Jenny drove into town, parking along the near-deserted main street. She pulled up the hood of her sweatshirt and donned sunglasses as she browsed the storefronts. Beyond the window displays, she saw women who had known her since childhood and younger women with whom she had attended high school.
She crossed the street and sought shelter in the familiar diner. Maybe she would catch Shelly and invite her to an afternoon movie on her day off. She needed to start socializing again, and Shelly was the one person with whom she felt secure, accepted.
From her perch on a stool at the counter, Jenny watched a couple stand to leave. The man held the woman’s jacket for her and pressed a hand to her shoulder as they headed for the door.
The waitress, a woman Jenny didn’t recognize, asked, “What can I getcha?”
“I’ll have a cup of coffee. Decaf.”
Jenny’s mind spun with what she’d seen—Patrick and Cathy Blevins? That did not compute, unless the high school rumors about Cathy weren’t true. It made no sense. And why was she feeling jealous? She certainly had no rights to Patrick. She’d given them up a long time ago.
“Is Shelly off tonight?” she asked the waitress.
“She called in. One of the kids has the flu, so I’m covering for her.”
Jenny sipped the coffee, drowning her emotions with each swallow. He has a whole other life, too. We should just leave it at that.
Their constant bumping into one another would end soon enough. She would have to return to Boston and to her work there. She couldn’t hide out here in Miley’s Cove forever. Hide out? Where had that come from? She wasn’t hiding; she was healing. Or trying to. Most days, that seemed an impossible task. The external injuries had healed. She had been told the scars could be practically erased with plastic surgery. There were times she wished the accident had left her with amnesia, erased everything from the past. But then she wouldn’t have the memories of Cooper, either.
Memories that hurt as much as they helped.
How did anyone survive this kind of pain?
****
The following morning, Jenny pulled on her waterproof hooded jacket and a pair of gloves. She walked down the sloping lawn to where her grandfather’s runabout was docked. She jumped aboard and cast off the ropes. The engine purred to life, and she used the tiller to steer away from the dock. Midway across the bay, the water became choppy and clouds built in the distance. But she was nearly there and didn’t plan to stay all afternoon. She would get back before the rain moved in.
Easing the boat along the island dock, she cut the engines. Without assistance, it was tricky to get out and tie off the boat that sat lower than the cabin cruisers and sailboats for which the dock was designed. She climbed up the slick wooden ladder, one of the ropes looped around her arm. A wave lifted the small boat and, when it dropped again, the pull on the rope caused her to lose her balance.
Jenny gasped at the shock of hitting the icy water. She sputtered and flailed, reaching for the ladder. Her numb fingers clutched the slick rungs, and her arms burned as she pulled herself up. She collapsed onto the pier, her lungs searing with each breath. The boat drifted away from the dock, bobbing on the waves.
Her clothing was soaked and weighted with water. She had to get inside out of the wind. Mike Doyle’s storage shed sat at the end of the dock. Please let it be unlocked. She looked down to discover she had lost one shoe. When she reached the shed and tugged on the handle, the door creaked open. Thank you, God. She shivered and glanced around the shed—nothing for heat, but at least she was out of the wind. A moth-eaten wool blanket sat on a shelf and Jenny shook the dust out of it. Coughing, she wrapped herself in the musty blanket and huddled on the seat of the golf cart.
She unzipped her jacket pocket and withdrew her cell phone. A glance told her it had succumbed to the dip in the bay. “Shit.” She slammed the heel of her hand against the steering wheel of the cart. “Shit, shit, shit!”
There were no residents on the island this time of year. She could break into one of the houses and pay the damages later, but she would have to wait until her clothes dried, and she had only one shoe. She wouldn’t be able to walk very far.
****
Jenny didn’t know how long she had been there before the door ripped open and a voice asked, “What the hell are you doing?”
She startled. “I’m s-sorry. I s-slipped getting out of my b-boat.”
Patrick hurried to her. “Jesus, you’re soaked to the skin. You smell like a wet dog.”
“It’s this blanket, but I had to f-find something to try to get warm.”
“Well, you can’t sit here until your clothes dry. Come on. I have a change of clothes on my boat. I’ll take you home.”
“The Jenny O g-got away from me.” She slid from the cart and stood before him, shaking from head to toe.
Patrick removed his jacket and wrapped it around her. “I know. I have her tied to my boat. Scared the life out of me when I saw her drifting and empty. Have you lost your mind, coming over here alone in weather like this?”
“I’m not stupid. The weather wasn’t like this when I left.”
She leaned at an angle. He handed her the one sopping shoe. “You may want to put this on.”
“Can we j-just hurry, please? I’m f-freezing.”
He put an arm against her back and, with the other behind her knees, swept her off her feet.
“I c-can walk.”
He looked straight ahead and kept moving. “Not as fast as I can carry you. If we don’t head back now, we’ll be stuck here for the night.”
An aged cabin cruiser rose and fell at the end of the dock. Patrick placed her on her feet and helped her aboard. “Go below where it’s warm. I’ll be down in a minute to get you something to change in to.”
Jenny walked stiff-legged down the stairs to the galley, her wet socks squishing with every step. She stopped at the bottom and looked around. Two barrel-back chairs separated by a lamp extending from the wall sat off to her right. Beyond that, a double bed filled the corner. A small dining table and a pair of wooden high-backed chairs occupied the space to her left. Each piece of furniture was bolted to the floor.
She bent to remove her wet socks and padded past the bed and into a narrow passageway. On the right, she found the galley and, on the left, a bathroom.
Patrick descended the stairs and reached to a shelf in a narrow closet. “Here you go. Not very flattering, but they’re dry.” He tossed a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt onto the bed. “I’m afraid I’m fresh out of women’s undies. You’ll have to do without.” His eyes flicked across hers briefly. “It’s going to be a rough crossing. You may want to stay down here and hold on.” He headed back toward the steps.
“Patrick…”
Without turning, he asked, “Yes?”
“Thank you.”
He paused then took the steps two at a time.
She held the jeans up in front of her. They would be miles too big, but they were dry. She started to remove her soggy clothing, and then realized Patrick could come back down the steps at any moment. Gathering up the clothes, she carried them into the bathroom. She turned up the cuffs of the sweatshirt sleeves to free her hands and then rolled the jeans several times. They hung precariously on her hips. After finding a length of rope in a cabinet, she wove it through the belt loops and knotted it at the front, securing the jeans.
The boat pitched, and she stumbled, grasping the edge of the bed for support. She climbed the steps to where Patrick stood, both hands on the wheel.
“Take the wheel for a minute. Just hold her steady,” he said.
Observing the tightness in his voice and the set of his jaw, she did as she was told. He unfurled clear plastic coverings and secured them, sealing the cabin from the unrelenting wind.
He stepped back to take the wheel, his hand brushing over hers. She drew away as if she had been burned. “I’m sorry to get you into this,” she said.
“I’d have been in it anyway. I
had to make a run to the island. I’m glad I brought this boat out. She can handle the rough water.”
“It’s a beautiful boat. What’s her name?”
“The Steadfast.” He flicked his eyes over Jenny briefly. “I can always count on her when things get rough.”
The implication of his words caused Jenny’s cheeks to burn. Just then the boat rolled, throwing her off balance. With one hand, Patrick held the wheel and, with the other, pulled her back to his side. “You may want to go below. It’s going to take a little longer to cross in this, and it’s going to be rough all the way.”
“I’m fine.”
“I can’t steer through this weather and make sure you don’t get tossed around. Go below.”
His tone left her no option. “Okay. I’ll get out of your way.”
When the boat slowed, Jenny joined Patrick on deck. With practiced ease, he steered the craft into a slot along the main dock at Miley’s Cove and cut the engines. The dock master caught the two ropes Patrick tossed and tied off the boat. Jenny carried her soggy clothing rolled inside her jacket.
“I’ll drive you home once I get the Steadfast secured.” He tossed her a set of keys. “It’s the silver Dodge Ram at the end of the dock. Go ahead and start it up.”
She missed his toss and the keys clinked onto the deck. She bent to retrieve them. “Can I help?”
“Yes, by getting in the truck and warming it up.”
She tossed her soaked bundle onto the dock, then accepted the dock master’s hand as she stepped down.
After he had secured the Steadfast, Patrick dashed through the rain and climbed into the driver’s seat. Without a word, he shifted the truck into reverse and pulled from the parking space.
They rode in silence until the truck lurched to a stop behind Jenny’s SUV.
Jenny opened the door to exit the truck then looked at him. “Do you want to come in for a cup of coffee or tea? Get warm?”
“No, thanks. I’ll bring your boat out tomorrow and tie her up to your dock.”
She nodded. “Thank you. I was scared. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t come along.” Tears filled her eyes.
“Couldn’t let you sit there and freeze to death. Look, I wasn’t angry earlier. It scared the hell out of me to think of what might have happened to you out there. If I seemed angry…”
A sudden blast of cold air whipped her hair across her face. She swept it away with the back of her hand. “It’s okay. I’ll get your clothes back to you as soon as I wash them.” She stepped away from the truck.
“No problem. Be more careful next time. ” He gunned the engine, spinning gravel out from beneath the truck’s wheels.
****
Jenny carried her wet bundle to the laundry. The damp chill in the house caused her to shiver. Or, perhaps, it had been Patrick’s icy tone and clipped speech.
The phone blinked, indicating messages. She put water on for tea and hit the playback button.
“Hi, Jen. It’s Ashley. I tried your cell, but you don’t seem to be answering. You probably have a dozen waiting texts. Anyway, I’m setting up a meeting with the staff and hoped you’d be coming into the city. Please give me a call. Thanks.”
The thought of driving down to Boston made Jenny’s stomach contort. She wasn’t ready to go back. Not yet. But her job could hang in the balance. She hit the button to delete the message and jotted a note to return Ashley’s call in the morning.
She carried the steaming mug of tea with her to the shower. After removing the soft sweatshirt Patrick had given her to wear, she held it to her face, drawing in the slight scent of spice, the scent of Patrick. The pain of loss—every single one she had endured—ripped through her. She sank to the floor and buried her face in the shirt.
The cold tile pressed on her hip and elbow. She closed her eyes and relived her earlier mishap. The icy water had sucked her under, closing in around her. She had heard, or thought she heard, Cooper calling to her—”Mommy!” His voice faded. Matt shouted, “Don’t push me, Jen. I’ll see to it you never see Cooper again.”
She curled into a question mark. God, what are you saving me for? Is this my penance—to live? Is this hell?
Chapter Six
Jenny pressed in the area code but paused before dialing the rest of the number.
“Good morning. Harbor Lights Publishing. Ashley Rogers’ office. May I help you?”
“Hi, Grace. It’s Jennifer Barnes. Is Ashley in?”
“Jen, yes, she’s expecting your call. Before I buzz Ashley, can I just say again how sorry I am for your loss? How are you? It must be so hard.”
Jenny knew people meant well, but she wanted to scream, “Stop asking me stupid questions.” Instead, she replied, “I’m doing okay. Thanks for asking.” She had become adept at lying.
“Good. I’m glad. I’ll get Ashley on the line.”
Jenny shook her head. Did people really buy that crap—that she was ‘doing okay’?
“Jen, thanks for returning my call. How are you?”
Ashley had been a friend for the past nine years. Her asking of the question came from a different place. “I’m surviving.” Jenny bit her lip. “I’m taking things one day at a time. Sometimes by the minute.”
“I was worried about you. Your cell phone’s been turned off, and you haven’t returned my calls to your house.”
“I’m sorry. I…uh… Some days I feel as though I’m waiting for a hole to open up and swallow me.” She didn’t explain that her cell phone had drowned.
“God, Jen. Do you want me to come up there this weekend?”
“No. But thanks. It’s going to take time, I suppose.” She drew in a breath, trying to switch her brain into business mode. “So, what about this meeting?”
“I hate to bother you about this right now, but… We’re making a few changes at Harbor Lights, and I wanted to meet with the entire staff to discuss them.”
“Changes?” Jenny’s heart quickened. She could not afford to lose her job now.
“Yes. We’re expanding into a few new lines—paranormal and fantasy books. The workload is going to pick up. I know I’ll have to hire at least two editors and another copyeditor, but I wanted to discuss first what the current staff could handle. There’s talk about opening a West Coast office, too.”
“I’m sorry I’ve had to take so much time off. I know it’s put a burden on you and a few other people to carry the slack.”
“We all understand. Actually, I wondered if you wanted to work from up there. We can do much of the work via email, and you can come in a couple of times a month for meetings.”
“Are you serious? I wasn’t planning to stay here long-term. Well, I haven’t thought it through, but…”
“You don’t have to decide now. Is there a chance you could come in for a meeting?”
Ashley, as vice president of Harbor Lights Publishing, had run interference for Jenny more than once in the past several months. Jenny felt indebted to her friend. “I can arrange to be there. I should come to Boston anyway and take care of a few things. When?”
“Is Friday afternoon good for you, around two? Plan to stay at my place. We can get caught up, have a nice dinner. Maybe we’ll even catch a movie. Why don’t you come on Thursday evening?”
“Sure. I’ll see you then.”
“Jen…”
“Yes?”
“Nothing. I wish I knew what to say to help you.”
“You are helping. I have to come back to Boston sooner or later. May as well be sooner. And staying with you will make it easier.”
“I’ll see you Thursday. Be good to yourself.”
She smiled at Ashley’s invitation to stay with her. Jenny had a four-bedroom home in Cambridge. It sat empty since the accident. Ashley had gathered clothing and important papers Jenny needed while she was in the hospital. After her discharge, Jenny had stayed with Ashley until the doctor released her to travel to Miley’s Cove. Jenny trembled now at the thought of going back
to the house she had shared with Matt and Cooper.
She stood at the bay window and watched Patrick as he pulled her boat up to the dock. Her heart quickened at the thought that he would come and ask her to drive him back into town. She admonished herself for her reaction to him. It wasn’t that she wanted any romantic involvement—like he’d even go there with her again. She wasn’t certain what she wanted from him. She only knew that she felt safe and more like herself in his presence, and she needed to feel both of those things.
A man passed the house and loped down the hill to the dock. He helped Patrick tie off the Jenny O. As the two men climbed back up the hill, Jenny recognized Patrick’s cousin, Jack. Patrick said something to Jack, then turned and headed for her front door.
She pulled the door open before he could knock. “Thanks for returning the boat. I would’ve taken you back to town.”
Patrick stood with his hands shoved into his pockets. A breeze ruffled his dark hair, and she resisted the urge to reach out and smooth back the lock that had fallen onto his forehead.
“Jack and I have business to tend to anyway. I just wanted you to know the boat’s back, though I don’t recommend you take her out today. The bay is still fairly choppy.”
She nodded. “Oh, wait a minute. I washed the clothes you loaned me. I’ll get them.” She hurried to the laundry room and returned with his jeans and sweatshirt neatly folded. The rope she had used to belt the jeans lay coiled on top. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.”
Their fingers brushed as he took the items from her. The familiarity of his touch split open the chasm of emptiness inside her.
“You’re welcome. I’ll see you around.” He followed the flagstone walk to the side of the porch.
“Patrick?”
He stopped and looked back.
“I was wondering if…if we could just talk sometime?”
He lowered his head, as if weighing a response. “About?”
“I think we need to talk about us.”
He stared at her for moment. “There is no us.”
“Jesus, Patrick. We loved each other once. We were best friends. I know… I know I screwed things up. I’m not asking you forgive me.”
Act of Contrition Page 3