Summer Harbor

by Susan Wilson

  Together they hefted the mast and eased it into place. With the mast between them, Will looked at Grainger with Kiley’s eyes, full of hopeful expectation. “I want us to have a DNA test. Can we?”

  Grainger was aware of his heart beating in a way that couldn’t be healthy. Did thirty-six-year-old active men, albeit with a hankering for red meat, die from being asked such a question? It wasn’t that he hadn’t entertained the idea himself; it was the abruptness of Will’s request. One minute they’re talking about the boat, the next, paternity. Were all dealings with youth so vertiginous?

  He didn’t know how to respond. So much hinged on a simple test. The world as he knew it would no longer be the same. He believed Kiley when she said she had no idea which one of them was Will’s father. If he was Will’s father, that lent a whole new dimension to his understanding of himself. If he wasn’t, could he live with that disappointment? Equally, could Will take the disappointment?

  In self-defense, Grainger had chosen to treat Will like a beloved nephew. Mack had been, for all intents and purposes, his brother; if Will was Mack’s blood, Mack lived on. Submitting to this test could deny Mack his only legacy.

  Will kept his hands on the mast but his eyes on Grainger, who read in them the self-surprise in asking that question outright—the hope, the fear, the confusion.

  Grainger rubbed his hand down his face, aware of the day’s bristles, his unkempt, solitary workingman appearance. Since his military and Merchant Marine days, he’d rarely thought of his appearance, shaving when he felt like it, letting his hair grow long until he couldn’t stand it, wearing worn jeans and thread-bare flannel shirts every day, his rubber boots his only footwear most of the time. He was no example of fatherhood to anyone. Most days only Pilot saw him, and his customers expected a boat mender to look as if he’d just come off a year’s single-handed sail around the world. God only knew what Kiley saw when she looked at him, just an ordinary man.

  “You’re asking a lot of me, Will. You’re asking for a life-altering swab of cells. Have you thought this through?”

  Will’s expectant look turned sullen, disappointed. “I don’t want anything from you. I just want to satisfy my curiosity.”

  “I’m curious too, Will. But maybe I’m a little more afraid.”

  “Of what? I told you, I wouldn’t want child support or anything. This would be just between you and me. Mom doesn’t even have to know.”

  “I’m not worried about your motive. I’m worried about the emotional outcome of knowing.”

  Will nodded. “I’ve thought of that too.”

  The slight acquiesence relieved Grainger. “Let’s give it some time. If you still want to do it in, say, December, call me and we’ll get it done. We’ve only known each other for less than three weeks. I think we both need to step back.”

  “I don’t think I’ll change my mind.”

  “Fair enough, and I won’t break my promise.” Grainger handed Will coils of rope, then hefted the sail bag from the pier into the boat. He looked at the western sky, an orangey red, smudgy fair-weather clouds streaking it. “I think we can get the rigging and the sails on before dark. Then she’ll be ready to sail.”

  Will was quiet, taking orders without comment. The tense look of disappointment began to fade, and he even smiled a little as they finally hoisted the sail in a smooth test.

  “Are you really going to give Blithe Spirit to me?”

  Grainger handed Will several lashings to tie the lowered sail to the boom. “If it’s all right with your mother. Which I think it is.”

  “Cool. Awesome. When can I take her out?”

  “We can go out Saturday if the weather holds.”

  “No, when can I take her out? I want to take Catherine for a sail.”

  “Will, I’ve already told you, you’re not ready.”

  “That’s so not true. I’m good at it; you’ve said so yourself.”

  “Being good and being experienced isn’t the same thing, especially to take out a passenger. If you want, she can come with us. Okay?” Grainger tied off the last of the lashings and climbed onto the wooden pier. “Make sure that bowline isn’t too short. There’s a moon tide tonight; we don’t want to hang her.”

  “Come on, Grainger. A little sail around this cove isn’t dangerous. What do you say?” Will’s voice, sweetly persuasive, made Grainger appreciate what Kiley had lived through. Debating a teenager was wearing.

  “Will, the answer is no.” He didn’t have time to go into all the dangers of inexperience on the water. “Maybe I should rethink this.”

  Will snorted a little exhalation of disgust. “You sound like a father—and guess what? I’ve never needed a father, and I certainly don’t need you.” He pulled himself onto the pier and past Grainger.

  Grainger made no move to follow him. Let him blow off steam. He didn’t blame the kid for being a little angry; he’d had a hell of a couple of weeks. He’d cool off.

  Had he really sounded like a father? Had he sounded like Rollie, impatient and accusatory? Grainger called him back, but Will kept going.

  Thirty

  “He’s just being a kid. They say terrible, hurtful things, then turn around and sweetly ask for the car,” Kiley told him.

  “So I shouldn’t be worried?”

  “No. You did the right thing, Grainger. The thing we both agreed on.”

  Grainger handed Kiley a new sheet of 120 grit sandpaper. With careful strokes, she gently went over the last foot of decking on Random’s bow, roughing it up for yet another coat of varnish.

  Every day but this one had been sunny and warm as she pedaled along the bluff road, the sea at the edge of the horizon pure blue, no whitecaps disturbing its surface calm. Today the weather had changed, the brewing clouds providing a suitable background for her emotions. They were leaving tomorrow. The last week with Grainger, working on the boat or sharing a coffee break, hearing about his life here and telling about hers, had loosened a knot of tension that had formed so very long ago in her. There was a different tension now: once separated, would they lose touch, let go of each other again? Like returning to Hawke’s Cove, was this her last time to be with him? This tension was flavored with a new awareness of him as a man. Kiley woke in the night, hot beneath the light blanket. Throwing off the covers, she thought of Grainger and reminded herself that, despite this reunion, they were really two strangers just getting to know each other.

  Conor had made some phone calls, and Kiley had interviews lined up for Tuesday and Wednesday next week. Once she had a new job, there would be no possibility of going back to Hawke’s Cove for the August Races. Kiley pressed the sandpaper too hard, leaving a gouge in the deck surface. She sat back and looked at it, then looked out at the disturbed water of Maiden Cove, its color ever-changing from gray to green.

  “You know, the job I’m interviewing for calls for working a lot of weekends.”

  “No race for you.” Grainger put on a Soup Nazi voice.

  “No race for me.”

  “But if you could, you’d come back?”

  “I’d come back.”

  “What about Will?”

  “Do you really think he’s ready for racing?”

  “No, but if he could stay on, I could take him out on my big boat with a couple of guys for practice.”

  “I’m not leaving him, Grainger.”

  “I know that.” Grainger folded his sandpaper into a neat square. “I’m not suggesting that you should. I know you’ve only got a little time left with him before he goes off to school, and I wouldn’t deprive you of a minute of it.”

  “Would you have time to take him out before we go tomorrow?”

  “There’s a small-craft advisory out—just look at that chop. A storm system is coming up the coast, which is why I didn’t take Will out today in Blithe Spirit like I promised. Another reason he’s mad at me.” Grainger turned back to the area he was working on.

  “He’ll get over it.”

  “Maybe we
can do it another year?”

  “Right, maybe another year.”

  Before she left the house, Toby had called to tell her another offer was on the table. If it wasn’t this one, it would be another, until eventually, the house was gone.

  Kiley pushed herself upright and glanced over at Grainger, on his hands and knees, his back to her. His shaggy hair hung over the collar of his blue work shirt, like a boy’s. Kiley felt an advancing dismay, just like in her childhood when it neared time to say good-bye and return to Southton. Would being with Grainger always be temporary, seasonal?

  A glimmering rush of desire ran through her, from heart to loins. Not just physical desire, but a stronger desire for connection. Kiley wanted to lay her body against his and absorb him into her, to take his essense back with her. Maybe there would be a next year, a wholly different next year.

  “Grainger?”

  Her voice betrayed her thoughts, and he came without speaking to kneel beside her, opening his arms to let her rest her head against his shoulder. For a few minutes they knelt quietly on her father’s boat, feeling the dampness of the rising breeze touch their cheeks.

  “Will I see you before you go?” His breath in her ear tickled.

  “I hope so.” It was so familiar, this lump in her throat, this need to keep her emotions under wraps. No girlie tears shed. “Would you come to breakfast tomorrow?” Breakfast was a neutral meal, fraught with nothing more meaningful than having to choose sausage over bacon.

  “I’d love to. It’ll be a good opportunity to ease Will into this.” Grainger pointed to her, then himself.

  “This?” Kiley’s fingertip mimicked Grainger’s gesture.

  “Us.” Grainger grasped her finger and held it. “If you think you can get rid of me by leaving Hawke’s Cove, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  The lump shrank a little, making it possible for Kiley to laugh without tears.

  After a few minutes, Grainger let her go and went back to his work. Half an hour later, he looked at his watch. “Damn, I’m late for an Historic Commission meeting.”

  “I should be going, anyway.” The bow was done, ready for its last coat of marine varnish. Kiley gathered the discarded squares of sandpaper into a trash bag.

  Grainger slid, sailor-fashion, down the ladder set against the side of the boat, and waited for Kiley to climb down. As she reached the ground, Grainger scooped her close for a moment’s hug. “Tomorrow, then. What time?”

  “Eight?”

  “Perfect. Look, I’m sorry to rush off…”

  “Go.” Kiley pushed him away. “Go, protect Hawke’s Cove from people like Toby.”

  Grainger lightly kissed her forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” He jogged to his truck, Pilot scampering behind him.

  Toby was waiting for her on the porch as she pedaled into the yard. Her car was in the driveway, so she knew Will was home.

  With a heraldic tootle, Toby flourished a signed P and S agreement, setting it in her hands. “It’s better than we hoped for.”

  “ ‘We’?” Kiley’s eyes widened at the amount typed in. “Whoa.”

  “Shall we celebrate?”

  “I’m fresh out of champagne.”

  “Come with me tonight to the Yacht Club Auction. We’ll spend some of your new money.”

  “I don’t know, Toby.”

  Toby handed Kiley a pen. “Sign on the dotted line.” He watched as she hesitated, then scrawled her name. “I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.”

  “I didn’t say…”

  Toby was already down the steps and halfway to his car. “Six-thirty!”

  “So what are your plans tonight?” Kiley came out of the bathroom with her head wrapped in a towel.

  “Going out with Catherine.”

  Will was playing solitaire at the dining room table. Piled all around him were boxes loaded with the things she couldn’t leave behind. She was certain they wouldn’t be able to fit them all into her Mazda; she’d forgotten that they hadn’t come in a beach wagon. That’s what they’d always called the enormous Ford station wagon. Now she’d have to rent a van, or buy a roof rack. Well, that was tomorrow’s issue. Just for tonight, she was going to try and forget that by noon tomorrow, she and Will would lock the house for the last time and head back to Southton.

  Kiley looked at her watch. Toby would be here in a half hour to collect her. “Are you going to get something to eat with Catherine, or do you want me to heat up some soup?”

  “We’ll get a burger in Great Harbor.”

  Will had been a little truculent about her going to the auction with the real estate agent.

  “What do you want to go out with him for?”

  “I’m not”—Kiley hooked her fingers into air quotes—“going out with him. He’s just taking me there, which is lucky for you: now you can have the car.”

  “Catherine can drive.”

  “Will, it’s not a date.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Good question. “A peace offering.”

  It certainly wasn’t a celebration. He’d had her sign the agreement so fast she hadn’t been able to imbue it with the weighty significance it deserved. Wham, bam, it was done. As soon as Toby was gone, she’d called her parents with the news.

  “I signed the P and S agreement.”

  Her mother’s voice betrayed no emotion, neither joy nor sorrow. “Good.”

  “Tell Dad, Grainger will put the boat in the water next week. He wants to know if he should keep her on one of his moorings or the club’s.” It seemed imperative that she say Grainger’s name aloud, to counterbalance the feelings of loss. She hadn’t lost Grainger; she’d found him. Or maybe he’d found her. Kiley smiled reflexively. Though she was going home tomorrow, he would never be farther away than a phone call. Never again.

  Will moved a line of cards onto a newly revealed king.

  “We have an early day tomorrow, so don’t be out too late.”

  “Mom, it’s our last night together. Don’t make me stick to a kid’s curfew.”

  “I’m only saying be realistic. I want to leave by noon, and if I have to fight to wake you up, we’ll never get out of here.” She didn’t mention Grainger’s coming to breakfast, because she wanted to see the pleased surprise on Will’s face when he saw the two of them together.

  Will’s mouth twisted into a half smile. “All right by me.”

  Kiley rubbed her hair briskly with the towel. “The idyll has to end sometime. There’s the memorial service, and then I have interviews this coming week. Vacation’s over, kiddo.”

  Will sat back in the ladder-back chair and began to scoop the cards into a pile. A growing cloud of emotion tensed his mouth and jittered his fingers as he tried to gather the cards into a block.

  “What is it, Will?”

  “Do you really have to sell the place? I can go to the financial aid office and beg for more money. I can say you’re not going to support me. They’ll have to give me more money.”

  “Will, this isn’t my decision. It’s Nana and Pop’s.”

  Will slammed the deck of cards down on the table, scattering them. “It is too your decision. You decided not to ever come back, and then you did, and now you’re going to take it away from me.” He slammed out of the room, leaving Kiley to wish for the millionth time that she had someone to back up her decisions, or talk her out of them. Someone to share the responsibility, someone else to occasionally be the bad guy.

  It would be easier to think he was mad about having to leave Catherine, but Kiley knew that wasn’t the root. He’d be able to keep the romance going through phone calls and e-mails until they got to school. Then they could hook up again in Ithaca.

  Something else was frustrating him. Grainger Egan? Will had grown fond of him; that was obvious from his excited conversation about their every inch of scraped paint. Fond and aware of this man as someone that, blood or not, he was intimately connected to.

  That made it doubly difficult to negotiate the
hazards of a renewed relationship. It was so tempting to say to hell with it, and plunge headlong into what their bodies so obviously desired. But would it fortify their relationship to announce it boldly, or undermine it, like a waterfront house built on sand? They had to build their own trust, before earning Will’s.

  Having brought nothing from home to wear to an event like the benefit auction, Kiley had dashed into Great Harbor this afternoon, heading straight for T.J.Maxx and Catherine’s advice. Her new persimmon red slip dress was hanging in the steam of the bathroom, to smooth out and remove the scent of the store. Catherine had talked her into buying new strappy sandals to wear with it and a choker of faux pearls. They’d forgotten earrings, so Kiley put in the plain gold hoops she wore every day.

  She looked at herself in the mirror. What was she thinking? She looked like she was going on a date. It promised to be a long, awkward evening of explaining the sale of the house to the curious auction goers. Struggling to fasten the skinny straps of her new sandals, Kiley decided that as soon as she could, she’d beg off and head home. She should probably bring her sneakers with her so that she could walk. Capitulating to Toby’s insistence he bring her meant she’d either have to ask him to leave early, or walk home.

  “You look great, Mom.” Will leaned against the doorway of his room. “I’m sorry I got mad.”

  “Thanks. And I still want you in by one.”

  Will was obviously disappointed that his apology hadn’t won him any points, and he went back into his room to flop on the bed, making the bedsprings sing out in protest.

  “Oh, and have everything you can packed tonight before you go out.” Kiley leaned into the room.

  Will made a grunt of acquiescence without looking at her.

  “Have a nice time.”

  Another grunt.

  “And be careful.”

  “You, too.”

  “Funny boy.”

  Kiley heard Toby’s step on the front porch, and started down the stairs. Before she got to the end of them, Will caught up with her. In an uncharacteristic physical show of apology, he kissed her.