by V. K. Sykes
There you go. You don’t want me to see how you really feel.
“Of course, Mom. We’ll be waiting right here.”
“Not me,” Meg said. “I’m outta here.”
Claire knew her friend was cutting out early so she and her mother could have some time alone together. Meg was always so thoughtful and sweet.
After her pal drove off in her Jeep, Claire went back inside and started going through the refrigerator and cupboards, making a small shopping list. Ry’s staple diet seemed to consist of frozen dinners, cereal, orange juice, bottled water, and beer. The only vegetables in his fridge were some baby carrots in a half-empty bag with an elastic band keeping it shut. She wasn’t sure he’d want her to buy a full order of groceries, but she was going to text him a list of what she thought he could use. Most importantly, she would buy him a decent bottle of wine and get some flowers to warm the place up and make it look lived in.
After maybe ten minutes, she heard a knock at the patio door. Hurrying back there, she stepped outside to join her mother.
Mom pointed inside the living room. “I was just thinking about that old fireplace and that awful ice storm that devastated the island. It was nearly twenty years ago, but it feels like yesterday. I’ll never forget it.”
Claire’s memories of that storm were still vivid too, even though she’d only been ten years old. “Me neither. We had no electricity for six days. It was pretty scary. Not to mention cold.”
Her mother nodded. “That old fireplace kept the house from turning into an igloo until your father was finally able to get his hands on a generator.”
“I remember how he went looking everywhere, and only found one three days after the storm had passed,” Claire said.
“At least with that little generator we had enough power to run a couple of heaters and a few lights.” Mom wrapped her arms around herself as if she could still feel the bitter cold of an old, heatless house in a tough Maine winter. “The worst thing was that your father had to haul water from town because the generator was too small to power the well pump. We had enough water to drink and even cook a little, but that was about all. It was a hard time, that’s for sure.”
“We camped out in the living room because it was absolutely freezing upstairs. And we kept the fire going all day and night, huddling under piles of blankets to try to keep warm,” Claire said softly.
“You girls always said the only decent thing about it was that you didn’t have to go to school,” her mother said, smiling.
The schools had been closed for a week because the roads and sidewalks were too treacherous for students to walk and for school bus drivers to navigate their big vehicles. There had been a few bad accidents, and even a couple of deaths, when people made the mistake of driving too fast on the icy roads.
“That really was the only good thing about that miserable storm,” Claire said. She hadn’t thought about those days in years, or about how isolating it had felt to be stuck on an island with no electricity.
“Remember how upset you and Katie were that most of the Spy Hill people got their power back after only one day while we were still freezing in the dark?” her mother asked. “They were doing just fine, thank you, while the island had been practically thrown back to the 19th century.”
Claire frowned. “But why are you bringing this up, Mom? It’s not exactly a warm and fuzzy memory.”
Mom gave her a half smile. “Sweetheart, I’m just reminding you that it wasn’t all sunlight and roses when we lived in this house. Sometimes you still see this place through the eyes of a little girl in a really happy family. It’s easy to think everything is wonderful when you’re a child. And easy to think that a house could have much to do with happiness.”
A flare of resentment tightened Claire’s muscles. “But I was happy here. We were happy here. Then everything went straight to hell as soon as we left the island.”
Her mom’s look sharpened. “Claire, you know perfectly well that it was just coincidence that your father died two months after we left here. His death had nothing to do with moving or selling this house. The man simply went fishing too many times without a sternman. Bless him for trying so hard to keep a roof over our heads and food in our stomachs, but he pushed his luck and it finally caught up with him. I’m sure he’ll be the first to tell you that when we all meet again in Heaven.”
Claire’s dad had suffered a horrible death when his foot caught in the line after he pushed his string of baited traps overboard. Because he was alone, no one would ever know the precise details of why it had happened. But Claire and her mother were both certain that it would never have happened if her father hadn’t gone out without a sternman that day. His body was recovered from the bottom of the sound, the line still wrapped around his leg.
She blinked back a sudden sting of tears. “This house had good karma. I know that much.”
When her mother held her arms out, Claire fell into her embrace like a five-year-old who’d just skinned her knee. “I know I sound like a wimp, but first dad got killed and then my best friend was murdered by a drunk pig. If that motorcycle had been six inches further to the left when it slammed into Julie and me, I wouldn’t be standing here either. And Julie died in my arms, Mom.” She practically choked on the words. “In my arms.”
“I know, sweetheart, I know.” Her mother’s voice was soft and soothing. “Life was really, really hard for you after that. But you’re doing fine now. You’re home, and you’re making a good life here.”
Claire swallowed hard, her chest and throat so tight she could barely breathe. “You’re right, of course. But sometimes I still wish I could turn back the clock sixteen years. To right before Dad died.”
She missed her father so much. The grief was ever-present, only having retreated to a safe distance over the years.
Her mother held her at arms’ length, giving her a total mom look. “That kind of thinking doesn’t help. You’ve moved on with the rest of your life, and it’s time to move on with how you think about this house too. Bert sold it to the hockey player and that’s that. You’ve got to let it go now, once and for all, or you’ll drive yourself crazy.”
Claire knew her mom was right. But try telling that to her stupid, stubborn heart.
* * *
Ry had slept through most of the short flight from LaGuardia to Portland, waking only when the jet’s tires kissed the runway surface a little more than an hour after wheels up. He’d been dragging his ass most of the day, and it was his own fault. He’d let a pack of former Ranger teammates take him barhopping through some high-end Manhattan clubs last night, on the heels of a Yankees game they’d enjoyed courtesy of a corporate sponsor. His pals had sensed that he’d needed to let loose a little.
He wasted no time deplaning and getting out to the Portland International Jetport’s attached parking garage. He still had a long drive home from the airport and had to stop on the way to pick up Stanley from the boarding kennel. Living so far from an airport was a big change from city life and, like everything else in Brides Bay, was going to take some getting used to.
At least he could count on everything at the house being in good shape. Claire had insisted on doing some grocery shopping, having made him tell her which items he wanted from the list she’d texted. When he texted back that she didn’t have to bother, she said she provided that sort of service for all her clients so he’d better get with the program.
Her text had concluded with several smiley face emojis to soften her rather stern message. He’d always hated those stupid things, but coming from her they’d actually made him grin.
Still, it felt weird to have her making a fuss. All he really wanted was for her to make sure nothing bad happened to the house while he was gone. Okay, he might want a few other things from her, but those were all off limits.
As he passed an old pickup truck that was crawling in the center lane—and, man, these country drivers were something—he went over the trip in his head. In particular
, he couldn’t stop rehashing his appointment with the surgeon who’d operated on his wrecked left knee during the winter. Dr. Goldstein had lectured him yet again about how crazy he was to risk another serious injury by racing motorcycles, an injury that could very well disable him permanently. They’d argued about his sportbike racing at every damn appointment, even though Ry had made it clear that he wasn’t going to stop no matter what Goldstein or any of the other so-called experts advised.
Of course he knew that another injury to his knee could spell serious trouble. In the end though, what happened on the racetrack mostly came down to skill and a little bit of luck. He had the skill, and he sure as hell deserved a little luck.
And what was the alternative to racing anyway? He needed it and loved it—for a while he’d forgotten just how much. There was no way he was going to end up coaching high school hockey in Minnesota. That had been his dad’s life after quitting the game, and Ry had vowed never to become anything remotely like that bastard.
He had no intention of spending his days puttering around the house like an aging, retired dude. There had to be a point to getting up every morning—something more than just putting in time. When he’d confessed that gut-level need to Goldstein, the surgeon had called him a goddamn fool. Goldstein had said there were a million things he could do that didn’t involve risking his future mobility and health.
Oh, yeah, instead of racing he could waste his time on tons of boring crap that would make him feel like the best years of his life were already behind him. The only thing that staved off that kind of dreary-looking future was racing motorcycles. Doing what he’d loved since his teens, when riding his old, beat-up Harley had become something approaching an obsession. It had been his only escape from the hell that had been his life back then. It had let him fly and, amazingly, it still did.
No damn doctor—or anybody else—was going to make him give that up.
Chapter 7
As soon as Ry’s truck crossed the narrow steel bridge onto Promise Island, Stanley jumped over the console and plunked himself in the passenger seat. He acted like a loveable, drooling idiot who couldn’t wait to get home. The kennel people had said he’d been a happy dog the whole time, but Ry had to wonder. Stanley’s high-pitched bark and obvious relief at seeing him had told him just how much the dog had missed his owner. And Ry had missed him a ton, too.
Before he got the dog, the Promise Island house had felt cold and way too big. Since leaving home at seventeen, he’d only ever lived in apartments and condos, so he wasn’t used to having so much space to rattle around in. The relative isolation of Promise Island made a difference, too, with a lot of the mansions empty for a good part of the year.
It surprised him to have found that the isolation he’d sought actually bugged him at times.
Halfway down his long driveway he spotted a car. It was Claire’s Hyundai. Maybe she’d decided to stick around until he was safely home. Though that would be well above and beyond the call of duty for a home checker, he could totally see her doing it. She went the extra mile for her clients, fussing over them like a cat with one kitten.
When Ry opened his door, Stanley spotted his escape route and jumped across his lap like he’d been shot out of a cannon. The dog jumped down to the ground, raced to the door, and started barking, wriggling the whole time with anticipation. Stanley was just nuts about Claire. He’d no doubt recognized her car and maybe picked up her scent.
Ry had to admit that the woman was yanking on his chain pretty hard too.
Claire opened the door. “Stanley!” She crouched down and hugged the dog. “It’s so good to see you, big guy. Did they treat you right at the kennel? I’ll bet you’re darn glad to be home, aren’t you? And to see your daddy, best of all.”
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Ry said, strolling over.
“I hope you don’t mind.” She got up and took a step back inside the open door, a tentative smile lifting her mouth. Stanley brushed past her and bounded into the kitchen.
Ry followed and closed the door. He sensed she’d been looking for a friendlier response, but he was still tired and a little off-kilter from his talk with Goldstein. “I was just a little surprised. You have nothing better to do on a Sunday evening?” he asked in a joking voice.
She laughed. “Actually, I have a hot date with Masterpiece Theatre. Anyway, I just thought it would be nice if you didn’t come home to an empty house. Plus, I built a fire, and I wasn’t about to leave the place with it roaring away.”
“A fire? Seriously?” He’d already noticed that the kitchen was lit with a bunch of white pillar candles that softened the stark atmosphere.
Her smile brightened. “I’ve chilled some wine too. Now you can relax in front of the fire and enjoy a drink.”
“Wow,” he said softly.
He wasn’t used to this kind of treatment on returning home—not from a house sitter and certainly not from his ex-wife. Krista’s usual greeting when he got back from a trip had been either a moan and groan session or a flurry of bitter accusations. At the beginning, on her good days, she’d just wanted to drag him into the bedroom to have sex. He’d never objected to that, of course, but coming home to this kind of welcome was…super nice.
He paused to look at Claire—really look at her. She was dressed casually, as usual, but everything about her seemed to shine. Her bright smile, her blue eyes that glowed with a soft welcome, the genuine warmth of her greeting. Already the tension was starting to leach from his muscles, allowing him to finally relax. For once, coming home felt really good.
He mentally shook himself out of the brief daze. As Stanley slurped from a full water dish, Ry glanced again at the vase of bright white daisies on the kitchen table. “Claire, you didn’t need to put yourself out so much.”
“It’s no big deal. I wanted to do it.” She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of white wine. After reaching into the cupboard for a pair of wineglasses, she deftly uncorked the bottle. Possibly because he hadn’t said anything, she didn’t pour right away. Was she worried that she’d overstepped her bounds? He’d made her feel like that more than once.
“I’d like you to stay, if you want.” The words were out of his mouth before he’d given them much thought. “It’s just that I didn’t expect anything like this. I’ve never…” He couldn’t find the right words to finish.
Her smile dazzled him. “Really, Ry, it’s nothing.”
“You should have warned me that this was part of the Brides Bay Concierges service package,” he said in a joking tone. “You could have charged me more.”
Way more, if this was what he was going to come home to every time.
Her delighted laugh prompted Stanley to start barking again. “Oh, be quiet, you,” she said, rubbing the dog’s head. “As for our services, we do try to surprise our clients a bit from time to time.”
“Then mission accomplished. But how many of us get this kind of treatment? I doubt this is standard operating procedure.”
Though she turned away to pour the wine, he caught the blush that had colored her cheeks.
“Yeah, I thought not. I guess that makes me appreciate it even more.” He took the glass and raised it in a toast. “To better days.”
Claire hesitated, then nodded. “To better days, and many of them.”
“Now, how about we go check out that fire?” He looked down at the dog. Stanley was panting at Ry’s feet, his tongue hanging out a mile. “You too, Stan the Man.”
In the living room, the sliding doors had been opened wide to allow a cool breeze to waft in off the ocean. Mixing with the warmth from the fire crackling in the hearth, it made the room both cozy and fresh. He settled into the leather armchair that faced toward the windows, while Claire sat down on the sofa. Without waiting for an invitation, Stanley lumbered up beside her and plunked his big head in her lap. She didn’t push him away, even though she knew he would drool all over her.
Lucky dog.
; “So how was your trip?” she asked. “I checked the airline web site and saw your plane arrived on time. I was glad to see that, because whenever I go anywhere, the flights always seem to be delayed. Especially those small planes like we usually get in Portland.” She scrunched up her nose in that cute way she had.
“The trip was all good.” That was a lie, but he didn’t want to talk about planes and he sure didn’t want to talk about what the doctor had said.
“You mentioned that you were going down on business, but I hope you had a chance to have some fun, too.”
“Well, it wasn’t exactly business. I do volunteer work with minor hockey coaches in the tri-state area. I did a couple of clinics on Long Island.”
Her eyebrows lifted with interest. “That sounds very cool. Helping coaches help kids. I took some clinics for art teachers, which kind of sounds like same sort of thing. I’d love to hear sometime about how your program is organized.”
“Sure, I guess.” Suddenly, his fatigue and low-level gloom hit him like a hammer. The stress of his talk with Goldstein—not to mention the fact that he’d spent a lot of time talking with coaches about how to recognize juvenile concussions and other injuries—had tipped him over the edge.
“Look, if you’re that curious,” he said, “you could just Google my name. I’m sure you can find everything you need about what I do now that I’m retired.”
Stanley lifted his head from her lap and let out a mournful whimper. He’d only had the dog a few weeks, but the big goof already could sense his master’s moods.
Claire drank the rest of her wine in one swallow and set the glass back down. “Well, on that note, I should go. You’re obviously very tired.”
Yeah, he’d sounded like a dick.
Had it been anyone else, he would have gladly shown her the door right away. But with Claire, well, dammit, what he just said made him feel like crap.
Jackass.
“I’m sorry, Claire. I’ve got no excuses for saying that, tired or not. And, look, I’d be happy if you stayed awhile. Seriously.”