Looking back, Willa could see she’d unconsciously been driving David away, probably because he was as emotionally supportive as seaweed.
She stood up and walked out of her office, giving the bronze whale statue a pat. Nearly two weeks had gone by, and she wasn’t any closer to finding a solution to Abram’s bequest. If anything, she had unwittingly added one more problem to her growing list. Barry Cobb was not only so full of himself he bored her to tears, he was becoming a pest.
Willa pulled up beside Sam’s rental car, shut off the engine, and stared at the lighted windows of her cottage in dismay. Great. Just what she needed, a depressed man dropping by to depress her.
She looked toward the main house, figuring there was probably food up there. But there was also Shelby and Jennifer and their killer glares. Peg wasn’t a glarer; she just banged pot lids around whenever Barry Cobb’s name came up.
Willa looked back at her cottage, trying to decide which way lay the lesser evil. She was actually surprised, but she sort of missed Sam. At least, with him, she could glare right back without feeling guilty, because he wasn’t going through a divorce.
But he was mourning Abram.
God, she wished Emmett hadn’t dry-docked the RoseWind. She could be sailing toward the Bermuda Triangle right now.
Willa got out of her pickup and mounted the porch steps, thinking it was kind of nice coming home to a house that wasn’t empty. She perked up a bit. Maybe Sam had brought food. She’d even settle for a doggie bag from one of his restaurant excursions.
She opened the door and immediately saw that the table was empty except for a small stack of mail. Sam hadn’t even brought her flowers to apologize for avoiding her for two whole weeks. Bummer.
“Over here,” he said from the corner of the room. “Wash up, and come sit down. I hope you’re hungry.”
Her spirits rose with renewed hope. “What are we having?” she asked, shedding her coat as she went to the sink.
“Roasted hot dogs, potato salad, and S’mores for dessert. I also found a campfire popcorn popper at the hardware store, but we’ll save that for later.”
Later? Willa glanced over her shoulder in time to see him add a log to the fire he’d built in the antique parlor woodstove.
Hot dogs? He’s been dining at every damn restaurant in the county, and he feeds me hot dogs and S’mores? She wiped her hands and went to sit on the love seat facing the woodstove.
Sam pulled her down onto the floor beside him. “You can’t reach the fire from up there. The sticks aren’t long enough.”
“I have to cook my own dinner?”
He handed her a forked twig with a hot dog skewered on the end of it. “Cooking the dogs is the best part. If you do it just right, they plump up and get juicy.”
Willa shoved her hot dog into the fire.
Sam immediately took hold of her hand, raising it until her hot dog was above the flame. “It’s already dead. And cooked,” he drawled. “You just need to sear the skin.”
“It’s a hot dog, not filet mignon,” she said, lowering it back into the flames when he let go. “And I like mine burnt on the outside, so it splits open.”
“Is it okay if I don’t turn the rolls into charcoal?” he asked with a chuckle, sliding two buns onto another stick that had wider-set branches. He’d very neatly whittled the bark off the ends.
“You’ve put a lot of time into preparing this picnic.”
“After almost poking my eye out, I decided your maple tree could use a pruning. That’s when I got the idea for hot dogs.” He held the rolls in front of the fire, close to the embers. “Bram and Grammy Rose used to take us boys up to the Adirondacks every summer after we came to live with them. It was just the five of us—no staff, no chauffeur, no cook. We’d fly up, and Bram had a big old rusted van he kept at the airport. We’d transfer all our gear into it and pile in, then drive to the ricketiest old cabin you’ve ever seen.”
He turned the rolls over to toast the other side. “Grammy would assign us each a chore on the way to the cabin. My job was usually spider eradication. Ben had to lug firewood, and Jesse always helped Bram drag the old fishing boat down to the water to see if it was still seaworthy.”
He glanced over at her, then back at the rolls. “We didn’t have an outboard motor, just oars. It took a full week for our blisters to heal, but by the end of the summer, we all had thick calluses.” He shook his head. “No electricity, no running water, and an outhouse that still gives me nightmares.”
“How come Abram didn’t update the cabin?”
“If we’d had all the modern conveniences, we might as well have stayed home. We were roughing it, and those summers were the best times of our lives after our parents died.”
Willa jumped when her hot dog exploded and fell off the stick into the fire.
Without saying a word, Sam shoved another hot dog onto the charred tines, then held it over the flames. “We tried going to the cabin the summer after Grammy died, but we only stayed a few days. It just wasn’t the same.” He glanced at her. “I guess you own the cabin now.”
Willa took a shuddering breath and looked down at her lap. Depression was contagious.
“Levi fired me yesterday.”
“He did? Why?”
Sam turned her hot dog over and lowered it to start burning the skin. “He claims I’m all thumbs when it comes to working with power tools. But I think it’s because he found out I’ve been going to the coffee shop most mornings.”
She started filling the toasted rolls with ketchup and relish and mustard. “What makes you think that’s why he fired you?”
Sam slid her hot dog into one of the rolls, then put another one on the stick and held it over the flames. “Keelstone Cove is in the middle of a geriatric gang war.”
“A what?”
“There’s the Grand Point Bluff gang and the coffee club gang, and they went to war when Bram died.”
“Oh for the love of—these are civilized people, Sam, not gang members.”
“No, it’s the away people versus the locals. Most of your workers retired here from New York and Boston, didn’t they? It’s also the haves against the have nots. The coffee clubbers think the Grand Pointers throw their money around like confetti.”
“Your grandfather went to that coffee shop and he was friends with my workers. And he was from away and rich. So how come the coffee clubbers let him into their club?” She eyed him suspiciously. “For that matter, how come they let you in? Not only are you rich and from away, but you’re not even old enough to be a member.”
He started to slide his hot dog into its roll but stopped. “I don’t like mustard.”
“Oh, just eat it,” she snapped. “And answer my question. How come Levi was willing to work with Abram, but he fires you for cavorting with the enemy?”
“Because before I arrived, both gangs had the same agenda.”
“And that was?”
“To see you happy.”
Willa stopped with her hot dog halfway to her mouth. “See me happy? As if it’s any of their damn business to begin with. But wait a minute—are you saying they don’t have the same agenda now? Does one of the gangs not want to see me happy?”
He took a large bite of his hot dog, made a face, and swallowed. “No, they both still want you happy; they just don’t agree on how that should happen.” He started dishing out the potato salad. “The coffee clubbers want you to marry me, like Bram thought you should. But the Grand Pointers think you should marry a local man.”
Willa gaped at him. “You’re funning me, right? I know this town is filled to its eyeballs with bored senior citizens, but they can’t possibly be that invested in my life. Besides, you’ve got it backward. If anyone would want to see me married to you, it would be the Grand Pointers. They’re retired executives and would want me to marry a businessman. The locals would want me to marry a local.”
“Nope.” He shook his head. “Silas, Maureen, and Levi cornered me in the bre
ak room the other day and told me point-blank that if I tried blackmailing you with that bequest, I could find myself inside a burlap sack on a lobster boat on a one-way trip out to sea.”
“They threatened you?”
“They told me not to take it personally, just seriously.”
“But they liked Abram.”
“They claim they like me, too, just not as your husband.” He shrugged. “At first, they thought Bram’s plan was a good one, but after he died, they started thinking over the part about forcing you to get pregnant and decided he’d taken things too far. In the five days it took you to sail home, they’d persuaded themselves that the whole thing was a bad idea. They believe you should find a nice, easygoing local man to settle down with and that if you don’t want babies, you shouldn’t have any.”
Her workers, her friends, were deciding whom she should fall in love with? And marry? And not have babies with?
Sam lifted her chin with his finger. “They love you, Willa. They may be misguided in their thinking, but they love you.”
“And the coffee clubbers? What’s their excuse?”
He smiled. “They’re equally sincere, honey. They want to see you happily married, too—just not to a local man.”
“But why not?”
He slid his arm around her shoulder. “One, they’d like to have some fresh young blood move into town. And two, they told me there’s not a local man within a hundred miles who would marry you. You’ve got a bit of a reputation for stirring up trouble. Then there’s the fact that you’re a wild woman at sea. There aren’t many coastal men who can live with a woman who can outsail them.”
Willa was shocked senseless at how everyone had an opinion about what she should and shouldn’t do.
“You know what I think?” Sam asked.
She refused even to hazard a guess.
“I think I should open my own business and put the coffee clubbers on my payroll.”
“What?” she yelped, pulling away to face him. “Are you nuts?”
“I doubt they’ll put their paychecks back into my business, though. I have a feeling they could use the money. Paul Dubay needs a new lawn mower; the one he drives to coffee is on its last leg.”
“Paul Dubay drives a lawn mower to the coffee shop?”
“Right down Main Street. He claims the ‘damn government’ wouldn’t renew his license because his eyesight is bad.”
“Paul Dubay is more than ninety years old! He shouldn’t drive anything that goes faster than a walker. And don’t kid yourself; your new best buddies are a long way from living hand-to-mouth. They simply can’t bring themselves to spend any of their money, because they worked too damn hard to get it.” She shook her head. “We’re getting off track, Sam. You are not setting yourself up as Keelstone Cove’s social welfare system, and you’re not opening a business just to give the coffee clubbers something to do.”
“Why not? You started Kent Caskets to give your people something to do.”
“I needed a job. I hired them because I didn’t know anything about running a business.”
“You told me you had a job at Grand Point Bluff.”
“I decided I wanted to be my own boss. After Levi built a casket in the wood shop, the manager at Grand Point wouldn’t let me do anything creative with the residents anymore. He made me dismantle the wood shop and turned it into a bingo parlor. So I quit.”
“And the residents bankrolled Kent Caskets?”
“No. Emmett did.”
“Emmett? He’s your silent partner?”
“Yeah. Why are you surprised?”
“I was under the impression that Emmett had hoped to turn Sengatti Yachts over to you one day. Why would he help you start a brand-new business?”
“Because his wife had just been diagnosed with inoperable cancer, and he told me he wished he was as emotionally strong as Levi and could build Gretchen a casket, too. He tried, but he couldn’t do it, so I told him I would. I was going through my divorce at the time, and I think Emmett saw my opening Kent Caskets as some sort of therapy for me. So he put up the money. He said he had as much faith in my being a success as someone had faith in him nearly fifty years ago.”
She suddenly gasped, touching Sam’s sleeve. “Emmett told me he owed Abram a very large favor. Your grandfather must have given him the money to start Sengatti Yachts. They met when Abram was attending Maine Maritime Academy. The timing’s about right.”
“That makes sense.” Sam folded his arms over his chest. “So, what sort of business should I open? Something to do with food, maybe? I’ve been eating out a lo lately, and I’ve had some fantastic chowders. I should probably do something different. How about lobster cakes? You know, like crab cakes? I’ve rarely seen lobster cakes on any of the menus. And we could eventually ship them worldwide. That’s something the clubbers could do. And I’d hire able-bodied people, like you did, to pick up the slack.”
“Sam, you are not opening a business in Maine.”
“Why not? In three months, I’m going to need a new job.”
Willa scrambled to her feet. “But not here! You’re a city boy, born and raised. And you haven’t lost Tidewater yet. That company needs you.”
“Even if Tidewater survives, it only needs Ben,” he said, also getting to his feet. “And I may be a city boy, but I really like Maine.” He frowned at her. “What’s so upsetting about my opening a business here?”
“Because you’re doing it for all the wrong reasons.” Now that he was standing, Willa got her first good look at him. “Oh, my God. Sam, what’s happened to you?”
“What?” he asked, looking down at himself, then rubbed his baggy flannel shirt over his not-so-flat belly. “This, you mean?” he asked with a grin. “I started thinking about how you got David to divorce you, and I decided you might be on to something. I figured if I gained a few pounds, women would either look right past me or take the time to know the real me. I wasn’t worried about your reaction, because you wouldn’t care if a man is five-foot-two, bald, and cross-eyed; if you love him, it’s for real.” He rubbed his belly again. “A very clever idea, Willa. Just like giving the senior citizens something to do.”
She was utterly speechless.
He turned away and walked to the fridge and came back with a bottle of champagne. “It’s not Dom Perignon, but I’ve put myself on a budget.” He started unwinding the wire. “Will you toast my new adventure with me?”
“Sam,” she said, covering his hand to stop him. “You don’t know the first thing about making lobster cakes.”
“Phil Grindle used to own a lobster shack. I’ll get him to oversee that part of the operation. And Doris Ambrose is a fantastic watercolorist. She can design the labels and advertising.”
“Have you even asked Phil and Doris if they want jobs?”
“Of course. They’re quite excited about it. Sean Graves knows of an old warehouse over in Prime Point we can buy and renovate,” he said, going to work on the wire again.
Willa stopped him again. “Sam, does this have anything to do with Abram’s dying? Have you considered that you might be missing your grandfather and have substituted the coffee clubbers for him?”
He sat on the love seat and frowned up at her. “Why was it a good idea for you but not for me? Why shouldn’t I open a business?”
She sat beside him, resting her hand on his knee. “You’re not yourself right now, Sam. You’ve suddenly been cast adrift with no direction or purpose. You’ve lost Abram, your home, and possibly Tidewater. You’re depressed, Sam, and you’re trying to fill the void in your life with food and…and with being needed.”
“That’s it exactly,” he said, covering her hand with his. “Not the depressed part but the purpose part. Bram needed me, and I wasn’t there for him. I should have seen his health was failing, but he was such a tough old bird I assumed he’d live forever. Maybe if I’d been paying better attention, he’d still be alive.”
“You can’t possibly know that.
Abram kept his heart condition from you precisely so you wouldn’t fuss over him. You have nothing to feel guilty about.” She squeezed his hand. “Don’t you see, Sam? You can’t take Abram’s dying as having anything to do with you. Life happens, and so does death, and none of us has a magic wand we can wave to make everything turn out perfect.”
“But we can make up for our mistakes. I wasn’t there for Bram in the end, but I can be there for someone else. And it feels damn good to be totally focused on helping other people, Willa. It’s almost addictive.” He raised her hand and kissed her fingers. “Bram might have thought he was doing you a favor by writing that bequest, but it’s my eyes he opened.”
He suddenly stood up, took the champagne back to the fridge, and walked to the door and grabbed his jacket. “Will you go to dinner with me tomorrow night?”
“What about tonight’s dinner?” she asked, motioning toward the woodstove.
“I just realized that I’ve left Emmett alone a lot lately. I don’t think he eats a very balanced diet. I should take him to a place I found in Ellsworth that serves a wonderful dish of broiled Maine scallops, rice, and broccoli florets. Emmett loves scallops. Is tomorrow night good for you?”
Her head spinning, Willa nodded.
“Great. I’ll pick you up at six,” he said, and left.
Willa stared across the suddenly empty cottage. Emmett had it all wrong. Sam wasn’t depressed, he must be on drugs!
He actually thought there was a war going on in Keelstone Cove? And that he could adopt the coffee clubbers for his new family? And move here? Permanently?
As for Emmett, just when had he become Sam’s responsibility?
Chapter Eighteen
If Willa had been asked a week ago what she thought Keelstone Cove’s greatest asset was, she would have said unequivocally that it was the town’s dynamic senior-citizen population. Just consider the cumulative decades of wisdom the older folks were glad to share, from weather predictions, fishing methods, and recipes to business advice. Ask any of them a simple question, and you’d be treated to a twenty-minute lecture.
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