I took the drink orders to Joaquín. I could handle the Riesling and lemonade and vodka while he made the Bloody Mary. None of the heritage business owners were in here, so I couldn’t ask them who the man was and why Vivi had reacted that way. The heritage business owners were people whose families had opened businesses in Emerald Cove in the fifties or before, when all that led to the town were dirt roads. They were a tight-knit group of friends, for the most part.

  After I delivered the next round of drinks I went back behind the bar with Joaquín. Fortunately, no one was sitting at the stools that faced us right then. Usually, women perched on the barstools, admiring Joaquín. He danced his days away, having once been a professional backup dancer for people like Ricky Martin, Beyoncé, and Justin Timberlake out in California. The ladies loved him, and he flirted, even though he was married and devoted to his husband, Michael.

  “Who was that man?” I asked Joaquín.

  He lifted and dropped his shoulder. “No idea. I was hoping you knew him.”

  “Do you think Vivi will tell us when she gets back?”

  “You know Vivi. Pulling things out of her is harder than digging for clams in cement.”

  “Did he look familiar to you?”

  “No. Why? Do you know him?”

  I shrugged. “He must look like someone I know. You know how that is.” I’d always called it “the familiars.”

  “I do.”

  “Did you hear how he called her ‘partner?’ ” Joaquín nodded. “What do you think that was about?” I took a glass from a shelf and polished it, even though it looked perfectly fine.

  “I did and I don’t know. But I don’t like it.”

  Neither did I. Not one bit.

  * * *

  By six I was just about dead on my feet. Vivi hadn’t returned and the crowd from the afternoon had thinned. Oddly enough, none of the heritage business owners ever showed up. Most days at least one of them wandered in here. I wondered if they were gathered together somewhere else.

  “Go on home,” Joaquín said. “I can handle this place blindfolded.”

  “And one arm tied behind your back?”

  “Both. If things pick back up, I’ll call Michael and ask him to run down here to help.” Joaquín and Michael lived on a boat not too far from where Rip’s boat was docked. Joaquín’s fishing boat was in the slip next to the one they lived on.

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “You’re not even going to argue with me? You must be tired.”

  “If you hear from Vivi, please let me know.”

  “Will do. Now, get out of here. I’m sick of seeing you already.” Joaquín winked to show he was joking.

  I gave him a hug, but instead of driving home I decided to call the reporter, as Ann had suggested last night. Before I did I decided to do a little research.

  The reporter’s profile on the station’s website said her name was Mary Moore. I wondered if her middle name was Tyler. Mary was all over social media sites, but the more I scrolled through her posts, the more I realized there wasn’t anything about her personal life.

  According to her bio, she graduated from University of Florida a couple of years ago. It was pretty impressive that she was already on TV. I’d watched some clips of her on air. Mary had a natural charm and sincerity that made me think she’d be moving to a bigger market station soon. I sent her a DM through social media asking to meet off the record and didn’t mention why I wanted to talk to her.

  I heard back right away. We decided to meet at the Crab Trap in Destin. It was a beach restaurant, but also had lots of picnic tables, restrooms, and showers to rinse off sand for the public to use. There was plenty of parking and, even better, it was unlikely that anyone from Emerald Cove would see us there.

  Thirty minutes later I sat at one of the picnic tables on the far west side of the Crab Trap. The air was warm, the beach expansive, and the water dazzled. Mary pulled up in a television van, with someone I assumed was a cameraman in the driver’s seat. I stood as she approached.

  “I said off the record.”

  “We’re on our way to cover another story.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Mary Moore.”

  She might be on the way to cover another story, but I’d bet anything she hoped I’d talk on camera. “As in Mary Tyler Moore?”

  Mary smiled a perky on-camera smile. “My parents were big fans.”

  “You must get sick of that question.”

  She did a self-deprecating shrug. “I’m used to it. So, Chloe, I’d love to hear about what happened when you were swept out to sea.”

  I’m sure you would. “I would love to see any footage you shot of my return.” I’d watched the brief clip on the news but was sure they’d shot more than they showed. I also didn’t want to tell her why I wanted to see it—so I could identify my rescuer and ask him who he’d called. Unfortunately, Mary had excellent radar and perked up.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Because it feels intrusive that you have footage of me at a very vulnerable time in my life that I didn’t give you permission to film.” I had honed my lying skills on hundreds of small children who asked questions I wouldn’t answer truthfully, from Do you believe in Santa Claus? to Where do babies come from?

  Mary’s eyes narrowed for the briefest of seconds. Sadly, she didn’t seem to buy what I was trying to sell her. Just my luck that she was an astute reader of people instead of the vapid blond teleprompter reader I was hoping she’d be.

  “I can give you a copy of what was on TV, but not the additional footage.”

  “Why not?”

  She gave me an earnest look that I didn’t think was put on.

  “It’s just not done. It’s the property of the studio. We don’t give unused footage to anyone.”

  “If you help me out, maybe I’ll go on record.” I wouldn’t.

  She laughed. “Maybe if you go on record, I’ll show you the footage.”

  “It looks like we’re at a standoff,” I said.

  “Why don’t you tell me why you really want it?” Mary thought for a moment, then snapped her fingers. “It’s the man who drove the boat. You don’t know who he is.”

  “Of course I do.” I shook my head, like how could you be so wrong? “As I explained,” I used my patient voice, “that was a very vulnerable moment for me. I don’t want it to be used.” Did that sound like a threat? Like I’d sue the station? I hoped it did.

  “Who is he?” she asked.

  “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

  She looked me straight in the eye and nodded. Though the nod wasn’t one of agreement, but one that looked like Mary was thinking there’s-a-story-to-pursue. None of this was going as planned, so I would have to change direction. Sometimes honesty really was the best policy, just not as often as people would like to think.

  “Would you be willing to meet me halfway?” I asked, not knowing if I could trust her.

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “You let me see more of the footage and I’ll tell you when I find my rescuer. He’d make a great human-interest story. Why was he out there? Why take time to help a stranger? The man’s a local hero.” I shut up before I laid it on too thick. I needed to pique her interest, not bash her over the head.

  “You’re going to a lot of trouble to find this man just to thank him. Why do you really want to find him?”

  Wow, she was a hard sell. “I just do.” Okay, fine. I’d give her a partially honest answer. “He saved me. He’s just some guy who went out of his way to help a stranger. I want to thank him. I was too flustered to do it in the moment, and it’s been bothering me.”

  She took some time to mull this over. “Okay, I agree to your terms with a stipulation.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t meet with him without me. I want to get it on camera. And if I find him first, I’ll let you know who he is and arrange a meeting we can film. Everyone loves a good reunion story.”

  “
They do.” I didn’t exactly agree to her terms, but I’m guessing she was savvy enough to pick up on that.

  She looked at me with a thoughtful expression on her face. “I can help you find him, Chloe. If you go on camera, you’ll have people all across the Panhandle searching for the man and his boat. It will be a lot faster than you asking one person at a time if they know him. Here’s my card. Call me if you change your mind.”

  I took the card and watched her walk away. She had a point.

  * * *

  As I drove up my long driveway, I noticed a black car parked near my house. At first I thought it was Rip, but realized it wasn’t a convertible or a BMW. It was a Cadillac with Texas plates. I wasn’t expecting anyone. A man swung around the corner of the house, then. I gripped the wheel. It was the man from the bar. It hit me why he looked familiar because he looked like Boone. He must have been Boone’s mysterious father.

  CHAPTER 14

  No wonder Vivi had reacted the way she had. Boone would never talk about his dad except to say that he’d never been in his life and that he wasn’t even listed on his birth certificate. I didn’t bug him about it because the look of pain on his face the few times I’d brought it up made my heart hurt.

  I pulled up and parked to the side of the house. My Beetle looked tiny next to the Cadillac. It took me a moment to gather my purse because I wasn’t ready to confront this man and find out what he was doing here. He smiled and waved, so I climbed out of the car while wondering if I should back down my driveway and leave.

  “Hey there, you’re the little gal who was at the Sea Glass this afternoon. Feisty little thing, aren’t you?”

  I’d like to feisty him right into next year. I put on a smile. “Yes. I am the feisty little gal.”

  “Now, don’t take any offense,” he said with a charming smile.

  The smile was so similar to Boone’s, it almost knocked me backward. But Boone had had dark-brown eyes and a broader build than this man. Boone’s features tended toward Vivi’s side of the family from the pictures I’d seen of his grandfather and uncles.

  “May I help you?” I asked.

  “I have lost all my manners. I’m Steve Kincheloe.”

  He stuck out his hand as he strode toward me. We shook. I wasn’t about to say “Nice to meet you” because I had a very empty feeling in my stomach. And for once it wasn’t hunger.

  “Chloe Jackson. You’re Boone’s father.”

  “Aren’t you a smart little thing too.”

  I wasn’t normally a violent person, but this guy made me want to punch something. Probably him. I arranged my face in my go-to, neutral librarian expression as my brothers had called it. A hint of friendliness mixed with a pinch of don’t-push-me warning. Boone might have looked a bit like this man, but from my brief observations, that was the only thing they shared.

  “I was thinking of knocking the place down and building something grander.” He gestured toward Boone’s house. My house.

  “Pardon me?”

  “I grew up in one of those tiny, concrete block houses with five siblings.” He gave a dramatic shudder. “No way I’d live in one again.”

  “It’s not for sale.” The house was part of Boone, but even if it wasn’t, I would never consider knocking it down. I’d come to love it in the months I’d lived here over the summer. We had a small tropical storm in late August. The house held steady and didn’t even shake in the wind.

  He looked at me like he pitied me. “Of course it’s not for sale. Boone left the place to me, along with his boat and half the Sea Glass.” Steve took a step closer to me.

  “Boone would never do that.” I held my ground as I had in the Sea Glass, even though inside I was wavering more than the sea oats in a stiff breeze. “You were nothing to him. A sperm donor at best. A negligent, absent father at worst. He left everything to me.” I almost clapped my hands to my mouth. I wasn’t usually mean.

  Steve didn’t look surprised. It was like he already knew. He flicked out his hand, as if he was flicking my comment away. “We’ll see about that, missy. I have a will.”

  Did he really? “So do I.”

  “Boone had a chance to rethink things over in Afghanistan. He rewrote his will and I’m here to claim what’s mine.” He stepped around me—close enough that he almost touched me, but far enough away that I couldn’t file a police report like I wanted to. For what I don’t know. I don’t think you can file one when someone is a jerk. I watched, arms crossed, as he drove off. When Steve was out of sight I went into my house. I walked through it out onto the porch and collapsed on the wicker loveseat. What should I do now? I had to do something.

  * * *

  Rip showed up forty-five minutes later, a bottle of red wine in his hand. He couldn’t have been more surprised when I’d called and asked him to come. I’d debated who to call. Vivi? Joaquín? I needed to talk to someone who didn’t have a stake in what Steve had told me. And wouldn’t run to Vivi with the news once they heard it. My hands had shaken as I made the Bolognese sauce and pasta. The Caesar salad came from a bagged mix. I’d put butter out to soften for the baguette I’d bought yesterday.

  Rip’s smile disappeared when he took one look at my face. “You’re pale. Do you need to sit?”

  “Probably.” My voice wobbled a little in a way I wished it wouldn’t have. “Help me carry all this out to the porch.” We needed to eat no matter my predicament. It took us a couple of trips to get everything out on the porch and onto the coffee table. “Let’s eat. Then talk.”

  Rip nodded his agreement, but a little line formed between his brows. He wore a light-blue T-shirt and tan shorts. His forearms and legs tan from his months of boating. Our conversation centered around “Would you like some Parmesan?” “More wine?” and “This is good.”

  “Has your nickname caught on, or did you manage to squelch it?” I asked.

  “That bit of information spread through town faster than a wildfire. When I stopped in Russo’s to buy wine, everyone was calling me Rip.”

  “It suits you.”

  “My grandmother doesn’t think so. She called.”

  I’ll bet that was one heck of a conversation. When I was sure Rip was full I set down my fork on my plate and patted my mouth with my napkin, hoping there wasn’t a stray bit of lettuce or pepper in my teeth.

  I tucked myself in the corner of the love seat we’d shared during dinner. Our legs so close that I could feel the heat of his body. Rip stretched an arm along the back of the love seat and leaned into the other corner. He put an ankle on his knee.

  “How was your day?” I asked.

  “Other than my new nickname, it was good. We did a controlled burn of some forest over near the bay.”

  “I’m surprised you can still do that.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what has you pale and cooking dinner for me?”

  I started with Steve showing up in the bar and Vivi’s reaction. How I’d come home, found him here, and recognized who he was.

  “Boone’s dad?” he asked. “You’re sure?” Rip ran his hand across the back of his neck for a moment.

  “There’s a resemblance.” Later I would ask him what he knew about Steve, but for now I’d stick to my story. Then I blurted out the rest, almost without taking a breath.

  “Does he have a will?”

  “I don’t know. He left before my brain could catch up enough to ask him sensible questions.” I looked down and realized my hands were clasped together. “Do you think it’s true?” I looked around the porch before looking at Rip. I didn’t want to move. I was already spoiled by the luxury of being on the beach. Of being able to run on it, watch it, hear it, smell the salty air, carry a paddleboard or kayak down to it with ease. Without Boone leaving the place to me, I could never have afforded this.

  Rip’s face was serious. “It’s hard to believe. I think Steve only showed up here a few times during Boone’s childhood. Usually long enough to stir up trouble and ill will. I suspect Vivi paid him to go
away again. Maybe that’s what he’s after now.”

  Rip and Boone had gone to school together. “You’re right. Boone would never do that to Vivi. Never.” Would he? Was he hoping to reconcile with his father? Maybe deploying to Afghanistan had changed his perspective on life more than I had realized. More than he ever said. “Should I contact a lawyer?”

  “You should definitely get hold of the lawyer in Chicago and let him know what has happened.”

  I stood up. “Thank you for coming.”

  Rip stood up too. “Anytime. I’ll help you clean up.”

  We carried the food and plates back into the kitchen. “I’ll worry about the dishes later,” I said after I put the leftover food away. “I need to go see Vivi. I need to get to her before Steve does.” Vivi couldn’t hear this news from him. “She was livid when she found out Boone left so much to me. I can’t imagine how this is going to go over.”

  “Do you want me to go with you?”

  It was a lovely offer. A heart-softening offer. I gave him a little smile. “You probably aren’t the best candidate to go with me. But I appreciate it.”

  “I kind of figured that was what you’d say.” Rip walked over to the door, opened it, and paused. “This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I mentioned having dinner together, but thanks for having me. Thanks for trusting me.”

  “Thanks for coming.” I stared at the door for a few moments after he left.

  CHAPTER 15

  Vivi’s face was pale after I told her the news. It made her look older than normal. We sat across from each other in matching love seats. A low coffee table between us. Vivi wore an ankle-length sundress in pale pink with a white sweater over it, her feet in gold sandals with nails painted the same shade as the dress. Her lipstick a shade darker. I was still in my work T-shirt, shorts, and flats. I always felt like a mess around Vivi.