by Sarah Monzon
Jackie wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Party planning. I’m putting together a pirate-themed party for my almost-four-year-old nephew.”
Pirates, huh? “What are you doing with the cardboard?”
“Making a pirate ship.” She walked over and rustled through a bag, pulling out red Solo cups and a tube of aluminum foil. “These will become pirate hooks for the kids’ hands.” A bag of black balloons came out next. “Fill these bad boys up with water, and they become cannon balls.” She looked through a few more bags. “I also have fake tattoos, balloons to make into swords, an idea on having them walk the plank, a few pirate-themed games, and a bunch of finger foods I’m going to make labels for to make them sound pirate-y.”
He arched a brow. “Pirate-y food?”
“Yeah, you know, pretzel sticks will be peg legs, cheese balls will be cannonballs, gummy worms will be fish food, and a bowl of mixed berries will be berried treasure.” Her eyes danced. “Get it? ‘Berried’ treasure.”
What an adorable dork. And amazing aunt. He’d had fun parties growing up, but nothing like she’d planned. Mostly he and his friends chased each other around with water guns until his mom brought out a cake she’d made from a box.
A look of uncertainty crossed her face, and she chewed her bottom lip. “Do you think Dominick will like it?”
Really? Her party sounded like it would rival Disney, and she was worried?
“It’s just that I want to make it special for him.” She put back the party items into the bags. “Eli won’t be there, and Dominick is taking it hard. I know none of this can make up for his dad’s absence, but hopefully it will offer enough distraction that he won’t dwell on the separation all day.”
A strong urge to touch her came over him. He wanted to pull her close, tuck her body under his chin, make any kind of assurance that would smooth out the wrinkle she had pressed in her forehead. “I don’t know of any four-year-old who wouldn’t absolutely love everything you’ve got planned.”
Her face slowly began to relax. “I even tried to hire a party guy to play a pirate, but the place only did clowns and magicians.” She shuddered. “Probably for the best. There can be some real creepers out there.”
The beginning of an idea percolated, a picture of a stereotypical pirate. Hooked hand, pegged leg, eye patch. His eyes traveled the length of his cut-off arm. Wouldn’t be too hard to find and fashion a realistic-looking hook for the end. He stared at where his leg ended. Would it be possible to walk around on a peg leg? Granted, he could find or fashion one. Among all the prosthetics, a pirate’s wooden leg wouldn’t likely be among Mr. Montgomery’s stash. A phone call couldn’t hurt, though.
“When’s the party?”
“Four days. My sister-in-law is having it in the morning during the baby’s nap time.”
Only four days? He strummed his fingers over the incision by his elbow. His appointment with Mr. Montgomery would need to be bumped up. He hadn’t attempted to walk with a prosthetic yet. A pegged leg had to be even more difficult than a leg and foot made with modern technology. He looked at Jackie, bent at the waist and leaning over her cardboard, paintbrush in hand. Blue waves took shape along the bottom of the ship. Circle outlines ran along the center, where she’d cut them out to make portholes.
Phantom pains gripped his leg, and he squeezed against the knifelike shards ripping through his body. Deep breath. He commanded his muscles to relax instead of reflexively tense. Teeth gritted against the pain, small breaths puffing out his mouth. Slowly the white-hot fire burning his nerves cooled to a manageable glowing ember.
How could pain be felt in a part of his body that wasn’t even there anymore? The doctor had said it had to do with the way the brain and the spinal cord worked. The only good news was the episodes were occurring less frequently. He no longer regularly woke in a cold sweat, groping for a foot that was absent but shooting with pain. The doctor assured him his brain was remapping the channels of sensory information, which accounted for an array of bizarre sensations.
Thankfully, Jackie’s back had been turned toward him. He didn’t want her to see him any weaker than he already was. A man was supposed to protect and support his woman. Knowing her, she’d rush over and attempt to make everything better for him. In the name of helpfulness. Or compassion. Or friendship. Whatever the name she’d tag her action with, he didn’t want it. A little lighter on limbs, he was still a man. Needed to take care of himself, help others, be an asset instead of a hindrance.
Hard work and perseverance made anything attainable. The only obstacle to overcome, himself. And time. Four days wasn’t very long to convince the prosthetist Michael not only needed to learn to walk again by Friday, but he needed to do it as Black Beard. The hours of excruciating physical exertion and strain ahead of him didn’t deter him.
The rip of duct tape returned his gaze to Jackie. She was worth every second.
Chapter Sixteen
Present Day, Maryland
From: Alice Abbott
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: 1940s WW II plane in need of restoration
Jack,
I hope it’s okay that I call you Jack instead of Ms. Rogers. I know us Brits have a reputation to you Americans as being stuffy, but I’d like for us to be friends, you and I. I imagine you have worked on a number of planes, all for different reasons, but this plane is special, you see, and because of that we don’t want just anyone working on it. I have done my research. We want you, no question. Please do not worry about the equipment. Everything has been purchased already, top of the line. If you find anything lacking, we will get it for you. In fact, I am attaching a list of the equipment we have on site, as well as the information on a Tier 2 visa and the required certificate of sponsorship. When you know the exact dates you would like to fly, please let me know and I will purchase your tickets.
Alice
Decorations? Check. Food? Check. Games ready to play? Check. Her sanity? Not so much. Who knew planning a party for a preschooler would be so exhausting?
“Everything looks great, Jack.” Amara spoke at a whisper so as not to wake the sleeping baby in her arms. “I’m going to lay Cayden in her crib before any of the other kids get here.” She turned and started up the stairs.
The front door opened with a whoosh as Jack continued checking off her mental list. Everything had to be perfect.
“The balloons are tied at the mailbox, and I hung the Jolly Roger flag over the door like you wanted.” Dad dusted off his hands. “Anything else you need done? Otherwise, my grandson challenged me to a sword fight. Cheeky little fellow said he was going to feed me to the sharks.”
Jack reached up on tiptoes and planted a kiss on her dad’s bearded cheek, the familiar scratch welcome. Eli might not be able to be here for Dom’s party, but at least her nephew would have his grandpa around. “Go be shark bait, Dad.”
He saluted smartly. “Aye aye, Captain.”
She couldn’t do anything but shake her head at him. It was good, seeing him back to his old fun-loving self. He’d had to leave on long hauls so soon after “the dark day” that she’d worried about him more than usual. Relief that he’d been able to shake the mantle of grief that hung around him every year made her feel pounds lighter. She’d prayed for him, hoped those chains would be broken once and for all.
A car door slammed from the street, little feet pounded on the walkway, and squeals harmonized with the bark of the neighbor’s dog.
Time to get the show on the road.
She folded the bandana she’d kept in her back pocket and placed it over her head, tying a knot in the back. That and the billowy white peasant shirt she’d found at the thrift store would have to do for a pirate’s costume. She’d considered adding an eye patch, but the need to keep watch over the kids usurped buccaneer authenticity.
A twist of the door handle and she greeted the arriving guests. “Arg, mateys, and welcome to Dominick’s birthday party
. Any birthday loot you brung for our shipmate can go on this table there.” She indicated a fold-up poker table decorated with a treasure chest overflowing with fake gold and trinkets.
Amara slipped behind her. “Nice accent.”
Jack lowered her voice. “I’ll be prepared next time national speak-like-a-pirate day rolls around.”
Her sister-in-law laughed. “Is there really such a thing?”
One shoulder lifted as Jack grinned. “I have no idea, but they have every other national this and that day that there’s bound to be one sometime.”
“Don’t tell Dom.” Amara’s deadpan look caused Jack to laugh out loud. “I’m serious. It’s time for the pirate phase to pass. He’s been insisting on sleeping with his plastic cutlass every night for over a month.”
“So now’s probably not the time to tell you I got him a pirate’s costume.”
Amara groaned. “Now I’ll never get that boy to wear anything else. Thanks a lot.”
“That’s what the cool aunts are for.” She continued to laugh as she gathered up the eye patches and Solo-cup hooked hands to pass out to the kids. Already they had gotten ahold of the balloons she’d spent early that morning fashioning into swords, the colorful latex flying in jabs and parries.
Dare she enter the fray?
A shout sounded to her left, an echoing holler shooting from every mouth under five foot. In a collective mad dash, a miniature stampede stormed past her.
What in the world?
She turned and froze. Surrounded by a horde of little people stood the epitome of every child’s pirate fantasy. The unlawful maritime rogues had never appealed to her.
Until now.
A hint of danger and mystery surrounded the man who could have materialized from the pages of Treasure Island. She was uncannily drawn to him. He seemed familiar, although why she had no idea. It wasn’t like she hung out with Jack Sparrow every day. Although there wouldn’t be any complaints on her part if this rogue stranger wanted to kidnap her and sail off into the sunset.
A tricorn sat upon an uncharacteristically shorn head, one eye covered with a black patch, the other as blue as the ocean he’d no doubt left his ship docked in. The loose-fitting shirt was impressively grungy, a leather vest covering his broad chest, sword hanging at his side. Knee-length boots met tan cotton breeches. And was that…no, it couldn’t be. Did the man really have a wooden peg leg? For the first time she noticed the hook at the end of the man’s hand.
Where had her sister-in-law found such an authentic character? Jack had scoured the Internet, but no party place had any pirates available. This guy looked like he’d stepped off a Hollywood set. He was perfect.
Her cheeks stretched in a grin as she followed the path the kids had cut only moments before. He looked up, and she stumbled.
Michael Carrington? What happened to his crutch? How’d he get Eli’s address? What was he doing here? Why was he dressed like that?
As each question entered her mind, the answers swiftly followed. He’d graduated to prosthetics. Brett had supplied the address. He’d dressed in a ridiculous getup to make a four-year-old happy. To make her happy? The beat of her heart skipped.
Her pulse continued its rapid palpitations. Okay, the costume wasn’t ridiculous. The way she was reacting to it, to him, was, however.
“I can’t believe what I’m seeing.” Impressively, she was able to keep her voice steady.
His grin stretched. “Tell your brother, and I’ll deny it to the grave.”
“I won’t tell him.” She pointed to the right, where Amara stood by the house, snapping pictures. “I’ll just show him the pictures.”
He gripped his chest dramatically and gave a wounded look. “The price of good deeds.”
“Don’t worry. I have enough embarrassing pictures of him to use as blackmail if he ever tries to show these to your squadron.”
The fake pained expression turned real for a moment before he blinked it away.
Open mouth. Insert foot. Nothing like reminding him of the squadron he probably wasn’t a part of anymore. Maybe a quick change of subject would dispel the awkwardness settling around them.
“So, um, can you really walk on that thing?” She pointed to his wooden leg, then cringed. Probably not any better of a topic. Why was small talk so hard?
Michael didn’t seem to be fazed, however, as he looked down at his antiquated prosthetic. “No, not really. I thought maybe you could lean me up along the wall, like a party prop.”
The den of voices grew until it sounded like they’d have a mutiny on their hands. “Seems like your plan is already working,” she shouted over the little heads. Fingers to mouth, she blew a sharp whistle that ended in surprising quiet. Bending at the knees, her gaze swept the preschool audience. “I know you all have a lot of questions for our pirate here, and he has some mighty tales to tell you”—she looked over her shoulder with a smile—“so if you sit down, I’ll get a chair for him, and maybe he’ll tell you where he hid his buried treasure.”
Kids plopped down on the grass while Jack dashed inside for a folding chair. She sprinted back but slowed at the rapt faces of the kids. Michael had them eating out of his hand, spinning a story about battling a hurricane and getting stranded on a desert island, his voice deep and gravelly, sounding every bit the part he played.
She unfolded the chair and set it behind him.
“Ah, thank ye, wench.”
She raised a brow and looked pointedly at the children out of the corner of her eye. Imagined the phone calls she’d get if the kids went home and started calling their moms wench.
He followed her gaze and reddened. “Er, thank ye, milady.”
“What happened after your ship got stuck on the reef?” Dominick asked, which launched Michael back into his story.
Jack backed away so she could continue to watch the scene.
“I see that smile.” Amara stepped up beside Jack.
She touched her lips. “What smile?”
“Don’t play coy.” Amara nudged Jack with her elbow. “You like him.”
Heaven help her, but she did. And those feelings didn’t make her light or giddy. They made her want to vomit. It was pathetic, and she wanted to slap herself upside the head, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop the voice in her mind telling her a guy like him would never be interested in a girl like her. No matter how many times she reminded herself her worth was in the title of daughter of the King, to see herself as God saw her. There was a disconnect from the truth in her head and the truth in her heart.
“He’s really hot.”
“Amara!”
“What? Just because I’m married doesn’t mean I’m blind.”
“I’m sure that’s a comfort to Eli,” Jack said wryly.
“Oh, pshaw, girl. Even after all these years of marriage, that man knows he can make me weak in the knees with his dimply grin.”
Jack looked around. “I wish he’d been able to be here.”
“You and me both.” Amara stepped into Jack’s line of sight. “But you’ve made this party near as perfect as it could be. Just look at my son there. Go ahead. Look.”
Jack watched Dominick as he sprang up, ran across the plank set over the kiddie pool, and bounded into the cardboard ship, blasting orders to his friends, who followed, each one shouting they wanted to be the first mate or they were the ones who’d find the treasure first.
“I just didn’t have it in me to pull something like this off this year. Thank you.” Amara wrapped Jack in a crushing hug. “You’re the best sister-in-law a girl could ask for.”
Jack sniffed and then forced a laugh. “You’ve turned me into a blubbering landlubber.” She swiped at her eyes. “I think this is the perfect time for cake.”
And distance to get her emotions in check. No four-year-old wanted the adults crying at his party. Although by the shrieks and laughter, it didn’t look like any of the kids were paying the adults any attention. Good thing.
Jack stepped into the house and pulled out the pirate ship–shaped chocolate cake. She lit four candles and then stepped gingerly out of the kitchen and into the backyard. Amara had settled the motley crew in a semblance of a semicircle, with Dominick in front.
“Happy birthday to you,” they all sang, more with gusto than tune.
Jack leaned down and held the cake in front of her nephew. “Don’t forget to make a wish when you blow out the candles.”
His cheeks puffed out, and he blew with all his might, everyone clapping. Kids jumped up and clamored for the first piece, and Jack had to position her body to protect the cake from grabby hands.
“Oh, sweet Lord.”
She barely heard Amara’s whispered words before the woman squealed and dashed around Jack.
What in the world?
Brows furrowed, she followed her sister-in-law’s path, breath whooshing out as Amara launched herself into uniform-clad arms. The white cover on his head tumbled down, the man’s face pressed into the side of Amara’s neck. Tears stung Jack’s eyes.
“Daddy!”
Dominick ran as fast as his little legs could carry him. Eli untangled himself from his wife and knelt on one knee, his arms outstretched wide to catch his precious son. Dom’s arms wrapped around his father’s neck as Eli lifted him and swung him around. Amara stepped forward and reached for them both, and the three of them stood there, oblivious to anything around them.
A warm hand enveloped Jack’s, and the knife was pulled from her fingers.
“I got this,” Michael nodded to the cake. “Go say hi to your brother.”
“You sure?”
He cocked his head, and one brow rose.
Right.
Jack stepped forward, vision blurry but a huge smile stretching her mouth. She didn’t say anything as she approached the huddled bodies, just stepped up behind her brother, reached out her arms, and pressed into his back. A second later she felt another layer added to the hug. Lifting her head, she met her dad’s gaze, unshed tears glistening in his eyes.