Pelican Point (Bachelors of Blueberry Cove)

by Donna Kauffman

  Saving herself from a nightmare by reigniting the incendiary passion that came so naturally to them would have been an even bigger mistake. She knew she should be thankful he’d been there to help her through it . . . and equally thankful he’d had the strength, the control, to leave before she’d woken up. She wasn’t sure, in his place, she’d have been as strong. But knowing what she should feel . . . and acknowledging how she actually felt . . . were going to remain two distinctly different things, no matter how much she tried to browbeat her subconscious mind into accepting the only workable solution.

  “So, what do you think? Will this work for you?”

  Alex spun around as Delia came into the small loft space. “Yes. It’s perfect. Thank you. Are you sure it’s okay? You said you don’t have a regular tenant.”

  “I wouldn’t have offered to let you become one unless I’d already made up my mind about you.” She walked past Alex and stood in the corner of the open area that comprised the kitchen. “It’s basic, but functional,” Delia said, gesturing to the tiny four-burner stove, short counter, sink, and fridge. “I know the table only seats two, but anything bigger and you can’t really move around.”

  She pointed to the two doors on the front wall opposite the pair of dormer windows. “Bathroom is through the door on the left. Just a small, stand-up shower, no tub. Closet is on the right. Coats, clothes, it all has to go there, I’m afraid. But it’s a decent size. One of the former tenants built some shelves underneath the hanger rails and added some little square canvas baskets to hold socks, underwear, and the like. Sort of an open dresser type arrangement. There’s a place for shoes in a hanging rack on the back side of the door.”

  The main area of the room held a soft blue couch and a small antique walnut coffee table that had seen better decades. A mismatched, round, oak end table was angled between the couch and a high-backed, overstuffed red chair. There was a standing lamp on the other side of the chair and an old brass and stained-glass hurricane lamp on the end table for lighting. A ceiling fan with a single light in the center hung over the kitchen area.

  “Couch folds out to a double, but it faces the windows, so you have the view to make it feel a bit bigger. Radiator heat, though you might want to get a little space heater for when the temperatures really dip. No central air in the summer, but you won’t really need it. Just crank out the dormers and set a fan in one to circulate the breeze coming off the water. Always cools off at night. We’ve got the Wi-Fi downstairs in the diner, so you’ll have it up here, too. No television though, sorry. If that’s something you need, we could talk about trying to figure something out. There’s a radio around here somewhere. It’s a good idea to keep it tuned to the weather. Especially this time of year. Keep flashlights and fresh batteries, too.” She came back to stand next to Alex. “Not much, I know, but—”

  “It’s just right. And I appreciate it, Delia. More than you know.”

  “Well, you might not feel that way when you realize there’s going to be folks underneath you at all hours, yammering on and such. I know it sounds quiet now, but we’re just done with the breakfast crowd. You’ll see what I mean come lunch. I come in early—and by early I mean no later than four—to get started on the day. We open at five to feed the fishermen and anyone else crazy enough to get up at that hour. We’re here until nine in the winter, but the nights are quiet on the water this time of year. Come summer, that all changes. We’re open all the way to midnight and there’s always something going on down on the docks and out on the water. There’ll be plenty of noise, but you get used to it.”

  “It’s okay. Noise won’t bother me.” Privately Alex thought it might be a good thing. The sounds of talking, laughter. She’d get enough silence out on the Point, and probably too much time to be inside her own head.

  Alex’s gaze shifted back to the harbor, and Delia’s followed hers. “You’re also right close to the Monaghan’s boathouses and docks,” she commented, about as subtle as an anvil. “Just down there.” She pointed. “You know, I rented this place to Brodie when he first got here. I guess he’s holed up somewhere on his property now, though I can’t see where. He lived on one of his boats for a bit, but that’s docked and wrapped for the winter now.”

  “He’s renovating the boathouse on the far end of his property into living quarters,” Alex told her. “That’s the work I’m doing for him. He’s more or less camping indoors there at the moment, but he needs to get something more solid before it gets really cold.”

  Delia had folded her arms and finally shifted her weight a little, glancing back to Alex. “Why’d you let us all believe there was something going on between the two of you?”

  Caught off guard, it took Alex a moment to regroup, but in that same moment she knew better than to say anything less than the truth. “It was easier.”

  “Easier than . . . ?” Delia gave Alex a considering look with her shrewd hazel eyes. “I’m guessin’ it has something to do with why you’re working out on the Point, but needing to find a place to live here in town.”

  “I have Brodie’s remodel, and a lot of what I’ll be doing for the Point restoration will require me to be here, so it’s six of one, half dozen of the other.” That was true enough.

  Delia turned and faced her. “It’s the lighthouse, the man who owns it, or a bit of both.” She kept her gaze steady on Alex’s, so Alex was pretty sure she could see the answer as clearly as if she’d stamped it in bold black letters on her forehead.

  “Why do you think it’s the lighthouse?” Alex asked by way of reply.

  “Honey, we all know about your family, your dad. Couldn’t be sorrier, by the way.” Delia reached out, rubbed Alex’s arm, then gave it a solid squeeze before folding her arms again. “We’re a small town and you’re big news, especially this time of year when things are quiet. Have you been inside it yet?”

  “No. This week. It’s next on the list.” Alex had thought it would be harder to say. Maybe it was Delia’s no-nonsense plain speaking, but it helped.

  Delia cocked her head. “You ready? You don’t look it.”

  That surprised a laugh out of Alex. “Yeah, well, if I wait until I’m ready, they’ll need to hire someone else to do the job.”

  “Would that be the worst thing?”

  Surprised again, she looked straight at Delia, and the words tumbled out. “Yes. I want that lighthouse. It’s my project.” The truth in those words still stunned her a little.

  Delia grinned, stunning Alex again with how completely it transformed her face. She’d seen the diner owner laugh often, but it had been more of a raucous thing. Alex knew Delia was only in her early forties, but the cheerful, beaming smile of approval knocked a full dozen years off her.

  She gave Alex a slap to the side of the shoulder. “Now that’s what I wanted to hear. A little grit in there.”

  “I’ve got plenty of grit,” Alex said, affronted and amused at the same time.

  “Oh, when it comes to dealing with our police chief or the head of the town council, you’re all ready to do battle, yes sir. I’m guessing we’ll find out you sent Brodie home last night, tail between his legs, too. Was probably good for him to experience rejection.” Delia barked out a laugh when Alex gaped.

  “There’s nothing that happens in the Cove I don’t hear. Anything I miss during the day, Fergus picks up on the night shift at the pub. Anyhow, it’s good to know you’ve got some of that fire in there for yourself. From the looks of ya, you’ll need it.”

  Alex knew the nightmare and the crying hadn’t helped her out there. She half snorted, half spluttered a laugh. “Thanks. I think.”

  “I’ll let you get settled.” Delia dug in her apron pocket. “Here’s the keys, though during the winter, I don’t expect you need to worry much. There’s a baseball bat behind the door if it helps you sleep better.”

  Alex just grinned. “It might.”

  Delia hooted a laugh at that and headed to the door that led to a narrow set of steps runni
ng down the rear of the building to the parking lot. “We get bad weather, I’ll remember to ask Charlie or Pete to salt and scrape the stairs for ya. I forget, just take that bat and pound it on the floor.”

  Still smiling, and feeling oddly more settled and less rattled as Delia went on, Alex said, “Okay.”

  Delia turned at the door. “You have plans for Thursday?”

  “Thursday?”

  “Thanksgiving. You’ve heard of it?”

  Alex nodded, her smile turning dry. “A rumor, yes.”

  “This your first one?”

  It took a moment for Alex to catch on. Delia meant her first one alone.

  Alex shook her head. “Uh, no. My second. But I was in Canada last year. They don’t celebrate the holiday.” Not that she’d have been all that aware of it if they had. Her father had died the end of August and by Thanksgiving she’d been gut deep in the lawsuit.

  “So . . . plans?”

  “No. No, I haven’t. Lost track, I guess.”

  “Well, you do now. I do a dinner here every year. For folks who don’t have a family.” Delia grinned. “Or want to escape the one they do have.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. You don’t have to—”

  “I don’t do it because I have to. I do it because I want to. Same reason I just invited you. Boy, do you make everyone work this hard?”

  “Hard at what?”

  “Being your friend?”

  If Delia had slapped her, Alex wouldn’t have been any more shocked. Or hurt. “That wasn’t my—I didn’t mean that. I just—”

  “You just try and keep out of anything that’s not business. Otherwise, you prefer to stay invisible. It’s what you try to do, anyway. I understand that when life gets real big and real hard, it’s a tempting thing to do. I’ve been there. But you’re here now. And we all see you. So . . . since you can’t hide, I say why waste energy you clearly don’t have back yet, doing something that won’t get you anywhere, anyway?”

  Alex just stood there, mouth open. She finally managed to snap it shut. But the best she could manage was, “Okay.”

  “Okay, you’ll come to dinner? Or okay you’ll stop being such a shrinking violet when things get personal?”

  “I—yes. To dinner. But . . . I don’t shrink. Do I?”

  “Like I said, when it’s business? No. You’re up front and ready to go. But let anyone try to get past the business end and show an interest in you personally? Then? Oh yeah, you’re a shrinker.”

  “But—”

  “Case in point.” Delia aimed a finger at Alex’s chest and the clipboard she was hugging. “You’re either making notes on that damn thing or clutching it to your chest like some kind of shield. Put the armor down every once in a while. You can’t be working all the time.”

  Alex looked down at the clipboard she was, in fact, clutching to her chest, and made herself lower it.

  “And next time you’re downstairs to eat, close your damn laptop and talk to people. They like you. Or they want to. They respect what you’re doing out on the Point. Work that and make a few friends. You’ve heard of them, too, right?”

  Somewhere, Alex found a smile, and it even felt real. “I’ve heard rumors.”

  “Well, despite being lousy at it, you’ve already found one.” Delia rolled her eyes when Alex raised a brow in question. “Me, Violet. I’m talking about me.”

  Alex’s smile spread and she felt the corners of her eyes sting a little. Delia was the oddest woman she’d ever met, but already she knew she’d gotten very lucky—very lucky, indeed—that Delia had picked her to befriend. “Thank you.”

  She started to hug her clipboard again—reflex action—but lowered it as soon as she realized what she was doing. “If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know. With dinner on Thursday.”

  Delia grinned. “As a matter of fact, I wanted to bend your ear on a few ideas I had. Spruce up the menu a little. You’re the only one around here who seems to understand about good home cooking that doesn’t come in a casserole dish. We’ll talk. If you ever can’t sleep or we keep you up with the noise, there’s always coffee on in the back of the kitchen. Help yourself.”

  “Thank you. For everything. I’m picking up a check from Brodie today, so I’ll give you first and last as soon as I—”

  Delia waved her silent. “We’ll figure all that out. Relax. I know where you live.”

  Alex smiled at that. “Okay.” Again the clipboard came up, and again she made herself lower it. Then, with a decisive flourish, she tossed it on the couch.

  “There you go!” Delia crowed. “Baby steps, but violets don’t sprout and bloom in one day, now do they?”

  “I guess not. But they’re hardy little flowers, you know.”

  “That I do. But then, I don’t have patience with weak, fragile things.” Delia turned to the door once more.

  Alex hesitated, then blurted out, “Can I ask you one thing?”

  Delia looked back. “Shoot.”

  “You said you knew what it was like. Wanting to be invisible. I—it’s none of my business, but—”

  “Oh dear Lord, you are going to take some work. Honey, when it’s between friends, it’s all your business. Don’t apologize for wanting to know me better. Hell, I know all about your business and we haven’t even talked much yet. Fair’s fair, right?” Delia laughed. “Of course, you might wish you’d never asked. But that’s also how it works.”

  “So . . . what happened?”

  “Well, the long version will require a few adult beverages and some time to kill. The digest version is I married my high school sweetheart right after graduation. Henry Cavanaugh. Fisherman. His folks were first generation here in the Cove. He worked for Blue’s—longtime fishing company based in the harbor. I helped my grandmother run her restaurant. Not this one. It was on the other side of the harbor. We weren’t going off to college. Our lives were here and we knew where we were headed, so he wanted to start a family right away. My grandmother was starting to do pretty poorly, health-wise and I was all she had. I had an older brother, but he joined the military when he was twenty-one. Got himself killed in the Gulf War. So it was just me. I decided to hold off having a family, help Granny. Henry decided he didn’t want to live his whole life stuck here. He wanted more. He got a job offer, industrial fishery in Alaska.”

  “You didn’t want to go?”

  She shook her head. “I used my Granny as an excuse, and I would have stayed for her alone—what was she going to do without me? But truth be told . . . this is where I want to be. I don’t have the wanderlust. I don’t know how you do it, traipsing all over the world, one job to the next. I know it sounds all glamorous and exciting, but to me . . . it sounds exhausting. I’m more of a rooted person. I need my roots, home, stability. Henry didn’t. And seeing as I hadn’t given him any babies to stick around for, well, he took the job offer.”

  “He just . . . left?”

  “He might have done a little begging. And maybe I should have at least tried it. He said roots were where you planted them, but I didn’t want to start over. Frankly, I didn’t think he’d stick it out there. Figured he’d be back.”

  “So . . . you regret not trying?”

  “Not moving away, no. I don’t regret that part. But not honoring him enough to even consider trying? Yeah, that kept me awake at night for a good long while. Who knows, maybe I might have caved, chased after him. Then our restaurant caught fire. No one was hurt, but Granny didn’t have it in her to start over, and the loss sent her downhill a bit faster. So, I started up this place, moved her in with me, and . . . I stayed. Divorce papers showed up eventually. I signed them.” Delia shrugged. “Granny died six months later.”

  “Did you think about going out there? Once she was gone. See if there was anything left to salvage?”

  Delia shook her head. “He remarried five months after I signed the papers. Already had a baby on the way when Granny passed. He kept in touch with the family he fished for here. They t
old me. To his credit, he stayed out there. Still there, far as I know. He found his place. Maybe it was because his roots weren’t that deep here that he didn’t feel what I felt. Maybe it was never going to be his place. His folks up and moved out there, too, once he started giving them grandbabies. Somewhere out in Washington State, I think, last I heard, which has been a long time now.

  “But the Cove, well, this here is my town. Fifth generation I am. I was born here, my brother was born and buried here, my mom, too, and Granny. Never knew my dad. After Henry left me . . . well . . . I suppose I tried to be a bit invisible, wondering what folks thought of me for not going with him. But there’s no hiding in the Cove. There were a few who whispered, but there were plenty more who supported me for staying and taking care of family. Then I was divorced, Granny was gone, and none of that mattered anymore. Or it shouldn’t have. I could hardly go back and change my mind then anyway, you know?”

  “Delia—”

  She raised a hand, palm out. “Don’t get maudlin. I’m nineteen years past being maudlin. The bottom line is, I didn’t want to go anywhere before he left, and to be honest, I didn’t want to go anywhere after he or Granny left. I’m a root person, and my roots are here. I need the Cove. It’s part of what I am. It just took a while before I gave myself permission for that to be okay.”

  “Did you ever—” Alex broke off, already humbled and moved by Delia’s openness. She shouldn’t pry further.

  “Did I ever find another man?” Delia asked.

  When Alex nodded, Delia continued. “Honey, I know this feels like a great big revelation, but there isn’t a single person in this town who doesn’t know that story. Or for that matter who doesn’t already know yours. In my case, most of them lived through it with me. Just as they lived through Logan losing his folks in that horrible crash, then him losing his fiancée. We’ve also been there to cheer the good times. It’s not just tragedy that binds us. Bonds are forged through time and shared experiences.