Pelican Point (Bachelors of Blueberry Cove)

by Donna Kauffman

  His intercom buzzed just then, making them both jump.

  “Sorry, Chief,” Sergeant Benson’s voice echoed into the silence in his office. “But you’ve got a call you need to take. Your sister, Kerry. Long distance. Very long distance.”

  “I’ll—I should go,” Alex said, opening the door. Her emotions and thoughts all tangled up in one giant jumble, she glanced back just as he punched the button on the phone to pick up the receiver. “And I will. Think about it. I promise.”

  She stepped outside the police station, only to realize that her truck was still parked on the street in front of Owen’s store. It wasn’t that far to walk, and she was dressed warmly enough, so she set out on foot. It gave her time to think about what Logan had said, about what Eula had said, and Delia, too.

  What did she want from life now? Was it all about the lighthouses? She loved the work, but without her father, without their crew . . . would it be enough by itself? Or had she simply not known what else to do? If Blueberry hadn’t happened, maybe she’d have never had a taste of what else her life could be. But Blueberry had happened. And Logan had happened. And Fergus, and Delia, Owen, Brodie, even Eleanor had happened.

  When she thought about the next lighthouse . . . and contrasted the joy of tackling a new project with the reality that it meant leaving the Cove and all of those people behind . . . was the work, in and of itself, a worthy substitute for all she’d lose? Would she be content to re-create Blueberry over and over again, just to supplement the work?

  What kind of life was that? It was like work with no soul. No foundation. What was it Delia had said? No safety net.

  “Could it be I’m a root person and I didn’t know it? Or was I not one before, but now . . . without a foundation that travels with me . . . would I be happy becoming one?”

  She turned up the hill from Harbor Street and immediately spied the boarded and taped-up door to Owen’s shop. Beyond, her gaze was drawn back to the broad branches of the mossy cup oak tree. She looked at it for a long time, Eula’s words echoing through her mind. Then she turned around and looked down the hill and out over the harbor, to where Delia’s place sat at the other end of the half-moon-shaped cove that gave the harbor its name. She looked at Monaghan’s Shipyard, and, though she couldn’t see it from her vantage point, she looked out toward Pelican Bay, toward the tower she knew stood sentinel over the sprawling home there, and everyone tucked safely into the cove behind it.

  How would it feel to leave Blueberry? A month from now? A year from now? Hell, right now?

  The tug on her heart was matched by the knots that formed in her stomach. One was longing, one was fear.

  She turned back toward Owen’s shop and her truck parked beside the curb. Could she just drive off into the sunset? And then another sunset? And then another? She hadn’t been too good at winging it with Logan. What made her think she could wing it with town after town? Of course, the alternative was to not get involved, to focus on the work, hang with the crew who would leave when she did, only to go off in different directions to different jobs. She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze skimming over the water back to Delia’s. The truth was, she was looking forward to Thanksgiving dinner. She was looking forward to going to the Rusty Puffin. Sergeant Benson had mentioned they had live music on the weekends. That sounded like fun. She wondered if Logan would go. Would he dance?

  Could Blueberry Cove be my playground?

  She looked up the hill to Eula’s oak tree . . . and smiled. “Well, there’s one way to find out.” She pulled out her phone and dialed Owen, who sounded as if she’d woken him up. Not surprising, all things considered. It made her feel a little better about asking him to postpone their tower jaunt until after the holiday. By then, hopefully, the rest of the situation with Eleanor would be settled, too. She promised him it would happen and he sounded happy enough with that. Then she headed up the hill to the antiques store and walked straight inside before she could change her mind.

  She browsed a bit, and looked at the tree, trying not to study the dimensions of the store too much. She was going with her gut. Not logic.

  “You’re back.”

  Alex whirled around, and her bravado ebbed a good bit at the less than friendly welcome. “I, uh—yeah. I mean, yes. I am. When I was here before, I noticed you were working on some old brass doorknobs. I—we came up with a really great compound, my dad devised it, actually, that works wonders getting off the grime, especially in the intricate designs.”

  “So, what, you came to sell me some of it?”

  “What? No. No, that wasn’t—” She broke off. In her mind, she’d pictured this first step going so much better. “I just—I’m sure you have a method you like. But, you said, earlier . . . about me being welcome. In your workshop. I just thought maybe you’d like me to show you the . . . ah . . . the method we use.”

  When Eula didn’t immediately jump at her offer, Alex’s first instinct was to apologize for bothering her and duck out, rethink her plan. Then Delia’s comments echoed in her mind. Don’t be a shrinking violet.

  Alex didn’t want to be a shrinker so she straightened a little, smiled, and said, “Or maybe I can just come back there and, like you said before, see what piece strikes my fancy.”

  “Maybe you could,” Eula said, her expression not changing so much as a flicker.

  Here we go into Jabberwocky-world. Alex didn’t want to play that game. It had been confusing enough talking to Logan, figuring out what he wanted. Smile still in place, but less overly cheerful, she opted for plain speaking. “I want to come back and see what it would be like to do what you do. You said the offer was open. I’m hoping you meant that.”

  “Why?”

  Oh, for the love of—“Because I’m trying to figure out if one of the paths in my crossroad is the one that led me to your shop. I want to know if Blueberry can be my playground, too.”

  Eula stunned her then by smiling. Truly smiling. “Well, why didn’t you just say so?” She turned and walked to the back of the shop. Without looking back, she barked, “Don’t just stand there. These pieces aren’t going to refinish themselves.”

  “No,” Alex said, grinning and wanting to dance a little jig, much as she had on Logan’s bed that first time they’d made love. “No, I guess they won’t.”

  Much later, she realized that was the first time she’d referred to it that way. Lovemaking. She grinned then, too.

  Chapter 16

  Logan got out of his truck and headed toward the side door to the mudroom. It had been a long day. A long week. And not because anything had happened. Actually, with Thanksgiving being the next day, he’d expected quite the opposite. Something about families getting together under one roof usually guaranteed at least a few domestic situation calls, but he hadn’t even had that to provide a merciful distraction.

  It had rained the past three days. The remaining meetings with the subcontractors had been moved to after the holiday. He’d seen Owen twice in that time; both times he’d bent Logan’s ear over the Eleanor situation. The holiday had bogged that process down a wee bit, too, but with a little finagling, he’d gotten Eleanor remanded to house arrest, so it wasn’t as if she was sitting in a cell. Thank God. He hadn’t trusted her with an ankle sensor, and frankly, didn’t even want to picture that.

  He’d worked it so that someone on each shift was keeping an eye on her house, and her, at all times. Thankfully, it had proven to be quiet duty. Eleanor hadn’t made so much as a peep. Maybe she had finally learned her lesson, but Logan didn’t take that on faith. Her court date was the Tuesday after the holiday, so he imagined that was when they’d see what was what with her state of mind. He had gently recommended that a check-up with her doctor might be a good idea. His ears were still blistered from that little conversation. He didn’t hold much hope that the sentencing hearing was going to be peaceful.

  He had learned one other thing from Owen’s visits. Alex had postponed their tower climb until after Eleanor’s court d
ate. He’d been relieved to hear she was taking a bit more time. Between their supercharged clash and subsequent decision that she should room elsewhere, followed by her nightmare, moving out, and the whole thing at the hardware store and subsequent talk at the station it had not been the day to confront the single biggest professional obstacle she faced.

  All that had a downside. Putting off going up inside the lighthouse, followed by three days of icy rain meant he hadn’t seen, crossed paths with, or heard from Alex, which was why he toed open the door to the mudroom with a bit more of a shove than was necessary.

  Rainy days, especially when they came in groups, always made the warped things more warped, but he was grateful for the excuse to shove at something. He knew Barb had been quite ready for him to leave that afternoon. In fact, she’d insisted on it.

  He stepped into the mudroom, already taking off his hat and jacket, only to go completely still. The house was warm, which was welcome given the temperature had dropped after the rains had ended. But it was the rich scents of something amazingly wonderful mixing with the warm air that made him stop.

  His first thought, considering there was no other car parked out front, was that one of his sisters had decided to surprise him for the holiday. He knew it wasn’t Kerry. She was halfway around the world in Australia, of all places. Working a cattle station. She was not pregnant, engaged, or married while working a cattle station in Australia, so he was perfectly fine with that. He knew Fi was snowed under and snowed in, as New York had gotten blitzed by a lake-effect storm that had mercifully gone out to sea before hanging a left and hitting the Maine coast. Which left . . .

  “Hannah?” Grinning, he stomped the dirt off his feet on the mat strode toward the kitchen in long strides, happy and privately relieved to have some one-on-one time with the sibling closest to him in age. “You should have let me know,” he said as he stepped into the kitchen. “I’d have come and picked you up from the airport.”

  He stopped just inside the door when he realized he was talking to no one. The kitchen was empty. Of people, anyway. The stove had two pots on top, both covered, both simmering. He took a moment to lift the lids, sniffing in deep appreciation the rich scents of homemade spaghetti sauce in one, and a pan filled with the most amazing looking meatballs he’d ever seen in the other. Hannah wasn’t really the domestic sort, but she’d been going through some rocky life stuff, so maybe cooking was a new form of therapy or something. He was all for it, if that was the case.

  He managed to resist stealing a meatball and was heading out the door to find where his sister had wandered off to, when a handwritten note on the counter caught his eye. Frowning, he picked it up. In tidy handwriting, the note read

  You mentioned the sunsets were spectacular from the top of the tower. I don’t want to see my first one alone. I want to see it with you. Join me?

  Alex

  PS—Don’t eat the meatballs. They’re for tomorrow.

  Logan read the note three times, then again for good measure. The moment he’d realized it was from Alex and not one of his sisters, and that she’d been the one cooking in his kitchen, back in his home, his heart had taken off like a sprinter running for gold. Not a single word or sighting in three days and she was back. Finally. It had felt like three eons.

  He put the note down, then picked it up. He read it again, then carried it with him as he took the stairs three at a time to his bedroom. If he hadn’t known she was already at the tower and been concerned about how she was doing, he’d have been like a girl on a first date, trying to figure out what to wear. He had no idea what Alex’s intent was. She’d clearly come by to use his kitchen to make something for Delia’s dinner tomorrow. Was it some kind of peace offering? Did she want to try friendship?

  “Jesus, you’re going to have a heart attack. Just get your ass out there already.”

  Five minutes later, in jeans, sweatshirt, boots, and his heavy tarp coat, and on legs shakier than he felt comfortable admitting, he was crossing the open ground on the north side of the house, heading toward the tower. She shouldn’t have gone up alone, he thought; she should have waited. He’d told her not to go alone and she’d said she wouldn’t. Hell, maybe she hadn’t even gotten the door open yet.

  The sun was headed toward the trees as he rounded the front of the tower, the wind making his ears sting and wish he’d thought to grab a wool cap. Shit. The door was open. He stepped inside, then immediately stopped. In his hurry to make sure she was okay, he hadn’t thought about how he’d feel when he stepped back inside after such a long, long time. It surprised him how instantly familiar it felt, familiar in the way it would have if he’d just been inside last week, and not over a dozen years ago.

  He’d spent a lot of time up in the tower as a kid. Funny how he’d forgotten that almost entirely. His memories were so focused on Jessica and how special the place had been to her. Hell, by the time they’d started dating the only thing he’d thought about was her . . . and sex. Sometimes together. Of course he hadn’t cared about the tower.

  He walked across the base floor, wrinkling his nose at the overwhelming scent of mold. The storm glass in the windows had actually held up, but the seals were all cracked, so water had gotten in. The damage to the interior walls and the floor wasn’t minor.

  He put his hand on the curved end of the rail, part of the iron steps attached to the interior walls, leading upward in a boxed spiral all the way to the Watch Room. He tugged at the rail. It groaned and wobbled, but nothing pulled away from the walls, which surprised him. He’d expected everything to be rusted through, especially with the amount of damp and salt that had been carried in.

  He was tempted to call out for Alex. Instead he tested his weight on the first set of risers. A bit more groaning and wobble than he’d have liked, but he made it up the first set, then kept on, one set at a time, making sure they could hold his weight. He made it all the way to the Watch Room, and found himself smiling as a flood of memories came in the moment he stepped onto the landing. How many stories had his grandfather told him of the life of a light keeper and the generations of his own ancestors who had worked in that very room, preparing the lanterns every night? They were daring stories of rescues and wrecks, storms and squalls. More than he could count. His smile spread as he pictured Kerry giving Grandpa a heart attack, climbing like a monkey up the back side of the iron steps leading up to the lantern room and gallery.

  It occurred to him that she would be enthralled by what Alex did for a living. Given Kerry’s current location and occupation, he couldn’t decide if it was a good thing or a bad thing that the two would likely never meet.

  He crossed the room and started up the last set of iron steps to the lantern room to where the lanterns—the beacon itself—were housed. At the top, an iron walkway surrounded the storm-glass-enclosed lens. That’s where he found her.

  He didn’t want to startle her, but she turned when he stepped out.

  She smiled at him with such joy, his heart slid right out of his chest and straight to her feet, which was where it had pretty much been since she’d dazedly smiled and called him “Sex-god Voice” right before fainting in his arms.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi yourself.” He wasn’t sure if her luminescent expression was due to his arrival, or due to her clearly having conquered her biggest fear. Selfishly, he hoped it was at least a little of both. He was so relieved to see her looking at peace with herself, that frankly, he’d have been happy to just watch her and not have her even know he was there.

  But she did know.

  She was leaning back against the storm glass housing, her hands tucked behind her back, the setting sun casting her face and the front of her body in a golden halo of soft, winter light.

  “You’re okay,” he said, not making it a question.

  She nodded. “Yeah. I am.”

  He saw the shimmer of tears spring to her eyes, but her smile was so radiant, he could only grin in response.

  He stepped o
ut onto the gallery and moved toward her until he could lean back next to her against the glass.

  She turned her head and held his gaze for the longest moment, until the glassiness was gone and only the joy remained. Then she looked back out over the water. “It’s as spectacular as you promised.”

  He finally looked away and did the same. Again, there was that deep, powerful tug inside him, and a sense of peace washed over him. “I shouldn’t have waited so long.”

  She looked at him. “You’re okay?”

  “Yeah. I forgot how much time I spent up here as a kid. My memories have been all tangled up with Jessie and I wish I hadn’t forgotten all the stuff that came before.” He took in as deep a breath as he could. “I really do miss this.” I miss you.

  They stood in silence as the sunlight moved farther away from the water and the sun itself started to dip farther behind the trees.

  “My dad would have loved this place,” she said. “All of it.”

  Logan looked at her and felt what could only be described as pride. And respect. She’d taken on so much, had already handled so much, but instead of the tower being another burden to bear, she’d found a way to make it a blessing.

  Her voice was throatier when she continued. “I feel closer to him. Up here. I think I always will. I thought it would be awful. Really awful. But it wasn’t. It’s not. It’s . . . good here. Better than good. It’s . . .” She shook her head.

  A few moments later, her words barely reached him. “It’s home.”

  Even knowing he shouldn’t didn’t stop him from sliding his hand over and taking hers.

  She didn’t go still or pull away. She didn’t look at him. But after a moment, she slid her fingers through his.

  He didn’t know if it meant good-bye or something else. It didn’t matter. What came next didn’t matter. Not right then it didn’t. What mattered was that she’d found a measure of peace, a haven from the worst of her grief. And that she’d wanted him there with her while she did.