"What's that mean?"
"Essentially, it means, come on, try it, it won't hurt you."
"Oh, Rachael, in a way I wish I could but I can't. Earlier, maybe. Now, just can't. I'm here and I have things I need to find out. Good or bad. Just have to. Rach, I'm home."
Rachael stands, leaves her drink unfinished. Tears well up in her eyes. She takes in a deep breath. "Sean Gallagher, I should have never let you leave New York. Should have taken you to Paris with me."
"Yeah, that might have done it, but not now."
"But, I didn't . . . damn. Give me a hug. I'm going. Home. Before I make a total fool of myself, if I haven't already." Her sobbing becomes louder. "To Paris." She covers her eyes and mouth with both hands trying to control her weeping.
Sean gets off the stool, steps toward her and they hug. Rachael clasps him tightly, the two swaying to and fro for more than several moments. Finally she begins to calm, quiet herself. She whispers, "Avec le temps, ca s'arrangera." Steps back, says, "Don't ask. It means things will sort themselves out in time."
"You're right. They will. Had I gone to Paris this might not have happened and I wouldn't know what I now know."
"I understand. I do. And the boy. If you wouldn't have seen him. Nor I." She draws in a deep breath, "Don't say anything else. Just walk me to the car." The tears continue to come. The weeping, although not as audible, persists.
Sean walks to the parking lot with her. They hug at the car, neither says a word. The tears have stopped, only reddened misty eyes remain. She is into the Beamer, desolately looks at him again, and drives off.
He watches until she is out of the lot and on the road north. Mutters, "Hell, the car doesn't fit here, and nor does she. They both belong in Paris." He pauses, looks around and inhales deeply allowing the smell of the salt air and the marshes to seep into his soul. Says aloud, "I belong here. This is home." He strides back to the boat to prepare, to clear his mind, for Grace's visit. After three or four steps, he hears a horn honking. Stops, looks over his shoulder and sees Grace pulling in and parking in the slot where he regularly parks his pick-up. He hurries over and opens the car door for her. She springs out and although wearing the same skirt and blouse as this morning looks as fresh as a new day.
She says, "Hi. Just saw Rachael go roaring by. Is everything okay?"
"Yep. Everything is fine. Just fine. And you?"
She leans forward and up, gives him a peck on the lips, says, "Yep, just fine. How about that drink? And my shoes?"
He laughs, "Yeah, the shoes. I wonder--"
"Do."
"Do what?"
"Wonder." She mocks a coy smile and adds, "I'm just an Irish lass after all." She bats her eyes and laughs. "Let's go. We have a lot to talk about." She takes his hand in hers, gives a slight tug, and they stroll toward the boat. She says, "Maybe the name needs to be changed."
"The name? What name?" He pauses, then, "Oh, the boat. The Wanderer."
"Yep. Perhaps you won't need to wander, or wonder. C'mon."
CHAPTER 34
At the boat, Sean helps Grace aboard and says, "It's still early. Have you eaten?"
"No, I haven't."
"How's this for an idea. Let's take her out in the bay. Away from here and the possibility that we'll be spotted."
She smiles. "You're either trying to trap me on board, helpless at sea, or you're ashamed of being seen with a hot tempered Irish lass. Which is it?"
For a second Sean is puzzled then he realizes she's teasing. He responds, "Helpless? I don't think so. Ashamed? Never. You were the--"
"Please don't say I was the pick of that gaggle of girls at the club. I picked you if you remember correctly."
"Yeah, you did. I should know better than try to match quips with you."
"It's good we can tease. Under the circumstances."
"It is. Okay, how about we go down bay, away from town. I'll anchor up and fix something for dinner. I can do burgers pretty quick and easy. Throw in some chips. Pickles. We can talk on the way, and at dinner. We can have a drink on the bridge. Game for that?"
Grace smiles, eyes twinkling with Irish sassiness. "Yeah, I'm game for that. Burgers and chips. That's about all we could afford when we first met. Not a better way to start again."
"Start again?"
"Just a turn of a phrase."
"Well, yeah. Right."
"Sean, you go cast off. Get this floating boudoir moving. You tell me where you hide the booze, and what you want, and I'll mix the drinks and meet you up there." She points to the bridge.
"Everything you need is in or on the cabinet in the suite. Ice is already in the bucket. I'll have a Bourbon and Seven. Seven is in the small fridge under the bar. You can choose whatever of the scotches you like. Just be careful coming up. We'll be moving."
"I can handle that." She gazes at him for a second, then gives him a peck on the lips. "Hi, good to see you again," and disappears inside. Sean steps off; releases the lines and throws them aboard, then jumps back aboard, and goes to the bridge. He cranks up the engines and the Matthew's diesels roar to life with that deep, throaty sound that rumbles from the exhaust pipes near the waterline. A little plume of bluish white smoke belches from the stern and drifts dockside and up into the dampish evening air. He eases her out of the slip, turns almost on a dime by reversing one prop and forward with the other, then pushes the throttles to forward together and creeps toward the channel. Before the boat reaches the channel buoys, Grace appears on the bridge with two drinks in one hand, the other hand grasping the air for balance. He reaches back from the helm and steadies her.
She looks at Sean, "Made it. Where do you want me?"
Sean grins, then chuckles. Before he can reply in any manner, Grace says, "Don't you dare. I remember a lot of things about you and that's one of them. Your sexual innuendos." She laughs.
Sean still grinning says, "In that chair," pointing to one he's pulled up next to the Captain's chair. "I'm going to head south, anchor up in Turtle Cove . . . close to the Jersey shore. But not close enough to battle the skeeters."
She sits as he turns to port and heads south at slightly more than idle speed. Hardly making a wake. They sip and rehash their conversation of this morning. Then the exchange drifts to talking about their afternoons. Sean laughs at her description of the office encounter and the reaction of Ellie to her bare feet, and everyone's reaction to the exit. Grace says, "It looks like I unintentionally set off some fireworks today."
"Well, maybe. I don't believe the shoes were unintentional but it sure began my afternoon. Anyway, this whole thing was set to blowup. A lot of factors influencing it and the timing. A lot of fuses burning."
"Yes, I suppose. More often than not my conduct and Colt's likeness to you . . . and perhaps Rachael's intuition."
"Yep, they were fuses for sure. But, the detonator would have been the wedding if nothing happened beforehand. And that would have been a shame. The only other factor was time. In time, it would have come to light. Maybe too late."
Grace looks pensive as she gazes out over the bow. Without turning to look at him she says, "I guess, but we were the two most volatile fuses. Always were. Well, it's damage control time now."
He stands. "We're here, at damage control and Turtle Cove. I'm going to take her in a bit more, than go anchor up. After that I'll start the burgers."
"Can I help?"
"Yeah, with the chips, table and stuff for the burgers. You know where the galley is . . . it's where you made my day."
"That was only the first act. You should have been at my office afterwards. But yes, I know where it is. Let's get a move on. I'm hungrier than an Irish barmaid after a good stretch of the legs across the heather . . . or something."
For the burgers Sean uses the small charcoal grill attached to the rail at the suite level. Grace sets the table and brings out the bottle of red wine he had gotten out of the rack. All is done, nothing fancy. Cheeseburgers, with bacon, tomatoes, lettuce and a slice of onion. P
ickles on the side. The burgers smell tantalizing coming off the grill, even with the breeze blowing the smoke inland.
After Grace fixes her burger, she looks at its size, eyes enlarging. "I don't think I can get my mouth around this."
"Yeah, you can. It's better when it's sloppy and goop is slipping out. Besides, no one can see us out here so we can be messy."
She takes a bite, and quickly uses her fingers to scoop up escaping tomato, onion, and catsup and shove the seepage into her mouth. Mouth full, she smiles, and muffles, "Good." Sean nods in agreement. They eat; enjoy the evening breeze and the view looking from the cove across the bay to Long Beach Island, the spit of land that is now home. In between bites and sips of wine, they talk of the years apart. Grace for the most part because Sean brushes over his years overseas, and he keeps Grace stimulated with questions about the boy and her success. Especially the boy.
Darkness creeps over the cove not quite without notice since it comes with dark clouds and rumbling of thunder in the distance. Far off a storm is brewing which sailors have known since the red skies this morning. And from the weather report which is not mythical and most of the time more accurate. Sean gets up, lights a few lanterns since the breeze is harsh on the candles. Grace continues to nurse her glass of wine. He pours himself another. The conversation is easy, the two of them relax, however each know that shortly it will become more problematical.
Finished eating, Grace excuses herself. Sean clears the dishes. When Grace reappears, she looks refreshed, make-up reapplied and she's shoeless once again. Sean grins, says. "Something about my boat that makes you want to go barefoot?"
"No, not really. Just getting comfortable. Besides, I go barefoot most of the time at home." She pauses. "Which reminds me, you haven't seen where Colt and I live, have you?"
"Nope. Hell, I couldn't get you to stay in the parking lot long enough to say hello, let alone wangle an invitation to dinner or to visit."
"Well, we'll have to resolve that real soon. Is it okay if we sit in here? Talk. About Colt."
"Sure. Actually, better. Some weather is comin'. Around dawn more than likely. Can I get you anything?"
"Maybe a smidgen of scotch for courage."
"Okay, but I doubt you need any courage. Seems to me you have more grit than anyone I've known."
"Thanks." She sits. He brings her a short scotch, plenty of ice and joins her on the large leather couch inside the suite. He's still sipping his second glass of wine from dinner. She half turns to face him. "I've wrestled with this all day. And," she takes more than a sip from her glass, "I believe I'll just tell Colt the truth. Ask him to just listen until I'm finished. And tell him the story . . . start to finish. Our story. And then, why I did what I did." She pauses, tears forming in her eyes, "And hope for the best. Then, take on his questions, or his reaction, or whatever follows. Oh, Sean. I love him so."
"I know you do, and I agree with you. No matter how difficult, the truth is always the best way. Not necessarily the easiest, but the best. Least ways it always seems to turn out that way. And the more we try to dress it up, the messier things get. He seems like a fine young man. He's smart, polite, and works hard. And anyone can tell he loves his mom. Good character I'd say. He'll handle it. And if not, you, we, will have to make it right." He watches her as she takes a small sip. Then he adds, "Are you sure you want to tackle this alone?"
"No, I'm not sure, but I believe it's the way to go about it. Me first, his mom, whom he's known forever . . . and lived a lie every day of it." She begins to tear-up. "Then after, if he wants . . . his real dad. Oh Good Lord, what have I done?"
"What you've done is one hell of a job raising a son without any help. No help from his father. It'll work out. Has to, and I'll do whatever you ask."
"You know, I've never lied to him . . . well, I've never . . . you know what I mean. And to my knowledge, he has never been anything but honest with me. He never even fibbed about little things. If he did something wrong, he'd fess up most of the time without being asked. He's always been concerned for me. It's like he knew, but more likely he's felt he had to be the man in the family. No father around. No husband. Not even a . . . a boyfriend, man friend, whatever." Her tears stop for the moment and she grins. "Do you know he's been telling me lately that I should be nice to you? I think he said, 'put a move on you.' Can you believe that?" She pauses and loses her grin. "He's been a teen worry wart. I'm just so apprehensive. . . no, I'm scared out of my mind. I've lived a lie and dragged him along. That alone is frightening. He's such a . . . a . . . I chopped down the cherry tree kid. He's so honest and sweet."
She begins crying again. Sobbing. Shaking her head. Then sniffles, "His mother. Been lying all these years." She exhales a long breath. Turns so she is facing Sean on the couch and tucks her legs up under herself. "Oh, Lord." Wipes away the tears. Exhales. "Phew. I'm sorry." Forces a smile and says, "Holli, suck it up, gal."
"You mean, Grace."
"Yeah, Grace. Right. Holli's part of the lie. Oh well. Now then, what are you going to say?"
"Well, the truth. What else. And my lame excuses for running out and not being there for you. For him."
"Sean, you didn't run out. We were young. You went off to some darn war that people don't remember anymore, and you didn't know you had a son."
"Grace, I ran out. Pure and simple. I loved you and I may have thought I was doing some honorable thing, but . . . I just wasn't thinking. Not mature enough, I guess. I should have stayed in touch. That way I would have known. And then I could have . . . manned up. Good Lord knows I loved you. My first love, and hell, possibly my only . . . well, I fu . . . screwed up big time. Anyway, I'll just tell him the truth and try to answer any questions he has. Then listen to him tell me what he thinks. What he expects. And ask him for his forgiveness, and hope he'll let me be a part of his life. From here on out."
She sighs. Then, struggling with her Gaelic, says, "Meallam muilte Is' go mall ach meallan siad go mion."
Sean frowns. Says, "Oh, wow . . . God's mill . . . ahhh . . . hang on a sec. I'll get it."
Grace doesn't and whispers, "God's mill may grind slowly but it grinds finely." She looks him in the eyes. "God will make this right. Won't He?"
"He will."
"I hope so. He's got a right to be angry at us. Genuinely angry."
"So does the boy."
"At both of us."
"Yeah, but I hope less with you. You're his mom. You've loved him all his life, and he knows that. Me, I'm a Johnny-come-lately. He'll be more than angry with me. I deprived him of a father. Me. Not a war. Me. Just didn't show up at reveille. But recall has been sounded now, so I get another chance."
"We dug a deep hole, didn't we, Sean?"
"Yep, but we'll play the hand Colt deals us. The one I dealt. I trust the boy, and I believe in you."
She takes another small sip, puts her glass on the coffee table, slides over close to him. Turns, rolls over on her back and lays her head in his lap, stretching out on the couch. Looks up, "Mind?"
"Not a bit," and gently strokes her hair, gazing down at her. After moments of silence, he says, "You know, you have alluring hair. I remember in the sunlight it . . . it took on a striking hue, like a sunset. And in the morning, a glow, like an aura around your head. And your eyes, they . . ." his voice trails off. He audibly lets out a breath, then goes on. "Whenever I would think of you over the years; and whatever prompted the thought, I could always visualize your misty grey eyes and your sun-kissed hair. Strange. Yet sometimes when . . ." and again his voice trails off. This time he doesn't continue; remains silent and strokes Grace's hair. Leans over and kisses her forehead.
Grace says nothing. She can't, tears have welled up in her eyes, and her mind has drifted back to their all too brief life together. They sit for a life time of moments. Silent. Each in their own world of supposing. Finally, Grace eases herself upright, looks at Sean, says, "We better get back. I have to do this tonight. I cannot go another minute without talking
to Colt." She stands.
Sean gets up. Says, "Okay, I'll go bring in the anchor and get this scow headed back to port. C'mon and join me on the bridge. The air will feel good."
"I'll be right up. Need to use the ladies . . . head. That's what it's called, isn't it?" She smiles and shrugs.
"Aye, it tis, lass."
* * *
When Sean gets the Wanderer to the marina and tied up, it's nearing eleven. The sky is blanketed with dark, angry clouds. The breeze has quickened and the smell of rain is in the air. The rumble of thunder is closer and the lightening is stretching its arms, searching for Harvey Cedars.
They stride quickly to Grace's car. "Are you sure you don't want me with you on this? Might make a difference."
"No, I'm not sure, but . . . I think it's best if I talk to him first, alone. Right now, he only knows you as his boss, and a no-nonsense one at that. No, I'll do it."
He opens the car door. They stand looking awkwardly at each other. She starts to turn to get into the car. Stops and faces him. "Sean, I loved you so. So much. Are we going to be able to recapture any of what we had?"
He puts his arms around her, pulls her close, nestles his nose in her hair. Whispers, "I hope so. I'm goin' to try . . . if you'll let me." He releases her.
Their eyes meet, hold the gaze, each looking into the other's soul. She whispers, "Oh, I'll let you. I want you back. In my life, our lives."
Sean squeezes her shoulders, "Go to him. Tell him straight out. It will work out. Has to." He gently urges her into the car. Closes the door. Takes a step back, and watches as she drives off.
As long as life endures
John Newton
CHAPTER 35
Grace pulls her car into the garage and sits for a moment building courage. She prays silently which is a key building block. More importantly it employs a partner. The best partner one can have. When she finishes she blesses herself and eases out of the car muttering, "The grace of God be with me." She pauses at the entry door, takes in a deep breath and enters her home. As she does she hears Colt shout, "Hi, Mom, I'm in here."
Home is a Long Time Ago Page 24