by Shirley Jump
“What was he like?”
Greta smiled and thought back to the dark-haired boy who had stolen her heart. “Shy as a preacher’s daughter, but funny as all hell once you got to know him and he opened up. With a few well-timed words, that man could tease a laugh out of Ebenezer Scrooge. He didn’t talk much when I first met him, and so I talked enough to fill in all the gaps. I don’t know if I bored him into dating me or if he thought maybe taking me to dinner and stuffing my face with lasagna would get me to quit droning on and on. Once I quit talking, he started, and didn’t stop for nearly sixty-three years.”
“Did you like him when you first met him?”
“Lord, no. I thought he was an idiot.” She pshawed. “He wore mismatched clothes, spent half his day with his nose in a book, and was so pasty white, I was convinced he’d been raised in a cave.”
“But you went out with him again.”
“No, that was my mother’s doing. Edward asked me to dinner and I said no. Twice. Then my mother said, Let’s go to the store for a few things, and oh, by the way, let’s get a bite to eat first, and next thing I know, I’m sitting in a booth with Edward at La Cucina and my mother is hightailing it back home.”
Olivia laughed. “Oh my. I think someone I know and love did the same thing to Luke and me, only with a faked hip injury and a couple of sub sandwiches.”
Greta raised her gaze to the ceiling and affected an innocent tone. “I have no idea who or what you are talking about.”
“Uh-huh. I think we all know who the master matchmaker is.” Olivia leaned forward and gave Greta a tender smile. “I’m darned grateful for it, too. I never would have ended up with Luke without a little nudge from you.”
“I’m glad, too, sweetie. Very glad.” How nice it was going to be to have a granddaughter, and then, nine or ten months later, hopefully the first of many great-grandbabies. Greta could hardly wait to spoil them with drum sets and water pistols. And kisses.
The door opened, and Diana popped her head into the office. She had her blond hair back in a bouncy ponytail, the perfect addition to her quirky dog-themed T-shirt and skinny jeans. She looked as comfortable and welcoming as a fresh bouquet of flowers. A lot like Olivia did. No wonder Greta liked her so much. “Hey, Liv. Hi, Greta,” Diana said. “Just wanted to say good-bye before I left for the day.”
Greta scrambled off her chair and caught Diana’s hand before she could escape. “Stay for a while. Have some girl time. I brought cupcakes.”
“Cupcakes?” Diana paused. “Oh, Greta, you are speaking the magic words. Especially after the last few days I’ve had.” She ducked inside, then shut the door. “Maybe I should lock it so we don’t have to share with anyone else.”
Greta retook her seat. Goodness, she had gotten up too fast. She was feeling a tad light-headed. She sipped some more water, then realized she had finished the bottle. Before she could ask for a refill, Olivia was there with another.
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Olivia hovered over her with that worried look in her eyes and face.
How Greta hated that look. Hated feeling weak or old, or anything in that category. She had things to do, by golly, and no time to be laid up. That was the trouble with Doc Harper. Silly man was always telling her to slow down, enjoy retirement. Didn’t he understand? Greta didn’t enjoy sitting around, waiting for Death to snatch her up. She enjoyed getting out and about and meddling with the world. It did her heart good to point—okay, sometimes shove—those she loved in the direction of what they needed most. So she brushed off her ailments and put on a happy face. “I’m fine. Just a little too much time in the heat today. That’s all.”
“Maybe I should drive you back to Golden Years,” Olivia said. Her eyes still held that wrinkle of concern.
“Lord, no, don’t do that, not until after six. They’re serving barbecued beef chips. If I get back before dinner service ends, they’ll make me choke down a few.” She patted the box from the store bakery. “Which is another reason why I brought cupcakes.”
“Cupcakes are not dinner food, Grandma,” Olivia chided.
“They sure are in my book.” Diana took one out of the container. “They have eggs and flour and vegetable oil. That’s practically three food groups.”
Olivia laughed. “I do like your take on science, sis.”
“Data certified by the USAFE, too,” Diana said with a little chuckle.
“USAFE?” Olivia asked. “What’s that?”
Diana’s face sobered, the humor gone in a flash. “Nothing. Just a joke someone else told me. It… it doesn’t matter now.”
Greta would bet dollars to doughnuts that someone was a six-foot-something hunk of handsome. And he’d done something lately to take a little of the spring out of Diana’s step. That wasn’t good, not at all. Greta wanted happy people in her life, not heartbroken ones.
“By the way, Greta, I heard Harold adopted a dog at the shelter event,” Olivia said. “He took a shining to one of the terriers and brought him home that day.”
Speaking of unhappy, heartbreaking people. “For goodness’ sake, Olivia, do not mention that man’s name when I am trying to eat. It gives me an ulcer.”
Diana swiped a scoop of vanilla buttercream frosting off the top of a white cupcake and popped it in her mouth. “I don’t know what you have against him. He’s a wonderful man. One of our top volunteers here for years. Those animals were like his own children.”
“Probably because no one wanted to make real ones with him. Talk about women’s suffer-age.” Greta shivered.
Diana peeled off the paper wrapping on the cupcake and broke off a bite of cake. “Actually, he told me once that he and his late wife tried several times to have kids, but she lost them all. After a while, Harold and she decided it was less painful to stop trying and just have pets instead. Then she died a few years ago, and he’s been alone ever since. Soon as he saw that dog, his face lit up and he was like a renewed man. That little dog took a shining to him, too. I think they’re both going to be very happy.”
Greta had never thought she’d feel sympathy for Harold Twohig, but she did, and for once it didn’t rankle in her gut. She and Edward had only had the one child, their namesake son, who in turn had only had one child, Luke, before his wife died. Any child was a blessing, and she thanked her lucky stars she’d been blessed with her family. Poor Harold and his wife, losing all those babies. The sympathy tempered her usual sarcasm for a moment. “That’s a terrible thing for anyone to endure. No wonder he spent so much time volunteering.”
“He’s not as bad as you think.” Diana grinned. “He’s actually a very nice man.”
“People keep saying that, and it’s hard not to think they’re deluded.” Greta grinned, then shifted gears back to her purpose for being here. She didn’t want to think about Harold and his new dog, or his tragic life. Next thing she knew, she’d be bringing him cupcakes. Lord help her if she ever did that. “You know, there’s more than one man in this town who isn’t as bad as you might think.”
Olivia rolled her eyes. “Grandma.”
“What? I’m just making suggestions.”
Olivia leaned toward her sister and lowered her voice. “Don’t let her fool you. She’s talking about Mike. She thinks you should fall in love with him, and she’s hoping all the sugar in the cupcakes will translate into sweet thoughts about him. She did it to me before, with cookies.”
Greta didn’t need to point out that all her machinations had resulted in an engagement ring on Olivia’s finger and a blissfully happy grandson. The cookies and sub sandwiches had worked their magic, as had a little—okay, a lot—of nudging from Greta, Pauline, and Esther.
“Sugar is a necessary food group. I wish that retirement prison would realize that and stop trying to force green leafy things down my throat.” Greta grabbed a cupcake and took a bite, to illustrate her point. She was still feeling a little weak and tired, and alternated cupcake bites with some ice water. Maybe she was a tad under the w
eather, that was all. Overwhelmed by the summer heat. Nothing some more good news couldn’t fix, and at her age, she didn’t have months and months to wait for the good news to come. Thus, the nudging. She turned toward Diana. “So… have you fallen in love with Mike yet?”
Okay, so that wasn’t a nudge. More like a full-body blow. Whoops.
“That’s the whole problem,” Diana said with a sigh. “And one I don’t know how to fix.”
“What do you mean?” Olivia asked. “I thought you guys were getting along. Working on the renovations together and all that.”
“It’s nothing, nothing.” Diana crumpled up her wrapper, got to her feet, and tossed it in the trash. “I should go. I need to make dinner and make sure Jackson—”
Olivia put a hand on her arm. “And quit avoiding the hard subjects. That’s the best part about having a family, Diana. You have people to talk to and rely on when things get tough.”
Diana’s face curved into a bittersweet smile. “I appreciate it, I really do. Maybe another day. For now, this will do the job.” She widened the smile, plucked a second cupcake up and headed out the door.
Greta watched her go and realized she was going to have to step up her game if she was going to give this bachelorette a happy ending. Time for a meeting of the minds—and, in lieu of that, there were always Pauline and Esther and the Ladies’ Quilting Club.
Nineteen
Mike loaded the bright orange cart with supplies, checking each item off on his list as he made his way through the congested aisles of the home improvement store, while Jackson trailed along behind him. The girls had stayed with Diana, ostensibly to help with the chores around the shelter, but Mike would bet a thousand dollars they never left the animal adoption area.
Mostly, he suspected Diana wanted to avoid him. Ever since that day at her house, the two of them hadn’t exchanged more than a few words when he dropped off the girls. Their minimal conversations were stiff, awkward, cold.
He should be glad, because it kept him focused on the reason he was here—building a relationship with his daughters—but his mind kept conspiring against his better intentions and returning to thoughts of Diana over and over again.
Things on the father-daughter front weren’t much better. Jenny talked about that little dog they’d dubbed Cinderella nonstop. Well, truth was she talked nonstop about the dog with everyone but Mike. A week and a half of living with his daughters, and the oldest one didn’t trade much more than an occasional question or disapproving frown with him.
As soon as Jenny got around anyone else—Diana, Olivia, the other workers at the shelter—she was as much of a chatterbox as Ellie. That told Mike the problem wasn’t Jenny.
It was him.
He had no idea how to change that, how to build that repartee with his own flesh and blood. Luke had made it sound so easy back in the ice-cream shop. Loosen up a little and the rest would come. Yeah, in real life, not so much. Maybe he needed to skim more of those newsstand magazines. Though he doubted any of them had an article titled “Do Your Kids Hate You? How to Undo Years of Damage in 30 Days or Less.”
Jackson hadn’t said much since he’d gotten in the car this morning, unlike the kid Mike had gotten to know six months ago. Back then, Jackson had taken a while to warm up to him, but after that, he’d been a chatty, affable kid, with a good sense of humor and a knack for quick learning. In a few months, he’d changed into a sullen, withdrawn boy.
Mike recognized that boy. He’d seen him in his own mirror for years, before Mike walked into a recruiter’s office and signed on the dotted line to join the Coast Guard. He’d been the same as Jackson, angry at his father, his mother, his stepfather, pretty much angry at anyone who inhabited the world. Then he’d joined the military, and by the time he finished boot camp, he’d had the anger beaten out of him by thousands of miles of running and hundreds of push-ups. Along with that came a newfound respect for authority that he carried with him to this day. He’d become part of a team in those weeks in boot.
Part of a family.
Even now, almost fifteen years later, he still felt like the Coast Guard was more of his family than his real family, or at least what was left of it. His mother lived a couple hours north of Rescue Bay in the same town where Mike grew up, the same town she’d stayed in when she’d remarried after her first husband’s death before grass started growing on the grave. Mike hadn’t returned to that town since the day he left for boot camp.
He didn’t know where he fit there anyway. That house on the lake, the one they’d moved to when his mother married that monster, had never been home.
The house Mike had grown up in was rented out, in someone else’s hands. If he’d ever had a sense of home, it had been in that little bungalow where his father taught him how to fix a flat and how to throw a football. And now, one on the base, with the guys who had bled and sweated beside him.
Maybe Jackson felt the same way, like a fish in a roomful of birds, the way lots of teenagers felt as they muddled through the confusing years of puberty and high school. Working on the shelter repairs would be good for him, Mike reasoned. Nothing like a little manual labor to sort out the crap in a man’s head.
“Hey, Jackson, get me a box of those wood screws. The two-inch ones.”
Jackson scanned the shelves, grabbed the box that Mike needed, then tossed it in the cart, all while keeping his phone in one hand. Jackson kept his head down, concentrating on texting or e-mailing or whatever he was doing that kept his thumbs flying across the virtual keyboard.
Mike skimmed the list, moved a few feet down the aisle. “See those clamps? I need two of them.”
Jackson barely looked away from the phone. He reached up, tugged down a random pair of clamps, tossed them into the cart, and kept on texting one-handed. Never said a word.
Mike switched the clamps for the ones he wanted, then started down the aisle again. A second later, he did an abrupt one-eighty with the cart. Jackson, his gaze still on the four-inch screen, stumbled and collided with Mike’s chest. “Unless that’s the president, I say you put the phone away for a few,” Mike said.
Jackson scowled. “You’re not my father. I don’t have to do what you say.”
“No, I’m not. But I am the guy who’s fixing your mom’s shelter for free, and who’s taking you out for some burgers after we get the supplies we need. Don’t you think a double cheeseburger earns me a little undivided attention?”
Jackson shrugged, keeping his gaze on the screen. “I’m helping.”
“And I appreciate that. But that’s not why I dragged you with me, and not why I asked your mom if you could help with these repairs. I’m fully capable of doing all this work myself, and I don’t need you.”
Jackson flicked a glance up at Mike’s face. “What do you mean?”
“I brought you with me so I could hang out with you, like we did when I was here back in the winter.”
“You mean the last time you left?” Jackson returned to his phone.
“I had to go back to Alaska, Jackson. It was my job.” Mike heard the echoes of hurt and disappointment in Jackson’s voice and realized his leaving had left a lot of debris in Rescue Bay. He should have thought of that, should have at least talked to Jackson back in the winter. Mike wanted to explain, but knew better than to tell Jackson that he had run from this town when he’d realized his time with Diana had gone from a no-strings, easy relationship to something much deeper. “I’m sorry, Jackson. I should have at least said good-bye to you. I left too fast.”
“Whatever. You’re leaving again in a few weeks, my mom said.” Jackson waved at the cart. “Why do you even care about doing all this stuff? Or whether I help?”
“Because I wanted to help your mom and also spend some time with you, get caught up on what’s been happening with you in the last six months.”
“Me?” Jackson scoffed, then went back to the iPhone’s screen. “Why? I’m no fun.”
“Not when you’re glued to your phone, y
ou’re not.” Mike placed a palm over the screen and waited for Jackson to look up. “But when you have an actual face-to-face conversation, well, you’re a hell of an interesting kid.”
Jackson fiddled with his phone, running his thumb over the skull-and-crossbones patterned black silicone cover. “You think I’m interesting?”
“Yeah, Jackson, I do. So do me a favor and put that thing away. At least until I get a cheeseburger in my hands. Give me some artery-clogging food and I go into caveman mode for a little bit. All grunting and chewing, no communication.”
Jackson laughed. “Yeah, me too.”
Ah, there was that connection again, and the Jackson that Mike remembered. “Why don’t we kick ass on this shopping trip and then, after lunch, we can get back to the shelter and hammer the hell out of some wood?” Mike added a couple Tim Allen–worthy arr-arr-arr grunting sounds for emphasis, which brought another laugh out of the teenager.
Jackson considered that a second, then tucked his phone in his back pocket. “Sure.”
He threw out the word with a casual air, like he didn’t care one way or the other, but Mike saw the shift in Jackson’s attitude. The boy’s shoulders eased, his smile came quicker, and they worked through the rest of the list in record time. As they shopped, the two of them talked sports and cars, easy guy talk. If only his daughters could morph into teenage boys—those Mike understood, could relate to and talk to. Little girls with complicated hair and complicated attitudes—they might as well be speaking Greek.