Reunion by the Sea

by Jo Leigh

  “An overachiever, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah. She was always smart. Which didn’t make life easy. Insatiably curious, she wanted to know how everything worked. Why the sky was blue, why there were waves, who lived on the moon.”

  Parker’s grin came easily. Meg had been that way too. “From what you’ve said, she hasn’t changed all that much.”

  “No. Although she’s more mature than most of her classmates, and she’s got the kind of discipline even my father could admire.”

  “How’s that possible? Meg was the most impatient child I’ve ever known. She wanted everything right away, no waiting for her. She could throw a tantrum like nobody’s business.”

  “Tilda was no angel either. But she was determined. She didn’t give up on anything, even when I wanted her to. Headstrong and bright, she was reading so far past her peers it was kind of scary. She loves books, loves learning. Loves numbers and computers. Honestly, she could be anything she set her mind to be.”

  Parker wasn’t enjoying this so much anymore. In fact, he wanted to tell her to stop. These were things his mother should have known, things Meg should have experienced. He liked Ginny, more than he should, but he wasn’t going to let her twist things so that she was the hero of this story.

  Just as she was telling him about Tilda’s first crush, the whole building shook. It stopped them both.

  He looked at his watch. “If we don’t go now, we might get stuck here.”

  “I don’t care,” Ginny murmured, turning to look out the window. Outside a large tree was bowing to the wind. “As long as we get to New York by tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  AS THEY WAITED for their check, a second gust of wind, fiercer than the last, shook the whole restaurant. Ginny held on to her glass, afraid it would topple. Parker had his cell in his hand, checking something—probably the storm’s progress. She’d been impressed by the storm mesh window coverings when they’d first come in, but now being able to see outside was too frightening.

  Glass shattered in the back of the restaurant, probably in the kitchen. It sounded like something big had broken.

  She could just make out the words that were leaking through the swinging doors, almost all curses. A man’s voice rose above the din. Ginny was pretty sure she knew the family who owned the restaurant through their son, Justin Whittaker. He’d gone to the local public school and sold fish at the open market with his grandmother on weekends.

  “I told you to board up those windows early!” a woman shouted. “Now look what’s happened. Cover the pots. Hurry. And get everything in the fridge before the wind turns.”

  “I’m not the one who was supposed to board the windows. I’m sixty-two years old. That’s why we hired that cousin of yours. Where the heck is he, anyway?”

  “Sounds like trouble brewing,” Parker said. “Might be more dangerous than the storm.”

  Ginny actually smiled. She had to hand it to him, despite how he had to feel about her, he’d remained civil. Oh, she wasn’t so foolish as to believe his anger and disappointment had disappeared. He was just good at setting his emotions aside for the greater good.

  Another gust felt like it might raise the roof, but the building stood—although the power failed.

  It was pitch-dark at the table, but Parker put on his cell phone flashlight and made it possible for them to see the waitress carrying a small LED camping lantern to their table and placing a larger one a few tables away—although Ginny thought she and Parker were the only two customers left.

  His cell light went off, and even with all the noise, the lantern made it feel a little cozy. Her thoughts slipped away from the oncoming doom as she wondered what it would have been like if the lanterns had been candles instead, and the dinner had been a romantic getaway. Her sigh was swept away in the warm wind that had sneaked through the door and picked up just enough to ruffle Parker’s dark hair.

  Just as he was about to say something, her cell phone buzzed. It was a text, but not from Tilda. Ah, it was Lee, which was strange. He should have finished with all his houses before now.

  Remember that table we put out for Tilda’s party a couple of weeks ago? There’s a chance the wind could send it into the window. I’m thinking about putting it somewhere safer, but there was a gent here earlier. Think he might have come back and done that already?

  Well that verified how Parker had found her at the gas station. As for Lee? Naturally, he’d risk life and limb to make sure all his folks were safe.

  “Everything okay?”

  She looked up at Parker, who’d gotten to his feet while she’d read the text.

  “It’s the man you met this morning putting up the storm shutters. There’s a table on the patio he’s worried could break the big window. I wouldn’t care, except it’s possible the piano could be damaged. Where are you going?”

  “Sounds like they need help in the kitchen,” he said, his words punctuated by another loud curse from the back.

  “I think you’re right. In the meantime, I’m going to run home for a minute and move the table—”

  He caught her upper arm as she rose and turned to the door. “The storm is getting worse by the second. You shouldn’t be driving out there. If the wind did pick up the table, it could be a real mess. Besides, we have to be ready to get to the airfield at the first green light.”

  Freeing her arm, she took a quick breath. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to run out on you. Not with Tilda at risk.”

  He gave her a dry look. “I’m concerned about your safety. The last thing I want is for you to get into an accident. Look at how those trees are blowing out there.”

  She didn’t bother looking out the window, not when she could tell that he was being sincere. “I’m sorry. That remark was uncalled-for. Go help in the kitchen. I’m going to text Lee and tell him to stay put and take care of his family. Even if the table—” Her voice caught. Quietly she cleared her throat. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “It’s only a piano.”

  Parker hesitated, probably thought she would try to sneak out, which she had no intention of doing. Not even for her beautiful Fazioli grand piano. She held in a sigh.

  Finally, he walked away, his shadow larger than life against the dining room wall. She watched him push through the swinging doors, her gaze moving down his back until she couldn’t see him anymore.

  She shot out the text, then followed Parker into the back and met not only the owners and another waitress but three other people, all of them relatives it seemed. Two were younger than Mr. and Mrs. Whittaker and one a much older woman sitting in a captain’s chair and barking out orders. It was all very dark and shadowy, with pots hanging in clusters from ceiling-mounted racks. She could only see the faces of the others when they walked to the side where the camp lamps had been placed. Almost all of the crew had the distinctive chin she remembered on Justin, except for the two older women, who looked Mediterranean.

  “Don’t be a dope,” Mrs. Whittaker said, not sparing Ginny a glance while she was shaking a finger at her husband. “Go make sure the cioppino is cool enough to put in the fridge. Cory and Stella can take care of the window.” She turned to look at Parker. “With some help from this kind young man.”

  The two younger Whittakers had already put on yellow rain slickers and Parker had put on his jacket. His hair was going to get wet, but she supposed he didn’t care. They left as a group, with Stella making goo-goo eyes at Parker.

  Finally, Mrs. Whittaker turned to Ginny. “I know you. You’re the piano teacher from Waverly Hills. Lara Pearson’s son goes to you on Wednesdays.”

  “That’s right, he does. He’s got some talent, that boy. I was wondering what I could do to help.”

  “Take over the restaurant?” she said with a wry expression in her dark eyes. She wore a dress underneath a white apron, and thick-soled sensible shoes. “This s
tupid tropical storm isn’t even fifth on my list of things that are trying to kill me. But since you asked, you could help me make sure they got all the glass cleaned up off the floor while I get the food put away.”

  As Ginny swept, she listened to the pounding of nails outside and the creative curses from the two women inside the large kitchen. They both had typical Rhode Island accents, but there was extra flair when they spoke, primarily using their hands, which did make the job go a bit slower. On closer inspection, the copper pots and pans looked as if they’d been around since pirates had claimed the bay in the 1800s. But it was the pasta maker she truly coveted. She had one—it was fancy and made great noodles, but it was all electric, and there was something satisfying about making food by hand.

  By the time she’d finished checking the floor, she knew the boards were in place outside as the noise level decreased by several decibels. That ended her thoughts about pasta as she wiped down counters.

  Finally everyone came in from the wind, flushed and ruffled but smiling. Parker’s gaze went straight to her and didn’t leave for longer than was polite. Mrs. Whittaker broke the spell and put him to work schlepping big pots to the built-in refrigerator, while Stella took on the task of transferring everything they could to the large freezer. Five minutes in, she realized she’d seen Stella at the fish market, early in the mornings, usually when the bluefish were in the bay.

  “Mamma, please, it’s too dark in here,” Cory said. “I’m going to start the generator.”

  “What if we don’t have power for days?”

  Cory sighed dramatically. “We have enough fuel for a week. Stop worrying.”

  “It’s my job,” she said. “Go. Start it. But you’d better be right.”

  “I am.” Cory grinned. “That’s my job.”

  She snapped a towel at him before he disappeared into what looked like a closet.

  Parker, who had at least towel-dried his hair, shook his head. Ginny hid a smile. It would have been much easier to have worked all this time with the lights on.

  When the generator kicked in and light flooded the kitchen, he was once again coming out of the huge fridge. He found Ginny and they traded stares, as they had every time they’d passed each other. This time he smiled, which was different from and better than the worried look he’d worn most of the day.

  Thoughts of Tilda distracted her again.

  Ginny had been running the gamut from remembering when Parker had kissed her breathless and left her trembling to wondering if he thought she was the biggest fool and most terrible person on the entire East Coast. She had to be to not recognize the consequences of getting that renewal from the bank. How had it not crossed her mind that she could be tracked down so easily, given that the notice gave her full name as well as Meg’s?

  “You know,” Mrs. Whittaker said, her voice lower in the lights, “you’re not like the rest of them.”

  “What do you mean?” Ginny was wiping her hands after washing the last ladle. “Like who?”

  “Most of the Waverly crowd. You’re actually willing to chip your manicured nails. Pitch in to help. Our customers are tourists for the most part, but when certain summer people come in, it’s as if they want to be treated like royalty. So we indulge them, but it gets old after a while.”

  “Oh, yes, I understand. I know quite a few of them.” Her father, for instance, but she kept that to herself. “And don’t let this manicure fool you. I splurged for my fifteen-year class reunion.” She glanced at her fingers, amazed she hadn’t chewed off the tips.

  “Ah, right, the big to-do they had at the Seaside. We thought we’d get some business from it, but nah. Only the golfers and regular tourists.”

  “Good thing,” Mr. Whittaker called from somewhere in the back. “We were busy all weekend.”

  His wife rolled her eyes. “Not that busy.”

  Ginny smiled and left to go get a dry towel. Why had she been reminded of her father? Until this morning she’d honestly thought he couldn’t disappoint her any more than he already had. Why wasn’t there a switch she could flip to turn off her thoughts? She wondered how much he’d donated to the philharmonic or what kind of favors he’d called in to finagle her solo performances. Utterly humiliated by her actions and her naïveté, she wished the storm would blow her away. Anywhere, really. Just not here.

  No such luck. One glance Parker’s way and all she could focus on was how pathetic he must find her and what a terrible disservice she’d done to Tilda. Once the truth got out, which it inevitably would, everyone she knew would see her incompetence and her duplicity. She’d be a social pariah, and her dream of recharging her career was a lost cause already.

  Mr. Whittaker eventually declared that the cioppino could be stored, the last of the perishables had been boxed to take to the Whittaker’s home and the place was all but locked up.

  “You two, come back tomorrow night. Dinner’s on us,” Mr. Whittaker said. “Only the best for you both.”

  “Are you crazy?” his wife said. “We won’t be ready for customers tomorrow night. Who knows what’s going to happen with the storm?” She shook her head and sighed deeply. “The offer stands, the night after, or anytime it’s convenient. All you have to do is call. We’ll make sure it’s a dinner you’ll remember.”

  “Thank you,” Parker said. “It was no problem at all. Glad we could help.”

  And though Ginny smiled and said her goodbyes, she used the opportunity to pull herself together. It didn’t matter what Parker thought. What anyone thought. As long as she could stay strong for Tilda.

  * * *

  AS THEY MADE their way back to the motel, Parker kept stealing glances at Ginny, wondering where she’d gotten the fortitude to have accomplished all she had. He’d overheard the conversation she’d had with Mrs. Whittaker and realized how true it was. Ginny wasn’t at all like most of the folks on the hill. He’d barely blinked when Lee had said as much. It had to have been a tremendous sacrifice to leave Juilliard when she’d been so gifted. It would have made so much more sense to have arranged an adoption than to have raised Tilda into the amazing young woman she was now, all on her own. No help from her father, no mother to lean on. Just guts and determination. If it wasn’t for his mother, he might have just walked away after learning the truth. Let Ginny keep her secret and Tilda. It wasn’t as if he could have offered the girl a better life.

  As he put the car in Park, the depth of his selfishness hit him like a tsunami. What he could offer Tilda was money. The way the business had taken off had given him a nice portfolio with enough to help out his mom if she should need anything. He never went anywhere, didn’t spend much except on the plane, but even there he did all the work himself.

  But the truth was, he wanted his life to stay just as it was. Being alone in his cabin, with his dogs as companions, suited him to a T. Yeah, he catered to the clients, but that was just good business. Nothing more.

  It didn’t seem to matter that Tilda was his niece, that they shared a common heritage. He wouldn’t have been willing to make half the sacrifices that Ginny had. Certainly not his career. Being able to fly a plane didn’t define him. It provided a good living, but above all...privacy. The safe, contained world he’d created where he expected little and gave even less.

  It was a quiet walk to their doors, despite the strong gusts, and luckily, the Whittakers had insisted on them taking a flashlight.

  He held the light while Ginny slid her key into the lock, and he walked her inside. She put her purse on the bed, and the only good thing about the lack of lights was that she wouldn’t notice his dour mood so easily. “Here,” he said, handing her the heavy flashlight.

  “No. You’ll need it.”

  “I’ve got my cell phone. I’ll be fine. I’d feel better if you took it.”

  “I’ve been living on my own for a long time, and I’ve somehow managed tropical storms, act
ual hurricanes and a teenager. I’ll be fine.”

  “Just take it. I’m used to long spells of dark nights, remember? Alaska winters have trained me well.”

  “Fine,” she said, and as she took the flashlight he caught a gentle smile curving her lips.

  “Good night,” he said, backing up to the door. “Your cell phone charged? You wouldn’t want to miss a text from Tilda.”

  “It should last the night,” she said. “But I appreciate you asking.”

  “Are you still worried about your piano?”

  “To be honest, I’ve been too busy to think about it.” When she sighed he realized he shouldn’t have brought it up.

  “If you want we can take a quick run and move the table.” He waited with his hand on the doorknob. “You’d be able to give your phone an extra charge in the car.”

  She paused long enough to let him know she was thinking about it. “Thanks, but that’s okay. It really is just a piano.”

  He nodded, not liking the defeat he heard in her voice. “I’ll knock when we get the go-ahead.”

  “I’ll be ready. Good night.”

  When he closed the door behind him, he didn’t pull out his cell phone yet. Instead, he let the dark surround him. It suited his mood. He hadn’t been kidding. He’d come to be at home in the dark, whether it was in the sky or in his cabin. The light of day had never done him any favors.

  Parker had to laugh.

  He should’ve learned his lesson by now—just because you couldn’t see something, that didn’t mean it wouldn’t bite you in the behind.

  * * *

  ALTHOUGH SHE WOULD have loved taking a long bath, there was no telling how much hot water would be available, and she’d need it more for a quick shower before they headed to New York. In the strange light, bright, yet so narrow in scope, she got into her sleep shirt and crawled into bed. It would have been more convenient to have the television on, to have less alone time with her own mind—which had never been a particularly safe neighborhood. She wrote Tilda another text, checked her email and wished she’d brought her Kindle with her.