Home is a Long Time Ago

by William F Lee

  "Okay, I guess. Eight. Come casual."

  "How casual. Are we going to skinny dip?"

  "Oh, Jesus. It just keeps comin'." He shakes his head. "You know? You saw? Wait a minute, you're not one of the--"

  "Oh my God, yes. Should have kept my big Irish mouth shut."

  "No harm, no foul, but Barto is going to croak when all this is out in the open. And, no, we won't be going skinny dipping."

  "Tis a shame, Laddie, for I'm even better in the water." She laughs quietly with an old fashioned Irish lassie's coy smile. Then seriously, "Okay, see you at eight." She leaps to her feet. A smile on her face. And, she gives him a peck on the cheek, turns and leaves. Head up, skirt swishing like an Irish lass, sashaying across a meadow, only this being through the boat, leaping off the stern, and through the parking lot to her car.

  Sean follows behind her to the stern. From there he watches her to the car. Waves when she's inside. She waves, arm outside the car window. He turns and goes inside, head shaking, but a broad grin on his face.

  Mutters, "A father. A dad."

  Pauses. Then louder, "Hot damn."

  T'was Grace that taught...

  my heart to fear,

  And Grace, my fears relieved.

  How precious did that Grace appear...

  the hour I first believed.

  John Newton

  CHAPTER 31

  Five past the hour of noon, Sean leaves Gallagher's and strolls to his boat. He sees Rachael's car in the parking lot, and since she wasn't in the restaurant he assumes she is waiting on board, perhaps ready to pounce. Gut feel, he could always smell an ambush. Don't know if I'm ready for this just yet. He hops aboard, mutters. "Ready or not."

  Sean hustles topside, steps into the master suite and sees Rachael sitting in a chair on the outer deck. He says, "Hi there." Gets no answer. She spins the chair around facing him. Sean tries again, "Hi, good afternoon. Wasn't expecting you but glad you're here. Want some lunch?"

  "I would guess you weren't expecting me."

  "What's that mean?"

  She holds up a pair of green high heel shoes, dangling by their insteps between her outstretched thumb and index finger. "These."

  He's startled for a moment, then immediately reflective. The morning's activities flash across his brain housing group. The flickering images stop with shoes beneath the coffee table, and then fast forward to a barefooted Grace striding across the parking lot looking like Maureen O'Hara in The Quiet Man. He says aloud, "I was wondering what was wrong with that picture."

  "What picture?"

  "Well, I had a surprise visitor this morning. Colt's mother showed up here when I was having breakfast. We adjourned to the salon area to talk. I guess she left her shoes here. Must have forgotten them."

  "Sean, how does a woman forget her shoes? It would seem that somewhere between here and her car, assuming she drove here and didn't come on her broom, she would notice them not on her feet."

  His tone changes. "That's ugly. In fact nasty. But, yeah, you'd think, but she didn't. In her defense, it was a pretty animated conversation we had."

  "About what? And, don't I get a kiss... a hug... something?

  He comes up to her. They hug, but force smiles at one another and perform a perfunctory kiss, Sean hoping this conversation isn't going to continue. They release one another and he takes the shoes from her hand, sets them on the table. The releasing of the shoes does not play the role of a deterrent. In fact, by the look on her face, the shoes in plain sight on the table acts as kindling for Rachael's fire. Belatedly realizing this, Sean snatches them from the table and tosses them across the room onto the bed in the master suite. Neither act snuffs the flames.

  "And just what was Mrs. Callahan so animated about? Something you said? Perhaps, did? What, pray tell?"

  "Rach, you're back to those multiple questions again. It's easy to explain."

  "Right now, Sean, I don't care about my questioning technique or personality quirks. And I for sure don't want to hear one of your abbreviated responses. What the hell is going on?"

  Sean looks at her. Pauses for several moments. "Rachael, I came up here for lunch. I asked you if you wanted to join me. Let's deal with that first. Would you like some lunch? I'm going to have a sandwich and a cold beer. You?"

  "I'll have the same, and some answers."

  Sean turns and heads to the galley without saying a word. Rachael's eyes follow him from the deck area and inside until he disappears through the hatch.

  Below, in the galley, Sean hastily prepares two tuna sandwiches on plates, places a sliced dill on each and piles of potato chips as well. Opens two Buds, and returns with all on a tray. Her eyes fixed on the spot where he left, pick him up upon his return and follow him like a tracer rounds trailing a running man across a rice paddy. He sets the tray on the dining table.

  Rachael says, "Thank you." Takes a small bite of the sandwich, more like a nibble, chews, swallows and says, "Now then, the shoes and Mrs. Callahan."

  "Well, Rachael, it's a long story and now may not be the time to go into everything. Suffice it to say, we had a long discussion regarding Colt and decided to leave the remainder of the discussion to another time. That's about it. And, I guess she just forgot her shoes in her haste to leave." He takes a bite of his sandwich, chews, swallows and then downs a good long slug of his beer. Then another bite. As he pushes a bit of the escaping Chicken of the Sea back in his mouth, he mutters, "Good, huh?"

  While he chews, Rachael says, "Baloney. Tell me what's going on here. I'm at a critical point in my life, and I don't need some Mickey Mouse statue of liberty play from the former Harvey Cedars starting quarterback. Besides the obvious resemblance, have you noticed that besides looking like twins, you and Colt are both left-handed?"

  "Rachael, slow down. You look and sound like a person that's spoiling for a fight. What's in truth the issue here? In your mind?"

  "In my mind? IN MY MIND. I'll tell you what it is. The issue is two-fold. Where are we in our relationship, and what is this woman to you? You've known her before, haven't you? And don't you dare caution me about my multiple questions again."

  "Okay, I won't. The answers are, in order. I don't know, but it seems to have been going downhill lately. She's an old friend, so yes, I've known her before. Now then--"

  "You son of a bitch." She stands, starts to say something, and stops. Her face is scarlet colored, fists clenched, and breathing heavily she shouts, "You . . . you . . . oh, I . . . I hate you." She storms out through the master suite with long, hurried strides. She's muttering angrily as she goes. Stops at the bed. Picks up Grace's shoes and throws them at Sean. Missing, one shoe to each side of his head. She spins toward the entry, leaves sobbing uncontrollably.

  "Rach, you shouldn't leave like this. We should . . ." his voice trails off. He goes to the rail overlooking the lower deck. When she reappears on the aft deck he shouts, "Rach, don't run off like this. We need to talk."

  She stops, looks up, still sobbing. She tries to speak. Can't. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she turns, goes ashore and strides purposefully towards her Beamer. Audibly sobbing and mumbling aloud.

  Sean's eyes follow her to the car. Staring after her, shaking his head. He takes in a deep breath. This is my day for screwing things up. A real cluster . . . .

  * * *

  Grace, or Holli, she isn't sure which at the moment, or how she is going to handle what name to use, but for now, it has to be Holli. Except with Sean. When we're alone. She swishes into her office building, humming an old but familiar Irish tune, When You Were Sweet Sixteen. Ellie, her secretary, astounded by Holli's flamboyant return to the office, is also taken aback by the loud humming, and astonished by her barefooted entry says, "Good Morning, Mrs. Callahan. I think you forgot your shoes this morning." And giggles.

  "Oh, no. Didn't forget them at all, Ellie. Had 'em on when I left home. They're serving a better purpose at the moment." She hums another bar or so, then says, "Ellie, do you recogn
ize the tune?"

  "Yes, I think. Sweet Sixteen or something like that."

  "Exactly. Do you know the words?"

  "No, ma'am. Should I?"

  Holli smiles, "Oh, I don't know whether you should or not, but they're beautiful. The last two lines of the first verse go like this." Holli, with absolute joy spilling out of her eyes and into her voice, softly sings, "And even though we've drifted far apart, I never dream, but what I dream of thee." She pauses, grins, "Aren't they? Beautiful, I mean?"

  "Yes, ma'am. But I think you might consider wearing shoes in the office. I see Mister Barto coming over. He has an appointment with you to discuss the upcoming Chamber meeting."

  "Oh, yes. Right. Let's see. I have a pair of sandals in my office. Give me a few minutes before you show him in. Entertain him. Should be easy for you." Holli smiles at her own humor then quickly stops grinning and dons a sad face. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded." Shrugs. Smiles again. "Oh, I feel wonderful this morning." She walks into her office, closes the door behind her, puts her briefcase down on the desk and opens the bottom drawer hoping her sandals are still sitting in there. They were last week.

  * * *

  The meeting with Chuck Barto is over as well as the later ones with three clients that want to renew leases for the following summer. Holli sits back, sipping a glass of iced tea. Her mind going over the morning meeting with Sean and drifting towards the dinner tonight. Wondering what direction it will take. And finally, more seriously, thoughts on how she will approach Colt and what to say. She is brought back to the moment by Ellie's voice on the intercom.

  "Mrs. Callahan, Ms. Rachael Waters is here to see you."

  Holli lurches forward, nearly spilling the iced tea. She looks around her office quickly as if there were something to do or remove. Then calming, she reflects for a second. Mutters, "She found 'em," and starts giggling like a malicious school girl. Then abruptly stops, calms herself, and takes on a solemn and poised manner. "Have her come in, Ellie." Holli gets up, steps around her desk to the door as Ellie opens it.

  Ellie says, "Miss Wa--"

  "She knows who I am," Rachael interrupts and seats herself in one of the two chairs in front of Holli's desk.

  Holli says with a jaded tone, "Make yourself at home. What can I do for you, Miss Waters?" and sits behind her desk.

  "Look, I'm not one for beating around the bush. I went to see Sean early this afternoon and found something you left behind."

  "Oh, they're mine. Yes, my shoes. I guess I forgot them. I had a morning business meeting with Mister Gallagher. It was thoughtful of you to bring them along."

  "You normally take off your shoes at business meetings?"

  "No, but they were bothering me, and I slipped out of them."

  "Anything else?"

  Holli's face flushes. She feels the heat climbing. If the circumstances were other than they are, if her mind set were different and if she chose to, Holli would be on her feet. Irish temper flaring and maybe slug this woman. However, since her mood was unusual and she was feeling mischievous she allows herself to cool, smiles, "I don't think so. No," and she tugs at her skirt and looks down at her legs. Continues with a questioning tone, "Let me think. No, I didn't wear hose this morning. At least I don't believe I did. I could have . . . no . . . no." She scampers around the corner of her desk, and sits, smiles again. "Perhaps I did. Were you so kind as to bring them with you?"

  "What? The hose or the shoes? No, I didn't." Rachael takes in a deep breath. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for . . . let me--"

  "Sure was. Now, what is truly on your mind?"

  "I would like to know how long you have known Sean?"

  Holli leans forward, places both her arms on the desk with her hands clasped together and looks directly into Rachael's eyes. Clears her throat. "Rachael, I don't think that's what this is about. However, if it is, I don't believe it's any of your business, but I'm going to answer the question anyway. Sean and I first met some, ohhhh, eighteen years ago. We go a long way back. Nothing went on this morning other than a meeting between two old friends, one the mother of the boy working on fishing boats, and directly for the owner of one of them. My feet got tired from walking in those heels, which I don't wear often, so I slipped them off and left them when I came back to my office. And I didn't slip anything else off. That comment was rude, catty and uncalled for. So, what is the burr that's up . . . under your saddle?"

  Rachael takes another deep breath. Feels the heat residing, but not much. She composes herself, trying to contain her anger but still hisses, "I caught that little Freudian slip. I'm simply trying to figure out where Sean and I stand. I thought we had something going."

  "Rachael, that's between you and Mister Gallagher. I have nothing to do about that."

  "Bull-pucky, Mrs. Callahan. You have everything to do with it, as does your boy, Colt. A blind person can see the resemblance. Actually more than a mere similarity."

  "Rachael." Holli's eyes narrow, "Miss Waters, so what? And if I were you, I'd be real careful what you say from this point on. Your relationship with Mister Gallagher is your business. Between the two of you. You leave my son out of this, lady. Colt is not involved. If I'm involved, that's my business. You take care of your business, and only your business, Missy. I'm goin' to take care of mine. Now unless you have something new to discuss, you're free to go . . . 'cause I'm leaving. I have an engagement this evening and intend to be lookin' . . . as a friend once said, T U F F, tuff. Bye." Holli gets up, snaps up her briefcase and leaves, saying, "Good afternoon, Ellie. Lock up after Miss Waters leaves." Reaches down, slips off her sandals, drops them on her desk, leaves barefoot singing the same tune as when she entered earlier in the day. "When I first saw the love-light in your eyes, I thought the world held naught but joy for me . . ." If not the words, the tune is well known.

  Rachael is on her feet, hands on her hips, glaring at Holli as she leaves. Hears the words, snarls, "You're not near sweet enough and a long way from sixteen, sweetheart."

  Ellie watches in shock as Rachael barges past. Ellie hums a few phrases herself, and calls after Rachael, "She's been acting kind of silly all day. Can't figure it out."

  "I can, but then I found her shoes." Rachael shouts over her shoulder just as Chuck Barto brushes by her on his way in to meet Ellie.

  "What the hell was that all about, and what the devil is Holli doing on that red-hot pavement without shoes?"

  "I'm not sure, Chuck, but I think there is an old, old saying about it and the fan. Let's get out of the line of fire and go have a drink on your boat . . . and perhaps we should go skinny-dipping."

  * * *

  Sean watches as Pete's boat slowly makes its way from the channel to the dock. He climbs down from the flying bridge and steps off onto the dock, and ambles over to the newly crowned "Fox Sea Lady's" slip.

  He stands, watching her ease in, stern first. Pete waving. Colton and Robert on the stern with the lines.

  This isn't goin' to be fun.

  CHAPTER 32

  Pete waves from the flying bridge as he backs the Fox Sea Lady into her slip. Sean returns the wave, signals as he shouts, "Pete, I'm comin' aboard." The old man nods his approval along with a huge grin. Sean adds, "I'll come up there, and I have a couple of cold Buds with me." He holds up the two cold bottles of beer. Pete signals a thumbs up as his grin becomes wider.

  Robert and Colt tie off the boat. Then hurry to her port side and help the customers debark. It's apparent it was a good day. The fishermen are all smiling and are laden-down with their catches. Pete is flying his "Blues" flag along with the "Kingfish" flag clearly indicating he fished both in the bay and on the ocean. Catching the Kings is always great sport, and takes a lot of extra effort for Pete and the two boys to ensure all get to hook at least one. It's obvious to Sean that was the case today.

  Sean looks at Colton, says, "Young man, your mom called. She can't get here to pick you up. Take my truck and bring it back in the morning when you come to w
ork." He throws the keys to Colt who snags them with his left hand. That settles that issue.

  "Thanks, Mister Gallagher." Colt starts to take a step toward the parking lot, stops, turns back, and with a confused look asks, "My mom spoke to you?"

  "Yes. Is that a problem?"

  "Guess not. I thought there was, at least she acted as if there was a problem. You know, like she didn't like you one bit."

  "Well, I grow on people. Run along, and be careful with my pick-up. And don't go running around town. Straight home, and back in the morning, hear?"

  "Yes, sir," and Colt grins, mocks a salute and jogs to the truck.

  Robert heads for his bike, now kept locked in the bike rack at the restaurant. The bike racks were Anna's idea to attract everyone, hikers, bikers, and auto bound folks along with a relaxed dress code in "Pete's Mooring", the bar and grill portion of the restaurant.

  Sean jumps aboard, climbs up to the flying bridge, and takes one last look at Colt striding toward the pick-up, gulping his soft drink. Sean mutters, "He's a dead-ringer for sure."

  "What's that?" says Pete who is slumped in his Captain's chair.

  "Aw, nothin'. Getting like you, ol' man, mumbling to myself."

  "That's not all bad. Oh boy, did we have a day or what. More blues than I could count and at least two king for everyone on board. And some big ones too. Story tellin' big."

  "That's great, Pete. Great." Sean sits on a couch-like seat that wraps around a portion of the bridge. Let's out a long sigh.

  Pete, not slow by any means, says, "What's up, Sean? Looks like somethin's diggin' at you?"

  "It is, Pete. Now, first, just listen until I'm done. No interruptions. Okay? Promise?"

  The old man stares at Sean for a few moments, then says, "This must be something important. Or bad?"

  "It's some of both."