Shop talk was actively discouraged at Dewberry Beach parties because the summer was meant for families and community events. Kaye, in particular, was known to break up a huddle and redirect the men’s attention back to their children and their wives. So Chase knew for a fact that she wouldn’t appreciate this. But curiosity got the best of him. It had been so long since he’d spoken about his work in a serious way to anyone. Chase glanced at Kaye, chatting with a group of women, and decided they were safe for the moment.
“Okay, but I’m not sure I’m the best person to help.” Chase lifted his shoulder in a gentle shrug, then watched Rick’s expression. Men who were overeager were usually reckless.
“Oh, it’ll only take a minute,” Rick pressed. “It’s more of an idea really. I’m sure you can help.”
“As you may have heard, I’ve retired from the consulting business. I can refer you to a colleague if you need more specific direction?”
Rick cleared his throat. “Yes, well. I’m not sure the consultants I met with properly understood the scope of my project.”
So that was it. Chase bit back a smile. This man had already met with someone and either they didn’t like his idea, or he didn’t like their advice. As Chase wondered which one was true, it occurred to him that he did, in fact, know this man.
“You’re Ginny’s husband,” Chase said suddenly.
“Yes. As I said.”
The correction annoyed Chase.
Rick cleared his throat again and steered the conversation back. “Do you mind if we speak somewhere privately? I’ve got a file of papers in my car that I can show you.”
Chase shook his head. “I’m sorry, but as I said, in general terms only. I’m afraid I’m not as current on the industry as I once was.”
“Sure. Of course.” Rick nodded reluctantly. He glanced back at his friends with a nervous energy that made Chase glad he had turned him down.
“If you’ll excuse me, I was on my way to the field to watch my grandson play soccer. It was nice to see you again,” Chase said smoothly.
It was an excuse, to watch his grandson’s soccer game; the first thing he thought of to escape the conversation with Rick. But now that Rick and his friends seemed to be watching him, Chase had no choice but to follow through. The soccer game on the grassy field was a pickup version, the kind Chase used to play when he was a kid. It struck him as odd that parents would be interested enough to watch. His own parents had never watched his sports games. As Chase approached the field, he spotted Ryan on the sidelines, looking genuinely thrilled to watch the children play.
“Hi, Chase.” Ryan fished a cold bottle of water from a nearby tub of ice. “Can I offer you some water? It’s getting hot out here.”
It was getting warm. Chase hadn’t noticed it before now.
“Thank you.” He twisted the top and sipped.
They stood in companionable silence for a moment, sipping their drinks and watching the children run. At first it seemed like a knot of children moving up and down the field, kicking up the occasional puff of dust. One of the older kids kicked the ball toward Connor in goal, a strike that should have gone in but hit the frame instead.
“You know,” Ryan said, “I didn’t think Connor actually liked soccer all that much, but maybe he does. Maybe he was just in the wrong position. He seems to like being goalie.”
Chase chuckled. “Look closer.”
Ryan scanned the field. “What am I supposed to see?”
“Someone switched the balls.” Chase pointed to the metal-framed goal. “That’s a kid-size goal and they’re playing with a regulation ball, which, I imagine, makes it harder to score. Even if the goal was untended, they probably wouldn’t score.”
“That’s cheating.” Ryan blinked.
“That’s finding a weakness in the game and exploiting it,” Chase corrected. “Funny thing is that in my business, that sort of thing would be admired, and I would have done it too. Even as distasteful as I find it now.”
Ryan shrugged, generous as ever. “Sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do, especially if people are depending on you.”
“I’m not sure that’s true.” Chase’s gaze wandered to his father’s workshop. “Sometimes a life well lived is measured in friends and family, not success in business.”
Chase noticed Ryan’s wary expression and dismissed it. “I’m fine. Just an old man with too much time on his hands and a few too many regrets.”
Brad came jogging up. “Dad, Mom wants you.”
“I guess that’s my signal to leave. Ryan, I’ll see you later.” Chase finished the rest of his water and dropped the bottle into the blue bin. He turned to follow Brad. “What does she want?”
“Some kid ran into the screen door.”
Chase paused, not understanding.
“Mom wants you to look at it.”
“How bad is the damage?” It seemed the obvious question to ask, though the answer would tell him nothing. Chase was completely unqualified to fix anything in the house. Kaye usually arranged repairmen.
“It’s splintered off the hinges. Mom wants you to fix it before the flies come in.”
They’d need tools. Chase led the way to the work shed, though he had no idea what to do once he got there. Hopefully, someone had remembered to remove the padlock.
As they approached the shed, Chase noticed that the outside windows had been scrubbed clean and the shutters had been straightened and rehung. Someone, Kaye probably, had arranged for someone to repair to the sagging window box so she could fill it with the plants she like. In this case deep-red geraniums and delicate trailing ivy. Whoever she booked did a good job even removing the rusty padlock and refinishing the door handle to make the shed appear more inviting. If he remembered correctly, there was a dusty toolbox on an overturned crate under the workbench, though he couldn’t remember the contents. Hopefully the tools inside would be useful.
He pushed the wooden doors open and stepped inside his father’s old work shed. His breath caught as a flood of unexpected emotions washed over him, and all at once he was ten years old again. They’d had a fight in this shed, he and his father, last time he was here. A stupid one, never resolved, one that fractured their relationship for the rest of their lives and Chase remembered it as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. It was a summer day and his father had called him to this place intending to teach him something—hand-planing, Chase recalled. But Chase was on his way somewhere else and had been annoyed at the interruption to his day. He’d behaved terribly then, was petulant during his father’s instruction and dismissive of the work his father loved. In the end, Chase had been allowed to go on his way and was never called into the workshop again. Now, the regret of what he’d done then, how his attitude must have hurt his father, settled into his chest and his body buckled.
If only.
“Dad?”
Chase looked up, almost expecting to see his father.
“You okay, Dad?” It was Brad, his son, so grown up, so fast. “You need to sit down?”
“What happened in here?”
“I straightened up a little, but I thought it was okay,” Brad added quickly. Chase flinched at his son’s tone, as if Brad were afraid of him.
“You did this?”
“I didn’t think you’d mind…”
“You did a good job,” Chase replied, walking toward the workbench. He ran his fingertips across the surface. “Gramps would have been proud.”
“You think so?”
“I do.” Chase turned. “And I’m proud of you too.”
Brad stiffened, as if rooted to his spot, though his eyes widened. Chase closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around his son. To his shame, he couldn’t remember the last time he had hugged him. His eyes prickled with tears and he blinked them away.
After a long moment, he released his son. “My father was the most honorable man I’ve ever known, though it took me years to understand why. You remind me of him,
and I should have told you long before this.”
“Why don’t you sit down, Dad?” Brad attempted to guide him to Santos’s stool, but Chase shook him off.
“No, you sit there. You belong here more than I do. I think you should have it.” Chase lifted a child-sized hammer from the peg board. It still looked new. He turned it over in his palm and read the inscription: For Cesidio, my son.
“I changed my name. Did you know that?” This time Chase let the memories come. “I was christened Cesidio Bennetti after I was born, named after my father’s father. I hated that name and changed it to Chase Bennett the minute I left for college.” He scoffed at his own arrogance. “I thought my new name would make me one of the Ivy League boys I idolized. My mother was furious when she found out, but my father said nothing. I think he couldn’t. I think it broke his heart. He never mentioned it, but he also never called me by name again.” Chase replaced the hammer on the peg board and turned to his son. “I think that was probably the end of any relationship I could have had with my father. He stopped trying after that, but I didn’t notice until it was too late. I don’t want that for us.” He paused to gather his composure. “I believe I owe you an apology.”
Brad shifted uneasily. “No, Dad. We’re good.”
“Nevertheless, I’d like to,” Chase continued, grateful to Mrs. Ivey for planting the seed and to Rick for showing Chase the kind of man he’d groomed Brad to become. “You are a good man with a kind heart. I should have recognized that years ago, and I’m sorry I haven’t—until now, son.”
Brad hesitated but didn’t turn, and in that moment, Chase knew. Did he really expect a single comment to erase years of misunderstanding?
He turned to leave.
“Hey, Dad?” Brad called him back.
“Yeah?” Chase’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “What is it?”
Brad looked up from his work and for a moment, Chase saw his five-year-old son asking him to stay home from work on a Saturday morning and play catch with him instead.
So much time missed.
“Mom could use more room for beach towels in the mudroom. Thinking about maybe making a bench or something.” He lifted his shoulder in a gentle shrug. “If you want to help…”
“I’d love to.” Chase stepped closer to the workbench. “What have you got so far?”
They sat in compatible silence for a while. Chase claimed a space on a nearby stool, watching his son ticking off measurements along a board and noticing he held the flat carpenter’s pencil in his left hand with the same grip his grandfather had used.
A sharp knock at the door shattered the silence of the room.
Ryan peered into the shed from the doorway. “Kaye sent me to find you guys. She said it’s time for sparklers and that attendance is required.”
“Okay.” Brad reached up to flick off the desk light, plunging the workshop unexpectedly into shadow. Chase glanced at the light outside; dusk had fallen already. Hours had passed, unnoticed, while Chase watched his son utterly focused on his work. Just like his grandfather.
Brad stood. “You coming, Dad?”
“Yes, I am.”
Outside evening settled in, the summer air cooled, and the party atmosphere changed. As Chase and his son made their way up the path from the workshop to the deck, Chase noticed the citronella candles had been lit; their light danced and flickered on the tabletops. The fading light had activated tealights inside hurricane lanterns scattered around the yard, and strings of miniature lights threaded among the tree branches overhead bathed the yard in a warm glow.
As in years past, the badminton game in the grassy field next door would be the last game to end, despite the darkness. Chase heard the soft plunk of the birdie hitting a racket, followed by bursts of laughter as the players tracked the game by flashlight. Chase and Brad passed a group of older kids gathered around the firepit, toasting marshmallows on long sticks and flicking bits of graham crackers at each other.
The crowd had thinned, as it usually did about this time, with parents taking the youngest children home for baths and bed. Those who remained chatted softly, with their sleeping children curled on their laps.
They found Ryan on a corner of the back deck, pouring sand into a collection of tin buckets. Stacy stood nearby, two more empty buckets in her hands.
“Should we keep a closer eye on those kids back there?” Stacy gestured to the firepit.
“We just passed them,” Chase offered. “They seemed to be behaving themselves for the moment.”
Stacy frowned, considering. “I think I’d feel better if they had a sand bucket.” She lifted one that Ryan had just filled. “Do you mind if I take this?”
“You want the fire extinguisher too?” Ryan asked, pointing to an ancient barrel-shaped fire extinguisher leaning against the base of a tree. “It might work, you never know.”
“I’m sure they’ll love it,” Brad offered, biting back a smile as he bent to retrieve the extinguisher.
With his children busy and Kaye chatting to Brenda on the deck, Chase took the opportunity to find a seat. Though he would never admit it to Kaye, the day’s activities had tired him.
By chance, he spied his granddaughter asleep on one of the Adirondack chairs by the side garden, and he went to join her. On his way across the yard, he pulled a fleece throw from a stack and carried it with him. Sophie didn’t wake when he lifted her from the chair, or even when he settled her on his lap and tucked the blanket around her. As he brushed the hair from his granddaughter’s face, he noticed how much Sophie looked like her mother. Strange that he hadn’t ever noticed the resemblance before.
Sophie’s feet were bare; she’d pulled off her shoes and socks like Stacy used to when she was that age. He grasped Sophie’s little foot in his palm to warm it, then directed his attention to the grassy field to watch the kids line up for sparklers.
Strictly speaking, sparklers were considered a fire hazard and weren’t allowed within Dewberry Beach town limits, but they’d been part of the shore parties for decades and residents had always been reluctant to give up their traditions. Applegate’s Hardware stocked cases of them all summer long, in full view of anyone shopping. In addition, both the fire captain and the chief of police were at the party so Chase assumed they’d be okay.
He watched a swarm of older kids survey the field, sweeping the ground with flashlights, looking for sharp sticks or rocks, tripping hazards for a child running with a sparkler.
Chase tucked Sophie’s bare foot under the blanket as he listened to Ryan issue instructions to a group of children eager to get started.
“Before we light your sparklers,” Ryan began, “you have to agree to the rules. The ends are very hot so no jabbing anyone, no sword fights, no playing chicken. When the sparks fizzle out, come back and stick the end in the sand here.” He tapped the coffee can. “Then you can have another. We have plenty.”
Do we ever. Chase chuckled to himself. At least a dozen boxes were stacked on the tabletop, more than enough for the entire population of Dewberry Beach.
Ryan flicked his lighter and held the flame to the tips of the sparklers. Almost at once, a shower of orange and yellow sparks burst from the metal ends. Kids ran across the field, drawing shapes in the darkness and shrieking with laughter.
As he listened to them play, Chase scanned the party for his wife. He found her eventually standing near the buffet table chatting with their friends, George and Nancy Goldsmith. Something about her posture made him pause and look closer. Though they’d been married more than thirty-five years, he’d known her far longer and he recognized her expression now. She was about to refuse an invitation and he could guess which one. A few days earlier, Chase happened to run into George at Muller’s Bakery and George mentioned a big trip they were planning. It seems that Nancy had always wanted to visit Austria during the holidays, to shop the famous Christmas markets. They had room on the trip for another couple and he’d invited Chase and Kaye to join them. Chase ha
d replied that he’d love to but needed to speak with Kaye first in case there were medical appointments to reschedule.
Now, it appeared that she’d already decided.
He felt his body stiffen as he watched Kaye shake her head and he could almost read her lips as she refused the invitation. If he rose now, he would probably wake his granddaughter and almost certainly embarrass himself if he went over there, so he did nothing. He sat and watched the conversation conclude, helpless to intervene. Kaye laughed and he wondered what excuse she was offering, which of his symptoms she was describing in such detail that no one would dare think to question her. Then he felt the anger ignite in his body.
Enough was enough.
Hours later, after the last of the guests had said their goodbyes, Chase retreated to his bedroom where he sat in an armchair waiting for his wife to finish with the caterers. He’d opened the window that faced the bay, inviting in the salty breeze but nothing stirred and the air in the room felt close and uncomfortable. The conversation he would have with his wife would not be pleasant. But it was long overdue.
He heard her come down the hallway, watched the doorknob turn, and waited for her to enter the room.
“Here you are,” she said breezily. “I thought you’d gone to bed already.”
“Not quite yet.”
“That was a nice party, don’t you think?” Kaye moved toward the bed and turned down the quilt, smoothing the creases as she went. “We had a good turnout this year and people seemed to have fun.”
Chase’s response was again noncommittal, but Kaye didn’t seem to notice.
“You don’t think hiring a caterer was too much, do you?” She nudged a decorative pillow aside. “Brenda says that’s the only kind of party the city people throw now—fully catered. I do think it misses the point of a neighborhood cookout though, don’t you?”
The Shore House: An emotional and uplifting page turner (Dewberry Beach Book 1) Page 17