by Joan Kilby
“Wow.” Kelly shook her head in admiration. “I’m surprised he didn’t, you know, expect something from you in return.”
“Oh, he did.” Annette smiled as she turned back to the computer. “Not many people are aware I have a black belt in karate.”
Kelly snorted with laughter and went around the dividing wall to her office. The room was just a cubicle, really, because the walls didn’t reach the ceiling, but the space was hers. Maybe real estate wasn’t her dream profession, but she’d come a long way since she’d obtained her license and learned the skills necessary to be a successful agent. Not, she acknowledged with a frown, that Ray would consider her successful.
She had a few minutes until the Woolridges arrived so she booted up her computer and checked her e-mail. Skimming through the dozen or so messages she found nothing from Max. After the chocolates and the movie invitation, she’d secretly hoped he might contact her again. In the past they’d often e-mailed messages back and forth.
Kelly, could you stop at the printers? Love you, babe. Sure, Max. Remember to take the hamburger meat out of the freezer. Love you right back.
Those days of easy loving already seemed long ago. She glanced at the framed photo on her desk of Max and the girls. She couldn’t understand how she could be so angry with him and yet miss him so much. “Why, Max?” she whispered, stroking a fingertip across his image. “Why aren’t the girls and I enough?”
Pushing her disappointment to the back of her mind, Kelly clicked on Compose Message. Max, she wrote, could you please water my flowers? Her fingers hovered over the keys, itching to tap out Love you. With a brisk shake of her head, she hit Send, instead.
Her phone rang. It was Annette, saying Mr. and Mrs. Woolridge had arrived for their ten o’clock appointment. “I’ll be right out.”
She spun on her chair to retrieve the dog-eared binder of property listings from the credenza, then went out to greet a casually dressed couple who looked to be in their late forties. “Hi. I’m Kelly Walker. I understand you’re interested in a five-or six-bedroom house.”
“That’s right,” Hal said. “We’re looking for a place we can semi-retire to.”
Kelly led them into her office and gestured to them to have a seat. Turning her book of listings so they could see the photograph, she said, “The Harper house is one of the original farming homesteads in the area, built about 1865. It’s the only six-bedroom house on our books at the moment. The property is lovely—five acres with river frontage—and is well located between Hainesville and Simcoe.”
“Sounds pretty good,” Hal agreed. “Has the house been on the market long?”
“Awhile,” she admitted, an understatement considering the house had been up for sale for nearly three years. “We don’t have much demand for six-bedroom houses.”
“The asking price seems quite low,” Marjorie said. “Lower than many smaller homes in this area. Ray spoke about it in such glowing terms I don’t understand. Could he have given us the wrong figure?”
“The asking price is low,” Kelly said, “but the figure Ray gave you is correct. Where did you folks say you were from?”
“Florida,” Hal replied. “We want to move north and open a bed-and-breakfast.”
“Hainesville would be a perfect spot for a B and B,” Kelly enthused. “There’s only one other in town.” She leaned forward, hands clasped. “I grew up in Hainesville and I can’t say enough good things about the area. It has the best of small-town living with a large city on our doorstep. We’ve got beaches, the river, fishing, mountains nearby—something for everyone.” And for you nice folks a white elephant of a house in desperate need of repair.
Hal and Marjorie exchanged pleased glances. “What are the schools like?” Marjorie asked. “We’ve got a couple of teenagers.”
“My kids are still in primary school, but my stepniece, Miranda, goes to the high school and loves it. She and my brother-in-law Nick, who’s the fire chief in Hainesville, came from L.A. just over a year ago. I’m sure she’d help your kids with the transition.”
“We’re also looking at a place near Bellingham,” Hal told Kelly. “It’s not as big, but it’s ready to move into. What kind of shape is your Harper house in?”
Oh, boy. Ray would fire her if she screwed up another sale. She’d love to tell him to stuff his job, but if she did separate from Max, she would need the work. On the other hand… Kelly looked from Hal to his wife. Hal had an easygoing, lived-in sort of face, and Marjorie had a quiet, friendly manner. She’d liked them at first sight.
Taking a deep breath, she smiled apologetically. “The house has a few structural problems. The roof leaks and the foundations need repair. Termites, you know. There are a few other problems, too. They’re all fixable, and the owners are negotiable on the price, but unless you’re a tradesman or have money to spend…” She lifted her shoulders, as sorry for herself as for them, “I couldn’t in good conscience advise you to go further with this house.”
Hal exchanged another glance with Marjorie. “I’m a carpenter,” he told Kelly. “We’re looking for an older house we can buy cheaply and do up.”
“Hal can fix anything,” Marjorie assured her, patting her husband’s knee proudly.
“Wonderful!” Relieved, Kelly let out a burst of laughter and rose to her feet. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go see the house. But do me a favor? Don’t tell my boss I mentioned the roof.”
MAX HAD A SITE INSPECTION in the morning on Whidbey Island. When he returned at lunch he found Randall setting up the sprinkler on Kelly’s flower beds.
“Hi, Randall,” he called, coming out of the sliding doors leading from the family room. “Thanks for watering the flowers. It’s going to be hot today.”
To Max’s surprise, Randall’s cheeks turned red. “I was sorting your e-mail like you wanted me to and there was a message from Mrs. Walker, asking you to do it. I wasn’t snooping, honest, but it was only one line so it was right there on the screen.”
“That’s okay, Randall. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.” He paused. “Did her e-mail say anything else?”
“No.” Randall shook the water off his hands rather than wipe them on his pants, as any of his other kids would have done. He glanced at Max, then down at his feet. “I couldn’t help notice Mrs. Walker was a little angry when she left last night. I…I hope I’m not in the way. If you think I should leave, just tell me.”
“Jeez, Randall, no.” Max shoved a hand through his hair. “Kelly’s just…” How much did you tell a thirteen-year-old, no matter how mature he seemed? As little as possible, he decided. “Kelly’s taking care of her grandmother. She’ll be back when her Gran’s foot is better.”
“Sure,” Randall said, but he appeared unconvinced. “I finished the photocopying and filing. The mail came—I put it on your desk. Oh, and a woman from the Simcoe School of Dance called and wanted to confirm your Latin-dance lessons starting this Thursday evening.”
Max hadn’t been that keen on Latin dancing in the beginning, but now he would gladly participate, if only to see Kelly. However, if she wouldn’t take in a movie with him, there seemed little chance she’d accompany him dancing.
“The lessons were an anniversary gift from Kelly to me,” he told Randall. “But she doesn’t want—isn’t able to attend now that her grandmother needs looking after. I’d better call and cancel.”
“If they were an anniversary gift, you should go,” Randall protested. “I could stay with her grandmother.”
“Randall, I don’t want you feeling guilty over what’s going on with Kelly and me.” He squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “Say, you’ve been working hard and deserve a break. Why don’t you take my fishing rod and head down to the dock.”
“I’d like that, but…” Randall momentarily brightened at the suggestion, then he shrugged and fell silent.
As Max studied Randall’s downcast expression, it dawned on him that maybe the boy didn’t know how to fish. “What the heck. You’ve b
een such a help today I can afford to take an hour or two off.”
Randall’s grin spread across his freckled face. “Great.”
“I’ll get the rods. You run in and shut down the computer, okay?”
“Sure thing.”
Randall hurried inside to the office. He touched the mouse and the screen saver disappeared, revealing the in-box. Guilt washed over him anew at the sight of Kelly’s e-mail. No matter what Max said, it was obvious Max and Kelly were fighting because of him. And now, also because of him, they’d have to cancel their plans to learn Latin dancing. It just wasn’t right.
But there was nothing he could do about it….
Unless he replied to Kelly’s e-mail with a reminder of the upcoming lessons.
His heart suddenly pounding, Randall glanced at the doorway. This felt sneaky and wrong. But would it be wrong if Kelly and Max got back together as a result? When his school debating team had argued the pros and cons of the question “Does the end justify the means?” Randall had been on the pro side, arguing there were occasions when a positive outcome justified dubious means. Randall wasn’t quite sure he believed that, but his team had won, and undoubtedly he could come up with a convincing argument for the present set of circumstances, too.
However, if his plan failed, he could make things worse….
Shut up, Tipton. You’re not in a debate now.
Seating himself at the computer, Randall quickly typed in a message.
Dear Kelly, I watered your flowers as you asked. Don’t forget, Latin-dance lessons start this Thursday.
Randall’s fingers hovered over the keys. If he said Max would pick her up, then he’d have to get Max over there somehow. Better to get her to come here.
Can you drive? My car is broken.
Randall frowned at the screen. That sounded neither convincing nor chivalrous. Then he heard Max’s footsteps in the hall.
“Randall? Are you coming?”
“Right away,” he called. No time to edit the message. But how to finish?
Your loving husband, Max.
Before he could worry about the wording or the ethics of his actions, Randall hit Send. A moment later he clicked out of the e-mail browser and started the shutdown procedure.
Max appeared in the doorway, carrying a tackle box and a pair of fishing rods. “Everything okay?”
“Sure. Fine.” Sweat dampened Randall’s armpits, but he thought his voice sounded reasonably collected. “I, uh, took care of the dance lessons. You don’t need to worry about canceling.”
Max’s eyebrows rose. “You didn’t have to do that. But thanks. I guess.”
“No problem. Anything I can do to help.” Randall pressed the off switch and moved away from the computer. So far, so good.
“Let’s go,” Max said, then paused to stare at Randall, frowning hard.
Randall swallowed. “Something wrong?”
“You can’t sit on a mossy dock in those good shorts. Don’t you have any cutoffs?”
Breathing out carefully, Randall said, “No, sir.”
“You’re almost as tall as I am. I’ll lend you a pair.”
“I would appreciate that very much, sir.”
Max clapped him on the back in a friendly manner and shook him a little as if to loosen him up. “What did I tell you about calling me sir?”
“Not to do it. Sir.”
Max opened his mouth, then saw the hint of a twinkle in Randall’s eye. Well, what do you know, the kid had a sense of humor. He laughed out loud. “Come on, you.”
A half an hour later, he and Randall sat, rods in hand, in companionable silence on the edge of the dock, their bare feet dangling above the water. Dragonflies buzzed around the reeds in the shallows, and overhead the deep blue sky was rimmed with towering white clouds. Max thought of all the work he should be doing, then mentally shrugged. If a man didn’t pause to enjoy life occasionally, what was the point of it all?
“This isn’t the best time of day for fishing,” Max said after a lazy while. “But it’s the best time for sitting on a dock in the sun.”
“It’s very peaceful,” Randall agreed.
“Is the fishing good around Jackson Hole?”
“I guess so. I’ve never been,” Randall replied. “Father doesn’t fish. He’s very good at golf, though. He was going to teach me this summer, but—” Randall fell abruptly silent.
“Randall, I didn’t realize. I’m sorry you missed out on that.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Randall pulled tentatively on his rod, watching the line tighten with the drag of the water.
Something about the quality of his silence made Max ask, “Are you homesick?”
“A little.” Then he met Max’s gaze and a smile touched his eyes. “But I’m really glad to be here with you.”
Max’s chest seemed to expand. “I’m glad, too,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion. “How are you getting along with the girls? They’re not making you feel left out, are they?” Contrary to his expectations, Randall retreated to his room a lot in the evening.
“No. I don’t talk to Robyn much, but Beth and Tina and Tammy are nice.” He paused and lifted one shoulder slightly. “I guess I’m not used to being around so many people.”
Suddenly Randall’s rod jerked in his hands and the line pulled taut. Caught off balance, he nearly fell off the dock in his excitement. “I got a bite!”
“Steady. Hold it steady.” Max resisted the urge to take the rod out of the boy’s hands. “Reel in slowly. That’s right. Keep it coming…”
A silver shape winked below the dark surface.
“There! Did you see it?” Randall shouted, as enthusiastic as a six-year-old. “I caught a fish!”
“You haven’t got it yet. Tug on the line to make sure that hook’s dug in well. That’s it. Keep reeling.” Max was on his feet, reaching for the net.
There was a thrashing and a splashing as the salmon broke the surface. River water sprayed in sparkling drops around the fish twisting and flapping on the end of the line.
Randall, his eyes and mouth wide with astonishment and delight, hauled on the tightly curving rod while with a deft scoop Max netted the wriggling fish.
“Whoo-hoo!” Randall whooped. “We got him!”
Max grinned. “That’s a sockeye. Must be three or four pounds. Good going, kiddo.”
He handed Randall the small wooden club he used to dispatch landed fish. “He’s your fish. It’s up to you to put him out of his misery.”
Randall blanched, his freckles standing out starkly on his skin. “You mean…?”
Max nodded.
His mouth set in a grim line, Randall took the club, and a moment later, the salmon lay still. Randall was silent as he gazed down at the fish, and Max sensed the complex emotions running through him. He put a hand on Randall’s shoulder. “You did good, son.”
Randall’s eyes met his. “Thanks.”
Max knew Randall was thanking him for more than the compliment and his heart felt full. He smiled, grateful for this day and the shared experience.
“Fishing must run in your blood,” he said as he put the salmon in the cooler. “Your great-grand-father on my father’s side was a commercial fisherman.”
“Is he the one who built the model ships?” Randall took a baby squid from the bait bucket and threaded it through the hook just as Max had shown him earlier.
Max looked on, feeling ridiculously proud. You didn’t have to tell this boy anything twice. “That’s right. He was one of the early settlers in this area.” Max rebaited his own hook and cast his line back in the middle of the swiftly running river. “His name was Maxwell Walker, just like me. When I was a kid he told me stories about the old days. Literally millions of salmon came up this river every year on their way upstream to spawn.”
“Wow. I’d like to have seen that.” Randall gazed dreamily across the water. “How come you didn’t end up fishing for a living?”
“My dad was a builder. He used to
take me around construction sites from an early age. I loved seeing a structure grow from the ground up, going from nothing but an idea on paper to a home for a family.” Building a house was kind of like building a family, Max had always thought. With solid foundations, like love and trust and laughter, before you knew it, you were extending and expanding, one child, then another…and another….
“Do your parents live in Hainesville, too?” Randall asked.
“They live in Simcoe, a larger town about ten minutes down the road,” Max replied, slightly uneasy. He hadn’t told them about Randall coming to visit.
“It’s great to hear about your family, because they’re my family, too,” Randall said shyly. “I mean, Mom and Dad are my family, but their ancestors aren’t. My dad traced the Tipton family tree right back to the Pilgrims, and my mom’s family came from Hungary after the Second World War. It’s interesting, but they’re not part of me, not really.” Randall lifted one shoulder in a deprecating gesture. “Do you think I could meet your parents—my grandparents—sometime?”
Max wasn’t sure his mother and father would agree to that. After all, they hadn’t wanted Max to have anything to do with Randall when he was born. Although he wasn’t about to tell Randall that, neither would he pretend to his parents the boy didn’t exist. For now, he avoided the question, saying, “I’m an only child, too. I know what it’s like to want family. I’ll call them soon.”
They fell quiet for a while, listening to the lapping of the water against the pilings and the distant chug-chug of a generator. Max breathed in fresh salt air and the not-unpleasant odor of sun-warmed creosote on the pilings of the dock. With his son by his side, life was good.
Randall scratched at the dock with the point of Max’s fishing knife. “If you’d married my mother I would have grown up here.”
How could Max answer such a statement? How should he reply? He’d thought this one through any number of times in the past thirteen years and always came to the same conclusion. He and Lanni never would have lasted had they married. Despite a superficial attraction, they were too different and their marriage would likely have broken down. Odds were, she’d have been awarded custody of Randall and Max still wouldn’t have a son living with him, although he would undoubtedly have seen more of him.